A/N: I retain no rights to KNY and know not what I do.
Chapter One
Amid all his pains, the smell by far was the worst among them.
Rotting and crumbling, his cells worked fastidiously to right the collapsing of his flesh before their efforts were overcome by the chemicals of foul blooms that had invaded his person.
He smelt of decay.
He tried to right himself up before his arm disintegrated once more, the decomposition causing him to slip, as what was left of his chin came crashing into the floor beneath him. He could discern that he could only see from one eye before that too began to rot and his vision swam black. In time, he would regain his sight, all for it to fail him over and over again as his body knit itself back together only to succumb to atrophy once more, the necrosis rapid and unrelenting in it's savagery.
It was fitting, Douma resolved distractedly, his thoughts scattered, degenerated things. His undoing mimicked that of his mothers. And although he couldn't see her, he knew most certainly that his very own poison princess was only sitting placidly several feet away from his convulsing self, quiet and damning as she merely watched, plucking the petals of lotus' from their stems over and over again, wilted blossoms at her feet.
He stirred at the aroma's that permeated his senses, his hands raising to his face to validate that he was now stable, his declining disposition having passed. Opening his eyes cautiously, he looked down to a low table set before him teeming with fragrant dishes that had daggers shooting through his stomach so viciously, he almost gasped with it. Human food had not appealed to him in so long that he could not help but marvel at the decadence before him. His throat was dry despite the rush of saliva that flooded his mouth, his hunger virulent as his eyes longingly gazed at each dish in appreciative adoration before he paused, his peripheral detecting his companion across from him, sitting with her knees delicately bent beneath her, smiling severely at him.
Her compound, insect-like eyes unsettled him. They were the type of eyes that consumed everything while giving away nothing. And he resolved himself to wait for what was coming to him.
He knew not how long his body had putrefied only to be reconstructed before yielding to the rot once more. Only that it had been the second of twelve pains he was to endure. Surely now came the third.
Shinobu gingerly began to select various pieces across the table before herself, a hum of delight elicited from her sweet lips as she tasted and sampled them respectively, a slight hand silkily slipping over her cheek.
He watched her, the efficient elegance dictated and refined through a lifetime of practiced focus, his admiration swelling once more within him. He had done much the same when she had held his severed head within her palm and joyfully recanted how much he disgusted her. The purgatory that they now found themselves in as they waited to be guided to their respective places altered itself in a manner that demonstrated punishments doled out upon him for his numerous sins as his audience of one revelled in their severity.
"Well. Go on," she beckoned him, that small, lovely little hand waving in his direction.
He looked down before him at the simple bamboo container, square and simple and unlike anything else upon the table. He stared at it with a strong sense of unease. His hands slid against the sides of the lid before dislodging the thing, lifting it to reveal fragrant, lavender petals in abundance.
Wisteria.
"Eat up," his companion encouraged, pulling her chopsticks slowly away from her blushed lips as she chewed, watching him as he looked down at his meal, the thought unspoken yet wordlessly evident.
His polychromatic eyes flicked up to her, his mouth thin, as he searched her face, not knowing if he found her unreadable due to his lack of understanding human emotion or if Shinobu herself was that unyielding.
Douma shoved his hand within the box violently and began to tear into the petals with gnashing teeth, so much so until he began to choke on it.
He remembered Muzan's fingers weaving through his hair, massaging into his scalp soothingly before they pierced his skull, the pain taking his breath away, blinding him, as he bled crimson onto ash. And he had been made to never forget it, the stain so damning, so binding as to remain upon him through all his years. He had once likened the experience as a testament to his own endurance and self-worth.
Yet he could not assuage his pain with such frivolous notions any longer, as understanding and reckoning were now his masters.
He didn't know how he was still breathing as he choked and bled, heaving another swarm of swallowtail butterflies as they fled from within him, escaping between his lips, vermillion rivulets coursing down his chin and unto his throat.
Douma had always been in a place above others, be it a messiah or a predator, those within his fold released of their pains once he consumed them. However, now, there were no such delusions to distract himself with.
