Demon
Chapter 18
When Sendoh regained consciousness, he became aware first of the uncomfortable way his chin slumped down on his chest. Then of the pain in his shoulders. Then his wrists. Then his knees. Every part of him seemed subject to discomfort. Not bright or sharp. A dull and persistent pain for which there was no relief.
He groaned and opened his eyes blearily.
He was on the veranda of Yoku. The view was so familiar. The farm, broken and neglected. The grass where he'd practised with Kogure. The trees. Even the old courtyard walls. It all looked the same. Just the same.
He was on his knees. Familiar ropes woven from darkness itself crossed his chest, tight under his arms, binding him to a post behind. The ropes were all that prevented him from crumpling where he knelt. The post was one of the roof supports he'd seen Mitsui leaning casually against a dozen times. That he'd seen Kaede attack in a rare moment of frustration. That he'd walked past and paid no attention to, never seeing it for what it was: the place where his life would be measured out.
His arms were pulled outwards taut either side, lashed by the wrists to other posts right and left. The binds were so tight he felt his shoulders ache with the strain, as if his arms might be wrenched from their sockets. His ankles had been bound together behind him, on the further side of the post, so that his calves pressed awkwardly around the wood.
Apart from the mobility of his head and neck, he could not move at all. Already his muscles ached from the forced position. Yet any attempt to relieve the pain in his arms and shoulders by shifting his weight slightly only increased the pain on the opposite side.
He couldn't help but moan softly.
Whatever was behind him, he could not see. He did not dare to imagine what had become of the house now that the gate seemed to have opened in its midst.
The sense burned dull and persistent.
At the centre of his vision, as if a reminder that none of this was merely a horrible dream, was Sakuragi's sword. Black iron. A huge two-handed claymore that Sendoh doubted he could even lift. Skipjack, Sakuragi had called it. It was stuck point first into the grass, the hilt forming an ominous black cross directly in front of him, mirroring the position he was bound in. From it, expanding straight upwards into the empty blue sky above, a shimmer of air, like light or energy. Clearly it was doing something. Sendoh didn't know what.
Further away, forgotten in the grass, a tiny glint of silver caught the sun. Innocence. Still laying where he'd thrown her.
It struck him then quite how foolish he'd been. Recklessly loosing her from his hand. And then leaving Kaede's side only to run straight into Sakuragi's hands.
He bit down on his tongue. There was no purpose in regrets. Sakuragi had wanted him and him alone. If not like this, then it would have happened some other way.
"Well, here we are again," Sakuragi's voice drifted into his ear. Sendoh snapped his head to the right. A mistake. The sense rose sharply in intensity as soon as he allowed himself to be affected by Sakuragi's presence, torching through his head and exploding in his gut. A curse of agony tumbled out of his mouth. The instinct to curl around the pain in his stomach was thwarted by the ropes that did not permit him to move.
He squinted through watering eyes to see that Sakuragi was sitting slightly slouched further down the veranda, his feet on the floor, an unexpectedly serious expression on his handsome face.
He looked calm. No arrogant show or mocking laugh. Lacking the intimidating grandeur he usually flaunted. His red hair was mid-length to his shoulders, gently waved. His eyes a plain brown.
There was something very human about him just sitting there. He could almost inspire sympathy, except that the ancient varnish on the wooden boards was crackling and beginning to peel away from where he sat, as though he were acid.
Still, he was not his usual arrogant self. Whatever unearthly throne he sat upon had been rocked.
"All alone, are you?" Sakuragi smiled. But it was half-hearted, the amusement not reaching his eyes.
He's serious, Sendoh realised finally with dismay.
He wondered whether it was he, and not Sakuragi, who was the arrogant one. With what brevity had he walked up to a monster like this and prodded it right in its eye?
Kaede had tried so hard to protect him, Sendoh recalled. Had tried to hide him. Hadn't wanted Sakuragi to even catch wind of his existence.
If Sendoh had been wiser he could perhaps have spent all the days of his life loving Kaede. Being there at his side. Doing whatever was in his power to mitigate Kaede's pain.
But he had not been wise.
He stared at this powerful opponent. This dark entity that had blackened Kaede's existence with such long suffering. This monster he couldn't hope to defeat.
It was easy to die. Easy to provoke Sakuragi, and throw his life away in pride and in anger on the edge of Sakuragi's sword. Embracing death because he simply didn't care whether he lived or died. The same way he never had.
But Kaede did not die. Kaede went on and on. From one hurt and heartache to the next. An undulating, unending agony. How could Sendoh possibly leave him alone to his pain?
But here he was, once again. Helpless and weak by his own arrogance, merely waiting for Kaede to save him. The same, just the same, as always.
His eyes went to the binds that held his wrists tightly. He had the compulsion to draw his arms in, to comfort himself. To seek the sensation of protection from the warmth of his arms against his chest. He tugged at the binds, but there was not even an inch of slack. The effort of trying only made the pain in his shoulders worse, the muscles trembling with the strain. He was totally helpless. His body splayed out for Sakuragi to do as he wished.
He let out his breath in quiet distress. This warm, living flesh, whose true purpose should have been to comfort Kaede, love him, adore him, was to be wasted - torn apart and sacrificed to Sakuragi's maleficence. And it was his own fault.
