A/N: Soooo...yeah. I'm sorry for writing things off tangent in regards to my own self-satisfaction and want to apologize beforehand for what you're about to read. I'm hoping you can at least like it a littttllle bit. (I'm so sorry!)
Chapter Two
"You're quite a tall fellow for a human, are you not?"
The child smiled invitingly up at Douma, having to crane his head to peer up at him in such a fashion that seemed unnatural.
"Makoto will act as your guide," Kagaya offered with a smile, his hand extended in the boy's direction.
Douma looked back to the child, beyond curious, studying him with newfound fascination. He was so accustomed to being touched by others that he had paid no attention when the boy reached for him save for the startling feel of soft pelted fur and delicate pads encircling his own clawed fingers.
He marveled at the twitch of whiskers upon the little one's cheeks and the crimson irises within cunningly cut eyes that reminded him painfully of his former master's.
"Are you...a nekomata?" Douma asked a little incredulously, his excitement getting the better of him as a smile broke across his lips.
"I am a bakeneko and we are wasting time," the boy corrected, a lantern raised in his other paw.
Douma turned to Ubuyashiki yet found the man was missing entirely. All that remained was the sea of ink that pervaded the mass around them.
The child tugged on his hand, signaling him to follow.
The man tightened his grip on the tiny paw slightly, basking in the novelty of the softness of the fur brushing against his skin.
"Did you grow so tall because you were a demon?" The feline named Makoto queried good-naturedly, his lantern doing little to lead the way within the darkness he was dragging his companion through.
"There were definitive changes yet my height is as it ever was. How old are you?"
The kizuki could not help but let his wonder get the best of him. He tried to recollect children's tales within his disjointed memories in an attempt to relate the creature before him to the stories he had heard but was finding difficulty in procuring such recitals. The draw of interest and conversation was too tempting to resist. He had always been a creature who thrived in conversing with others and the novelty of this supernatural child was too opportune to miss.
"A lot older than you think. More so than you and your measly years," the child added petulantly, impressing upon the taller man that he was not a kid to be demeaned.
His mouth had opened for further questions yet he was halted at the sudden appearance of a door before him that had run amiss his attention, so engrossed had he been by the spirit at his hand.
The creature extricated his tiny paw from Douma's hand to rapt smartly at the door before clearing his throat, as if to issue a warning of imminent entry to whomever was waiting inside.
"Saburo-dono, I've brought the candidate you requested for interview."
He heard the sound of mechanisms disengaging before a door swung open on it's hinges to reveal a man clad in a black haori and hakama seated upon a tatami floor at a desk with his back facing them awaiting inside.
"Go ahead and take a seat," the man instructed distractedly, his fingers employed upon quill and paper as he scrawled fastidiously upon the labors before him.
The kizuki did as he was instructed, his eyes flicking from the strange man to the child that had also entered, setting his lantern aside before positioning himself on a cushion beside Douma, his paws folded smartly into one another within his lap, smiling affably.
Douma studied the man across from him, long dark hair tied away from a sharp face that was obscured from the eyes down with a black mask resembling a crow's beak. His attention turned to survey a mass of a large black wing that protruded from the back of his left shoulder, lush and sable, the spines of feathers twitching with movement as his arm shifted across the parchment. On the right side was another, however this one was distorted, twisted, and withered away, the feathers sparse and frayed upon the mangled looking appendage.
He heard the man click his tongue before tossing his quill aside, reaching behind him to pluck a feather from his flourishing wing before dipping the tip in an inkwell to resume his work upon his note.
"Apparently we have a messiah before us, Makoto," he drawled, finishing a character upon his paper before he set his writing tool aside, sitting back and assessing the tall man before him, giving his full attention to the ashen-haired youth for the first time, his sharp eyes a flint of silver that roved over the demon.
"Your definition of "paradise" is unsurprising although I will credit you in that I'm unaccustomed to "humans" ingesting masses of their own kind in such staggering quantities as you displayed. However, from what I've been told, you haven't been human for a very long time."
Douma's mouth thinned, his cordial smile retracting within itself, his fingers tightening within the palms of his fists. He had no retort in regards to the appraisal given him.
