A/N No no, I'm not dead yet. I'm sorry that it took so long, but on the upside I have a few chapters stocked up now so you won't have to wait half a year for updates, at least for a while. =) And hey, guys, we actually have a quadruplet of milestones here!
§ TEotB has crossed the mark of 400 000 words (Swedish way of writing numbers, I know, I know)
§ TEotB has passed the mark of 100 000 views
§ I've gotten on the Favourite Authors list of over 100 readers
§ TEotB is three years old (which means it gets its first mandatory dentist visit!)
Now, how should we celebrate something like this? Well, I went to Rome for a week in summer and did some recon work. And you will get more ANGST ahahahahahaaaa~ (I will stop that really soon, promise, I just still have some more angst to dump on you. Bear with me. C':)
A special thanks to Zy and madtophat/exorpriest for filling in my knowledge gaps. ;)
Refs to ch: 20, 34, 39
Ah, yes: faith. If ever Eden saw corruption wrought beneath its canopies, it was not the fruit man ate in disobedience but the faith they placed in that Serpent and the words he spake. Humanity and faith are one, and ever to be so, yet if that will be her boon or bane depends uniquely on wherein she places her belief.
Truth? Now that is something else entirely. Truth would poison faith past any recognition, and, should the two be wed by force – as mankind is so fond of doing – their toxic union births the manacles of slavery, of enmity, of persecution; a plague was born that day, when humanity took faith for truth and made it her belief the two were one. That epidemic rages ever on, its mutated multitude of hydra heads still hissing at each other's promises of truth; it is a placebo mockery of Faith, and its name is Religion.
Oh? Too harsh, you say? Well, then: place your faith wherever you deem fit. Placebo, too, can serve as trellis for belief to grow and climb; just bear in mind, my dears, that the wickers faith grows onto also will grow into it, grow into you, that you may craft the mind a prison of your choosing. Indeed, if faith will be your boon or bane… That choice rests with you alone.
It is quite fascinating, that something so insubstantial can hold such power: a wish infused with trust, a hope sustained by unconditional conviction; a torch alit to keep the dark at bay when it comes crawling… Hopes and wishes: that is all it is, your faith. Those are the measly cobweb strings you trust to keep the world from crumbling.
Absurd?
Or profound?
…really, now? You would ask a demon for the mysteries of faith?
How very insightful of you. Not wise, perhaps, but insightful. I know many things forgotten and concealed: but would I tell you? And if I did, how much should you trust my words?
Ah, but faith has naught to do with answers. Of faith, I will only tell you this: don't underestimate the power of the human mind.
"I guess a miracle was too much to wish for."
Shiro didn't know what time it was. Early. Maybe even a quarter to early. The sun rose in the small hours this time of year, and the pale light was slowly climbing the horizon. He had been sitting on the dorm roof long enough to see the sunset, then the moon, and now… dawn. A beautiful dawn, too: postcard dawn, splashing the façades of the Academy with soft white. It climbed steadily higher, a giant clock counting down the remaining minutes until disaster.
"If this is a trial I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to prove, just so you know. I don't see the point in any of this. Gimme a sign, O Great Lord. Light my cigarette on fire and let it talk to me."
Nothing happened, of course. Shiro lit his cigarette himself, momentarily tempted to think that the Great Lord had given up on humanity long ago: that He was on coffee break, or that maybe He kept favourites and only helped people in the Middle East. That whatever angel in charge of the East Asian territory was an incompetent slacker. That there was static on the line that prevented prayers from being heard.
Pray long enough and the prayers will evaporate into giddy jokes that taste like watered-down rice porridge.
A small pile of cigarette butts had built up next to him over the night: each one a prayer, each one turning to dust, unanswered. When he left he would scoop it up and throw it in the garbage. Not really a symbolic gesture – that would be an after-construction. Shiro just didn't want the janitors to deal with more shit than they already did.
"You know what? I'm starting to think I was right. About you. That you're a demon, just like the gods in Ancient Greece and Shinto. How about that, hm? Gonna defend yourself and prove me wrong?"
No answer. When Shiro spared a moment to reflect on his thoughts he wasn't sure if he even wanted one, or if he just wanted someone to direct his anger at. He had already been angry at himself, for being an idiot who trusted the wrong people. It would be nice to be angry at someone else for a change, someone who – allegedly – had more influence over his life than he did.
"…what a joke. If I'd had any influence over my life I wouldn't be praying imaginary gods for miracles."
If he'd had any influence over his life, today would never have happened. It had kept him up through the small hours, asking for advice and miracles. What he was going to do today was making his heart twist inside out, and among all the words he had tried and discarded during the night none had been able to twist it right and make it settle back into his ribcage. As the sun scaled the Academy walls, and the cigarette glow was creeping into the filter, Shiro had no clue how to say what he didn't want to say. He stared at the glow without seeing it, stared at the hand holding the cigarette and wondered what he had hands for, when they were tied behind his back.
Shiro had never needed a god: he had taken care of himself, ever since his mom had died and his dad had deteriorated into a self-loathing wreck. His own two hands, that was all he needed to get by. Now, he didn't know what he needed.
"A miracle would've been nice. But I guess my situation isn't bad enough to qualify. And if you're pulling a Job on me to test my faith, there's nothing to test so you can quit it already."
Shiro put out the last cigarette with the others and began scraping them together. The heap had looked fairly big before, but now it shrank into a humble pile that looked miserably small in his cupped hands. Maybe that was what it looked like to god, from high above: a problem that seemed impossibly big for a human was just a little speck when seen from a distance. An insignificant little speck not worth wasting miracles on.