Muzan had not chosen him because he had found the man deserving, but simply for his position of power and influence that granted him access to several hundred human beings that no one would miss.
The realization was among many that he was finding himself confronting as his torment continued to plague him. And even though he resided with the very one that had been the cause of it all, it was her onto which he sought refuge, looking onto her smile that was the antipathy of kindness, the vengeful twist in her lips just enough to make him not tear at himself.
He heaved once more as he retched forth another swarm, the wings of the delicately hued creatures as sharp as razors, nicking away at the flesh within his throat during their frenzied escape.
And when this pain too had passed, he had crawled weakly over to her, placing his sickly and stained cheek upon her lap, his eyes fluttering closed at the hands that entrenched themselves within his pale hair, stroking softly, her gentleness itself an impaling wound, as he knew he was undeserving. Her indulgent, slender fingers hurt in another, much deeper place within him than his masters ever had.
His shoulder jerked so hard that he almost faltered in his footing, bones snapping back into place as his body gradually began to right itself, slowly and painstakingly.
He trudged forward to the honmune-zukuri styled minka that sat alone within the darkened void, the structure acting as his home for however long it had been since he had entered this purgatory.
The former kizuki gasped at the sensation of his jaw relocating itself to its rightful place, the correction in distortion to his lower face giving him a sense of relief as things were beginning to mend back into place. He was returning "home" from the session that had been his eighth pain, having endured the trial agonizingly alone and in violent silence. He wondered why it was Shinobu had not been there to watch.
It was her due.
His suffering and distress were among her spoils of war. She had earned them. And yet her absence had stung him far worse that the bend and twist his limbs and bones had found themselves subjected to during his punishment.
Despite retaining his demonic attributes of regeneration, they had been slowed considerably in favor to ensure his pains would be experienced in an excruciating leisurely manner, his analgesia a thing of the past. His desire for human flesh, his blood arts, and the rank etched about his eyes were no more.
Not quite demon nor human, he teetered between the two, unsure of himself.
He reached the silent house, climbing the stairs that led to the threshold before clawed fingers slipped around a shoji, sliding the door softly across before he crouched his tall frame in order to enter the genkan. Every minute he breathed, he felt tired. He could not remember how long it had been since he had felt such a sensation. He found that things that had been lost and unmissed for over a century were nostalgic, strange, and unwelcoming. The man, demon, whatever it is that he was, did not like the way his stomach panged in hunger, nor how bones ached upon waking when he found himself asleep out of his futon. He detested the way in which his senses failed him, his sight faltering in the darkness, the scent of his companion absent when she was merely but another room away.
Douma could stack his dissatisfaction like structural stones of a temple, yet even he recognized that such thoughts were ineffectual. He had never been the kind to lend his mind to ire and fret.
He walked along the darkened halls to a room he knew did not belong to him. With practiced ease, he slid the screen away and searched upon the floor at softened linens that enshrouded a tiny form whose slow breaths eased his anxious thoughts.
He watched the measured breaths in admiration, knowing the hashira upon the bedding was no more asleep than he was. In testament to her rank, he theorized that she had awakened the moment he had come upon the front door.
"Did it hurt?"
She whispered, the dregs of sleep minutely lingering at the edge of her words.
"You know it did," he whispered in turn, unsure of what to do with his hands. The whole of her, he was finding, made him unsure of many things. It was initial impulse to smile and placate with words of ease yet he had found quite quickly that she wasn't just immune to his practiced charms, she detested them wholly. Where once it had been but a little thing to assuage a humans' concern, he now floundered within newfound, tumultuous territory. His emotions, albeit new and flickering, fluttering things, were troubling and novel altogether.
He found with pain came fear of what more was to come. And within dread was a strong desire for reprieve. Things that had escaped him in a former life were now his for the taking and the bite of them was savage. Although he could not call forth the faces of those who had implored for his favor beneath his tiny feet, he no longer pitied them as he once had as a child. For now, even in the smallest of measures, he understood. And with enlightenment came the emotion Shonibu had informed him was "regret".
