Sorry we're a few days behind schedule on this chapter. It took not only a long time to write, but it took quite a while to scour through and edit. Apologies, everyone! Enjoy the chapter! This is very long and, due to graphic gore imagery and language, this chapter is NOT intended for younger readers. - Wolf
Jesus, Wolf…. Your chapter is over 9,00-- …
IT'S OVER 9,000!!!!! [words]
Sorry I had to. Anyway, Enjoy People!
-Sporkie
Chapter 10: In desperate need of a drink
While the loving Deathscythe laid in his hotel room, reminiscing on his past memories with the young guillotine weapon, a different sort of play was unfurling. On the outskirts of a all but ghostly town that had survived on the still tried and true jobs of mining and harvesting wood, there lay an expansive mass of woods. Nestled within the clustering mass of overgrown ivy, wayward trees and straggly bushes was an abandoned warehouse.
In it's prime the building had been used for mining and lumber yard work. It's sheer archaic brilliance in design made it not only a homely piece of building but quite a inviting and warm one. Now it looked all but ghastly with what the years of abandonment, misuse and the never ending whiplash of nature's own corrosion. It was cracked in some areas, the once white pristine exterior of the cement now soured and yellowed with age. Long tendrils of tangled ivy snaked and crept their way along the sides of the building and, one could almost say, they looked like gnarled, menacing green arms that were reaching out to grab the building and pull it back down to hell.
Overall, this description of the misused, abused and quite intimidating building that cast it's looming shadow down upon the forest would be correct save for that, for the first time in a two centuries or so, it was in use. It's new occupying guest's intentions were not that of creation, but of destruction.
Deep within the almost catacomb exterior of the lower basement of the building rested a room. Within that said room lounged a very disgruntled, very bored and extremely hung over heretic.
Giriko Sou couldn't understand why he had been sent on this duty. As he lay there, his tall and gangly form sprawled on (almost to the point he was halfway in sliding off) a torn and musty couch, he tried running through his head the possible reasons why that blasted Kishin, Asura, was torturing him so.
The man needed a drink. He needed to be alone. He hated being around anyone when he had been on a drinking binge the previous night before. When waking up from a whiskey hangover, the only thing he wanted to do was drown himself more with whiskey, beer, schnapps-- anything in order to completely wipe his memory clean and lubricate him, making him feel good from head to toe.
The saw weapon had always been a picky man. He had loved drinking, unleashing his anger on the world and feeling dominate over everyone else. It had always been his trademark to be holed up in some bar, a bottle of beer sticking out of his mouth as he proceeded to beat the living daylights out of some poor thug that had looked at him the wrong way. He had loved these elements that sculpted and made his life, but with every list of likes came a definitive list of dislikes.
The man abhorred old ladies, rules, formal occasions and the idiots running around Shibusen. He had hated Mosquito ("that ass kissing old geezer of a Butler"). Most importantly, though, he absolutely despised the idea of an organized religion of any sort. Waking from a heavy hitting hangover, he just as much as he despised religion as much as he loathed that idiotic dog of a Priest, Justin Law.
Above all, however, he loathed kids.
"Mweister Gwiriko?"
Giriko, even with his eyes closed as he lounged back on that sofa, could imagine the snot nosed brat standing right beside him. He could imagine those blank bright blue eyes of the boy and it more than all reminded the heretic about that damnable Priest. He clenched his sharpened teeth and a vein twitched in his temple. Why he had to be reminded of that annoying clergyman, he hadn't a clue. He'd rather forget about the young man, or kill him just to make him vanish from his life, forever.
He tried rolling over on his back, but he soon felt the pokes and prods of the boy's small fingers. Grinding his teeth against each other, he inwardly flinched as another wave of nausea surged upwards, chasing after his migraine. He had to remember to graciously murder the Kishin in thanks for his babysitting job for today.
A tiny sigh escaped the boy's lips and he squared his shoulders, determined to get the man up. With a sharp prod to the nape of Giriko's neck he had succeeded in making the man's muscles spaz in reaction, causing the heretic to jerk and sit up.
Snarling viciously, Giriko whirled back around and, perching on the edge of the couch, he grabbed the boy by the arms. Tightly squeezing, he hoped his anger would cut off the child's circulation. Shoving his face right into the boy's, he spat out, "what the hell do you want? Can't you see I'm trying to take a goddamn nap over here!?"
The boy, almost un-phased with the man's tantrum, blinked in response. He wasn't showing fear, and this infuriated the heretic even more. Sure enough, that physics defying miracle of a child ( the one oddly born from two men) truly did take after his fathers.
Shaking with rage, the saw weapon's face slowly turned a flustered red. Staring into those emotionless eyes of the boy wasn't scaring him, but it was bringing back old memories of a different time, different place. "Well?!"
Innocently pouting, the child sighed. Crossing his tiny arms over his chest, he looked up at the threating older weapon. "I'm bwored, mweister Gwiriko.
God, how he hated hangovers and kids. He was in desperate need of a drink, right now.
Groaning, the man held his head for a moment. He had to think. He knew he had to occupy the child's time, and he knew his duties for today was only fair; yesterday the boy had been Asura's constant company. He knew the Demon God dumping this anxious and curious bundle of everlasting energy was only payback for him yesterday shoving the boy into the Kishin's care in the first place.
Watching the heretic lapse into a mulling silence, Jordon Albarn let out another sigh. He was now on the verge of tears thanks to his boredom. Looking around, his tiny hands clasped together, he examined the room.
From the early hours of the morning he must have been shoved in this room. Waking a few hours later, he noticed that the saw weapon was residing in the same room. This, of course, gave him someone to talk to and, being such a social little bug that he was, he had wanted to wake the man up.
