I DO NOT OWN YURI! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH
I HAVE NO BETA!
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Thank you!
A revised version is out, called "Submerged."
There's relief that spreads through Victor, like wildfire rivaling against the freezing cold that hangs in the air around him and with the snow that surrounds his feet in unorganized splendor. Japan isn't as bad as Russia could be in the worst of circumstances, but it is no doubt chillier than it had been when he first arrived all those months ago. A natural phenomenon that Victor is glad wasn't affected with everything else that the virus brought.
Victor's senses awaken with the cold, and he can almost believe everything he had done to get here was a dream, driven in an unconscious haze that had him floating through every moment after cutting down that first so called enemy in the most recent Tournament, only shaking out of the stupor a handful of times.
He really decided this, really executed it. The information finally clicks and with it comes freedom lightening his chest and bringing a tingle to his fingertips. The buzz in his mind brings a spring to his already carefree gait, only slowed down by the snow on the pavement, and with it he navigates his way through the streets towards Japan's army base, few minor setbacks along the way.
When he reaches the front of the structure, his actions and their meanings become surreal.
Would he even be capable to do what he wants? Would his actions have a positive branching point for more to come, letting him have something that he chose instead of decided for him after all these years?
Yakov certainly let him know of the danger of his actions, yelling at him and trying to persuade him otherwise. Even when Victor had showed no indication of changing his course of direction, his coach had resorted to something akin to begging, though it was softer and masked behind weary annoyance, and for once he expressed a different side of his personality.
Yuri hadn't liked the idea either; attacking Victor with his twin sabres and harsh words with all the annoyance and aggressive energy that his small frame held within, which Victor had carefully avoided without engaging in the conflict. The situation had gotten out of hand when Yuri threatened to cut his arms off, only stopping when Mila had intervened, though Yuri didn't give up his fight so easily.
Georgi was another matter entirely, not reacting outside of his heavy sobbing and sharp wheezes while he hugged his camera that no doubt had a collection of Anya and him kissing, as they had often done. The sight was damaging to Victor's resolve to leave, made him want to stay and comfort his friend, but he's not one to do as such without being painfully blunt and truthful, which apparently is not how one should be in those types of emotional situations.
The only one to have any semblance of understanding for his reasoning was Mila, but that was only after she had stopped Yuri from trying to kill him, sending the teenager away in order to also attempt to talk "reason" into Victor's "irrational" decisions. She had still told him reasons, but they became weak after she saw his desire for freedom from his constant routine that he had not explained in so many words; implied explanations that she caught onto, spoken through the way her eyes widened in an expression of realization. She had wished him good luck regardless of her continued worries and those were the last words he heard from his squad before he boarded the helicopter.
They were moments he would hold close to his heart; to remember his past he left behind for however long he thought was enough.
The final idea was in the spur of the moment, barely thought out which should have Victor second-guessing himself, but instead he feels at peace with his mind. Surprises are really something he's missed and he is all too happy to indulge them.
His ill-conceived plan proves to be useless, as days, weeks, go by and he has yet to find anything that could mean anything to him. He's heard a lot of stories in his stay but to him nothing really pieces together or even sounds promising to lead him forward in his search, keeping him in the same place he was when he first left Japan.
His questions aren't as indirect as they were when he was asking around before, and yet the information he receives is as useless to him as the older rumors.
Another person walks away from retelling a tale he has already heard, taking with them time he feels he's running out of. It's truly frustrating how repetitive everything is becoming, like a new routine he is living, only more annoying than the last one because he had hope that something would change and it didn't seem so far away a while ago.
With little for his mind to be distracted with, beside the continuous training and searching, it's become hard not to listen to his demon for long periods of time, talking to them more than he used to and it's slowly becoming as easy as swinging his sword, something he had once hoped never would happen.
"This is a waste of time," a voice in his head whispers, "just let me out and I can find them for you." Temptation distantly buzzes, echoing into every inch of his mind.
"I refuse, Tusya," Victor automatically replies, voice less harsh and commanding as it once might have been. He finally finds a nearby bench for a small break in his search, which he gratefully takes advantage of. It's almost ridiculous how many people he's talked to, and even more so for how many he's listened to. His Japanese is a little rough around the edges, but people seem to be accommodating to someone who is somewhat of a legend of their time, and he's almost glad for his title, if it's helping him this far, even if it's a slow wait. He doesn't know what he would have done if people didn't give him their time.
