Disclaimer: I do not own Soul-Eater. If I did…Kid wouldn't have been ignored in a book for sooooooo long. And Shinigami would've found a way to detach his soul from the city already.
AN: First Drabble for Soul Eater, figured what the hey! This drabble has floated around my head since the start and actually gained some clout recently. Because honestly, why work soooo hard to make a human INTO a Kishin when you can just taint a young God into Chaos? XDDD
CONTAMINATION:
Order. Symmetry. Perfection.
Attainable. Within his grasp. Oh he knows it won't be easy, but it's worth it. And at the end it will be so satisfying.
Shadows lengthen, reach—piercing through flesh and bone. Tearing through sinew like tissue paper.
Blood splatters, the stain spreading slowly, filling the crevices of the pavement. With enough of it, each crack will be filled. Fixed.
The moon smiles at his handiwork—he grins back. Clearly IT at least appreciates the beauty here. IT understands the irrefutable truth.
Blood pools at his feet. One day soon he'll be wading in it. And when he does he'll know the end is near—the realization of his dream.
Once everything is soaked in it, the world will be born anew. In darkness, the entire world was flawless. So he'll help it along.
Life craves order. Death preserves it. Chaos will pave the way. The World must be purified before it can be organized properly.
Another meaty slop hits the ground. Fingers twitch. One last spasm.
Filthy humans…such imperfect beings who breed more imperfect beings without shame or pause. Disgraceful, vile things. Self-serving creatures with no sense of anything beyond their own desires. Fearful, ignorant, and arrogant…
Such insects…daring to get in his way…as if they could defeat him…
Didn't they know he served a higher purpose? That he was doing this for all of them? The greater good was at stake. If they couldn't equalize matters, he'd remove the option. He'd fix it, no different than a crooked frame. The world had tilted, he'd right it again.
As a young death god should. Death was his name, his talent, his purpose. A god of death; it's only natural that he should be soaked in blood. The fact that's he drenched from head to toe, ever so evenly, makes him smile.
All necessary to gain true Order.
A familiar soul resonance has him turning around. One he knows perhaps even better than his own. They lock eyes.
"Chichiue-sama" the child smiles, his amber orbs glowing in anticipation and unbridled enthusiasm.
The mask's eyes look upon him sadly—wearily taking in his wretched state.
The voice remains the same. The inflections familiar, if a tad more cheerful than usual.
The stride is the same. Well-measured. Precise. His posture perfect. And why shouldn't it be? He helped teach that sense of coordination. Their race HAD to have a sense of balance…in all things…
He knows that smile. Has known it since the start of the child's existence.
He could almost delude himself…ignore the details…
The tattered clothing…the way his shoes squish, as he moves towards him…the blood dripping down his face…the pungent smell of slaughter lingering on him…little details…little details that meant everything…little details that exposed a fall from grace.
It's tempting…to turn around and speed away…leave this for yet another dark night…
He sighs, glancing at the latest victim…or rather…what's left…
Shredded flesh and entrails…
Violent…
Messy…it keeps getting messier…each body they've found…and linked to him…
One would think after a lifetime of habitual OCD regarding orderliness and sanitation, he could at least kill in a more cleanly fashion…
But he knows why…that wavelength says it all…Kidd has no control now…he supposes on some level…he should be grateful the child remembers his name at all…no one else has been privy to that privilege.
If he could remove his anguish, maybe he'd feel honored. Instead, it sickens him. Why? Why does he have to be remembered? If only they could be strangers…maybe the shame would lessen…
The child continues smiling fixedly, eyes unblinking.
Still, he notes detachedly, it's rather nice seeing his child smile even in so gruesome a scene as this.
So often his occupation kept him away, that their time together was often short and concise. A myriad of conversations more than memories.
If they spoke, it was for missions or Shibusen or Martial Arts or about Kishin in general:
If they spoke, it was often to send Kidd away to some far-off perilous place because Shinigami himself couldn't attend to it…and no one else was…powerful enough…no one else was…inhuman…
It was one of those awful sorts of contradictions that made him despise it all: being a deity willfully sending his child towards those with murderous intent.
Rendering Kidd as something to be written off, insignificant when he was anything but…
Waiting anxiously by his mirror, with nothing to comfort him but the assurance that Kidd was strong…
The Death Scythes all murmured it back and forward to one another. As well as the Meisters…every student and citizen of Death City knew Kidd was a force to be reckoned with.
Ever confident in his abilities, convinced that he'd always return, that he was infallible, invincible.
And Shinigami always…despised them for that.
He tries to swallow his resentment back down, no reason to spoil this prematurely; every moment between them was a precious one…even evil ones…
"Chichiue-sama, we'll make the world a better place. We just have to destroy it first. Isn't it clever?"
Did Chichiue see? The boy waits with baited breath—hardly able to contain himself. He wonders if Chichiue already knew, but wanted him to figure it out on his own. Chichiue does like to indulge him… Maybe Chichiue knew all along what he's just learned…everything before now was a test…a performance…a game…
Reapers of death always enjoyed games.
His smile widens, because he's won! He's learned the truth! Won't Chichiue be thrilled!?
While eight is still a beautiful number, and candles of equal height aesthetically pleasing—he knows how superfluous those niceties are now! He's identified the real problems…and he's solving them…one-at-a-time…sometimes more when they congregate so neatly together.
Because he knows now:
THEIR ORDER IS INCONSTANT.
WITH UNRELIABLE RULES THAT FAIL.
INCONSISTANT WITH WHAT OCCURS IN NATURE.
ORDER IS RELATIVE.
NATURE DICTATES ORDER THROUGH CHAOS.
CHAOS IS TRUE ORDER.
CHAOS SAVES THE WORLD BY LEVELLING IT.
RETURNING IT TO ITS TRUEST FORM—ABYSS.
"Very clever" his honorable father agrees solemnly.
The child grins contently, pleased with his achievement—it's rare; impressing one who's existed as long as his father has.
Their mission is clear: Destruction Renders Purification.
"Then you agree, and shall aid me?" The gold eyes shine—wide with madness and bloodlust and delight. An inhuman sense of cruelty and amusement…
So dangerous…
So lethal…
Too treacherous to allow…
"I shall."
I shall, Son.
Shinigami readjusts his grip on his Death Scythe. Privately grieving as he prepares to restore the balance.
He'll shoulder this sin, for the contemptible sake of order...
R & R Please ^-^