WARNING: This story contains crude language/humor, angst, graphic depictions of violence, gore, death, adult and sensitive themes, headcanons/fanons, and heavy spoilers. Reader discretion is advised.
DISCLAIMER: Food Fantasy is the intellectual property of Elex-Funtoy Games. The Fate series is owned by Type-Moon and Kinoko Nasu. No disrespect is meant by the creation of this story, and I am simply borrowing these media for entertainment and transformative purposes.
Chapter 1: (A) Small Cry
Remember, as butterflies mindlessly flutter with the wind.
The wind's course changes ever so slightly.
- Unknown
For as long as he remembers, Itsuki is content. It's kind of like after his Mama makes the best meal ever and he gets to play with his friends all day. Since his announcement of that cool Gonudam action figure Dad got for him recently, his friends have all been begging for a chance to play with it.
He lets them play with it of course. He wouldn't be a very good friend if he didn't!
Much to his dismay however, Kaito secretly brings it to school the next day and an unfamiliar teacher with short brown hair spots him presenting it to another group of boys during recess. When she drags him aside and asks whose it is, Itsuki's name is immediately babbled. He tries to explain that Kaito isn't disturbing any classes since it was break time and promises to keep it in his bag, but the teacher doesn't listen. She simply tells him to see her after class and walks away.
Itsuki whirls on his friend after that, but when Kaito says that it's not his fault because the robot is flashy and he shouldn't get mad at him for it, he struggles not to say something he may regret. Mama always tells him to be careful in choosing his words, but the impulse is strong.
"You shouldn't have brought it to school anyways. I did say you should be careful with it too, since it took a while to assemble." It comes spilling in the end, and he finds it hard to stop. "So why did you?"
Kaito wrinkles his nose. "I just wanted to play with it. Daichi and Yuuta have been hogging it all week."
"Yeah, but now it got confiscated." He sighs out loud and threads a hand through his short brown hair. "And I saw you showing it off to others. I don't think that counts as playing."
That makes Kaito narrow his eyes. "You know, if you're going to act like that, maybe we shouldn't play for a while."
Oh no, stupid mouth. "W-wait, I just wanted to—"
"Yeah, yeah, let's talk about this later. I'm going back inside."
It bothers him all throughout afternoon classes, and for that he nearly fails a pop quiz in science and fumbles his words during history recitation. When the bell rings, he storms out of the classroom, ignoring the calls of his name. Once he's at the faculty office, Nakajima-sensei, she introduces herself, gives him an expectant look.
"I promise I won't bring it here again." When Nakajima-sensei quirks an eyebrow, he reluctantly adds under his breath: "I'll tell it to them as well."
Nakajima-sensei nods, and pulls out his Gonudam from her desk drawer. "Nanase-kun, right? You know, I often hear of you from Chiba-sensei."
He blinks up at her. "From Aya-sensei? What does she say?"
She smiles, and pushes her glasses up her nose. "Hm, well, she notes that you've been much more hyper during the past few weeks."
Itsuki flushes. Come to think of it, he probably has been acting as if he's in a sugar rush. He couldn't help it though, ever since the new wave of mecha anime on TV became the new center of discussions in school, he's been hoping to have someone to talk to about it. "… Is that bad?"
"Oh, not at all," says Nakajima-sensei with a chuckle. "In fact, she's very happy. She says you've been a quiet one since you transferred here last summer, and she's relieved that you're making friends over similar interests."
He tries for a smile, but it feels forced on his face. "I'm glad too sensei."
Her expression softens, and she glances back at her computer monitor with a hum. "Oh, it seems I've kept you here long enough. Stay safe on your way home, Nanase-kun."
Itsuki bids her goodbye and trudges down to the main hallway, ignoring the ache from the absence of familiar faces by the entrance.
They could have at least waited for him.
He stuffs the robot deeper down his bag for good measure, and instead wonders what Mama is cooking for dinner—hamburgers, maybe—and changes out of his indoor shoes. He hopes Dad comes home early like he promises. They still haven't made any progress on their plans for their surprise party, and while the streamers and balloons they have left over from Mama's old excursion to the orphanage are plentiful, it feels a bit lacking.
He supposes he can ask Dad later.