The fear and the panic seemed close by, pressing upon his mind temptingly. Just behind a thin veil of control, too easily swept aside. He could imagine a dozen terrible things, each worse than the last. All the ways Sakuragi could hurt him. It would not take much to break him, he knew. The agony he would feel had no purpose. Nothing he would do or say or scream could stop it. There was nothing noble about what would happen to him. He would suffer for no reason other than to bring Kaede pain.
He tried to steel himself for the trial he knew he was about to face. But it was hard. It was really hard. He felt like everything he'd counted on, every strength he had, was dangling just beyond his reach. Mocking him. As if it had never been real. As if he'd been lying to himself all along. And now it was just his naked soul laid bare before Sakuragi's judgment.
Strength. Bravery. Pride. The words were meaningless. The fact was that he was scared. Scared of what Sakuragi would do to him. Scared of how easily he would break, and beg, and cry.
He grit his teeth, but it didn't help much.
Sakuragi's slow footsteps reached his ears. He closed his eyes tight and tried to focus on his breathing, tried to hold the terror at bay.
The first touch was a slap. A heavy backhand across his face that sent his head snapping to the side, blinding hotness across his cheek from his jaw to his eye. He gasped. His weight became unbalanced and pulled heavily on his already stricken right arm so he was sure it would break.
Sendoh expected the second slap, but still it came before he had the chance to recover. Sakuragi was so strong. So, so strong. Two simple blows and Sendoh barely knew which way was up and which was down. He sagged in his binds, unable to stay upright, hanging from his wrists and letting his shoulders take his weight, feeling the agony tear through his arms.
He took a desperate breath before the next hit could knock it out of him. But Sakuragi's touch had already changed. Instead of a blow, he felt an open palm caressing his cheeks in apology. Wiping his leaking tears with one thumb.
Sakuragi knelt on the veranda in front of him, so that they were level. Sendoh's eyelids fluttered slightly, an anxious moan on his tongue. But before he could form a coherent thought, Sakuragi was kissing him.
It was a... kiss. A real one. Designed to give pleasure. Not like the last time Sakuragi had penetrated his throat and raped his mouth.
Unable to back away or resist, Sendoh was forced to accept it. The demon's lips curved into a smirk where they mouthed at his own. Sendoh's shoulders spasmed weakly in pain. He felt a thick tongue forcibly push past his teeth, filling his mouth, licking into him slowly and meaningfully.
Power. It was all… power.
Although dazed and disorientated, Sendoh still had sense enough to bite down hard on the invading tongue, yet despite his teeth sinking sharply in, it had no effect. The tongue was hot and soft and undeniably made of flesh, yet Sendoh might as well have tried to bite into a steel bar. He could not harm Sakuragi at all.
Sakuragi's hands firmly tilted his head to the side, allowing him to push closer and deeper. The demon tongue oozed around his mouth, exploring every inch in slow, wet slides. Moving over his teeth, sloppy and smooth against his tongue, rubbing up to the roof of his mouth. Sendoh swallowed nervously, and felt revolted by the tepid saliva that surged down his throat. He let out another anxious groan.
Sakuragi's hands drifted up into his hair, caressing and stroking him gently, flexing his fingers to gently tug at the stands, as if he were a lover and the experience was a pleasurable one. His body pressed up against Sendoh's front. Saliva escaped from between their lips and began to drip from Sendoh's chin as Sakuragi overflowed him.
Sendoh's skin was crawling with revulsion. His stomach turned so hard he thought he might vomit. He clenched his fists in the restraints, and even welcomed the distracting pain in his shoulders that the action brought. The sense kept stabbing through his stomach in sheer horror.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sakuragi pulled away with a tender release of his breath, leaning back to stare into Sendoh's face. His lips, Sendoh saw, shimmered pink and wet and soft.
"I can't taste him at all," Sakuragi muttered in disappointment, his eyes a dark shade of midnight blue. "I was so sure I would be able to taste it." He licked his lips. "You've had it in your mouth, right? Kaede's pleasure..." He reached out and ran a finger over Sendoh's lips, smearing the saliva over his skin. "How does it taste?"
Sendoh could only stare dazedly at him."You're mad," he managed to choke out.
Sakuragi smiled. "Mad? Is love madness? I have heard it said so." His sloppy fingers trailed down Sendoh's chest, wrinkling the fabric of his clothes, brushing purposefully against his groin and smirking when Sendoh shuddered nervously. But then his hand turned up again, running up over his ribs, his armpit, drifting curiously along his pained arm.
"You're a handsome man," he observed, rising to his feet. "A strong body. A charming smile," he let his hands run up Sendoh's left arm, all the way to his hand and took the tip of his little finger between his thumb and index finger, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But why?" he licked his lips. "Why you? Why would he want… you? Am I not a thousand times your worth? Do I not hold the keys to this entire world around my neck? Do I not command armies in the thousands? In the tens of thousands?"
He tightened his hold on Sendoh's fingertip into something painful, and Sendoh hissed nervously.
"So why?" Sakuragi demanded again, scowling in frustration. "When you are so weak. So pitiful. So very easy for me to break."
His thumb and index finger came together with a crunch.
For a second Sendoh couldn't feel it. He was disconnected from the pain. His eyes were blank, staring at the end of his finger which was now little more than a paste of power and blood that dripped out from between Sakuragi's fingers.
Then, abruptly, it rushed upon him.