The room had seen better days. Apparently used for Giriko's drinking binges, there were obvious signs of pent up anger being released in the past. There were long gouges and cuts had been dug into the wall until, in areas, chunks of the plaster had been ripped away; broken chairs with the forms smashed, so the splintered wood was heaped in piles; shards of twinkling glass from broken and smashed beer bottles that coated the ground, giving the illusion of freshly fallen snow.
The walls were barren and, in a way, it gave off that tarnished look of some insane asylum from some sort of cheesy horror movie. Besides for that one lone torn up sofa that Giriko was using, there was only a musty and moth eaten rug (that lay under a wobbly, gnarled table) and a cot that the boy had been using as his own little bed.
Climbing up on the sofa, Jordon felt the springs underneath the fabric pop a little. Adjusting himself so he sat right beside the weapon, he swung his legs back and forth over the edge so his heels hit the furniture. "I wanna do swomewhing wid yew, mwiester Gwiriko!"
Still holding his head, he spread his fingers a bit so they uncovered his glaring eye. That child was really getting on his last nerves. "What the hell do you mean, runt?"
Looking up at the man, he flashed a toothy grin. Pausing through giggles, he managed to squeak out, "I wanna pwray wit yew!"
Twitching with anger at those words, Giriko's eyes almost bugged out. He flailed, sputtering out an angered barrage of swear words. That son of the Priest was stupid enough to ask him if he wanted to pray?! The very thought boiled his blood and he had to restrain himself from slapping the child along the mouth or, worse, just killing him to end the annoying situation so he could fall back asleep.
Poked and prodded with Jordon's little fingers once again, he had to swat the boy's hand away in order to keep his shoulder from getting sore. "Stop that!" He snapped, spitting out his words like acid. "There is no way in hell that I'm going to pray to some stupid God! Not yours, not your idiotic dad's God-- no one's!"
Withdrawing his fingers and hands from pushing and poking Giriko, a look of resentment flashed over the boy's pouting face. What the man had said wasn't just mean towards his daddies and their choice of religion, but he was also given an answer to something he hadn't even asked for.
"No," Jordon said with a quivering lip. He was almost wailing by now. Big fat tears were starting to form, and he sniffled thickly. "I wanna pwray wid yew! Pwray, pwray...!"
"Jesus," Giriko hissed, seeing the boy start to cry. He looked away, his mouth straightened into a ticked off line. Hangover? Check. Kid? Check. Kid about to scream and wail and thus make his headache an incarnation of purgatory? Double check.
"I wanna pwray house oor dwrinos wid yew!"
A light bulb finally switched on in the dazed and alcohol drugged heretic's mind. He wasn't saying 'pray'! The boy, with his lack of basic control over his noun and word sounding made everything just sound wrong, incorrect. Since he wasn't saying 'praying', he had actually wanted to 'play' with him!
"Tch," Giriko grumbled, looking down at the shrimp that sat next to him on the sofa. "Ya mean 'play'. You wanna 'play' somethin', right?"
Vigorously nodding, Jordon sniffled. He quickly wiped his eyes with his arm, happy that the man had understood him after all. Perhaps he wasn't that stupid as he had seemed. After all, his Papa and Daddy knew exactly what he was saying at any given time.
"God," Giriko said, turning his head to direct his glare to the room instead. "You really need to work on speakin' correctly. I can't even understand ya. To me it's like you're talkin' some shitty--"
"Dun cwruse!"
Startled, Giriko blinked. Turning his head back to the kid he saw that the boy had stood up on the cushion and, stretching his arm up, was wagging a finger in his face. "Wha' the hell?"
A bit angrier, Jordon screwed his face rather comically into what he hoped was a scowl. He grabbed Giriko's wide hand and slapped it. It didn't hurt the man, but the action made him growl dangerously.
"What did you just do?" Snapped Giriko. He jerked his hand from the boy's grasp.
"Dwaddy and Pwapa always told mweh never to cwurse. Thwey said it was bwad an...an..." He paused, putting a small finger to his chin. Sitting back down, he continued to swing his legs back and forth. His face was a comical mock up of one who was deep in serious thought. "Thwey said... dat 'Kwamio-shama would bwe sad if we cwursed all thwe twiem.' "
Wrinkling his nose, Giriko just stared down at the child. In a way he pitied him. At such a young age, he could tell he was brainwashed by Shinigami-sama and his comical troupe. No doubt his loyal Deathscythe dad and equally loyal but religiously idiotic... other dad... decided to ingrain that love for the God into his mind at an early age.
Watching the boy, Giriko noticed how bright and curious the child was. Staring into those eyes, he was reminded of that blasted Priest but, at the same time, he saw an unmistakable intelligence and a need to know what was all around him. A smile spread across the heretic's cracked lips. Perhaps this kid isn't so bad, he thought to himself. After all, he had some balls slapping me like that. Jesus, I could easily rip him apart, and now I see this kid has no fear around me.
Startled at what he had just realized, Giriko felt his cheeks get hot with a sort of flush. This kid wasn't afraid of him. All this time- since he had awoken within his current living ancestor- Giriko Sou had realized that no one wanted to be around him. They were instantly frightened of him. He had always hated that about his form, before he had taken over. That young man in that comely Golem village had so many friends, and he always shone with a brilliant sort of friendly light. The second Giriko took over this man's body and used it as his own, all the man's past friends shirked from him, shying away until, one by one, they left him from sheer terror.
Perhaps this is why the man drowned himself in his ocean of whiskey night after night. Perhaps this is why he screamed, ranted, cursed and swore. Perhaps this man was building a defense, turning to the path of hatred to make up for the fact that he had found no one to understand him, let alone want to be around him.