He wasn't remorseful.
He didn't know how to be.
But he was no longer proud.
The winged man shifted his shoulder, his wings shivering in turn with the motion as he straightened, his voice taking on a practiced air.
"You're a man accustomed to high rank, be it human or demon. Understand that within this realm, you retain no authority from your former existence. You are neither human nor demon, but a tool. From here on out, you are a Sin-Eater."
The term rang curious in Douma's perception but he shelved the obvious question for more pertinent information.
Douma reached down for a fan to realize his habit had betrayed him as he no longer had his tools available to him. Undeterred, he settled his fingers against his lips and chin as he considered the dark man before him, his heavy brows drawn low above his eyes in assessment.
"I'm quite confident I can be anything you desire me to be," he spoke slowly and meaningfully, the inflections of his speech resolute,"Yet not without purpose. I want something in return or you can send me to hell and I'll find my own way out."
Although he could not see the dark-haired man's mouth, something in his eyes betrayed his amusement at the demon's words. Saburo inclined his head slightly in acceptance, locking his eyes with the resolved, prismed ones across the table.
"That's quite the voice. And the eye contact. It's not just the colors, you're used to this. Those are some very advantageous skills you have there," the winged man praised, folding his arms into the sleeves of his haori.
"My name is Saburo and I am a shinigami. All of your tasks and undertakings will be issued by me."
The man withdrew one of his hands from his sleeve, a small wooden block protruding from his hand. He placed the device on the table and gently pressed it in Douma's direction. Douma's eyes peered down at the thing, curious about the various engravings that enveloped the entirety of its structure.
"What is it?" he asked, his eyes returning to the shinigami across from him. He could hear his companion at his side shift on his cushion but did not divert his attention to him.
"It's what you came here for," Saburo gestured at the block,"This is your "Marker". Your successes will be illuminated partially upon the emblem etched on the device. Failure is not only met with punishment but part of your progress will be retracted from your Marker. Continue to advance and ignite the insignia entirely and you will be given the opportunity of reincarnation."
Douma's hand darted out to snatch the thing, so hard that he could feel the wood biting into the flesh of his palm. He looked up to his new master and revealed a beguiling smile despite the fangs that hovered behind it. What Saburo had said was true, he was a natural born leader. Yet he was not above following orders, as even he had been a most loyal servant to his creator.
"I am humbly at your service."
Saburo stood, followed by Makoto, causing Douma to stand in turn.
"Then let's get to it," the shinigami tossed over a winged shoulder as he headed for the very door Douma had entered.
Unsurprisingly, instead of the mass of purgatory that had been the demon's home for however many ages, there was something else entirely beyond it's threshold. He surveyed the new environment and his keen eyes widened as he quietly sucked in air between slightly parted lips. They were looking over an expanse of a cityscape. The architecture was on an unprecedented scale in size. Among the various structures, there were towering pagodas as well as raised temples that were sizable enough to populate several towns among them. Colossal, entangled spires littered the area, some gushing water from their roofs, the whole of it all aglow with the light of red lanterns. Further still was dark, hulking mountains that loomed within the darkness, visible fog ensnared within various peaks.
And as if the teeming wonders he found himself engulfed within was not enough, he looked down upon it all from above, in the air.
Makoto smiled at him knowingly, his eyes slanting with the notion.
"This is a docking station. A ship will pass by shortly," he supplied helpfully.
Varicolored eyes raised to look around himself to see red gondolas sailing leisurely in the air above the city, descending at various ports for passengers to alight.
"This is the underworld?" Douma queried, his hand taking the place of his favored fan once more as he took everything in.
"No. This is Remnant, which is merely a small town within the Ark district within Yomi."
"This...is small...," Douma weighed ever so sardonically, his polychromatic eyes slanting toward the winged man at his side. The world he had experienced under Muzan suddenly seemed so small and insignificant by comparison.
A large ship buoyed over to them and a set of stairs began to disengage from the dock, connecting to the vessel in an efficiently practiced fashion. Saburo led the way upon the gondola and Douma followed, the bakeneko child remaining behind with a cordial wave.
Douma paused momentarily at the kappa manning the helm, eyeing the creature with interest before returning to the shinigami.