Itsuki steps out of the building, tuning out of the sounds of chatter, laughter, and the occasional cars in the background in favor of recapping the recent episodes of that interesting Yasha series in his head. It's pretty neat in terms of story, and he likes the character design of the Yasha clan the best. Maybe he can share it to the others when they talk again.
It's only when he's down the road and the giggles reaches his ears that he blinks back to reality.
Itsuki ducks his head to hide the frown. The trio of girls are debating on whether Akito from Class-A or Shigure from Class-B did better in PE class yesterday. Something about how cool they are during the soccer match, and if Kimiko-chan from the other class already set a love letter in the former's locker.
A part of him does admire how agile and coordinated their footwork is to play such a sport, since he gets a bit confused on when to pass the ball to who at times. The other part still remains in the dark about how these girls' minds jump from one topic to another in between squeals and grumbles regarding Math homework.
Itsuki hastens his pace down a few more streets and cuts through an alleyway to get home. The daffodils in the front garden of the two-storey house greet him with its pleasant smell. The orange and reddish skies reflect against the black-tinted windows, casting shadows that dance along the flowerbeds Dad usually tends to. He tugs at the metal gate, only to pause.
The hairs on his skin stand on end, and Itsuki reflexively pulls at the hood of his dark green jacket. He discreetly glances down both sides of the street, only finding a stray cat languidly stretching atop a neighbor's wall.
Maybe it's his imagination?
Shaking off the strange feeling, Itsuki enters. "I'm home!"
The dark entrance hall and the lack of mouthwatering scents stump him briefly. The untouched shoe rack indicate Mama hasn't stepped out for a run to the convenience store or to the market, so perhaps she's fallen asleep again.
Itsuki removes his shoes and pads up to the second floor and straight to his parent's bedroom. Not bothering to knock, he peers in. He squints in the darkness and sighs. Mama is leaning over the desk with her arms folded, a stack of folders, stray papers, and binders blocking the lamp illuminating the room.
The first time he comes across this scene is around six months ago. He catches a glimpse of sketches, complex diagrams, convoluted formulas spanning pages, and handwritten notes transcribing some kind of magic system one would expect from a fantasy or supernatural story. His skim of one of many scribbled notes is an unfinished depiction of a process involving a 'catalyst closest to the desired Soul'. Mama wakes shortly after he struggles through the last bits, and plucks the papers from his grasp with a strange look.
Under his curious stare, she explains that it's personal research after a fairly recent discovery. Mama tells him that if he keeps it a secret from Dad, she'll share her findings with him, which would take months depending on her contacts.
"It'll be our little secret, okay, my dear sapling?"
Itsuki relents, even if it itches to ask more. It's the least he could for Mama after all, especially since she's been so determined. Her notes are getting even longer, as a matter of fact, written in code and shorthand he barely understands even if he asks for translations from time to time.
Pushing those thoughts aside for the time being, Itsuki throws the door open.
He gags.
The smell of copper assaults his nostrils, and he steps back with a hand slapping over his face. All he hears is the sound of his racing heart, and the distant thump of his bag falling to the floor. His body is unresponsive—he needs to check, it can't be blood, it can't—and his knees wobble dangerously. Something cold nips at his chest with the force of an angered wasp.
Itsuki grits his teeth and forces himself to move.
The room spans for what seems like an eternity until he's an arm's length away from Mama. She looks even paler under the faint light, and her long, brown locks block most of her face. Itsuki hovers uncertainly and lays a hand on her forearm.
She's cold.
It's probably just the air-conditioning, isn't it? Mama gets cold really easily, and since she's dozed off like this without a blanket, he bets her fingers are a deep purple. Dad often jokes about how easily she turns into a human icicle in the winter, a trait he is glad he didn't acquire.
The floorboard creaks behind him, but Itsuki barely has time to register it when he's pulled back and a sharp pain erupts in the back of his head.
Then there is nothing.
000
When the haze lifts, Itsuki finds himself on the floor. His eyes adjust to the dim lighting, the faint voices in the background providing little comfort. The chill and slight numbness of his cheeks indicate that he's been here for a while, and his mind sluggishly plays catch up. Lifting his head, stars fill his vision and he blinks them all away until his eyes water.