It was telling in regards to his past sins that the emotions that he would come to experience first would be but all the undesirable ones.
She pulled herself up, lifting her head in his direction, her large, ungiving eyes assessing him.
"Your hair is a mess," she sighed, throwing the blankets away from her. She patted the space before her, gesturing for him to sit. "I'll get a brush."
Those unnameable slips of edged, insect-like wings grazed against the sides of his abdomen as he did as she bid. He sat cross legged, eyes staring aloft at the wall as she lit a candle, bringing the aflamed wax closer to the bed. He could hear her shifting her yukata before her small hands lifted to his shoulders, her weight slight and miniscule yet comforting. She had to stand upon her knees in order to gain the height needed to reach his head, so vast was the gap between them. She raked a brush within his ashened hair and he almost shuddered with the sensation, nerve endings set alight in the most delightful way upon his skull as she put to order the dishevelled mass of it all.
His eyes slid closed as he allowed himself to fall under the spell of the sensations, wondering as to what he would do when their time here would come to an end and she would be sent to heaven and he no doubt, hell.
Whereas once he had been un-needing, now he would be empty, the contrast damning. If he could bargain to suffer even more pains, would she continue to stay in order to see them executed in turn? Could he withstand the added trials for the sake of the small comforts she allowed him?
Douma thought of Muzan's family in Asakusa. Although they necessitated the need for a screen and credibility for his former master, he wondered if he too had taken advantage of similar amenities.
The touch of his many followers had been welcome in that it was his duty to them to bring them happiness. Never once had their grasps and entanglements within the folds of his robes ever instilled any feeling that had generated from within himself. And yet here, within this private residence in the hollow void, he could not help but long for an extension of anything the insect hashira deigned to give him.
He sighed at the massaging, long strokes that rode the waves of his hair and when she was done, he almost cried out in protest. His body, although repaired, still ached. And a growing sense of longing prevailed. He wanted to ask if he could stay by her side. If he could press his face within her hair as she slept, promising to be gone and out of her sight before she awoke.
Yet he withheld his growing desire, understanding that whatever favors she bestowed upon him were already more than he deserved. He could not help his growing greed but that was his responsibility. Unknowingly, he had been staring at her over his shoulder, the expression upon his face hungry for the comfort she provided. But she had given him all that she had intended. And she said nothing as he raised himself with a heavy sigh, turning to let himself out of her room and into his own.
When he had awoken from resting after the twelfth and final pain, he could not quell the agitation that grew within him. Now that his punishments had run its course, what more was there to keep them there?
He dressed himself in the silence of the room, thinking to when he had first arrived within this barren space how unaccustomed he had been to such menial tasks in regards to his own person. The only time he had ever really been alone was when he had been gorging upon sacrificial flesh. For as long as he had remembered, there had always been a throng of people around him, their names and faces changing over time, but ever there.
He ducked out of his room and down the hall to the dining room, the space quiet and empty. In curiosity, he turned on his heel with anxious fervor in the direction of his companions room.
With a jerk and more strength that he realized, he threw the screen hard to the side, sending it rattling before staring blankly at an empty futon, the room having gone cold with absence. It didn't even smell of her. His lips began to peel from his teeth with something that sounded like a growl and he pivoted toward the door to the outside. The familiar darkness of the vast space greeted him but no new signal of a trial awaited him. He could walk within the darkness for eternity and doubted he would find anything within it.
Where could she be?
He turned back to their "home" and he paused in alarm, the wooden mikan now gone.
And in its place was a chabudai with two settings, one of them already within residence as a young man sat elegantly in its place, looking onto Douma with a smile, a steaming yunomi held within his hands.
"Won't you come speak with me?" he called out to the kizuki cordially, his voice soothing, his gaze placating.
Douma recognized the tone. It was one among many that he too had utilized to ease the hearts of his many followers throughout the years. Yet unlike himself, he could not detect any falsities within his words. At the beckoning of a hand, he drew closer, his feet feeling heavy with dread and finality.