He had to set his teeth as an involuntary snarl forced its way past his clenched jaw, every muscle in his body jerking instinctively. It hurt. It hurt so much. He tried to fight off his instinct to thrash and to panic. He tried to block it out. But the pain kept flowing, up his arm, into his mind, relentless and determined that he must acknowledge it. Must feel it. Though he fought, his breath quickly shortened to a gasping struggle, a miserable whimpering, his jaw slackening into a mindless expression of brokenness even as his muscles insisted on thrashing and jerking hopelessly against his binds.
He couldn't move. Couldn't- couldn't-
Oh- my god-
Sakuragi's sticky red fingers slid slowly down to the next joint of the same finger, and began to roll it gently in his grip.
"No-" Sendoh slurred drunkenly.
The panicked thoughts that had been spinning through his mind slowed to a horrible concentrated silence. The feeling of Sakuragi's grip squeezing a little harder upon the next bone in his finger became everything. He couldn't form sentences or meaning. It was all he could do to merely hold himself conscious.
He tugged harder at the binds, some primitive part of him desperate to withdraw his hand from the danger even though the pain in his shoulders was agonising, but it was hopeless.
"Please-" he whispered hoarsely, knowing that it wouldn't work. That Sakuragi had no mercy. None.
Sakuragi did not even seem to hear him, simply snapping his fingers together once again, as if casually plucking petals from daisies.
This time Sendoh screamed, the pain gurgling wetly up his throat, his body renewing its frantic twitching and jerking. He didn't dare to look at the state of his mangled finger as Sakuragi's fingers moved down to the third and final joint.
Sakuragi paused as he rolled the flesh once again, his eyes brightening to see Sendoh's expression.
"Oh, yes," he smiled, "handsome boy. Let me see your face. Your pain is beautiful, do you know?" he licked his lips and tightened his grip ominously. "I'll go really slowly. Open you up a little at a time. I'm going to crush every bone. One by one. Starting here with your fingers. Then your hands. By the time I start on your wrists I expect you'll have the idea." He smiled, "Be a good boy and try to stay conscious."
He leaned down, bringing his face close once again, his tongue sliding out to lick the side of Sendoh's face, collecting the sweat and the tears. "Your terror tastes so good," he whispered. "So good."
He brought his fingers together for the third time.
The world around Sendoh seemed to shutter closed into strange and impenetrable blackness.
He didn't know if Sakuragi was speaking. He heard the screams but didn't know who'd made then. Had a sensation of struggling but couldn't control his jerking muscles. If Sakuragi had moved on to his next finger, Sendoh didn't know. Not even the sense broke through his consciousness now. He couldn't think of anything at all, just his eyes screwed tightly closed as he fought and fought against his his own mind slipping away from him. Time passed, but he had no concept of it. How many fingers had he lost? He didn't know. He was just trapped in this one moment. Him and his agony. And in the whole world there was nothing else. It did not abate. It went on and on. Perhaps he was muttering or begging or chanting. Bubbles of spit frothing at his lips. His eyes blinded by pain.
It hurt. It hurt more and more. It didn't abate but rose, higher and higher, worse and worse.
The blackness deepened. He couldn't hold on forever. He could feel himself sinking, the darkness rising up to meet him. He couldn't stay afloat.
As he blacked out, he heard Sakuragi give a disappointed tut. "You mortals are really no fun."
The silence was unbearable.
Mitsui sat on a rock amid the trees, running his hands over the burns on his leg, testing the numbness that had rendered it useless. He couldn't put any weight on it at all.
But despite the motion of his hand, his eyes were fixed on Kaede.
What had he become? This boy who had once been perfection untouched? Mitsui wasn't sure.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "Shit, shit, shit."
What the fuck were they doing here? What the fuck were any of them doing here? Everything was his fault.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Beside him, Kogure's warmth pressed against his arm comfortingly. But he didn't deserve it at all. His eyes turned to see that Kiminobu was anxiously watching Kaede too.
Why do you still love me? Mitsui wanted to demand of him. Rail at him. Scream at him. Why do you remain beside me? I've done everything wrong. Everything.
His eyes went back to Kaede who was sitting with his back to nothing, apparently leaning against the air, his eyes closed, listening.
He doesn't deserve this. He never deserved any of this.
Another scream came from the house, hollow and echoing. Sendoh's voice. Kaede's face distorted at the sound. He ground his fingers hard against the soil until his nails were bleeding, his head rolling back again and again to strike against the invisible barrier as if he could knock the noise out of his mind.
It made Mitsui feel sick. He wanted to shake him. To snap him out of it. To protect him somehow from this nightmare.
But there was nothing any of them could do.
They'd explored the barrier thoroughly. It ran as a dome over the whole area, preventing their entrance. They'd known Sakuragi had magicks, but none of them really knew the boundaries of his strengths or abilities. They had never been strong enough to push his limits.
Kaede's distress was obvious. Earlier he'd been restless and frantic, pacing like a caged tiger, desperate to break through the barrier. Now he sat quietly, only listening, rocking himself. It was worse somehow.
It made Mitsui furious. He wanted to slam his sword into something.
"Kaede," Kogure finally interrupted, causing Rukawa to open his eyes and look up at him. Kogure was leaning against Mitsui for support. He was pale and unsteady. The gate had affected him far more than it had they. Perhaps because he had so much less experience, less exposure, than they did. Perhaps because of what he was; a slayer who had never slayed. Was the pain that much worse for the fact that he had resisted it for so long?
