Fic based on concept of sabbath, spirit dance and Hyakki Yagyo. Inspired by scene in Rain on your back's Loose Thorns ( s/12186665/5/Loose-Thorns here). Part where Hao describes misconceptions about demon dances is 100% based on paragraph from Witches Abroad dealing with sabbaths. You are always alone is Ohachiyo's line when he first met Hao ( probably bit paraphrased).
read, hopefully enjoy, and please review!
Night is dark and heavy. On empty mountain, the demons dance.
Miasma is felt in very air, tinged with dark reiryoku as hundred demons gather on mountain's peak. Sky and soil vibrate with their presence, and there is tension in air, power collecting and charging like thunderstorm.
Birds fly to other side. Ghosts avoid mountain in miles. Villagers lock their doors and bar their windows, old all too aware of ancient superstitions, young deciding that perhaps tonight there really isn't anything to do. Few remaining hedge witches and cunning folk craft their pathetic talismans. Hao breathes in black wind and smiles.
Fools fear demon dances. Demons have better things to do than torment humans-not that mankind doesn't deserve it. But all those fears are unfounded.
Through years, people have accumulated many ideas about demonic revels, mostly products of children's stories and need to blame somebody for their problems without admitting their mistakes.
First off, some believed that demons conjured storms and earthquakes during those parties. Pure nonsense. Demons who could manipulate weather, or even control elements on smallest scale were rare, especially in this age. And those who could would never attempt anything like that- you couldn't part sea without understanding it, and if you understood nature you couldn't harm it. Sometimes it seemed to Hao that being master of elements mostly consisted of not using his powers, at least not without paying Earth back, and even then you had to be careful. Move wrong stone or snowflake and you get ruined mountains and avalanches.
Second nonsensical belief was that demons spent their time planning wars and plagues and other ways to harm humanity. They didn't need to, for humans did good job of it on their own. Worst thing you could say about demons was that they were awful gossips with no sense of privacy, and they would tell embarassing or juicy stories of people they spied to everybody present, who would later retell it to all whom they knew, and in the end every demon on continent would know about your bad singing in shower. In retrospect, malign machinations weren't so bad option.
Then, human sacrifices. Who knew where that idea came from. To demons, death was commonplace, and they wouldn't bother with killing something for celebration. Not to mention that it was hard to kill somebody when you were incorporeal and that demons in general didn't pay much attention to humanity. They were awfully fond of food offerings, but going from gobbling on sweets and getting drunk to eating human infants was serious leap in logic. Besides, humans didn't taste particularly well.
And witches. Oh, how he loathed that idea. There were thousand tales about witches joining demons in mad dancing ( and naked-prepoterous indeed. No sane person would dance naked in night on top of mountain) and plotting evil deeds. Just because demons sometimes brought friendly shamans to revels. Humans had to find some way to turn that in blasphemy.
And finally, description of those dances. Inhuman cheering, mad swaying, brimstone and hellfire… True, few demons were good at music or dancing, but it was simply fun. And how did they expect them to see anything without bonfire?
It has been centuries since he had seen proper dance. World has grown colder and blinder, and though demons are as common as dust ( they follow death and pain, and as long as humanity exists those shall be omnipresent), in this age, removed from spirits, they either hide in burrows or depart for hell. Once, dance like this would have had thousand demons attending.
He remembers his youth, remembers Hyakki Yagyo, so common on summer nights. Hundreds of demon parading through streets, reveling and chasing each other, travelling and checking places for new homes. Legends claimed that were one to encounter parade, they would either perish or be abducted. They, onmyoji were often asked to create amulets and protective spells.
Nonsense. Demons never harmed others unless provoked ( excluding oni born from reishi, but given that they were creatures given life by human thoughts, that was to be expected). As child, he had laid on streets and watched as they passed and none harmed him.
''You are always alone.''
But then again… You never know what you may find. And it truly has been far too long since he had some fun.
Moment he steps in field, spirits stop ( music doesn't, rough music of their souls, music that humans can't hear, music that shamans shouldn't hear as well, but he has walked through Hell and lived for centuries and is father of thousands upon thousands oni, and rough music is as familiar to him as his own heartbeat(s), musics that demands that they dance and who are they to deny it).
Minds of demon are simple, sharp and pure, knives and thorns of blood and , hunt, live. They don't think in words, but in screams and feeling and sensations. There are hundred and thirty two demons here, creatures of feathers and fangs and claws, with muzzles and scales bodies like corpses, mix of beasts and dead. Born from curses and sinful souls who realized their mistakes but were too late and weren't strong enough to learn but not weak enough to remain, wicked, cursed creatures. They are nightmares, and shadow, and flames and frost. And they fear him.