He lowered himself, his hands touching the table for purchase. And just as he crossed his legs about himself, a flourish of viridescent fauna sprang around them, a private garden encapsulating the space around them.
"That is rather neat," the man marvelled, taking a sip at his tea. Douma blinked, feeling disoriented, and turned to the dark haired man across from him.
"I am Ubuyashiki Kagaya. Or at least, a phantom of his memory. Regardless, I am here to dictate your next course of actions. You may have questions for me and I will answer them to the best of my ability."
His voice was inviting and smiling, so at odds with everything Douma had experienced so far within the darkened space.
"Where's Shinobu?"
His voice had come out harsh and needing, despite himself.
Kagaya smiled and gestured to the cup before Douma, yet the ashen-haired man's eyes didn't waver, his gaze almost penetrating as it implored to the other man, his dark, heavy brows furrowed.
The name Ubuyashiki did not run amiss his attention yet such a matter was unimportant given the circumstance.
"Where is she?"
Kagaya's smile did not dim as he lowered his arm, taking another sip of his own drink.
"You know where. She is where she is supposed to be."
For all he tried, the kizuki could not draw enough air within his lungs to make a sound. His chest...hurt. The only lifeline he had in this godforsaken place. His mind was a tumultuous, frenzied thing as it roiled against the agonizing emptiness of whatever it was to come.
But he was not allowed to suffer in his thoughts for long, as Kagaya continued to speak.
"She will find peace with her loved ones until it is time to experience a new lifetime once again. It is what her deeds have earned her. Just as it is now time for you to go where you are meant to be."
Kagaya set his cup down thoughtfully, his eyes flicking up to Douma's, an edge of firm instruction interweaving within his words.
"Your sins are numerous and heavy. You have much to atone for."
Douma thought to the twelve pains he had endured within purgatory. He could only imagine that they were minor, inconsequential things in comparison to what hell would have in store for him.
"As recompense, you are to be in service. You will execute instructions exactingly, giving your body and soul to the orders unto which you are given. Each task that is prescribed to you is an opportunity to make amends."
Douma's brows lowered, his expression taking on a gesture of evident confusion.
"Service? Am I not to be punished?"
"Do you not feel like you've suffered enough pains? Although I cannot disagree that the tasks you will be given will not come without their own."
Kagaya sat back on his heels, his hands sliding to his lap as his head tilted, assessing the former demon.
"We can punish a doll until the seams come apart, but without feeling, where is the remorse?"
Douma blanched at the painfully accurate metaphor.
"You will be given various tasks and trials among delegation of the Underworld and it's hierarchy. Failure is met with punishment. Successes garner experiences and further assignments."
Understanding dawned on the young man, his voice devoid of emotion.
"I'm to be a laborer."
"In a sense," Kagaya agreed, his lips pinching at the corner of his mouth as his head cocked in consensus," yet there is a light at the end of the tunnel, although it may take what feels like several eternities to get there."
Douma's eyes flicked from his lap back to Ubuyashiki, assessing.
"Is there something you desire?"
The dark-haired man's smile was telling and knowing.
Douma's head snapped to attention, an image forming in his mind.
Vengeful, graceful, and fierce.
"You would give me anything if I do as I'm instructed?"
"Not necessarily. You would be given an opportunity to acquire that which you desire in the same methods any human being who roams the earth would in another lifetime."
Air, for what seemed like the first time in ages, finally escaped Douma's lips in a riotous rush. His chest heaved with it. His hand rose to grasp at the fabric around the base of his neck, something he knew not how to name flooding within him.
"Your answer?" the man implored, although it was evident.
Douma nodded fiercely, for the first time in all his timelessness, feeling driven with newfound determination.
"Anything. Tell me what I need to do."
A/N: I apologize for the shortness of this thing and thank you for taking the time to read it. If you liked it, even a little, it is more than I deserve. This was generated from a discord prompt. Further chapters will align with the current story while encapsulating those prompts. Thank you again!