"Why don't you leave?" Kogure suggested, and Mitsui found himself nodding along. "You don't need to be here. Sakuragi is only doing this to hurt you. There's no need to let him succeed. Hisashi and I will stay here and..." he hesitated, trying to think of the right words, "...bear witness," he decided, and he frowned, "...for Akira."
Mitsui stopped nodding. He did not like the sound of that at all. He did not want to listen to the mortal screaming as he died. He did not want to stay here. He wanted to be literally anywhere else. But he wouldn't leave without Kaede, and he doubted Kaede would be going anywhere. On the other hand, nor was Mitsui on his useless leg. And someone probably needed to listen to the screams, he supposed. Give meaning to meaningless suffering. Or some such shit. Fuck.
But Kaede had closed his eyes again.
"Don't you think I deserve this?" he said.
"Of course you don't deserve this!" Kogure exclaimed, horrified. "Kaede-"
But Rukawa shook his head. "This is my fault. This is my punishment," he asserted, his voice heavy and strange. "I will listen to every minute."
Mitsui felt the sigh in Kogure's chest press on his arm. He swallowed. He wondered what he would have done if he had been in Kaede's place. Whether he would be able to bear the sound of Kogure screaming like this.
Fuck. He couldn't even think of it.
"How did Sakuragi get past the wards?" he asked, eager to change the subject to something else. Anything else. "Are all the mansions breached?"
Kaede didn't answer. Either he hadn't heard the question or he no longer cared. But Kogure put his fingers to his lips and hummed quietly. "Perhaps. I don't know exactly how but - perhaps the gate somehow split the sacred ground, and that broke the wards."
"So he could do the same thing at all the others?"
"Maybe. I don't know how easy it is to open the gate. I doubt he could beach them all very quickly. The gates take time to cycle, right?"
Mitsui closed his eyes. "It's still bad news," he said heavily. "It'll be hard without the mansions."
"Yeah," Kogure acknowledged quietly. "It's pretty bad."
"Shit," Mitsui grumbled once again.
"If you can slay Sakuragi Hanamichi," a fourth voice said. "The gates will be thrown into chaos, and grant you some reprieve."
Mitsui was the first to react. He leapt to his feet at the first word, his eyes fixing on the newcomer threateningly, and although he had to lean against the rock to support his weight, he did his best to hide it.
"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled, his hand gripping Vengeance's hilt.
Kogure wobbled a little without Mitsui to lean upon, his mouth opening in surprise to find that someone had managed to sneak up on them so successfully. Rukawa did not react.
The boy smiled sweetly at Mitsui. He was perched on a low branch of a nearby tree, swinging his legs in the air. He was the strangest sight that Mitsui could have imagined. He seemed tired yet youthful, with dust over his cheeks and in his hair, dressed in a pure white kimono. The silk was clean and unblemished. Like a funeral. Like the dead. He was smiling. But his eyes were broken.
No pain, Mitsui realised at once. The sense did not react at all. And this stranger was not armed either. No sword, or any weapon Mitsui could see. Was he a mortal then? No. Not with eyes like that. And besides, no mortal would be hanging around in these woods and casually invoking the name of Sakuragi Hanamichi. No. But the only other possibility left him dumbfounded.
"No one important," the boy answered him lightly. He smiled again at Mitsui, and gave a minute lick of his lips. Then he dropped delicately down from his perch, his slippers silent against the floor. His fractured green eyes moved over them each in turn.
"Well, well," he remarked. "What an honour. The three apprentices themselves. First, Second and Third. I heard that you had a new toy, but I don't see him. Perhaps I was mistaken. A handsome mortal boy. Don't tell me he's dead already?"
Mitsui narrowed his eyes and curled his lip. "Did Sakuragi send you?" he demanded.
The stranger laughed sweetly. "Don't be ridiculous," he responded, lifting his eyes to Mitsui, his expression shamelessly flirtatious. "You have been seriously misled if you believe the hellspawn can command the fallen."
"The fallen?" Mitsui muttered unhappily, his suspicion confirmed.
The boy smirked. His form rippled for a moment, distorted as if from the heat of a fire. The bat-like leathery wings of a demon materialised silently behind him. They didn't expand outwards, but fell heavy from his shoulders like tumbling drapes. Leaden and limp. Mitsui recoiled in disgust. They were patchy and damaged and useless. Very much like the look in the boy's eyes.
"I know who you are," Kogure realised, his eyes narrowing with dislike. "You're the debaucher. The stuprator. The one they named Semyaza. You're Fujima Kenji."
Fujima's expression brightened at once. He took another step towards Kogure, prompting Mitsui to move forward, standing between them with a warning scowl.
"Do you mean they still tell my story?" Fujima asked eagerly. "Up there? Do they teach all the little apprentices about me?"
Kogure did not answer, only staring at Fujima in disapproval.
"What do they say?" Fujima wanted to know, excited curiosity brightening his face. "What do they say about me?"
Kogure looked repulsed. "That you are the bane of mortals. You rape mortal women. You fill them with pestilence and befoul them with your seed, so they birth monsters and nephilim."
Fujima's expression turned a little slack. He seemed disappointed, if not surprised. He leaned back and sighed, shaking his head. "Lies" he replied. "Lies, of course. But why would anyone expect anything else from the Council?"
Mitsui folded his arms. "Then what is the truth?"
"The truth?" Fujima tilted his head almost as if the word meant nothing to him. As if he'd never heard it before. But then he held up a finger. "I have never raped anyone. I was exiled for laying with a mortal, that is true. But I loved her and she loved me, to the exclusion of all others; then and for all the days of her life." He held up a second finger. "And the hellspawn are not birthed from mortals. They are brought forth. No mortal could bear them. The very idea is obviously absurd."