As soon as the dark spots recede, the heavy smell of iron penetrates his nose. It's dizzying.
A strong sense of wrong stirs in him, and the partial view of the two familiar couches being illuminated by the TV broadcasting the evening news from behind a house plant, brings that sensation to a high. The drawn curtains mute the brightness of the streetlight nearby, as if hiding the living room away from any snooping neighbors. Something niggles in the back of his mind, but another stab at his cranium makes him whimper.
It hurts.
Where is Mama? Dad? He would take the medicine they'll hand him, despite the weird taste. Anything is better than this.
He doesn't know how long he stays like that, until a jingle and an announcer's voice washes over him. Upcoming elections, celebrity gossip, a robbery, reports of a serial killer in Fuyuki leaving pentagrams—
Itsuki freezes.
He screams—Kami-sama, what's going on, please, anyone, help me—but no one hears. The tape on his mouth holds strong, and bile rises up his throat. His attempts to stand are met with resistance, limbs tightly bound together.
"Oh, you're awake!" a young male voice chirps.
Sneakered feet enter his line of sight, and a bucket clatters to the floor, spilling red. Itsuki flinches when the stranger crouches before him. An average-looking orange-haired teenager wearing a purple collared shirt over a white one and dark blue pants stares at him with a relaxed expression, only betrayed by the splatters of blood on his cheeks and arms.
His chest tightens. No. He won't believe it.
"I'm sure you're confused, kiddo. Don't worry, you kind of missed most of the fun today, but the grand finale's about to be set up." His strange smile sends shivers down his spine. "Sit tight, alright? I'll get back to you in a minute."
The stranger maneuvers around the couch, humming to himself. Itsuki's eyes widen. Someone is sitting on the couch, uncaring of the intruder. The shock of reddish-brown spiky hair seemed messier than usual, and he desperately prays. Unbidden, he catches the slow drip-drip-drip of something between the person's legs.
It can't be. It can't be.
"Where did I put it… oh, there you are." The stranger holds up a weathered book. He glances back at Itsuki and grins. "From the look on your face, it seems you've noticed, hm? A shame he didn't last as long as he did when we started, he was quite the interesting character when we talked. Colorful commentary was a nice bonus."
Itsuki stares in disbelief. The stranger, no, the madman walks back and picks up the bucket, the liquid sloshing lazily. "Not as vocal as the woman though, she's given me very cool ideas for next time. Guts for garters would be pretty cool, but they're too inefficient. On the other hand, slowly prying fingernails and then periodically dunking them in acid until nothing but bone is left? Hah, priceless!"
Itsuki blanches. His parents are the nicest people he's ever known, and if they ever got so mad as to curse someone so intensely…
He tries to push back the new wave of images his traitorous mind conjures. His Mama wishing nothing but pain as she drowns in her own blood—stop it, stop it—of Dad trying and failing to fight, tied down and left to watch helplessly.
No, no, no, no. It's not true!
The man regards him with nothing but amusement. "Man, I'm jealous. How'd you get such parents, kiddo?" He pauses briefly and then shakes his head. "Heh, well, I suppose no one is ever what they seem, aren't they?"
Itsuki clenches his fists until his nails bite into skin. It just can't.
"So like, I'd really love to stay and chat, but I'd rather not work with congealed blood. Gets hard to paint with, you see?" The madman waves the book around, and the words 'theory' and 'ritual' jump out at him. "This is a real important project your parents contributed to, and it'd be a shame to put it to waste."
Lying, he has to be lying!
The blood you smell says otherwise, his mind hisses. It coils around his heart, gripping it with dread. He killed them, and you're next.
The madman walks off to the side past the dining chair by his feet, propping the bucket next to two others. His stomach lurches when the madman removes one of his shoes and dips his toes in. Wet splashes and squelching noises accompany the reporter's spiel in the background, and the man's increasing mumbles as he draws the pentagram frays at his nerves.
Itsuki closes his eyes. He can't do it anymore. It has to be a nightmare.
Please, Kami-sama. Anyone… please.