"Maybe you should've left your godly powers at home when you came down to preach salvation. Then you'd know what it's really like to be human", he snarled at his cupped hands.
In a fit of blazing defiance – and, more importantly, sleep deprivation – Shiro turned to face the self-important dawn. Squinting up at the fading stars, he strode closer to it, all the way to the edge of the flat rooftop, where he planted his feet firmly on the concrete.
"A word of advice, god – from a little speck that just might grow into a big, unpleasant pile of shit if you don't pay attention." His voice was hoarse and raspy from the cool night – and the many cigarettes – but carried well in the clear air. "I'm about to hurt someone badly, and she doesn't deserve that. You might not think that's much of a problem to you, but I want you to take a look at who's holding the rope I'm tied with, and I want you to consider what I might be doing in the future if you don't help me cut that rope. It's not gonna be pretty things, okay? Are we clear?"
The ash and cigarette butts bombarded his face in the sudden blast of wind as they were carried off into the air in a grey flurry. Shiro hunched down and threw his arms up before his face on instinct, bracing his feet wide apart – for fighting or for bolting, whichever turned out to be the better option. He cracked one eye open to get a look at the assailant and was greeted by the outline of a winged creature that was halfway into a backward loop, seemingly after making a steep rise along the dormitory wall. The rainbow colours and the streaming peacock tail were things he instantly recognised as those of a shahrokh, and this particular shahrokh – with its fondness of air acrobatics – was Tonbo, Kasumi's familiar.
Shiro tried to ruffle the ash out of his hair as he trotted down the stairs of the dorm building. He briefly entertained the idea of going back to his dorm room to wash it out – along with the ash that probably stuck to his face – but decided not to. Saburota had the night shift in Deep Keep and would be returning any minute.
Shiro's relation to Saburota was awkward, at best. A rosary of tense greetings and quietly synchronised schedules to ensure they saw as little of each other as possible. Shiro didn't know when it had become like that, only why it suddenly bothered him that it was. Yesterday had shown him how similar his situation and Saburota's was. Different – completely different – but also vaguely similar. Both sons with expectations they didn't want, both plagued by truth: one by seeking it, the other by knowing it. As Shiro cleared the last flight of stairs, he felt like there were touching points there that could have built something, if only things had played out differently.
Then there was that other similar difference they shared. Neither of them knew when to keep his mouth shut: one because he was obsessed with the truth and the other because he was an idiot.
"Morning", Shiro greeted. The front door of the building had barely creaked shut behind him before he stood face to face with Saburota. He seemed worn these days, but kept a professional look about it: just strode ahead, not stopping to think – or care – what he was striding towards or what he was striding past. Or why his roommate had grey dust all over himself.
"Good morning." The words were spoken in passing, an acknowledgement of form and decorum. They could have remained that. The conversation could have been over then, if not for Shiro being tired and unable to shut up.
"You decide your own future." Hearing Saburota stop, Shiro halted his steps as well.
"Excuse me?"
Shiro didn't turn around. He already regretted this. What was he trying to do? Play hero? Ease his guilty conscience? Shiro didn't like thinking of when he had toyed with Saburota because of his imprint, but if there was anything good he had learnt from that it was that Saburota had things pent up inside that triggered a demon's instincts.
Protect humans against demons: that's what exorcists did, right?
"Nothing." Shiro fixed his eyes on the dew damp walkway before him, speaking to the air. "Just saying you shouldn't let others decide those things for you."
"What things? Are you drunk again?" There was an edge to Saburota's voice now: a wary, accusing edge that sought to his cut words down in mid-air. It was a voice that didn't want to listen.
"Wish I was", he said flatly, hoping to ease Saburota out of the defensive mode if he let it show that he was troubled, too. "I know all about having to do things I don't wanna do. I know about expectations and demands. I'm off to do stuff today that I definitely don't want to but I don't have a choice." Shiro turned halfway around, meeting the eyes of the exorcist still watching him with a guarded expression. He almost smiled, then. That light-headed smile that comes not because something is funny but because everything is so absurd it ought to fall apart like broken porcelain. "Sucks, doesn't it? I wake up every day hating it. Then I start hating myself because I can't do anything about it. Then I hate people around me 'cause they can't see it and I can't tell them. And the show goes on and on and on."
Saburota didn't follow for five cent. He didn't care to. You could see it in his eyes, in his posture: to him, Shiro had just proven that he was indeed drunk.
"I don't know what you think you're doing, Fujimoto." You could hear it in his voice, too. Saburota's voice was cool. Not something as hostile as cold: only cool, measured, and utterly contemptuous in an utterly sophisticated way. "I don't think you know either. Do yourself a favour and don't do anything until you have slept and sorted yourself out."
Saburota was in the mood for mocking him when he tried to be helpful? Fine. Shiro could pay him back in his own coin.
"How sweet of you to care about me", he replied with sugary sarcasm. "Who cares about you? Your dad? Your brothers? Or they don't give a damn what you do as long as that Order badge is in place?"
No. No. He was being an idiot now. He hadn't slept enough and his common sense was leaking like a sieve – leaking like the tugging, teasing presence of vulnerability that reached him from Saburota. Shiro grimaced as if struck by a sudden migraine.
"What did you-"
"I didn't mean to say that", Shiro interrupted, waving his hand as if the persuasive tug was a bad smell he could waft away. "It was out of line. Sorry. Just forget it."
As if Saburota would forget that. A regular citizen might let it slide if someone made an assault like that and then heel turned and apologised: an exorcist, on the other hand, would note it down as a sign of potential possession. That notebook was out and open in Saburota's mind, and his eyes were scanning Shiro viciously for more signs to register.