That was, until now.
Glancing back down at the young boy, Giriko was surprised to see Jordon eagerly looking back up at him. Scowling, trying to mask his smile, he reached out and roughly ruffled his hair. "Yer not so bad, twerp."
Smiling, Jordon let out a little giggle. His fathers' stories about this terrifying 'heretic' seemed all wrong. How could this guy be 'evil' and 'dangerous'?
For a while, Giriko sat with Jordon, trying to figure the young child out. However, the silence was soon interrupted by a low, almost inaudible rumble of sorts. Jumping a little, startled, the chainsaw for a moment had thought the HQ had been found out and was under attack. One glance at Jordon, though, solved the problem.
The boy was looking down at his stomach.
A moment of dread washed over the man. He was an adult who had never dealt with kids for more than twenty seconds. He had no idea what kids liked to eat, let alone what they could eat. He gulped, forcing a watery smile out. "Hungry, twerp?"
Nodding, Jordon gazed up at the taller, older man. His blue eyes were pleading, and another low rumble was heard. "I'm vweary hwungrwy. I nwever hwad bweakfwast..."
Running a filthy hand through his scruffy crop of hair, the man sighed. What the hell was he to do? He had to find something for the kid to eat. Getting up, only pausing to crack his spine in a stretch, he ambled lazily on over to his growing pile of debris and garbage. Sticking a hand into the mess, he riffled through it until he produced a unopened bottle of beer.
Turning around, he held the bottle up by it's neck, tilting it ever so slightly so a dim shaft of light fell on it and illuminated the brown glass casing. "Ever have one of these for shits and giggles?"
Shaking his head with a fervor, the boy giggled. Continuing his pattern of swinging his legs back and forth, so his heels hit the couch, he flashed a boyish grin. "No, swilly! I cwan't dwink thwat. Dwaddy says it's bwad fer mweh, an' Pwapa says it mwakes you do thwings you regwess wawter on."
"'Regress'?" Blinking, remembering the boy's strange child-like lisp in his language, he realized the boy had meant 'regret'. He had to snicker, since it was so ironic his manlier father, Spirit, would be the one to say that considering all the times he had pounced upon a mass of wily females over his lifetime while plastered. "Oh, I see." Dropping the bottle back into the pile, he heard the resounding clink as it clunked against something blunt and hard. His gaze roving back around the room, he stood there at a loss. "Twerp... what do kids your age eat? You know, yer age group is so fuckin' hard to understand with what you like."
Opening his mouth, Jordon was about to speak but his voice died away in his throat. Only a strangled squeak of fear escaped him, and his eyes became large with terror. He backed up on the couch, cowering in the corner and practically clinging to the armrest.
Seeing the reaction, he waved his hand back and forth quickly. "W-What's wrong? Was it because I swore? Jesus, brat, you're going to have to-"
"It's not that," came a low, but silkily smooth voice from behind Giriko.
Instantly the man tensed up. He knew that voice all too well. He had heard it from the shadows of this godforsaken place. No matter where the heretic went, this man- no, creature was more like it- always seemed to stalk him from the back of his mind.
Looking over his shoulder, he scowled, watching Asura as he leaned against the wall. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought ya dumped the kid on me to get away from him, and here you're fuckin'--"
"Ah, ah," the Kishin silkily drawled, wagging his finger. "Language, my dear Giriko! You have to behave for the poor little child, lest you cause him to get depressed from the frantic swearing and screaming often heard coming from you." Pausing, he stuck out his tongue, licking the side of his lips daintily. "After all," he said, taking a dark pleasure into whispering his words so low that only the chainsaw could hear. "Human children have such fragile minds and bodies."
Spitting a wad of his distaste for the Kishin on the pile of garbage that was steadily accumulating, he stepped aside so the monster could approach Jordon. His gaze flickered over to the young child, and he felt an odd emotion. Watching that poor boy sob and tremble with the absolute grasp of fear made him hurt inside.
Wait, what? No! Giriko shook his head. He tried to block out his feelings with his thoughts. I am not feeling this-- I'm still drunk from the night before, and it's making me feel weird. I am not feeling pity for this damn byproduct of those two annoying-as-hell men!
Approaching the child, the Demon God cooed darkly. Reaching out with his hand, he stopped only a few inches away from him. He saw Jordon flinch upon sight of the bony, pale hand coming at him, and the boy cowered even more.
With big fat tears beginning to trickle down his face, Jordon let out a little frightened whimper. His large blue eyes darted from the morbidly gaunt Demon God to the heretic residing in the room, and he felt his mouth get dry from the fear that was grappling with his soul. "M—Mweister G—G-Gwiriko...!"
Hearing his name called out with the need to be held in a comforting hug, the independent chainsaw weapon couldn't deny that he felt his heart stop beating for a few seconds. Turning to face the back of the Kishin who was now towering over the boy, he snarled.
"Jordon," Asura continued to coo, his eyes gleaming menacingly. "Are you going to cooperate with me today? Or, do you want to go back into the 'cage' for some 'time out'?"
Hearing those words, Jordon let out a cry that ripped through the air. His tears flowed freely now, and his cheeks were flushed. He covered his eyes with his tiny hands, his shaking so violent that it almost seemed he was on the verge of having a seizure.
"H-Hey, now," Giriko growled, trying to mask his concern for the boy. "Don't fuckin' scare him to the point he has a goddamn heart attack!"
"Jordon," the Kishin hissed smoothly as he slapped down his hand on top of the boy's crop of messy red hair. He slowly dug his dirty fingernails into the crop of hair, his fingers raking against boy's scalp. He laughed, hearing the boy squeak with terror. "Little, little Jordon..."