"That looks about right. Let's see… silver and iron to the origin. Gem and duke of contracts to the corner… the ancestor is my great master, er-hm, what's-his-name? Hold on…" The madman grumbles to himself, stumbling over his words as he continues whatever madness he speaks of. "Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. All right, that makes it five times!"
Seconds tick by until news of the man's infamous crimes catches both of their attention. "Maybe I went a little too far."
Itsuki jolts when something heavy lands on the floor in a boneless heap. Almost magnetized by the sight of his Dad's still form, his normally pristine white undershirt dyed crimson under the light. Not that it mattered, for there are several slash wounds and marks crisscrossing his arms in the most unclean fashion, and his pants are rolled up, showing shallow cuts.
The TV clicks shut, and the darkness returns.
"Do you think demons exist, kiddo?"
Itsuki pushes the hysterical laughter far, far down. Everything he wants to yell goes unheard, for the madman merely approaches him with wet footsteps. "All the papers and magazines call me a demon, but wouldn't that be kinda rude if demons really did exist? You've gotta be clear about these things."
You're more of a demon than anything else could ever be.
He reflexively recoils when the madman squats and mockingly salutes him. "Sup! I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke and I'm a demon!" The madman's eyebrows scrunch up. "I dunno if that's how I should be introducing myself."
Itsuki grinds his teeth, blinking away the remaining tears just as the madman carelessly dangles the book in his face. "So like, I found this old book in the storehouse." He flips the book open, and the spine groans dangerously. "It looks like my ancestors were researching how to summon demons. So like, I've gotta find if demons really do exist!"
In that moment, Itsuki wishes nothing but to strangle the man. His parents and every other victims got killed just for that?!
The madman lazily walks back to the chair and the roar of the blood in his ears peter out. "… It'd be pretty dumb to just chat with it and have nothing to offer him. So kiddo… if a demon really does show up…"
His heart stops.
"Mind if we let it kill you?"
No.
Not like this. Not like this! It isn't fair!
His wrists and ankles strain against the bindings, but they hold firm. It rubs at him, the same way his skin prickles uncomfortably. He screams harder, he pushes harder, his instincts begging him to try. The madman cackles, and Itsuki sees red.
It isn't fair at all. Why does he have to die by this bastard's sick whim?! He should be the one to die! He should rot in hell! He should pay!
And a small part of his soul cries, because I don't want to die like this.
Itsuki twitches and seizes at the flash of colors in his eyelids, and all the air rushes out of his lungs. A searing pain and the sensation of suffocating smoke envelop his body, focusing on his hand. It ends quickly, and the bright light emanating from the circle of blood stabs at his strangely sensitive eyes. Electricity arcs above it, causing wind and thick clouds of smoke to rise.
The chair is knocked over at the madman's gasp.
A figure manifests itself in patches of light. The smoke dissipates, and there stands a hooded person, their fur-trimmed coat obscuring the upper part of their body apart from long strands of hair cascading down to the chest level. The short skirt, fishnet stockings and heeled boots seem to indicate that the new arrival is a woman—or takes on the appearance of one.
The madman takes tentative steps forward as if delicately approaching a newborn animal. His shoulders are coiled, and from here, Itsuki can practically see the indecisiveness customary to new and inescapable interactions.
"Hm, who're you?" the 'woman' asks, breaking the silence. "Are you my Master?"
It hits Itsuki then. Oh Kami, he actually summoned a demon.
"Uh… I dunno about Master. Maybe..?" The madman awkwardly puts a hand to his head. "Anyways, I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke. I'm currently unemployed, and I like killing people, pretty much, especially young women and kids."
"I can see and smell that," the demon emotionlessly remarks.
The madman perks up, and gestures behind him and towards Itsuki. "Heh, of course, I had to give it my all for you. Which reminds me, how about a sacrifice?"
Itsuki swallows dryly when bright-sunset orange eyes glare from the shadows of the demon's hood. The pressure pins him in place, and the intensity is directed back at the madman. "Then it seems that everything is much clearer to me now. Lady Luck seems to like reminding me of things long past."
The demon pads over without a sound aside from the screech of metal she pulls from under its coat. The knife glints wickedly under the ambient lighting from the windows, and he shrinks back.
"Wow, that looks sharp!" the madman sounds in awe.