Were Hell an ocean, these creatures would be minnows. Hao, on other hand, would be something long and strong, creature thought myth or extinct. Something with rough teeth like swords, tail longer than road, hunter of deepest trenches. He is a legend that would make bravest soldiers quiver, long, polar night, a volcano and an ice age. Kind of thing that haunted forests generations didn't dare enter, something that slept under mountains and ocean's floor.
He had fought and defeated seventy five lords of hell, gods of death and spirits with nothing but his own soul and will- he didn't even have a guardian spirit. These small demons know that, know about hundred thousand oni contained within his mind, know about Spirit of Fire, eternally loyal, always watching, forever hungry (demons hunger for souls, sometimes, but like all such beings they have their limit. Spirit of Fire doesn't. He can never overeat-he only feasts and grows), wrapped around Hao like guardian dog. There is fear within them, sweet, sickly fear of prey, but also amazement, bright and burning, as they drop and bow before him like serfs before king.
They wait, frozen and stiff, like clock whose gears stopped turning. They kneel and cower before him, for to them he is an archdemon, pack leader, honored elder, saint, angel. They care not for his body-they can sense his furyoku, mighty and heavy as sea, feel centuries in his gaze, smell Hell on him. His soul sings to their beings, and they know they will never match him, so they cower and worship.
Fear is biting, but it is all right if you have respect ( at least here, there is no hatred).
He shows his offering. Bear, mauled and bloodied, thick scent of clotting blood filling air. Honey, gleaming like amber in light of flames. Whiskey, cold and heavy.
There is no need for words. They descend, like starved scavengers, feasting on taste. Rough music of their souls is stronger, tenser now, and Hao knows that soon they all shall have to sance, in same way wood must burn.
One demon, clearly former ring leader, approaches him. Half his age and not tenth of his power, bloated like balloon, head of crow, eyes of goat and gills of shark. Demon screeches, and though he thinks no word, there is offer, submission, formality in very nature of that cry. After moment of consideration, Hao nods and decides to be generous. He lets bits of his furyoku flow into air, creates weak oversouls for them.
Surprise and joy that erupts is like explosion, threatening to render him deaf, as all of their feelings rush in and become his. They aren't negative emotions, but so much joy can be suffocating too.
But rough music rises and reaches peak and vibrates in heart of mountain itself, and invading feelings find themselves lost as ancient melody, old as sin and darkness,wraps itself around Hao's heart, comforting and calming him as much as reishi distresses and pains him.
Demons shriek like wild, rabid birds of prey, and Hao joins them, sound coming out from his throat almost same as theirs, primal and inhuman ( he doesn't have organs to make such noise-neither do they, but they don't need them- yet it is so close). And then, they dance.
Fast as lighting, swift as wind, they dance as one, everybody playing their tune. Nobody is dancing same way, but it all fits together as they circle bonfire, as they sway and jump and scream. Rough music, essence of Hell is nestled within his bones, treading itself through his very being, rushing and mad as he dances demon dance.
There were shamans, sometimes invited to dance at demon dances. They would either join them, or allow spirits to posses their body, to become one in those few moments. But none of them danced demon dance. To do so, you must understand how they think, feel nature of their power wrap itself around your neck, separate truth from humanity's lying legends.
He doesn't belong here, among these violent, hungry animals, but he isn't thrown out and spit upon, so for few hours he can pretend. He pretended for almost to decades to be human at Imperial Court. This is piece of cake.
For minutes or hours they dance, before they fall to ground. new ritual begins. Demon next to Hao- creature of eight yellow eyes and body of dog with head of ram- gives Hao drum of old skin and burnt wood ( Hao did demon manage to get it here is surely interesting story, given they aren't corporeal, but you never ask how offerings or instruments were gained) while Hao turns to giant fly at his right and gives up his carved flute. And then they play.
He closes his eyes, banishes world from his sight, and lets himself slip away. He can feel energy in air, spread out like moth-eaten silk, can feel pollution in air and currents of wind, caress of stars and incoming storm and frost, can feel drops that make clouds, roots of stony mountain, sap of trees and blood of each living thing in range. He is Hao Asakura, master of pentagram, representative of nature, beloved of elements, and here and now, he is mountain and sky and life and planet and world itself, and he plays.
He plays, hands falling on drum, heavy as judgement, and each note is heartbeat of mountain's beasts, each melody flow of animal's blood. Demon from his left is ringing copper bells, sound echoing around like malicious rumor, and one on his right is playing melody as light as rose petals.