"I'm not possessed", Shiro clarified pre-emptively. "I'm just tired. Makes my manners worse than they already are."
Shiro would have left it at that – a poor excuse for amends yet all he had energy for – but neither he nor Saburota knew when to shut up.
"I don't think it's yo-your manners." Saburota's voice stabbed him in the back when he turned around to leave. Stuttered and stabbed and tugged. "It's you. You are b-b-bad, through and through, and you keep pretending you're n-not. Like a dem-m-mon playing at being human. That's why they're after you, i-i-isn't it? You're like them."
Shiro had fairly thick skin where insults were concerned. He had been called a good many things for being the short-tempered kid he had been and by now it passed like water off a duck. Then there were the times when the insults were true: and struck true, burying right into the spots that were the most sore.
Shiro snorted sharply through his nose, letting out some of the throbbing pressure and redirecting it as smoothly as he could. Tch. If there was a god he was a sadistic little brat, to make Saburota get that last sentence out ungarbled by stutters.
"At least we agree on something", he returned, tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, and let the wheeling shahrokh lead the way out of the Academy campus.
The morning rush hour was something that had always held a certain fascination to Shiro. The way thousands upon thousands of people marshalled in unison and moved; for that short hour you could see the bare bones that held society upright. That massive, synchronised mobilisation, unity and hard work, seemed to embody the Japanese spirit. Standing in the throng of people waiting for the crossing lights to switch, Shiro added another note to his observations: it was a bystander's fascination. He could appreciate rush hour from afar, but he certainly didn't like being smack in the middle of it. Not on a day like this.
Meeting in the morning had been Kasumi's suggestion, as the weather forecast had promised an unusually warm May month starting today. The air had already taken on a humid quality that reminded him of July when it was like walking around in miso broth in daytime. At the thought of soup, Shiro's stomach voiced a reproachful gurgle. He hadn't eaten since yesterday's supper.
He checked his watch: convenience stores should be opening now. The thought of freshly steamed nikuman made his stomach crinkle up like a raisin, as if to demonstrate how empty it was and what a good idea nikuman was.
That is, it was a good idea until he had entered the store, selected the nikuman he wanted from the cooker by the counter, and taken out his wallet to pay for them. First there was an ominous rustle from the aisle with dried foods. Then an ominous pitter patting of things falling off a shelf. Then there was the sound of something tearing and something crunching.
The shop assistant – a young, bespectacled guy who most likely worked there to pay for college – wore the exact same stiff "what-was-that?" expression Shiro wore. The boy threw a concerned glance in the direction of the sound, then reminded himself of shop policy and that he had a customer waiting. Clearing the payment as fast as he could, he flashed a hurried smile and excused himself to go check on the noise. Shiro tailed him, paper bag of nikuman in hand, and cursed under his breath.
He didn't know what the shop assistant saw: niboshi packages spilled all over the aisle floor, probably. What Shiro saw was a very happy Tonbo, chewing down dried fish from the package she had managed to tear open. The dumb mutt had orders to lead him to Kasumi, no doubt, and lead him to Kasumi she would; if he strayed off to somewhere he shouldn't she would follow and herd him back – unless she found something on the way that was more interesting than a stray idiot. Bloody demons.
"No no, I will clean this up, don't worry, sir!"
Shiro pretended not to notice the shop assistant's flailing assurances and sat down on his haunches to rake up the niboshi packages. If it was one thing he had learnt from watching Sen's goblin it was that you don't get between a demon and its food, and the last thing he needed today was to emergency treat a shocked civilian for mashou.
In turn, Tonbo kept snacking and pretended not to notice that she had her claw on one of the packages. Shiro gave it a sharp tug, hoping she was smart enough to get the hint. Which she didn't. He glared at the furry face level with his own, willing her to move. Tonbo stared back, uncomprehending, snout open and pink tongue dangling between her fangs. Once eye contact was made she licked her nose and closed her mouth, glancing down at the bag of nikuman he was holding and then back to his face. Hoping he was smart enough to get the hint.
"Oh you little… demon." Tonbo knew exactly what she was doing, the clever little bastard: wouldn't leave without finishing her snack unless she was compensated. "Fine." He nodded, and the shahrokh lifted her sinewy leg to let him take the last package.
They took a short breakfast break outside the shop to let the shahrokh enjoy the fruits of her blackmailing. He should have been pissed, and he had been, but… Watching the shahrokh take bites out of the nikuman, like some huge dog-headed pigeon, Shiro smiled. Familiars reflected their Tamers alright.
Kasumi had chosen her usual spot to wait for him: the red wooden bridge that spanned the waters by the night market. It was a different thing to be there in the morning. The city had woken but the pond hadn't. It lay still and unbroken like a shard fallen out of the pale sky, waiting for the first ducks to stir its surface. The sun had not yet reached it, creeping between the buildings as if hesitant to dip its rays in the water where night cool still slept. All the same, the water lilies were slowly opening their petals, trying to coax the light closer with their fragrant smell. Kasumi watched them from the bridge, absentmindedly fanning herself with a painted fan – not only for the humid warmth but also for the milling swarms of mosquitoes that lingered in the shade.
Shiro regretted that he had eaten anything. His stomach knotted itself up as if trying to hide and consequently pushed the food back up his oesophagus. He would rather face a hundred pissed krakens than do this.
Tonbo heaved up a shrill, happy sound that was in between a bird's chirping and a dog's barking as she flew ahead to perch on the bridge handrail. Kasumi's face cracked into a beaming grin when she spotted him. Wandering staff and backpack forgotten on the bridge, she flew down the boards and caught him in a bear hug (from a very small bear).