Mitsui looked appalled. "You mean you have brought forth hellspawn?" he demanded.
Fujima smirked a little, the small motion of his tongue once again sliding over his lips, the slightest tilt of his head as he considered Mitsui with approval.
"Certainly, Rameel. You have the power too, did you not know? You. And Sariel too."
Mitsui flinched slightly. "My name is Mitsui," he snapped.
Fujima didn't seem to care. "If you say so." He smiled again, letting his gaze slide down Mitsui's body meaningfully, his eyes bright with lust. "You should have come to me years ago," he complained. "I would have sheltered you. I would have taken care of you. You didn't need to tie yourself like a dog to the Council that condemned you. You wouldn't even have had need of the emissary," he smiled provokingly at Kogure, "I would have sucked your cock every night."
Mitsui was struck dumb. Not knowing quite how to respond he stepped a little closer to Kogure, and Fujima laughed.
"They exiled you for loving a mortal?" Rukawa's voice was quiet.
Fujima spun towards him at once. There was something disturbing in his eyes. "Ah. Sariel himself. Rukawa Kaede. The Third. The youngest, the most beautiful, the most innocent. You have no idea how long I have dreamed of meeting you."
Rukawa moved finally, lifting himself from where he sat, stepping away from the barrier he could not cross, his eyes fixed on this very strange individual who had appeared among them so unexpectedly. "How do you know of me?"
Fujima smiled. "Everyone knows of you. Sakuragi's beautiful doll." He lifted his hands from a distance as if to frame Rukawa's face. "I did not think it could be true. That you could be as beautiful as Sakuragi always said. And yet I am proven wrong. Here you are. A true vision. Delicate like ice, that innocent face of yours. No wonder he loves you so desperately. I don't usually care for needy little lovers, but I must confess that you tempt even me. I could teach you how to use that body. Teach you how to make that mortal boy scream your name in pleasure. Wouldn't you like that?"
Rukawa coloured a little in anger. But before he could spit something back, Fujima was continuing. "Funny, isn't it?" he smiled. "That you should find yourself in my shoes. I who brought Sakuragi Hanamichi into existence - how strange that you of all people should find yourself walking my path." He put his hand to his chest. "Look carefully, innocent one. You are seeing your future. What tales will they tell of you, do you think? How will they lie and twist your story as they have done to mine? Compared to the blood and sin on your innocent hands, they ought to revere me as a saint. My only sin was to love. But you? You stink of blood. Angel or monster. What are you, really? I'm curious to know."
Rukawa ignored the question. "You created Hanamichi?" he demanded, everything about him icy cold as he glared at Fujima.
Fujima only laughed. "The hellspawn are born of the darkest parts of ourselves," he explained. "Gruesome caricatures of our pain and suffering. The agony I felt loving a woman who I was powerless to save. The pain of watching her grow old and frail before my eyes." He gave a broken smirk. "I am as surprised as anyone to realise that my anguish for a lost love did in turn make a demon that can itself feel love. A true tragedy. That he should adore you, but be incapable of anything except dark deeds and harm. His own nature prevents him from anything else. You lament your situation, but you should pity him too, for his curse. He did not choose this path. In that regard he is perhaps innocent. More innocent than you." He gave a provoking smirk.
"He deserves no pity," Rukawa snarled right back.
Fujima shrugged, though his eyes were alight with a hot green malice.
He began to walk a slow circle around Rukawa, staring as if examining him from all sides. Dragging his eyes over his shape, his body, and the resolve in his expression as if weighing him up. And with every step his tattered wings dragged along the ground with a sound like snakes.
"Child," he said finally. "If you want to survive - if you have any wisdom at all -" he stopped and planted his feet, fixing his broken eyes to meet Rukawa's cold glare, "you should surrender yourself to Sakuragi."
Mitsui's eyes narrowed dangerously and he let out a low hiss of breath. Rukawa only folded his arms, his expression hardening into a bored blankness.
Fujima stepped forward. "I speak the truth. You are all so, so young. You don't yet understand what it means to be without purpose, without reason." He turned his attention back to Rukawa. "Don't you see? It is your hate that defines you. That makes you what you are. That keeps you alive. Suppose you kill Sakuragi, what then? Suppose the mortal boy survives, he loves you, he stays beside you all the years of his life - what then? In a thousand years, in ten thousand years, I tell you, you will burn to feel just a fraction of what you feel right now. The revenge you desire. The passion you hold. You will look back and you will want it so badly... so badly... you would do anything to feel alive again. You will ache for this rivalry you once had. You would do anything, even throw your body into the hands of a monster, just so you can feel something."
He took up a pacing walk around the clearing, his eyes darting among the trees, weaving his hands and slim arms through the air in graceful motions to punctuate his words. "Love is the foundation of our existence, our survival, our sustenance," he announced. "We all need it. We all live for it. Hunger for it." His eyes fixed on Rukawa. "Your brothers love one another. But what about you? Who is there to love a broken doll like you? The love you share with the mortal boy... it cannot last. You know that."
He paused by a clump of dark green leaves and, stepping into them very precisely, he began to grind them down with his heel.
"You face a uniquely painful destiny," he continued as the leaves smeared to mush beneath his sandal. "So be wary of your brothers' counsel. Though they care for you, they do not face the future that you do. They won't understand the choices set before you..." he gave a twisted smile as he inspected the destroyed plant. "But I do."