Below villages hear cacophony as beautiful as hope and don't dare come out of beds.
Sounds are too different, too mad, to be organized, yet they fall in pattern, as if they were practiced for weeks, and rough music accepts sounds and weaves them in itself.
Reishi almost doesn't bother him. Joy and happiness of demons muddle and weave in one, such that even he can't separate their hearts, and if they all fused in one spirit he wouldn't be surprised.
Jaws and maws open, and songs start, screaming and singing, raw, pure notes carrying undiluted essence of things. Hao sings too, his voice lost in hundreds thought it is only one to contain words, words or war and revenge and foolishness of mankind ( some old, poor poem that he would be slightly ashamed to show anywhere else. But here, shame has no place).
When he opens his eyes, they are all finished at same time, though none of songs lasted equally. Chatter starts as spirits scatter, all avoiding him.
Even among demons, power and age is respected-and feared. In the end he is left with three demons, none of them over five centuries. One that greeted him at beginning, one that looks like skeleton wreathed in slug shells and shadows and third that is like bear with tail of wolf and horns of bull.
Hao accepts alcohol, and stay silent, listening to their memories of hunt and battle. They don't ask him anything- he is far too old and powerful to be entertained by their simple existences- they know that better than him.
Finally, that period too ends, and market starts. There are no stalls, no signs, but all know trade is coming. Hao buys poncho from purple-skinned woman with fingers like hedgehog spikes for beaten, broken earring. Golden-brown caramel, almost melted, sickly sweet and scorching, staining his lips and teeth and tongue with each bite, from spider with fish tail for three seagull feathers. Bunch of colorful legos from being with rotting body of rabbit, butterfly's wings and skull of otter for hair of ham from deer with sheep fur for three breaths. Jagged, obsidian knife from horned, tailed red man for kiss.
He needs none of these things, could buy or steal or make them hand it all over, but where is fun in that? Not to mention that it is most unkind and rude. And in the end, everybody must afford some useless fancies.
Soon ( in four hours, but what is that to one who counts his age by centuries) night end, and dawn will come, and demons will go as dance ends. So it shall be finished as it has started.
Hao danced, rough music filling every bit of his being, dances like onmyoji and peasant, like Patch and fox, like demon and noble, like ghost and oni, like god and fey. Dances, swirls, moves, runs, flies, there is nothing but stones under him and air around him and rough music over and inside his soul. Dances, right in heart of bonfire.
He won't burn. This much he knows to be true, constant of half his life. He knows ways to walk through flame and not burn, but this isn't his doing. Hao is beloved by Spirit of Fire, in same way Hao loves Spirit of Fire. As sailor loves sea and tree Sun, as priest loves deity and slave freedom. Kind of deep, transcending love you dedicate your existence to, kind of love that shapes your fate and becomes your goal. He doesn't have to read his spirit's mind ( and gratefully he can't- not even his reishi can breach mind of something old as time and powerful as world, something born from Great Spirits themselves, mind of very fundamental force of nature, of thing gods and stars claim descent from, and that is surely reason why Hao loves him so much) to know that his loyalty is as bottomless as his hunger, his respect as endless as his greed for souls and fuel, that nothing of flame and heat and light will ever, ever harm hair on head of Hao Asakura.
He feels flames lick his skin, ashes cover his feet ( he can feel heat, but it has been too long since any sort of heat, even that of grandest star and hottest Hellfire, would bother him. He likes to feel it's might, and it isn't even a pain to him anymore) as he dances, mighty and terrible, as demons form circle around him. They all screech to sky and sing as rough music goes faster and faster, as darkness and blood leave Hao's body.
Oni won't attack him, for they know he can best easily all of them ( he was forced to make them and he will gleefully end them if he chooses to ). Won't attack him for this is demon dance, and it is against rough music to fight during dance ( spar yes, little violent orgy of course, brawl definitely, but no true fight is allowed). Won't attack him for they are small things that hold no grudge against their creator as naka-oni and oh-oni. Won't attack him, for all small demons and imps worship ground he walks on and must obey him ( they defended and kept him safe when he was child, fed and clothed him when he was starved and nude, fought and stole and killed for his sake, and this much he owes them). Won't attack him, for they see that he is fire's beloved, and that shall they stand against him, not even ashes will remain from their souls. So instead they rise and form column of black and red round him, and when Sun breaks through, flee with night along with other demons.
Music ends, and were any to gaze upon top of mountain, either human or shaman, all they would see would be lone boy dancing among ashes.
Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed and please review!