"Happy birthday, Fuji!" She looked up from his chest, catching his eyes with an almost smug look. "Good thing ya finally caught up. I was feelin' like a dirty old lady, dating a minor."
"Well, no need to worry about that now."
It was one of the shittiest comeback lines he had ever- It didn't even qualify as a comeback line. But there wouldn't be many witty exchanges today. Shiro knew that. He didn't have the energy for it and it wouldn't make it any easier to do what he had to do.
"Damn, ya look like ya've been partyin' all night." Kasumi attempted to bring some sort of life to his face by pinching his cheeks and pulling. "Is that a hangover or ya just tired?"
"Really fucking tired", he replied truthfully.
"Better give ya this before ya fall asleep then." Kasumi whistled for Tonbo, who came swooping over them and dropped off a big, square package wrapped in white gift paper printed with little red hearts and katakana saying Happy Valentine's. "Come on, open it!"
He could guess approximately what it was: something useful and something hand crafted. Kasumi always came up with the best gifts.
He didn't want this.
When the paper came undone, Shiro could only admit that she had outdone herself. In the package lay a Doctor utility belt, an exact copy of the Order's own but more… more. Every part of it was crafted with thought and care: hoops for antidote phials, clasps for tweezers, scissors and syringe containers, pockets for medical dressings and alcohol – all masterfully cut from fragrant, tanned leather. There were hours and hours of discreet designs engraved on it, but not until his eyes touched the belts did he see what it was: Wisteria garlands.
Deep inside his chest, something broke.
"A good doctor needs good equipment. I've seen those things the Order's Doctors carry around: faux leather." Kasumi made an insulted click with her tongue. "Can't beat the real thing in durability – 's long as ya take proper care of it, that is. Ya know what neatsfoot oil is? Get some o' that, rub it in twice a year, an' this belt will outlive both me an' you."
It would. It sure would. He didn't deserve it, didn't deserve her – but more than anything, Kasumi didn't deserve to be dumped. She was a kind, strong, amazing woman and he felt like something small and slimy and spineless at the bottom of a murky bog. She didn't deserve a shit like him.
"She doesn't deserve all the shit she will get dragged into if I don't break up", he reminded himself. It was true. It just didn't make him feel any better about this. "You're amazing. Thank you so much." He tried to force the guilt out of his voice and tried to make his huff sound like a chuckle and not like… like he was choking something down. "It's gonna be a while before I get a chance to use it though. I will get the Doctor Meister, I just decided to postpone it."
"Oh? So ye're only going fer Dragoon now?"
"Dragoon and Aria. I was doing so much scripture reading anyway during my conversion so I figured I might as well."
An Aria Meister was mandatory for anyone who wanted to pursue the title of exorcist priest, which Shiro would. Celibacy was also mandatory for anyone who wanted to pursue that title. Actually wanting to pursue that title was, ironically, not mandatory for obtaining it.
"Aria?" Her whole face went slack with disbelief, so much that you couldn't even see it was partially numb. "After all yer spectacular whinin' 'bout scripture recital? What am I gonna laugh at now?"
This time, the comeback line came. It leapt out from its ambush, frantic to wedge into the conversation and derail it before he could say anything else. Delay. Postpone. Say what he wanted to say rather than what he should say.
"I still have lots of stuff to whine about in scripture recital. You know Goggles-sensei?"
"Yer resident Iron Lady an' Pheles Fangirl."
"The one. She's always made us hammer in verses until we got every single word right, but you know what she did a few weeks ago…?"
They slowly relocated to the bridge to lean their elbows on the railing and watch the water lilies. As they did, Shiro proceeded to tell her how Goggles-sensei, who had carved it into the backs of their eyelids that the power of verses lay in the words, one day had casually mentioned that the really good Arias didn't recite the verses word for word. The really good Arias abbreviated, yet still got the same effect as a full verse: because apparently, the power was in the mind, not in the words.
"I was this close to throwing the book at her." The space Shiro showed between his thumb and index finger was not big. A mosquito hovered over the back of his hand for a moment, contemplating his nutrient content, before deciding that Kasumi looked much tastier. "Everything you thought you knew, just – poof, out the window. I used to think that the words would work like a magic spell or something and then this abbreviation thing fucks it all up. Now I don't know what I believe. Still, the verses themselves gotta have some effect – otherwise we could just shout random stuff like 'Honey Flash!' and with enough conviction it would exorcise the demon."
"Honey Flash?" Kasumi's face was blank as the pond surface. Shiro's didn't look much better, as he realised just what random line his sleepy brain had thrown him. Then the ripples spread across her face, drawing her incredulous grin wider and wider as the reference sank in. "That is what I think it is, innit? It's from that perv anime 'bout a superhero girl who gets 'er clothes torn off when she transforms! What's this dark secret ya've been hiding from me, Fuji~?"
Anime marathons in Faust Mansion – what a laughable dark secret! Shiro would have laughed, too, if other dark secrets hadn't been clotting up his throat, whispering that they had to come out or Kasumi would be hurt in worse ways than he ever could.
"I'm kidding! Ya know that, right?" Kasumi's elbow called him back to reality. He had spaced out completely, and she had hit just the spot between ribcage and hipbone where there was nothing to guard his insides. "Don't look so serious!"
"I know, I know. I'm just so damn tired." He could see the worry in her eyes. He was aloof, he knew he was, and so tried to cover it up as best he could. "Wouldn't slip dark secrets like that otherwise."
"Figures. It must take a lotta energy ta read an' memorise all those verses."