"Are there no humans here?"
"Few and far between. Remnant is a unique place for souls that can be utilized, such as yours. The different creatures you see here will not always be under the same mandate, as Yomi is a conduit between worlds. Spirits can pass through with ease, unlike humans."
They descended so smoothly that Douma found the experience almost unexceptional, his gaze flitting from structure to structure in a frenzied manner as his degrees of attention were at war with one another. He knew himself, that he had a tendency to grow bored easily and distractions were always fanciful. But given the circumstances, he could not help himself.
"What is a Sin-Eater?" he almost whispered, gazing at the mass of the population beneath his feet as moving bodies below came into sight.
"Within the various provinces within Yomi, there are discontented souls who manage to slip between the cracks and escape into the living world. Sin-Eaters track and locate these anomalies and devour them. You will be their judgement that we have sent upon them for their transgressions."
"Devour?"
"There is no "food" here that will appeal to you. But do not fear, we will most certainly give you opportunities to satiate that voracious appetite of yours," Saburo added with an amused inflection interwoven within his words.
"Misdeeds and immorality are now your sustenance. Sin-Eaters are hunger driven to efficiency, as mandated criminals are the only things your kind craves."
He jerked to attention as the boat shook beneath his feet, the connecting stairs once again engaging with another dock upon their arrival.
The winged-man said nothing as he turned to descend, the kizuki following in his tall, assured stride, taking in snatches of sights and sounds while being directed down a busy street.
Among the blazing red lanterns was firelight in various forms, within street-posts, on torches, and candlelight. Despite the perpetual night that ensconced the city, everything was illuminated so brightly that the sizable wooden structures surrounding them could barely cast shadows. They passed vendors with an array of steaming fare yet Douma noticed that regardless of his detection of their copious scents, not a single one appealed to him. He heard boisterous laughter from what looked to be an izakaya and the amount of goods for sale along the streets gave the impression of a night market.
His jaw was beginning to tire as his mouth remained agape like a child's, yet he could not help but be drawn to the movement and clamour that surrounded him.
His feet began to slow as his attention was preoccupied, and it was at the clearing of a throat that he shook himself free of it.
Saburo stood before a large bathhouse, the wooden mass several stories high and brimming with voices and motion. Douma could see the shadows of others within passing by the screens, conversation and laughter slipping through the doors and windows. It beckoned to his natural instincts of engagement, the desire for exchange and conference resonating strongly within him.
"This will be your residence. The first three floors are the bathhouse while the remaining are dormitories. The Okami will give you instructions on the operations of her establishment as well as show you to your room. Your assignments will be dictated directly from me and when I call, you are to come. That's not a concept you are unfamiliar with, yes?"
Douma looked unaffected yet wondered internally just how much of his relationship with Muzan was the shinigami aware of.
"I don't imagine the way you summon me will be the method that I'm used to,"he smiled falsely, uncaring at the mocking nature of his flippant words.
Saburo seemed un-bothered and stepped closer to the ashen-haired man.
"Like this."
His hand lashed out and clamped down on Douma's upper arm, causing the demon to jerk in his grasp in surprise. Before he could move to break the winged-man's hold, razor-like claws jutted forth from his fingertips and pierced flesh, tendon, muscle, and bone, causing the tall man to gasp in pain.
Just as quickly, the shinigami retracted his appendages, seemingly disinterested by the blood that was coursing down the demon's arm.
"Not nearly as bad as piercing your skull but it will do," he murmured almost snidely, flicking blood off of his fingertips.
Douma grasped the wound with his opposite hand, wondering why it was that the pain was so poignant for an injury that would have gone unnoticed in his former capacity. His teeth clenched together as his eyes narrowed, locking onto the dark-haired man who had stepped away from him.
"This scar will activate when you are being summoned as well as seal your abilities. Certain tasks will require various demon arts and I will adjust your restrictions as needed. There is no need for you to retain all your powers at any given time. As for your regenerative abilities, you'll heal quickly enough."
"And the pain?" Douma asked between clenched teeth, feeling his flesh beginning to knit itself but not as quickly as he was accustomed to, the process unhurried and irksome.