Turning abruptly away from the trees he stepped towards Rukawa.
He lifted his arms as if in peace, as if offering an embrace. "You and I are alike," he said, more softly, drawing close. When Rukawa did not back away, he set his hand gently on Rukawa's shoulder. Rukawa's eyes followed him with mistrust.
"I am your future. I know. I know exactly how it feels." As he walked behind Rukawa he trailed his hand lightly over his shoulders admiringly. "The mortal cannot be with you forever," he repeated. "Just as my wife could not remain beside me. We are cursed to be without them. You will suffer without his love, thirsty in a drought. Yet if we cannot have love then you and I must sustain ourselves with the next best thing..." a deranged smile wandered over his lips. "...hate."
Rukawa still did not react, only turning his head to watch Fujima appear on his other side, his hand now on Rukawa's other shoulder.
"Sakuragi is in love with you," Fujima announced. "Deeply. Powerfully. Through millennia. Though you hate him, you also need to understand that he is you. Your existence is bound to him in a thousand ways. And later, when everything else is gone and everything around you is black, then you will seek him. You will hurt yourself upon him. You will beg for the chance to summon up your hate and feed it. Because you will have - nothing - else."
Fujima stepped in closer, his long, delicate fingers reaching up to comb through Rukawa's thick hair, pressing close to his side.
"Be wary of fulfilling your dreams, innocent one," Fujima whispered, his body hot against Rukawa's arm. "For what lies beyond may be nothing but blackness and despair."
He let out a delicate sigh, his face so close that Rukawa could feel it as warm breath upon his cheek.
"You have a choice. Kill Sakuragi, and live on to stare blindly into the emptiness. Or let him live, and one day when your lover is long dead and you have truly lost your mind to the grief, remember my words when you crawl into Sakuragi's bed and beg him to ruin you."
His fingers ran lightly over Rukawa's cheek. "You stand before me full of fire and the need to fight, to war, to extract your revenge. I understand. Yet I stand before you with the experience of ages. I know the pain. The nothingness. Beautiful one, if you are wise, you will listen."
Rukawa's eyes turned away from Fujima's smouldering gaze and looked towards Mitsui and Kogure. They both looked unhappy and uncertain. Rukawa considered their expressions for a moment, before turning back to Fujima.
"You are wrong about something," he said. He dragged Akira from the sheath. The motion of his extending arm pushed Fujima away until he was at length. Akira lifted until she pointed towards Fujima's throat and Rukawa glared at him down the length of the blade. "I am nothing like you," he hissed.
There was a moment of silence. Then Fujima tilted his head and let out a peal of laughter that rang loudly in the clearing. His broken wings weaved with the motion of his laughter, rippling through the air, each ragged hole whistling softly as if to join in with his amusement.
Rukawa's expression deepened into a scowl.
"What do you want, Fujima?" Kogure spoke up, eyes narrowed in obviously dislike.
Fujima's laughter faded into a low chuckle. "What do all of us want?" he responded. He eyed the sword that tickled his neck. "To die."
There was silence.
Fujima looked meaningfully between Mitsui and Rukawa. "There is no sword in the demon world that can cut my soul from this flesh," he explained, his fingers reaching out to slide lovingly along the cold length of Akira, the light turning his pale fingers a ghostly blue. "But you - you who carry the swords of legend - the three apprentices themselves, famed immortal slayers of demons..." he tipped his chin up and pulled the collar of his white kimono down to bare his neck to Rukawa's blade, "...I beg you. Cut my throat, and free me from this pain."
Rukawa slowly lowered his sword. His eyes narrowed, expecting some kind of trick.
"Why should we do that?" Mitsui demanded suspiciously.
"Because of what I can teach you," Fujima replied.
"And what might that be?"
Fujima released his collar and straightened his head. But while he looked at them all, it was to Rukawa alone that he spoke. "Did you ever wonder if there was a way for a mortal to live forever?"
Rukawa stiffened.
Coldness seized up his temples. Something huge twisted around his stomach.
But before he could say anything, Mitsui interrupted by spitting angrily at the floor. "No," he snarled. "Because it's impossible."
Rukawa swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat. He knew Mitsui was right. But still... he...
"What-" Rukawa began.
"No! Don't fucking listen to him," Mitsui rounded on Rukawa furiously. "He's poison! Everything he says is a lie. If it was possible, then why is his so-called wife not beside him? Why is he here begging to die on your sword? Because he failed! If it were ever possible - which it fucking is not - then he certainly doesn't know how."
Fujima seemed to shrink back a little, his shoulders rounding as if he had been struck. As if Mitsui had put a fist right into his heart.
"Yes I failed," he agreed. "But there is no one who knows more about the mortal soul than I. I have spent centuries searching for answers. Searching for... her. For me it is too late. It is impossible. But perhaps not for you. Perhaps." He lifted his eyes imploringly to Rukawa. "Will you not hear me out?"
Mitsui tried to take a menacing step towards him, only to stumble on his injured leg. "I'll cut out your tongue," he hissed, "before I let you torture Kaede with your bullshit!"
Kogure pulled anxiously at his arm. "Hisashi- you have to let Kaede decide."
"Fuck that I don't-! This snake is no friend to us. He's Sakuragi's creature without a fucking doubt-"
"Speak," Rukawa's voice cut through Mitsui's protest, addressing Fujima. "And if your words have worth, then I'll give you the death you seek."