Shiro hummed a nonverbal reply. The pond mirror was moving now; three ducks had gone for breakfast not far from the shore, grazing the bottom of it with butts straight up at the sky. Kasumi was watching them, though surely not seeing them. Her calloused fingers absentmindedly stroked the grain of the wooden handrail, gently reading its Braille memoirs. She was thinking; she was beautiful when she was thinking. It brought an ache of longing to him, and Shiro realised that… he was saying goodbye. That this moment, this memory of her tranquil profile in the morning light, was the photo he brought with him to a mission he didn't know if he would return from, like his father and grandfather had done when the war parted them from their loved ones.
He didn't want this.
"Well, now that I know yer dark secret I might as well tell ya mine", Kasumi said, managing to sound upbeat even though she had noticed his mood. "I can't read."
Shiro blinked. Whatever dark secret he had expected, it wasn't that.
"At all? But-"
"It's only the kanji", she clarified, pleased to at least have gotten him to act a little more alive and awake. "I can read a few, enough ta guess what it says on signs and such, but I can't read a newspaper. I can't read books." She chuckled as if telling a joke. Still, the way her hands hugged – clenched – her elbows on the railing betrayed that it wasn't really a joking matter. "If ya wonder how I wrote ya letters I can inform ya that I didn't: I asked mom or Shizzy fer help."
"But you can read hiragana?" He remembered last year, when her face had been in bandages: she had only communicated through a writing pad. Back then he had thought she stuck to hiragana because it was quicker.
"Yeah, hiragana works. Mom an' dad taught us all hiragana. When we got ta kanji I just sorta…" She grimaced, making a sloppy gesture like she was tossing something in the pond. "Hiragana made sense ta me: kanji didn't. I lost interest about there and just neva' got around ta learning it. We never carried books along either, so there wasn't much ta practise on." Kasumi chuckled at Tonbo. The familiar had spotted the swimming ducks and watched them with great interest; the ducks had spotted her, too, and paddled away as fast as their webbed feet allowed while throwing abhorred glares back at the monster on the bridge. "Now that I'm a grown woman I wish I'd been smart enough ta put in the effort back then. It's a hassle when ye can't read an' people always assume that ye can 'cause it's somethin' everybody can."
It was one of those times you really saw that Kasumi and Shizuku were branches of the same headstrong tree. If they had to, they could. No matter what they were faced with, they could and would push through it. To afford True Cross Academy Shizuku had skipped meals and used the same shoes until he was walking on nothing but threads and the scraped soles of his feet: never once had he complained or wavered. It was Kasumi who had yelled at him and force-fed him out of her own rice bowl, just as it was Shizuku who yelled at her and told her to stay away from the hazardous guy she claimed to love. People who are too stubborn for their own good need someone who will take care of them when they don't do it themselves.
Kasumi made light of it when she spoke of her illiteracy – humorous, even. That didn't mean anything. She was a craftsman and a streetwise scholar, and a craftsman knows to apply a varnish that will protect against the harshness of the weathers.
"I never would have guessed. Even if I had I don't think it's something you should feel bad about. Of all bad habits and dark secrets people have, not being able to read is…" No, that didn't sound good, or comforting. Shiro suspected that he didn't have the foggiest idea what his mouth was really saying, and made an active effort to blink himself awake and gather his thoughts. "I'm just mumbling shit. I don't think that not being able to read is something to be ashamed of but I don't have to deal with it so I wouldn't know. It's gotta be handicapping in many situations. Still it looks like you're pulling through."
"Ye develop yer strategies ta get around it", she replied easily, and whether or not he had managed to sound comforting he would never know. "I wasn't actually late 'cause of bad weather like I said in the telegram. I can write bad weather: I can't write farmhand or sowing season." Kasumi folded her fan and stretched, grabbing it with both hands and raising them high over her head with a thin, content hum. "Truth is I'm pretty beat, too. Tonbo is in high demand out in the countryside but after a few days I'm so drained I could'a just brought up the damn rice seedlings myself instead." At the mention of her name, the shahrokh let out a little bark and gazed demandingly at her. Tonbo did the job faster, and would not have that pass by unacknowledged. "I wouldn't mind takin' a day's vacation ta just relax by our lake. What'cha think? Dozin' in the grass, catchin' each other up…?" Kasumi shot him the question with her eyes as she ruffled the long fur around Tonbo's neck.
"You mean you're not gonna beat me up?" he joked. It had become an odd sort of ritual, in a way – either that they mock fought or that she smacked sense into him when he needed it.
"Ya want me to? There anotha' dark secret ya wanna share~?"
"She is gonna beat you up if you don't do this right." It had to be done. Shiro drew a breath. It had to. "In a way, yeah. I'm going overseas come summer. I was hesitant for a long time but it's- I think it's the right decision. They only accept a limited number of applicants and I was lucky to get the chance." He had to pause and swallow to press the nausea down past the tightness in his ribcage. It barely helped at all. His mouth was dry, his chest a knot of angst, his whole being protesting against what he was about to do. "I'm going to-"
"Rome. I know."
She knew? Shiro lost track of what he was going to say, staring at her in utter disbelief. Kasumi mirrored his expression but only for a few seconds before his dumbfounded look made her poker face fall and the laughter spilled out.
"What? Ye were so scared I'd feel let down that ya didn't dare tell me till now? Goddamn ye're cute!"
The hell was she saying? How could she not be- No they couldn't be thinking of the same thing.
"It's not cute!" That was the least of his problems, but the one his brain found easiest to process right now. Given the slightest opportunity to bail it would, his lack of sleep not making things better, and that thin sliver of determination he had managed to dig up wavered and slid out of his grasp.