The demon gazes at him intently, and the dark-red scarf hides whatever manic grin it may be sporting now. It leans forward, knife raised.
This is it. He's going to die.
… At least he'll be with Mama and Papa now.
"Close your eyes, unless you want to watch."
There is no time to think, and a whistle slices through the air. A choked gasp escapes the madman, metal clatters to the floor, and liquid spills. Metal screeches once more, and boots creak over the floorboards. Gleeful satisfaction runs through Itsuki at the sound of the madman's pained coughs which soon turn into hoarse chuckles.
"It's so pretty…"
Itsuki blinks. The demon wordlessly hefts a sword towards the madman, who seems to be entranced by the red blooming on his chest. "So… it was… inside me all along?"
Strangely enough, the demon lowers its sword until the tip meets the madman's lap, and quietly watches him babble to himself. The small, almost peaceful grin of the madman grips his chest and makes him want to run up and kick him. Why in the world is he smiling like that?
They'll never get a chance to hold that surprise party anymore because of him, and yet he's smiling?
Before his mind continues its dark path, the demon sighs. A small, but loaded one he'd often hear Dad or his sensei do after a long day. "Pray to whatever God you believe in for a chance for mercy, Ryuunosuke, for there is none for you here."
The loud crack reverberates in his skull, and he is magnetized by the orange soaring and landing with a loud thud near the kitchen doorway. The demon flicks the blood from one of her knives before turning to face him.
"I'm surprised." The demon tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes. "You didn't look away."
Is it really? The bastard deserved it.
The demon kneels beside him, the scent of smoked wood and salt blending in with the copper-iron stench. It's oddly relaxing, and not so bad a memory for his last moments. "Guess I should have expected it, since you did bring me here."
Much to his shock, the demon shrugs off her hood, revealing a lightly tanned exotic face with sharp features, and reddish-orange tinted goggles sitting snugly atop her head. She tugs her scarf down, and the frown does nothing but accentuate the rough aura around her. What's even more surprising is when the demon cuts off his bindings with a gentleness that completely baffles him.
"… Aren't you going to kill me?" His voice is distant and so small, even to him.
"I'm afraid not," she answers. An ugly pause, then: "Do you want me to?"
Did he? It feels like the best option, all things considered. What else can he do anyways? With the madman gone… "You could. I have nothing left."
It should have stung, but the wisps of anger fizzles, and there's a gaping empty hole that aches and aches. He curls up, arms gripping his jacket, and breathes deeply.
He's so tired.
The demon hums. "You don't sound so sure."
Itsuki's eyes snap open, and he pulls himself up with a snarl. "What do you want me to do then?"
"Make a decision," she calmly says. "Yes, I could end you here easily if you so desire, but… you don't really want to, do you? Didn't you want to live?"
That draws a bitter laugh out of him. What can he live for now? His parents are dead, all his relatives are abroad, and he is nothing but an average, forgettable child always blending in the background. No one would really miss him.
"And do what? Cry for the things I lost?" he spits out. "It's useless anyways."
Itsuki startles at the weight on his head, fingers combing through his hair—much like Mama. His throat tightens at the soothing motion, and the world blurs. Before he could really comprehend it, Itsuki throws himself into the demon's lap. His sobs are muffled by the coat, and he wants nothing more than to scream senseless.
It hurts.
Why did he have to be left alone like this? It's so unfair. He cries, and takes solace in the presence of the demon holding his life in her hands. For all the lives lost, for this messed up scenario, for his uncertain future.
So, he embraces that familiar darkness soon after.
AN: You've just read the product of me trying to brainstorm, producing a plot bunny that wouldn't go away, and going crazy over the next couple of days. Yay..? In all honesty, I have no idea where this is going, but I find it really entertaining to write two stories so alike yet so different at the same time. I've only seen one other fanfiction revolving around this scenario (although it's a Caster!EMIYA story-which is great, by the way), but I do hope to take my own spin on things.
I also hope that I've done justice to Ryuunosuke's character, however brief his appearance, since he's real fun to write since he's so hammy yet infuriating in his casualness towards life and death. Still a real POS and this particular scene may have contributed to the muse, but I do appreciate his chaotic role in Zero.