Flushing a hue of red from the sheer embarrassment of being ignored, Giriko clenched his teeth, making them resemble more like the toothy maw of a chainsaw itself. Being who he was, he had quite a huge hubris; his ego was rather large, and he always had felt that he wanted to be the dominate ruler in his life. However, he had always despised being ignored, and that had always been what irked him the most about Jordon's 'daddy', Justin Law. Asura was doing the same thing to him as Justin had in the past, and his rage and defiance was building even more. He hate always hated his power getting punted about.
Puffing out his chest a little, crossing his arms in intimidation, he spat out a spiteful, "did ya even hear me!?"
Asura bent down, staring down at the top of the child's head. His eyes may have burned calmly, but his smile was twisted and diabolically maniac. He let two of his scarf tendrils to lift up off the floor, creeping to life. The rose like sleepy cobras, one poised on each side of the boy.
Seeing this, Giriko knew something was up. He took a few steps forward before he mentally stopped himself. He was a villain, not a good guy. He hated kids, not liked them. Therefor, him acting the way he currently was seemed so illogical.
With a flash of white linen, and a cry of surprise, Asura had struck.
Giriko had to gulp back the lump caught in his throat, hoping that he could push down his heart that had seemed to magically jump out of his chest. He stared on, gazing up at the child as Asura lifted him up, using his scarves as his extra pair of arms.
Held up by the arms, Jordon stared down at the God, sobbing and howling in his tormented anguish. He looked drained, weak and fragile. In one aspect, he looked as if he was pinned to an imaginary cross of fate, and Asura was attempting to break him down mentally.
Giriko blinked, his face draining of all color. He had known the Kishin could be cruel, but to a child this age? Then again, he knew that monster had bathed in so much of his mental fear that he had pretty much drowned in it, loosing all sense of right and wrong. To Asura, whether his enemies were a mere baby breathing in life for the first time or a decaying man, breathlessly taking in his final gulps of oxygen for the last time, all were his prey.
Watching the child like a panther in the shadows, ready to strike at a moment's notice, the Demon God let an invisible coil of madness slither out of him and seep into the child's mind. The boy, in response to this sludgy, poisonous mental assault of imagery started to thrash in panic.
"Now, now," the God chattered, his teeth flashing in a crazed, maniacal smirk. He let his head roll lazily to the side, his eyes never leaving his target. "Are you going to finally tell me where you parents are currently? Or, are we going to have to keep trying, every day, until you finally give in and tell or, well, break?"
The boy howled and shrieked, thrashing against his bonds as his mind was assaulted by the horridly pestilent imagery of Asura's insanity. At such a young age he was barely aware of what the word 'death' truly entailed. He tried to make sense of what was happening and, even though he may not have fully understood the imagery and horrendous scenes of carnage at it's primal climax as it whipped by his brain, he at least understood the concept that what he was witnessing was 'bad'.
People were dying in Jordon's mind. They were in pain, crying out for Jordon to help them. He saw the ruins of the place where Papa worked-- Shibusen, wasn't it? He saw chunks and pieces of the structure strewn about. A red liquid- much like paint- carpeted the pavement. He saw people scrunched up in pain, appearing as if they were sleeping...
"MWAKE IT STWOP!"
Asura merely cackled, swinging the boy back and forth from the two scarf tendrils that had latched onto his small little arms. He was enjoying this response, and he could see the boy's soul begin to waver and crack in panic.
Behind Jordon's shut eyes, he was seeing people he knew and liked on the ground, wailing in agony. He saw a few stuck on pole and broken pieces of the building's structure. Their clouded eyes were glazed over, and the same red liquid that was covering the ground was dribbling from their gaping, broken maws.
Giriko starting to grind his razor sharp teeth together, making them resemble nothing less than the grounding rows of a chainsaw's rotating blade. Asura was going way too far. At this point Jordon would suffer a failing heart. He could already sense a shift in Jordon's aura, and he could tell that the poor, fragile boy was beginning to falter.
The turmoil continued to brew within Jordon's mind. Stein-hakase was laying there, sprawled upon the cracked and broken shards of the school. He was coughing painfully, his eyes wild with pain and fear. His torso was ripped from his lower half, his entrails wrapped around his legs. The man was babbling nonsense as his body quickly went cold and numb. Beside him lay his weapon and often times savior, Marie-sensei. Her now ragged, dirty blond hair spilled about her, covering her half naked bosom. Chunks of her clothes had been ripped from her, tendrils of the material and cloth shredded about her like gauzy fallen wings of an angel. Her flesh was crimson, much like the fluid spilling out from Stein. What was this red stuff? What was it, what was it...?
Jordon started to become paralyzed with fear. His muscles froze up on him, and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream. His heart was thudding erratically, slamming against his ribcage like a terrified canary giving one last ditch attempt at freedom before it died.
The smoke was rising from the burning city. Raucous screams wavered in chorus, raking the air like gnarled claws upon a blackboard. Cries and gurgling coughs, it was all almost too much to handle. It had taken a little bit, but finally everything had hit Jordon where it hurt the most. The boy had, at least, learned what 'death' truly was.
People were hurt. People were bleeding. People were dying...
Asura could see the boy's soul begin to flicker, dulling in color. He was close to snuffing out that stubborn soul of the boy, and he knew it. His mouth began to salivate, and suddenly the idea of eating that pure soul of the still young, innocent and virgin child seemed so much more appealing then getting his plan underway. He began to bring the boy closer to him, letting his hot puffs of breath blast the young boy in the face.