Probably return to Russia with nothing to show for his disappearance, except for weary apologizes and preparations for a young teen's vengeance.
One good thing about the wait, he has to admit, is the view. While it is ransacked and looks as though a tornado had passed through a long time ago, the people have made the most of the remains. The presentation is still well kept and Victor can tell that they appreciate the remnants of their old culture, an act that in itself is admirable.
"Ano," a voice questions from behind him, hesitant and quiet, like they're wondering if what they're doing is the right thing to do.
Victor turns around and he sees there's a young man with dark grey eyes that complement his tan skin and raven black hair. When the man fully sees Victor's face his expression turns from contemplating to confused shock in a matter of seconds, pulling back a little as though seeing Victor is unbelievable and they need the extra space to come to terms with the fact of Victor's presence.
If it's the matter of Victor's appearance, Victor briefly wonders what the other was expecting from a person with silver hair. There can't be many in Japan with such a hair colour, can there? He certainly hasn't seen anyone of the sort, other than himself.
The man quickly turns to look over his shoulder and shouts something in Japanese to a young woman that looks vaguely familiar. Victor translates his words to something similar to "thought" and "lying" accompanied with Victor's name, turning Victor's assumption into truth.
The other looks at him once again and it takes a second for Victor to piece together why both the woman and man look familiar, bringing about thoughts of swords clashing and a scream of excitement when the blades came to a standstill. Suddenly the reason for his being in Japan doesn't seem so far away and ridiculous.
In his excitement Victor misses what the other is saying to him, the language sounding like a flowing string of noises that piece together in a way that leaves Victor's already inconsistent mind reeling.
"Gomen ne, wakarimasen." Victor tries to communicate his confusion, tongue tripping over his own words in its wake and most likely killing any meaning it could have had.
Realization dawns the other's countenance, "Gomen, gomen. Uh, do you speak English?" They change their language easily, apparently fluent, and Victor suddenly feels grateful that he had to learn English when he was younger in order to speak with most other people during competitions.
"Yes." Victor replies, accent not so heavily laced around the word as it used to be when he first started learning English, but still there nonetheless.
Relief is conveyed through the way the man's shoulders sag and how they let out a breath as if they were holding their breath in anticipation, Victor has to agree as he feels the same emotion but for a different reason.
The path to the change he was looking for seems to have found him instead.
In a town of lost souls, there are a lot of things to help them find a more balanced footing, and while Yuuri has never really been good with communicating with others and have it come out consistent and not on the border of planning his escape, he has always wanted to be useful to their chances of survival. He's had many small jobs, so to say: running around doing small errands, protecting the unlucky few who had run ins with a horsemen of the apocalypse, and if times called for it, he would defeat a straggler vampire that was hell bent on turning them into their livestock.
At times the actions can become tedious, especially when he has to choose between which to take care of first; how is one supposed to choose the more dangerous problem to attack if they both are likely to cause lives to be lost? It's troubling, and he hates being put into that position where his choice could prevent someone from dying or cause the opposite to come true, but thankfully there aren't many of those mind tearing moments with Takeshi there to help when he can.
Takeshi might not have as high rank of a sword as his wife, only an enchanted weapon because he had refused anything too strenuous, though he could have aimed for something much higher, but he was useful in combat nonetheless, and the support only doubled Yuuri's efforts when he is reminded that he has people to back him up when need be.
Of course, the times with Takeshi are limited, as he has three triplets to take care of while Yuuko is in the city doing a few final things that need to be done before the government can finally recognize her as retired, and while Takeshi is a huge support, Yuuri can't deny that he hopes Yuuko finishes soon so they can talk a few things over.
After spending so much time in Hasetsu Yuuri has had many thoughts about his career, the majority of which contradict each other and he has recognized early on that he needs an outside source that can help direct his path with an objective mind, and while Takeshi or Mari would be good in objective decisions, he hasn't told either of them the reason for his return. The implications of explaining and what it entails about his mental stability fractures any amount of resolve he could once have.
His katana is almost weightless in physical form, but the energy that surges into his fingertips and palms every time he so much as hovers over it demands every ounce of his control and attention, pulls his entire being to crave its power. That kind of temptation for a human is dangerous, and he's been living with it in his head for years. How he has done as such has him amazed yet terrified of his own capabilities.