"What of it? Many great experiences are had by its influence. I had thought you had felt as much in your time in the void."
Their attention was suddenly drawn to the opening of a large door, the noises within amplified as they trickled out onto the street. A woman dressed as a ryokan proprietress smiled at them genially, waiting for them to finish what they had been on about.
Saburo gave an inclination of his head in the first show of respect Douma had seen from him.
"Okami. This Sin-Eater is Douma. I'll leave the rest to you if there is nothing further you need from me."
The woman's smile widened, bowing elegantly in return, her eyes sliding over to the kizuki holding his arm. She reached out an arm to him to come invitingly, and after looking back at the shinigami who nodded in turn, he began to make his way toward her.
Her dark glossy hair was pinned tastefully and her kimono was awash in sable-colored swallows that bled into a crimson horizon. Her face was unpainted yet refined, the kind of features that would age well in time. This was not the kind of ladies he was familiar with, this display of dignified sophistication drawing him in. She looked at him with dark discerning eyes that belied intelligence hidden within.
She intertwined her arm with his injured one, seeming undisturbed by the stains upon his shredded sleeve, smiling softly up at him.
"You're visibly vibrating with questions, child. In time. If we have anything, we always have plenty of time here. Now let's get you settled within a room."
She guided him gently around and toward the door, a proper hostess. He looked over his shoulder but like the bakeneko, he too had vanished. Stepping over the threshold, he could feel his attitude improve ten fold at the jovial busy atmosphere of the bathhouse. Screens were open across the room to reveal a small kabuki theatre with patrons looking on in adoration, young girls that were doubtlessly workers were weaving in and out between customers at various tables of food and drink with towels and futons folded in their arms as they made their way in all manner of directions. He felt the tug on his arm once more and looked down at the woman who signalled for him to continue, not realizing that he had paused in his absorption of his surroundings.
He allowed her to guide him upstairs and lost track of the stories they had climbed as his attention was distracted as he craned his head back to see into corridors and large rooms that were momentarily within his view.
"You're a very curious boy," the woman chuckled softly, the sleeve of her kimono on her opposite arm rising to her mouth. Douma could not help but be charmed by the motion, watching the display of gesture in admiration.
He had always been partial to women. It was the way they moved, their lilting voices, the delicacy in their fragileness that was incongruent with their ability to birth and create life. It was no wonder he had been so peculiar about his diet, a veritable delicatessen. Previously, he would go so far as to say he loved them, that is, if he had the capacity to love. Furthermore, his unemotional nature was so lacking, that he had never even once felt lust. In his entire existence, there had always been him and others and he had always concluded that they were not the same.
Shinobu had been the spark that had lit within him, a torrent of unknown emotion overtaking him, things he could not name but he had wholly welcomed all the same.
Unlike the waif, frail women full of adoration that was his constant, the hashira had employed tactics involving forethought and cunning to take him down before he had even known of her existence. She had allowed him to think that he had disposed of another insignificant soul only for her to contaminate and disintegrate him from the inside out. Shinobu had ensured that unlike his countless, faceless meals he had enjoyed over the decades, he would never forget her and the absolute destruction she had wrought upon his person. And as if her feats had not been stacked so remarkably high as it was, he could not help but look at her with awe and desire as she smiled serenely at him with his head in her hand, confident and assured of her comrades' successes and her satisfaction of his inevitable end.
He understood that his adulation stemmed from the contrast Shinobu presented in regards to the women he had always been surrounded by. Although she had been small and so easily breakable just the same, that is where the similarities had ended.
He didn't love Shinobu. He didn't know how to. But he wanted her. And it was the first time he had ever wanted something for himself. And that desire was so novel and so powerful that it would overcome him if he allowed it to.
He had thought he had been born to make others happy.
He knew now that wasn't the case.
Yet he was not dissatisfied with the shift in paradigms.
In fact, he felt driven.
Because he was a creature suitable for excitement, if anything.
"We're here, child. Are you alright?"
Douma's smile widened enough to show his canines, his kaleidoscopic eyes dancing.
"Yes. I think I will be."
A/N: I don't know what I'm doing anymore, please don't hurt me!