Jordon screamed out in his mind. He fell to his knees, feeling the sticky blood splash up on him as he sat in that ever growing puddle. He reached out, grabbing onto a man's shredded suit jacket, the remaining material worn by the male darkened with splotched gore. Crawling even closer, his knees hidden beneath the crimson liquid, he flung himself to the two weakening bodies laying before him.
He snuggled up against the injured men, clinging to the closest one desperately. Tears streamed down his face as he pounded on the chest of the man he clung to. Jordon was hyperventilating, pleading for them to wake up. He tried to hug close to both of them, to feel their now fading body heat to just to prove that they were still okay and not dying.
"Asura!" Giriko growled dangerously. Enough was enough. He tried to suppress his feelings for the boy, but he had to play a fatherly figure for the innocent kid before he died. He knew he shouldn't care much about the strangely produced son of his fated enemy. He shouldn't care much about the son of a man he wanted more than ever to kill, just so he had the satisfying high of murder as he gazed down, cackling at the ravaged and mangled form of the priest.
The Demon God lazily looked over his shoulder, glaring at the chainsaw. He was annoyed that his fun time with his new toy- and possibly new meal- was being interrupted. He heavily sighed, his tone reflecting that he wasn't amused. "What is it, Sou?"
Jordon whimpered, pressing himself closer to the two men. He glanced up at the current one whom he was literally on top of, and he saw the haggard face of his Papa, Spirit. His body was literally soaked in blood, and everything below his waist had been ripped, or gnawed, off. There weren't any visible signs of where his legs were currently, but it was assured that he wouldn't live much longer- not with that much of a blood loss with or from the fact that his entire intestinal tract had been pulled from him . A red line wrapped around the man's neck, and Jordon could clearly see blood spurting and squelching from his slit jugular. He felt a spatter on his face, and he knew a goblet of blood had got him good. He sniffled thickly, looking towards his Papa's face one more time. The man's usually bright and lively emerald eyes were now gray; the light had already left them.
"Pwapa?" Jordon's voice was soft, scared and dripping with fearful tears.
Ever so slowly, Spirit turned his head and gave a pained, watery smile at his son. Even though his eyes were dead to the world, he still managed a small spark of love for his offspring to shimmer beneath the waves of his oncoming demise.
Spirit couldn't speak, thanks to his throat being slit. He wanted to tell his son he loved him. He wanted to reassure to his frightened child that everything was going to be okay. It was a parent's duty to always keep the morale of their children up, despite the situation being at it's worst.
"Pwapa," Jordon whimpered, laying his chin on Spirit's erratically rising and falling chest. He stared at his parent, his eyes misty with tears. "Yewer not gwunna leave mwe... rwight? Y—Yew said thwat, a long twime ago..."
Spirit's ghostly smiled faded with those words, and a trickle of blood began to creep down from his mouth. He opened it to say something, but another squelching squirt of blood from his jugular made his entire body involuntarily twitch and spaz.
Jordon gasped, suddenly in a panic. "P-Pwapa?"
Spirit was getting colder by the second. His gaze moved up towards the heavens, and he let out a soft expelling of his breath in a sigh.
"P—Pwapa! Pwapa!!" With his tiny shaking hand, Jordon began to shake Spirit's shoulder. He crawled up onto the man's chest, curling up into a fetal position, murmuring pleas for him to 'stop playing around' and to 'stop scaring me, it's not funny anymore'.
As Jordon lay on top of his Papa, he felt his lovable parent's wheezing breath slowly come to a stop. Crying out, he once again slammed his small fists against his Papa's now seemingly hallow chest. "Pwapa...Pwapa! Y-Yew....Yew awre leavin' mwe! Y...Yew CAN'T! Yew said..." Tears started to roll down his dirty, scuffed up cheeks. He saw his Papa slowly close his eyes, one last breath escaping him. "YEW SAID YEW NWEVER WOULD!"
"Will you fucking STOP already?!" Giriko snarled, taking a wrathful step towards the God. He pointed a grubby finger up at the boy, noting that tears were now streaming down his pallid face. "He's going through fucking mental seizures. Whatever the hell you're doing to him, he's going to die from traumatic shock."
"...And my problem is what, Giriko?" Asura replied coldly. He turned to face the man, his scarves still clasped around the boy as the madness began to effect his entire small body. "His parents might know we have their child, but they won't know if he's dead already. There's really no use to keep the boy living much longer."
"Geh," Giriko gulped, sucking in a breath. Asura had a point. Even if Jordon died right then and there, the parents would come to retrieve their beloved child. They'd still come into the trap and die. All three of them would be dead.
"Besides," Asura gave a satiny chortle, continuing with his previous rant. "He is the son of two famous Deathscythes. As far as I'm concerned, he should have been taught how to fight off madness. He's too soft, to easily broke." Curling his lip back into a sneer, he added. "He's a human meat sack, worthless to any cause to aid society since he can't fight off even the simplest waves of insanity."
"J-Jor---don..."
The boy quickly twitched from fear, looking over at his Daddy. He let out another cracked wail, shutting his eyes against the scene. He clung tighter to his now deceased Papa, wishing that this was all just a bad dream.
Justin laid there, a few feet away from Spirit, broken and battered. He laid flat on his back in the puddle of blood, his left arm limp against his side. The other arm, tragically, had been ripped from his body and flung off to the side. Blood was pooling out of his open wound, the stub of where his right arm once was.
Most of Justin's bones throughout his lanky body had been broken, and he was paralyzed from the chest on down. Trails of blood leaked down from the corners of his mouth, and with each breathless wheeze Jordon could hear his Daddy's lungs gurgle as they filled with blood, drowning the priest slowly from the inside. In fact, Jordon could see the lungs, along with his Daddy's entire respiratory system, pretty much failing his younger parent because, due to the cruel wiles of fate, his chest had been literally ripped into. His lungs and throbbing, slowing down heart were clearly visible to the young boy. His Daddy's ribs had been broken back, pulled out of his body a little. His chest cavity had been invaded, and it was now a bloody gaping hole-- a portal into the inside of a human.