Could he continue to live with this in him? To have it lingering in the back of his mind while he tries to lie to himself in the fallacy of peace and contentment, power growing with the need for its presence to be unleashed every moment of breath he steals from the world, until all he can do is collapse under the power of his contract. He can already feel the need for violence clawing through his veins, the gnawing ache in his heart pulsing for the sadistic pleasure of causing pain to others, burning him up and only spreading. How much longer will it take until he can't hold back what his demon desires?
Yuuri could stare into his katana for days and lose himself in its whispers that only he can hear and not notice until someone pulls him away, if they ever could. What he worries about is how long he would actually be looking at the blade and what his demon would be doing in control.
Possession is a dangerous ability of certain demon weapons, corrupting like a dial on the stove, able to turn higher or lower in intensity except there is no off setting besides deterioration into a memory of abandonment. It's horrible and addicting, and a power that some would call an honor to possess.
To control such power one must have great stability of the body and mind, and to an extent the heart, but to wield it with the constant knowledge of death at his fingertips tears into his anxiety like it's a present waiting to be undone. And while he hates having the ability, the only way to keep it under his weak command is to continue his training, no matter how tedious and how much resentment he sometimes feels towards his contract that's been binding him for years.
Yuuri practices every afternoon in front of the rundown building of Hasetsu's Ninja House, a once favored tourist attraction and a part of Hatsetsu's pride, but now it stands as one of the last remaining connections to their history, a time monument restored and eroded with all the events of the town.
It was fitting for Yuuri, to be nearby something old and nearly forgotten brought a faint feeling of peace to his mind, and he could practice his swordplay with barely any on lookers. The people usually left him alone when his demon weapon was out, probably afraid and suspicious of his mind set, for being a soldier may be an honorable rank in today's society, but that doesn't deter the fact that they kill in order to protect what they hold dear, take lives in order to save another, and that truth causes a divide between the civilians and the warriors, whether people mean to or not.
The separation of their places in society is a dangerous thing to tamper with, and Yuuri tries to remain as partial to his roots as he can. Though putting on casual clothes and wearing glasses that he no longer has any reason to wear may be a temporary and false way to look approachable, the moment his sword is out of its sheath his neighbors and friends treat him like a vampire in disguise.
Yuuri doesn't dare wear that kind of deception when he trains, always keeping his soldier skills as far apart from his common persona, though it does little for the people that know him well enough, and the few strangers who treat him normally when dressed like them, are either too young to tell the difference or actually able to tell that he means them no harm if he can help it.
He's in the middle of unleashing a small piece of his demon's power in order to practice some more strenuous activities when his demon's growing influence detects oncoming people. People with a demon weapon of seemingly class one and there's a faint hint of another weapon of weaker presence than the first. The threat has Yuuri tense with the first race of adrenaline heating up under his ribs and traveling rapidly into his head, already preparing for a fight to take place in his self-proclaimed sanctuary.
Yuuri is reminded of that moment months ago where he was in a similar position, lost in his self-deprecating thoughts and weak from his lack of will. The situation was confusing and Yuuri's demon demands the need to not be ambushed again, and luckily this time they're both aware of their arrival.
They're already close and briefly Yuuri wishes he had let his demon out sooner so he could have detected them when they were a safer distance away. Even if they mean no harm, the possibility drives him into action, rolling forward, farther away from the intruders that are coming from behind him and quickly twisting his body so he's knelt facing them, sword out and poised in the direction of their presence.
Silver and brown hair are the first most noticeable aspects of the two people in front of him, the next being a striking pair of bright blue eyes that bore into Yuuri's, making it nearly impossible to recognize his childhood friend standing a little way behind the man that's fully captured Yuuri's attention, like every other time they're so much as mentioned.
A large familiar poodle is being held back in the man's arms, no doubt protecting the animal from Yuuri's defensive reaction and it brings a grateful and horrified spark to course through Yuuri at the knowledge that the accidental death that he would have brought was avoided.
Victor Nikiforov's impressed whistle that Yuuri's display had elicited has Yuuri's mind going haywire into confusion and shock, too many thoughts racing through his head that he can't feel anything but the heat of his nerves making his mind shrink into an apprehensive panic.