"It is", she maintained with a lopsided grin that knew better than him anyway. "An' scatterbrained. Come on, don't ya think I get ta hear the talk from Midori and Sen-chan? An' from Shizzy, but, well – for him it's a good riddance thing." Kasumi snorted. "I'd curse his stubbornness if I didn't know I'd be cursing my own butt too. So when are ya coming back from there?"
"Hard to say." The contract had no time limit: it would last as long as it took for Shiro to hand over Tanzi. "As long as it takes for me to get my other Meisters. A year, maybe two – maybe more. I'd be ashamed of myself if it took more than two years."
"I sure hope ye're not gone that long." There was a pensive quality to her voice all of a sudden, and when Shiro glanced at her she was gazing through the lake again. "Did ya ever hear Shizzy's teasing? He likes ta make insinuations whenever there's a guy that takes a shine ta me. Mom doesn't tease, she just asks if I've met someone yet. It gets really annoying, even if they mean well, but lately I've been thinking 'bout it meself, too."
The sun had risen enough to reach their bridge, and Kasumi tucked her folded fan away in the sleeve of her yukata. For a second she didn't know what to do with her hands now that they were empty, but settled for lacing them together on the bridge railing. Rubbing one thumb over the other, she continued:
"I've always intended ta get married, one way or the other. But life happens. There's always been places ta go and things ta do, an' before I knew it I'm twenty-seven years old." Shiro knew where this was going. Though at the same time he didn't. His brain wasn't prepared to take in something so huge and important and… loaded with responsibility. "I've neva' wanted ta think of age difference as a problem", Kasumi continued. "That it's something that should matter when I meet my 'someone'. It doesn't, it just complicates certain things. Ye're just out of school, startin' ta build a career an' all – an' ya should, ya really should. This is when life begins fer real. I wouldn't dream o' taking that away from ya." She met his eyes, silently and solemnly vowing that she didn't want to impose anything on him that he wasn't ready for. "I just need ya ta know… that… Time's passing fer me too. If I'm gonna have kids an' family I need ta do that while I'm still able. If ya spend two years in Rome I'll be twenty-nine when ya come back. Past thirty my chances of getting pregnant will just drop an' drop." Kasumi sighed: not a tired sigh, but the kind of short, sharp sigh that comes from completing a task and feeling refreshed afterwards. She shook her head, then smiled softly. "I'm sorry. This is probably not a talk ya wanted ta have on yer birthday. It's been on my mind lately so I thought I should, just, get it out there. There's plenty o' time fer ya te think, it's not somethin' ye can or should decide without deliberation. No need ta look all scared", she chuckled warmly and kissed him on the cheek.
Shiro couldn't rightly respond there and then. It may have been many hours since he stormed out of his uncle's apartment but without sleep to clear his head the memory was as fresh as if it had been minutes ago. His conclusions were fresh in mind, too: exorcists didn't make good family fathers. No man in his family had been a good father. He was most certainly not ready to become a father.
"I will need to think about that", he managed to get out at last. "When I've caught up on some sleep." He groaned when another thought hit him. "After exams, probably. The avalanche is building up."
"Better take tha chance an' get us some shut-eye, then. Lake?" Kasumi hoisted her backpack up on her shoulder without further comment. Tonbo, who had been cleaning her feathers while the humans tended to their incomprehensible human business, perked up and shook herself head to tail in a flurry of small, shimmering down. "How about ya put that on instead 'o carrying it? If it's not a good fit it's better ta know now while I'm around ta fix it."
The utility belt fit perfectly. Snug as a glove, it hugged his hips with enough room left to fit around an exorcist coat, and the chart for phials hung just high enough not to get in the way of movement. Shiro checked the hoops, too, and from what his fingers remembered of the phials he had handled under Matsuri-sensei's supervision they were just the right size.
"It's perfect", he concluded simply. "How did you do this without having a reference?"
"I got contacts", Kasumi replied with an impish wink. "Midori-chan smuggled out empty phials fer me. She says Doctor is the hardest class for her, but she'll get it one day. Now: lake. Sun will be there by the time we get there an' then we can sleep till noon~"
Coming back to the forest lake felt like coming home. Shiro couldn't say he had much experience of what that felt like, but if he could decide then it would feel like this. The place itself greeted him with happy memories and filled his chest with the feeling that this was a safe haven, away from the rest of the world and its problems. The leaf buds were bursting on the mulberry twigs, like firecrackers off a fuse, and the willows were already sporting full drapes of silvery green along the water line. At least a dozen birds alighted from the unkempt grass when they approached and sent out warning chirps from every direction. It was a beautiful place for a terrible act. But it had to be done. Whatever it took. There were times when people had to be what they needed to be rather than what they wanted to be. He was good at being an asshole and good at lying, so just this once; just this one time, to push her away – to protect her – he had to-
A sudden, muffled poof startled Shiro out of his troubled thoughts, but that was only Kasumi dismissing Tonbo.
"She's never been good at that whole sleep thing", she explained and casually gathered up her yukata to sit down in the grass, not five metres away from the lake. She spread herself out over the ground with a sigh of bliss, arms thrown wide. "Ya coming or what?" Kasumi raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, glancing up at him with an easy smile.
Drawing a deep breath, Shiro sat down next to her, coating himself with his own layers of varnish to play the role he had to play.
"I've been thinking a lot about this. I want Rome to be a fresh start – after all the crap that's been happening here now."
He didn't want this. Obligation or not he didn't want to fucking do this. It hurt, it clenched, it made him nauseous, and he didn't have a fucking choice.