"Get the fuck offa him," Giriko nearly screamed, "or he's going to DIE!" He was bristling with hatred, and he was on the brink of doing nearly anything- irrational or not- just to get that boy down and keep him safe. This, of course, even meant that the saw was willing to take down the Demon God himself.
Studying the heretic, Asura narrowed his eyes. His odd pupils (Giriko swore they resembled eyes) dilated, and he scowled deeply. Giriko's soul was flaring with rage, but why? Glancing back up at the child, now limp in his scarves, he connected the pieces of the puzzle together. Giriko Sou, the manic chainsaw who hated everything and everyone around him, had finally found some sort of purpose in his life. Instead of the constant will to destroy, he had actually wanted to protect the life of this hapless boy.
Now curious to study the relationship between the two, the Kishin realized that this bond may come to play the cards in his favor. If the independent weapon was growing attached to the boy, he wouldn't want to give him up easily. This would only fuel the man's wrath and paranoia against the parents, causing their plan to flow easier and assure an almost positive victory.
"Dwaddy," Jordon whispered hoarsely. He was afraid to let go of Spirit lest his Papa sit up, breathing and alive once again, claiming everything was alright. The boy was still in denial. Hugging his Papa's corpse in a death grip, all Jordon could do was watch his remaining guardian and parent die an agonizing death.
"Jor---do-a---hnrkk--"
Justin's remaining hand twitched seconds before the man heaved, a ball of mixed bile and blood spewing out of his mouth. It plastered his remaining garb. His priest robes were now bloodied and shredded beyond recognition. He looked like some fallen martyr from on high, his once holy life now dashed asunder to the earth's soil, far beneath his much sought after heaven. It was as if he had been an angel and had fallen down, his heaven blocking him out, and he now lay there immersed in his agonizing suffering.
Jordon screamed out, muffling his cries by burying his face in his Papa's ravaged clothes. He peeked out just enough to watch Justin's final moments. The boy priest was turning his head this way and that, trying to grab onto one final wisp of oxygen. He couldn't get a thing to flow into his damaged lungs, and , thusly, he was suffocating. He was drowning, and Justin could feel it. The bloodied vomit started to fill his mouth again, and he began choking on it. In sharp, painful hacks it spilled from his mouth, great globs dribbling down his chin.
Giriko saw the critical, examining look in the Kishin's eye. It made him uncomfortable, as if he was some specimen under this demon's petri dish. He got nervous, looking away. He knew he was acting like some mangy omega in a wolf pack by showing that the man before him was superior simply by not keeping eye contact with him, but he didn't care. He knew something was up. Asura only got that sadistic gleam in his eyes when he was up to something particularly sneaky.
"Fine," the Kishin drawled.
Silence rested in the room. Only the sounds of Jordon's faint breathless whimpers could be heard as he struggled to stay alive and fight the consuming madness.
Had Giriko heard correctly? Spitting a wad of clumpy saliva onto the floor, he warily glanced at the Demon God. "What do ya mean by 'fine'?"
"Just as you were wanting me to stop, I will."
"What's the fuckin' catch? There's always some goddamn catch when it comes to sealing one of your deals."
"Only one condition, Giriko."
Scrunching up his nose in disgust, he scoffed. Of course there was a condition. Giriko knew he wasn't going to save the child and rob Asura out of a meal and get off free. This beast was truly a devil, making deals on the life of a child such as this.
Justin's eyes rolled back, and all Jordon could see left in his Daddy was the shell of a parent he once held dear to, loved and respected. With one final choking heave for a breath, Justin let out a gurgling groan. Jordon watched as his Daddy's body went limp, one last river of blood snaking down his soiled mouth. His flesh was turning an ash color, with his spidery raised network of veins a icy blue thanks to the priest's cells being starved of oxygen.
His blue eyes as wide as saucers, Jordon's vision became misty with his grief. Throwing back his head he howled, his tears falling freely and with a fervor. Both of his parents were dead, and he hadn't a single clue as to why or what had killed them.
Suddenly he felt sick. He was scared to even be around his parent's deceased and ravaged forms. Bolting to his feet, he sloshed around in the now wider, and deeper, puddle of blood. The sticky fluid came up to his ankles, and he felt a new wave of terror clutch at him.
He glanced about him and shrieked out. It wasn't just the area around his parents flooded with blood. Oh, no-- the entire place was now seemingly an ocean of blood. He was standing in it, gazing out as far as he could to the horizon of the still burning city around him.
The torn and blasted buildings, the gnarled trees and metal skeletons of shops-- everything was dripping down blood as if Jordon was now in a desolate apocalyptic town filled with millions of miniature Niagara falls.
Whirling around he screamed for help. He cried out, his tiny voice raked with grief. It sounded tinny even to his ears, as if he was submerged under the now forming lake of blood. His voice sounded ghastly, and it held a creaking undertone much like the swinging of a door on rusted hinges. He wanted out of there. He wanted to find safety but, most of all... he wanted his parents back.
He tried to take another step, but he jerked back in a panic. He was rooted in place. Staring down at his legs, he found that he couldn't budge an inch despite nothing psychically holding him there. All he could see was a reflection in that crimson flood. Was something holding him down? Was it going to drag him under? He trembled, feverish tears streaming down his face.