"You're walking right into his trap," Mitsui spluttered in outrage. "It's impossible. You know it's impossible! It's a false hope. It will only drive you mad."
Rukawa ignored him and Mitsui threw up his hands in anger, perhaps recognising the futility in arguing with Rukawa when he was determined. "Fuck!" He blurted. "Fuck!"
Fujima sent Mitsui a sweet smile. Then he lifted two hands as if cupping them around an invisible ball. "The soul," he began, "is not extinguished by death. Death is a function of the body. Memories, skills, feelings, those things reside in the brain, in the muscles. They die with the flesh. But the soul itself is something more. It rebirths in cycle after cycle. Reappearing, in another place, another time, another body, another face, perhaps another gender. There is endless literature on the subject. Mortal cultures across the world have documented the phenomenon. Past lives. Reincarnated souls."
Mitsui scoffed. "How does that help? A reborn soul is a completely different person."
"In some ways, perhaps," Fujima admitted, "but not entirely." He sighed. "I confess I do not have all the answers. I have searched through the eons to find her, but it has proved impossible. She might walk right by me and I would not be able to recognise her. I am now quite sure I will not be able to find her again. Even though I know she must be out there, somewhere, still I... I know that I have to accept that I have, as you say, failed."
Rukawa folded his arms and said nothing.
Fujima gestured in frustration. "Despite all my efforts I am still missing not only one, but two pieces of this puzzle. Firstly, a way to find her again, to recognise her. Secondly, a way to restore the recollections of a previous life to her. And in both these respects, you have the advantage over me."
"I don't see how," Rukawa retorted coldly.
"Do you not?" Fujima lifted one cynical eyebrow. "I am linked to my love through mortal vows of marriage. But your connection runs much deeper, does it not? Are you not watcher and slayer? Do you not share fragments of soul? Aren't your lives meshed together through the rites? Do you not have a physical manifestation of your bond, right there, at your side?"
Startled, Rukawa's hand drifted quickly to Akira, his fingers closing around the hilt, feeling the familiar cold and bringing the light.
Fujima observed his action and looked smug. "The sword was forged with your blood. To you alone it reacts. It drinks of your life and glows at your touch. Were I to hold it, or Rameel, or even Uriel, it would not react. It would be as ordinary steel. Is that not so? Yet there is one," he held up a finger, "single," he smirked, "exception."
Rukawa blinked down at the sword in confusion. The sword responded only to his hand, that was true. Or so he had thought.
Until he had seen Akira hold the sword that night in the temple garden. It had surprised him at the time to see the blade glow at Akira's touch. And yet he had not given it much thought since then. The sword was forged with Akira's blood too so perhaps it was not that strange. But was it a connection that would persist throughout time? Persist even beyond death? He frowned uncertainly.
"I'm curious though," Fujima pressed him with an amused smile, interrupting his thoughts. "How did you convince the Council to give a dangerous exile like you the power of the Watchers?"
"I-" Rukawa began, feeling slightly overwhelmed. But he did not need to continue. Fujima already knew the answer. His eyes swung to Kogure.
"It was the Second for whom the sword was forged, was it not? He took the vows on your behalf. But when he mixed mortal blood with cherubine, it was not his but yours that he submitted." He smirked and waved a hand dismissively at their expressions of surprise. "That much is not hard to deduce. You are no true watcher. You took no vows. You are a mockery of their great legacy. And yet the sword functions, and the bond is real. That much seems to be true." He gestured again towards Rukawa and the sword. "And, is this not proof of your second advantage? Do you not have an ally who can enquire on your behalf, and relay to you all the magicks and knowledge of the heavens stretching back through the ages? Had I access to such knowledge, who knows how much further I could have gone..." he sighed. "Regardless, so long as the Second resists the temptation of the fall, you may yet discover such magicks that would make the preservation and restoration of mortal memories not only a possibility but a triviality." He lifted one eyebrow in question. "Does the idea not excite you?"
The answer, of course, was yes. Rukawa could feel the hairs raise on his arms. If there really were a possibility that he could keep Sendoh beside him - perhaps forever - wouldn't he pursue it with everything he had? It would be a miracle beyond hoping.
But even so, the chance of utilising Fujima's theories remained remote. Because there was no time. Perhaps no chance. And the immediate hurdle facing them seemed at that moment insurmountable.
So Rukawa did not find it difficult to conceal his excitement, because the reality was still there, hard and horrible. The barrier. The gate. Sakuragi's presence. And Sendoh's screams that had fallen ominously silent.
"None of this is relevant to me," Rukawa replied, "while Hanamichi bleeds his life away as we speak."
Fujima shrugged carelessly. "Then go and save him," he retorted. "If such a fundamental thing is already beyond you, Watcher, I don't see what business you have speaking to me."
"I cannot pass the barrier," Rukawa replied in frustration.
Fujima only blinked at him in surprise. "Are you so weak?" He demanded. He approached the barrier with casual steps and pushed his arm demonstratively straight through. "No more resistance than water."
Rukawa approached and mirrored him, yet his hand was blocked soundly by the invisible wall of energy as before.
Fujima snorted in disdain. "Child. If this is the sum of your strength, I can't imagine how you intend to stand against Sakuragi," he gave a contemptuous roll of his eyes. "Well, it is of no consequence to me should you succeed or fail." With a motion of his arm he eradicated a section of the barrier as if it were mere fog to be wiped away. "It won't remain open for long, but this small thing I can do for you. Now, have I earned my payment? We had a deal, I recall."