"Yeah, I can understand that."
No she couldn't. There was no way she could understand and Shiro had to swallow that scream down with the rest of the silenced feelings that twisted in his chest. He loved her. Goddammit did he love her. He didn't want to do this.
"I'm thinking it could be a fresh start for you guys here, too", he said, trying his best to sound like this wasn't bothering him. "Like I said I don't know how long I'll be gone, and… rather than making you put your life on hold…"
He didn't deserve her and she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to be pushed away and she didn't deserve to stay with a shit like him. She would have been better off if they had never met at all. He was setting all that right now, in a way, and yet his whole being fought him when he tried to get the words past his lips. It was like his body had a will of its own, acting as if…
…as if he were…
Only when it was too late did he feel it: the numb loss of sensation, the dark tide flooding his thoughts and choking his consciousness out. He had been too tired and too preoccupied to notice that his fears were being fanned, just like Midori had said long ago: it's stupid to make yourself weak when facing your demons. His heart was not an iron wall: it was a tattered civil war, emotion fighting reason and his brain too tired to maintain resistance. And now it was too late. It would all happen again, like déjà vu. Like a looped hell where all the worst things in his life happened over and over.
"That's right, that's right, it's all happening again and do you know why? 'Cause you're weak, my boy. You can't protect anything. Not your heart, not your friends, not your woman. It will be just like last time – remember last time?"
Flashing shards of memory pierced his vision, of teeth tearing skin and the salty copper taste of blood, everywhere, blood everywhere, and tear-bright eyes that scream at him and hands that hold her mangled face together. He's there again and the panic is there again, except doubled because it's happening right now, again, just outside the reach of his fingers: he's going to attack her and he's going to hurt her and-
"Good riddance, eh? You were just about to say you didn't care about her anyway, weren't you? Just some juicy meat to fuck then throw away – that's what she'll think she was to you, you know? She dreamt of a future with family and kids, and you, you just wanted a nice piece of pussy to jerk off in."
Shiro fought a madman's fight: tooth and nail, scratch and bite, swept away by pulsing waves of fear. For nothing, of course. You don't fight demons with fear. You don't win by throwing yourself at them in mad desperation. When the demon's cackling laughter echoed in his ears and the darkness threatened to swallow his senses, Shiro finally remembered that. You fight by taking control. Over your emotions, over the darkness, over yourself, over the demon. You don't push it away; you acknowledge it, become one with it, control it.
Edges blurred. What was he and what was demon blurred, until the blur gained shape and focus and he could see again. It was a fractured vision, where what he saw one instant didn't seem to connect with what he saw in the next. One moment Kasumi was metres away, eyeing him warily and clutching her summoning paper in hand: the next she was closer, looking almost like she was going to reach out to him. It was like a motion captured in a series of still photographs. He was moving, too, between the pictures: switching position and switching angle. Only then did Shiro realise what the fractured vision meant. The battle for control was so closely tied that he and the demon were swapping places by the second. His body felt like it was made of smoke and leaking; where it began and where it ended, and what size it was, were things he couldn't determine. Yet he needed a point of reference, somewhere he could focus, somewhere he could anchor his control.
"Let's see how you like this."
He and the demon were closely tied, yes. It had drunk deeply out of his emotions to fuel its control and he had let it, making its darkness his own darkness until he had a firm hold of the invader: then he did the same. Feeling the demon, tasting it, listening in with unseen ears and determining its nature – its weaknesses.
Once Shiro knew what type of demon it was, he began reciting: first in his mind and then, as the demon lost focus and began thrashing wildly to escape, with his voice. It was so much easier when he and the demon were bonded – he could feel directly when he came upon verses that it feared, rather than winging approximate guesses as he had to do when meeting demons face to face.
The smoke cleared as he chanted. His body gained solid borders again, and his vision stayed steady without skipping frames. He didn't look at Kasumi. Instead he fixed his eyes on the grass, focused on bringing the verses out of memory and on the feeling of the demon slowly getting dragged up through his throat. At the last word, his whole body convulsed and he fell down on hands and knees. Although the thick, black smoke that gushed out of his mouth left no taste, it was a lot like vomiting: the dizziness, the cold sweat, the faintness shaking his limbs.
Shiro's fingers curled into fists, clutching the grass in a white-knuckled grip. He felt hollow inside, and it was a void that filled up with tears at alarming speed. He had fucked up, like he always did. Because he was powerless, because he was careless, because when push came to shove he still couldn't do what he had to do. He couldn't tell her. Not like this. But he had to, somehow, he-
He could write a letter. He could explain it to her without doing it face to face: it was safer. Better. It was a lowly excuse and he was a coward for using it but all be damned he couldn't do this. He didn't want this – none of this.
"Fuji?" Her voice reached him after god knew how long, calm and steady like their teachers had taught them you should speak when dealing with shocked civilians. "Fuji, what's wrong?" Kasumi knelt beside him, her eyes prying and poking for a reason and her eyebrows drawn tight with worry. He needed a reason. One she would believe.
"I… went to see my relatives yesterday", he said, voice hollow. A truth used as lie. A good lie. The best kind of lie. And while it was beyond unnecessary, Shiro still added; "It wasn't so good."
He was forcing his breathing calm. Slow breaths to cease the tremors. No blinking – he could feel the tears reaching his eyes and he didn't want them to spill. Not in front of her. Kasumi scooted closer to his side until their arms pressed together and laid her head on his shoulder. It was a warm weight, telling him she was there yet giving him privacy; she wouldn't see his face, so no need to school it into an acceptably stoic mask.