At first he saw himself in his reflection on the surface of the blood. He saw his scared face, pale as the moon's rays lighting the shadows that were often stalking the alleyways of Shibusen. His hair was mattered down with dirt, grim and blood. His shirt was soaked through with Spirit and Justin's gore- a mix of blood, particles of flesh and clothing. He opened his mouth to squeak out something, but a scream exploded forth instead.
Starting like a ripple from his reflection's forehead, his form warped and shifted shape. As it settled back, all he saw was Asura's grinning visage, mockingly laughing back up at him.
"And what is this 'one condition', Kishin?"
Asura grinned, his smile warping in a twisted fashion. "Do you remember our previous deal, heretic?"
Giriko snorted. How could he forget? He was to keep an eye on what Noah, that obsessive collecting bastard, was doing. Asura was a bit worried that that man would want to try something like collect the Kishin himself, and he wanted this weapon to keep tabs on the menace.
That is, of course, were Giriko came in. Expendable to Asura, the God had found the weapon and decided that, in return for not infecting the man with madness or, well, simply killing him and ingesting his soul, he made Sou act as a sort of part time spy for him. He merely kept his eye on Noah from time to time, mainly whenever he started to move once again.
This already agreed on deal was the bartering tool for Jordon's safety? There has to be more than this, Giriko thought. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He glanced up at Jordon and noted he could no longer hear the boy's whispers and whimpering. In fact, the boy's head had rolled to one side, and his skin was going paler by the second.
There wasn't enough time to delve into paranoia or pride, and Giriko had to make up his mind and fall blindly into what could have very well been a trick. Jordon was fading away, his heart thudding so hard that it was about to burst , quite literally, in his small chest. Whatever Asura was assaulting Jordon's mind with, it was doing it's trick to not only beat the child down but break him to the point of death.
"The deal with me just gettin' information on that human kleptomaniac's location from time to time, right?"
"Correct," the Kishin purred.
Blinking his hazel eyes, they clouded with worry, turning a dark chocolate color. He bared his teeth. "I already made that deal. We've been done with the details on that for a long time!"
"I'm now adding onto it."
Bristling with a seething rage, Giriko scowled. He hated extra work. True to form, the chainsaw was an extremely lazy man. More work meant he had to actually exert himself at his job. However, if it was to save this kid's life, then he'd rush, get it done and be through with it--- like always.
"And what exactly may that be?"
"I want you to do a very important thing to support my cause," Asura said, lowering his scarves a bit so the boy was now face to face with him once again. "I want you to befriend this child as if he was your own. I want you to teach him how life really is."
What shit is this? Giriko thought. He felt himself gagging at the mere thought of him even having to adopt this runt. He still hated kids. He hated everything that went with them: snobby noses, vomiting, whiny cries and and a never ending need to be played with.
Then it hit Giriko like a brick being slung at his thick skull. Did the Kishin technically want Giriko to convert Jordon Albarn from his previous teachings? Did the demonic being want Giriko to corrupt the boy, influencing him so, possibly, later on down the line Jordon may come to an important crossroad?
Did Asura want Jordon to abandon his adoration for Shinigami-sama and worship him when the boy got older?
A pain shot up through Jordon's body. He cried out, shrieking, as he began to thrash. Still rooted down in that spot, it felt like his body was literally on fire. Every inch of his skin prickled with heat, and his nerve endings screeched in an imaginary inferno.
He started slapping at his clothes and skin. He had to put it out! The fire, that imaginary burning sensation!
He suddenly gasped. Jordon had caught sight of something bright. It was broiling, bursting to life. It was lambent and glowing, crackling with a sort of energy.
It was fire.
This wasn't his imagination. He was really on fire!
"Ah," Giriko breathed in softly. "I think I know what you're getting at."
His smirk spreading in a mocking form of a Cheshire cat's grinning smile, he folded his bony hands together. Licking his cracked lips, the madness in his eyes danced. "So, my dear weapon, will you participate?"
Hysterically screaming, the boy fell back into the lake of blood. It easily covered up to his stomach, and he attempted to splash it on him in order to douse the flames. Alas, it was no use. For some strange, unfathomable and rather supernatural reason, the fire kept burning. It was as if the blood was gasoline and it was simply making it all worse.
Sitting upright, he tried to pull his clothing off. He quickly found this, however, couldn't be done. The fabric, from the intense flare of heat, had been glued to his body.
His skin was melting. He felt it. The flesh had began to drip down his body, bubbling and popping in areas. It was melding together with his bones and muscles. His skin almost represented lava; the flesh had become so red hot that it was nearly broiling.
His voice was cracking now, breaking, as he felt the skin on his neck burst into flames. His face went next, as did the rest of his remaining limbs. His sanity lost to him, he sank back into the blood and, laying there, her let his body disintegrate. Staring up into the sky, his felt his mind frying as he sent up one last blurry prayer. His vision quickly blacked out as his eyeballs sizzled and burned away.
His body was seized in agony. He was burning alive. He wasn't dying fast enough.
Almost out of relief, he felt his limbs beginning to crumble away. His skin now completely melted off of his muscles, he could feel that his bones were charred to the point of being brittle.
Still, despite this, he was still breathing! What on earth was still keeping him alive?
Finding his voice one last time, he felt his muscles in his exposed, blackened jaw strain as he threw open his mouth in a scream. He begged out, pleading for God just to have some sort of mercy. He wanted death. He wanted peace. He didn't want this anymore. His Papa and Daddy had always said God was merciful to those who were suffering.
Why wasn't God helping him now?
Giriko grumbled, leaning against the wall. He watched as Asura dangled the boy in front of him. Those blasted scarves were still clasping the boy like some child clinging to a toy. "Does that mean the fuckin' brat has to stick with me from now on?"