This is so much worse than the past surprise that he felt when the Russian Yuri had knocked Yuuri's sword out of his weak hand and declared him incompetent. At that time he had been mildly upset at the strange greeting but had accepted the words that he had been hearing for years, plus some other statement of challenge that had gone along with it, but this time is different. Yuuri is in his home town, had left his career in a temporary standstill to figure out his future, and the last time he had seen Victor Nikiforov it had been at one of the lowest points of his life, only pushing him down further until he was deep in the black hole of unworthiness.
Yuuri doesn't drop his sword from its elevation, too much tension keeping anything from falling, and while he is in a position of defense, his mind too far away for him to ever act if the need ever arises.
His head is so distractively numb that he almost doesn't comprehend the words that Yuuko is suddenly saying in English.
"Victor this is Katsuki Yuuri. Yuuri, Victor." Yuuri faintly recognizes the way she doesn't properly introduce Victor, no doubt taking great pleasure out of that fact. Now that Yuuri takes a momentary glance in her direction he can tell she's a mix between uncomfortable and ecstatic, and mixed with it is the tiniest bit of protectiveness in the way her hand is firmly grasped on her sword, but other than that she is practically bouncing in place as a less than casual onlooker.
Yuuri has no idea what is happening and yet Yuuko looks as though she can barely stay in one place, a fine recreation of when she was about to tell Yuuri she was pregnant with triplets, though nothing could rival her excitement of that moment, this comes pretty close.
"Yuuri Katsuki." Victor says, he seems to be trying it out and while it sounds similar to how he had heard Victor say towards his Russian counterpart, the "u" is more drawn out and the mere knowledge that his idol is saying his name and referring to him, Yuuri feels a strange warmth pierce through his heart like a piece being placed where it belongs. Yuuri doesn't know if he likes it or not, but he does understand that it would take forever to ever get used to it, if he ever got the chance.
Yuuri opens his mouth, preparing to say a mild greeting that wouldn't elicit as much as he wants to know: the admiration, the resentment that he had felt from a minor meeting, and the burning need to stand on the same level as the other, but he can't because his throat feels as though it's been scratched dry from how long he's had his jaw dropped in shock. He forces himself to close his mouth and resorts to a weak head nod to convey his lukewarm response.
A smile takes place on Victor's face and it's nearly all it takes for Yuuri to want to self-combust in embarrassment for this to be the way for them to "properly meet."
The reality of his action has rational thought spring back to life; why is Victor Nikiforov in Japan, or to a more specific location, Hasetsu? Why is he staring at Yuuri with his eyes shining in something Yuuri can't pinpoint in his state of shock? And why is Yuuko just standing there in what Yuuri assumes is anticipation?
He desperately wants to ask for clarification, but the words are harder for him to formulate, especially in English. Even if he is fluent in the language, opposed to translating it takes a lot more for him to piece together something with any meaning.
It doesn't seem he'll be able to though, as Victor opens his mouth before Yuuri can humiliate himself further. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri. I'm Victor Nikiforov of the Russian demon army." Unneeded details as Yuuri already knows those pieces of information, but he would never dare interrupt someone for saying something that doesn't need to be corrected.
The pause has Yuuri scavenging for words and he forces himself to reply, "What are you doing here?" his voice is scratchy and incredulous and it does not formulate what he would have wanted to say if he was given a second chance.
The sentence doesn't really seem to affect Victor besides the slight straightening of his stance as if he's just been stunned out of his reverie and with it, the shine of his eyes are almost completely covered by determination, though the initial shimmer still remains.
"Starting today I'm going to be your new coach." Victor says, followed by a sharp cut off syllable for the start of another sentence, like he was going to say something else, but instead had decided against it, and what he could have been about to say Yuuri couldn't guess, shocked once more into silence.
This time, his sword really did fall from his grip.
A/N:
Greetings! So, I think starting from now on the story will only be in Yuuri's POV unless the situation calls for it, does that sound okay?
Also, it might be a while till the next update. The next chapter seems to be a longer one and I haven't yet really started it as opposed to previously, also with school kicking back up and with life looking like something not so happy will take place, I can only assume that it will be a while until I get the time to post the next chapter.
I will try my best to do what I can before the storm hits but only time will tell, won't it?
Thank you for all your time and I hope you've been enjoying the story so far.
I'd love to hear feedback!