Rukawa stared at the gap in the barrier that Fujima had made. He had an urge to dart through it at once, desperate to reach Sendoh's side. But it was tempered by an ugly half-held wish that it was still closed and the weight of this moment was not resting on his shoulders.
His hand drifted to Akira again, his eyes turning to Fujima beside him, considering the task.
He had promised Fujima death. It should not have been hard. He had slaughtered more demons than he could possibly count. But this felt... different.
There was no sense. Nothing driving him to act. No pain or compulsion or the mindlessness of bloodlust. This wasn't merely surrendering to a blind rage; it was a conscious choice. He could not close his eyes and let the sense drive his sword for him. No. This time he would need to move that sword, each and every inch, with determination and purpose. Take on the responsibility of killing. Of ending life.
This wouldn't be slaying - a mere culling of monsters. This would be murder.
He had promised Fujima death but he hadn't realised what it would cost him until this moment.
Fujima saw him hesitate, and his eyes narrowed. "You gave me your word. Are you weak and a liar too?"
Rukawa's grip on Akira tightened. He didn't know what to say, though. Didn't know if he could go through with it. Didn't know at all.
"I'll do it," Mitsui's voice interrupted.
Mitsui drew Vengeance with a decisive ring of steel. Rukawa met his eyes, and knew at once that Mitsui understood. That he knew why Rukawa had hesitated. How it would be an evil, wicked thing. That if they went through with a sin like this, it would blacken them forever.
"You should save your strength for Sakuragi," Mitsui said in a low, quiet voice that filled Rukawa with a strange horror.
"No-" he tried to protest. This was his responsibility. He had made the deal with Fujima, and the weight of the burden ought to fall on him. He could not ask Mitsui to do this on his behalf.
But Mitsui ignored him.
"Come closer, stuprator," he addressed Fujima irritably. "I cannot walk on this leg."
Realising that Mitsui's resolve was firmer than Rukawa's protest against it, Fujima did as he was told. He stepped gracefully across the grass. He was beautiful, Rukawa realised then. Though he seemed to have been worn right down to his bones, he was so beautiful.
Rukawa almost couldn't bear to watch yet he couldn't seem to drag his eyes away.
Fujima lowered himself with dignity to his knees in front of Mitsui and let out a quiet sigh. He settled his hands in gentle fists upon his thighs, relaxing his shoulders.
"You ready?" Mitsui demanded impatiently.
"Mmm," Fujima gave a soft hum. He lifted his chin, offering his neck.
Mitsui carefully touched Vengeance's edge to the skin of his throat. The cold steel made Fujima shiver.
"Any last words?"
Fujima fixed one eye on Mitsui. "I always wanted to die with a cock in my mouth," he requested hopefully.
"Don't fucking push it."
Fujima only smirked. Then, turning his eyes towards Rukawa, he said, "Don't let that mortal die, or this might be you one day, begging your brother to take your life."
Rukawa couldn't seem to speak.
"You done?" Mitsui wanted to know.
Fujima gave a small shrug and closed his eyes, his face to the sky. "Toru," he said quietly to the clouds. "Forgive me." He gave a weak smile.
He didn't move or flinch as Mitsui drew Vengeance back, and then swung the sword with all his strength.
Right up until the moment Fujima died, Rukawa remained half convinced that it was a trick. That Fujima had deceived them. That he would leap back, draw a weapon, ambush them in some way.
Doubtless Fujima heard the sound of the sword split the air as it swung towards him. Probably he had speed enough to evade the swing and save himself. But he did not. Though he didn't seem to have bravery of a fighting sort, Rukawa thought afterwards, he died well. Without fear.
There was no blood, though. The only substance that flowed from Fujima's neck was ash. His body disintegrated almost at once, collapsing into dust that scattered like powder across the ground.
There was silence for a long time as the three of them stared at the sight of the breeze picking its way through the dust.
"Some people," Kogure observed quietly, "live too long."
No one else knew what to say.
Rukawa was the first to turn away. He fixed his attention back on the gap in the barrier that Fujima had created as his last act. The door beyond which he did not dare guess what fate he would meet. But he would go. Of course he would go. He adjusted his grip on Akira silently.
He frowned, hesitated, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say. Wondering if this might be the last time he'd see them, but not wanting to get caught up in painful goodbyes. Finally, he only shook his head. "Thank you," he said with finality, giving them both a quick bow. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and stepped through the gap, leaving them there, and didn't look back.
They didn't try to stop him.
Mitsui hadn't moved from where he stood. His face was a little pale, staring down at the dust. He lifted his eyes dazedly and turned back to Kogure.
Kogure gazed at him anxiously. "Are you all right?"
Mitsui ignored the question. "Do you think Kaede can win?" he demanded, stumbling a little as he moved to sit back down on the rock beside Kogure. His hands were shaking.
"I hope so."
Mitsui's face darkened. "We have failed hundreds of times before. Why should this time be any different?"
Kogure frowned. "This time he is fighting for something more than just revenge. He… loves that boy, you know."
Mitsui dropped his chin to his chest tiredly. "Will that really make any difference?" he queried. "That mortal won't be his strength, but his undoing."
Kogure squeezed his eyes closed tightly. "It must," he whispered, but it sounded more like a prayer than a fact. "It must."