"Unfortunately," he murmured. "Yes. There's no way that he should be around me. He should really learn from his mentor." Slyly sticking out his tongue, he let out a high pitched giggle. "The boy idolizes you, Sou."
Giriko quickly looked way, his eyes widening from shock. Jordon...? Did he really look up to him? That boy truly did confuse and amaze him. Kids had always run from him. Why was this little squirt different? What made Jordon want to cling to him so much?
Squaring his shoulders, he shoved his grungy hands into his pockets. He directed his hardened gaze towards the Kishin.
He may be sacrificing his peace, and possible sanity, but he knew what he had to do.
His salvation began with a soft tingling sensation. He could no longer feel the fire burn away at him. His no longer felt his flesh being eaten up, used as a type of fuel.
His body was truly disintegrating. It was crumbling from the bottom up. His body was becoming flakes of ash that began floating away in the blood.
Tiny pinpricks of light began to form from Jordon's disappearing body. Like tiny fireflies they rose to the sky, shimmering with a gorgeous light. They weaved together, casting a small kiss of a glimmering light to be cast on the boy's ravaged form.
The lights smashed together, forming the boy's soul.
"Fine," Giriko spat. "I'll be the kid's constant babysitter from now one. I'll get him to like your ways, you fuckin' prick."
"Excellent," the God purred. Instantly he flung the boy, the scarves releasing it's ironclad grip on him. With a soft thump the boy hit the couch. The madness had been withdrawn from him, and the Kishin saw the boy's lungs begin to work again. The boy was wheezing now, gulping in the precious, sweet oxygen as his mind emerged from his horrendous illusion.
Jordon rolled over on his side. His face was strained with fear and pain. Instantly his drugged, still asleep form curled up into a fetal position. His tiny hands clutched at the couch's stained and torn material covering. Little tiny whimpers could be heard now coming from the mentally shaken child.
Giriko was amazed, but the sight before him tore his heart in two. He hated seeing the poor child suffering like that. He wanted to instantly go over to the boy and take him in his arms, but he had to restrain himself. What was coming over him? He was Giriko Sou! He was a terrifying weapon, not some sort of parental guardian! He wasn't supposed to be this soft hearted sap who fell for little kiddies and played games with them in the afternoon sun while cheap ass, cheesy show tunes tinkled somewhere in the distance. He wasn't like that kind of person at all, so just exactly why was he feeling like this now?
He couldn't risk showing his soft hearted side to that blasted demon God. He tried to show that he wasn't interested in the boy as he continued to suffer in the dregs of his nightmares. He stalked over to the side, kicking aside debris on the floor, his boots crunching on the shards of empty, broken beer bottles. Each crunch shot through his soul, and he swore he was pierced by imaginary bullets.
He had to fake that he was more pissed about loosing precious time (and possibly future drinking binges) because he had to now take care of his constant young charge.
The Kishin gave a haughty smirk as he turned, brushing by the weapon. Patting the man lightly on the shoulder, his forced sympathy was mocking. "I'll leave the human runt in your care."
Flicking his pissed gaze over at the God, Giriko watched as the God seemingly melted into the shadows of the room. He felt the tense pull of madness leave the atmosphere and, because of that, he safely knew he was once again alone in that room.
Alone, of course, with a emotionally damaged child.
Silence rested in the room, broken only by the scared, breathless whimpers of the child. Rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue, the independent weapon found himself crossing the length of the room in a few careful strides.
Cringing away from the sudden approach of the weapon's aura, Jordon unknowingly curled up even more in his slumber. Frightened tears began to trickle from underneath his closed eyelids, and his whimpers began to form words.
Sighing, the man sat down heavily on the couch. He moved until he was beside the boy, hearing the springs crack and snap underneath him in the cushion. Reaching out, he tenderly laid a hand on the boy's back. With a slow, kind motion he began to rub it with his thumb.
"P-----Pw----Pwa--pa.....D--Dwa--d---dy. W---Why dwid y---y----yew dwie....?"
Closing his eyes, the man shook his head. As much as he would have jumped at the idea of that priest, Law, dying some sort of agonizing death, he had to feel sorry for the kid witnessing that illusion. That bastard of a demon! What on earth had he been projecting into that young, innocent mind? He could only imagine the horrors that the boy had experienced deep within the realm of his temporarily twisted mind.
"I hwurt," the boy whimpered, gasping. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, and he shuddered. "Mweister.... G....Gwiriko. I.....hwurt..."
Blinking in surprise, he glanced down at Jordon's face. The boy was talking to him? Without thinking beforehand what he was doing, the tough, hardened villain lowered his defenses. Reaching out, he picked up the boy, pulling him into his lap in a cradling, protective hug. Leaning back on the couch, he let the boy curl up against his stomach. He felt Jordon's body tremble and shake in his seemingly everlasting torment.
"G----Gwiri---" The boy's hand shot out, clutching at the man's grubby, oil stained shirt. It squeezed at the material tightly. His eyes were opening slightly, and his normally bright, blue gaze was now dimmed a little from terror.
His hard, stony personality softening quite a bit, the man hugged the boy close. "Don't worry," he said, surprised his voice got stuck in his throat. "I'm here. D--Don't worry. I'm here... now rest. I'm not gonna leave ya..."
His body giving one final violent tremble, the boy began to sob. Burying his face in his protector's shirt, he let all his fears pour out of him.
Smiling sadly, Giriko sat there with the boy far into the night. Cradling him close, he kept a hold on him until the night hours crept upon them, and they both found themselves in an uneasy state of sleep. Together they helped each other.
Giriko may have kept the boy in a sense of feeling safe, but the boy was giving Giriko a new lease on the meaning of his life.
Chapter by: Wolf