"If ya need ta talk just talk: I'm listenin'."
Maybe he did. With the stress of meeting Kasumi today he hadn't taken the time to sort through yesterday properly. Maybe he did need to talk.
Shiro blinked, and hot tears trickled down his cheeks.
"It was… bizarre", he began, as that was the best word that came to mind. "I haven't seen my uncle's family in nine years, so I knew it was gonna be awkward. They were all very friendly at first – of sorts. It was that kind of polite friendliness I lost after I moved in at the orphanage. I couldn't put my finger on it then but they were trying to make me feel like we were a family, and that we had always been a family. Which is nothing but a big fat lie. They could've visited me at the orphanage anytime and they didn't come even once. I tried not to think about that, though. 'Cause I… I wanted to believe them." He paused, swallowing down a lump in his throat that threatened to become a sob. "Then after a while they brought out old photo albums."
A humourless smile touched his lips at the memory of it. He still regretted that he hadn't remembered to bring those albums with him when he left. That was also hard to put a finger on. He didn't miss the child he had been before, and he didn't miss his parents in ways that made old photo albums seem like cherished treasures… But they had been his. Those pictures and memories had been his, and they had been taken there – bought – by his uncle when his parents passed away. It wasn't right. Satoshi didn't have any right to a single piece of him.
"Those albums belonged to my parents", he resumed, comforted by the warm weight of Kasumi's silent support. "Not to Satoshi. They belong to me. He used them to make me think that I belonged there, with them, despite everything. Then he shoved the adoption papers under my nose right after. Here's the twist of the story: I'm the only kid my parents had, and uncle Satoshi has four daughters. He runs a logistics business but has no one to take it over."
Kasumi let out a groan, knowing where that story was headed, but let him continue without interrupting. Shiro tipped his head sideways, resting it on top of hers. He could hear frogs croaking in the reeds, wind rustling in the willow leaves. Such a frail bubble of peace, that place: if he fell asleep there, maybe the nightmares wouldn't find him. He still dreamt of Deep Keep, even if it had been over a year ago. The unforgiving dead, the fear he hadn't felt then come to haunt him at full force; the blinding pain of being torn apart by Samael's power. Night or day, asleep or awake: his life resembled Hell more and more.
"I often wondered where they were, all those years I was at the orphanage", he said softly, letting his mind choose whatever words it wanted. "All the kids there had the same dream: that one day someone would come to pick them up, take them home. I stopped dreaming about that long ago. Then out of nowhere my uncle suddenly wants me, after nine years of not giving a shit", he snorted; when he breathed in again, he closed his eyes and focused on the smell of Kasumi's hair. He wanted to remember that, too. Road dust and wildflowers. Hard work. Salty sweat. Grass futons. That was the family he wanted. "He didn't want me. He wanted my name. Family name and family blood to run the company, not even asking if I wanted to or not. I said I didn't, but did he care? Not a shit. Not a shit more than he's cared the other nine years. Fucking douchebag."
It did feel better to share it with another human being. Like setting it free instead of having it aching and knotting inside of him. With a relieved sigh, Shiro sank down in the grass, pulling Kasumi with him with an arm around her waist.
"I feel much better now. Thanks."
Kasumi nestled in next to him, head resting on his chest and hand laying limp and content over his abdomen.
"Yer uncle's a dick", she murmured in a way so matter-of-factly that he smiled up at the sky. "It's not easy bein' a dick: all ya can do is piss on people an' be a jerk-off."
It was good to laugh. It was good to laugh and hear Kasumi's throaty chuckles at her own joke thrum against his body. For that one moment of happiness he was willing to forget the letter he would write, forget all about the future he was walking towards, and just… be happy.
"Family's where yer heart is." She repeated the words she had spoken long ago, the first time they came to this lake together. "Ya know that, right? It's not a bunch o' pricks ya just happen ta share blood with."
"Mh, I know. It's the rest of the world that doesn't. We should just run away. Screw this whole sick system. Have a family without messed up duties."
"Ye'll like the roads", she hummed. "Lesson one: how ta sleep under bare sky." Kasumi's hand reached up and gently lifted off his glasses, folding them and placing them on his chest with the string still around his neck.
"Mh, I could use sleep." Shiro adjusted his arm so he could cradle her against his side. "What about you?"
"I'll see how long I can keep ya awake, of course."
She raised her head back up a little to pull the pin out of her hair knot. She shook it out so it fell over his arm, soft and smooth, when she laid down again.
"You're not a bit better than Tonbo", he murmured with a smile, closing his eyes against the sun and twirling strands of sun-bleached hair between his fingers. He opened them again when he felt something touch his chest: Kasumi had begun drawing leisurely patterns on him with her hairpin. He closed his eyes again and continued: "She made a complete fool out of me today. I had stopped by this convenience store to grab a quick breakfast…"
Kasumi had a good chuckle at the story. Tonbo liked to "test" you, according to her. She had been a rambunctious little pain in the butt when Kasumi first summoned her, and only after months of trying had she been able to one-up her familiar and win some respect from the little tyke.
The tickling trace of the hairpin vanished from his chest; when it reappeared again, on his throat, it was the other end of it, the thicker, blunter one. It brushed slowly up and down, tracing muscles and the contours of his windpipe; Shiro relaxed to the touch, sinking into it, and almost didn't hear when Kasumi spoke again:
"Shizzy told me somethin' I didn't quite get. 'E said that when ye're an exorcist ya don't get conscripted, but isn't that mandatory fer everyone?"
"That? No, True Cross' exorcists are already part of the army, actually. I think we're listed as… 'specialised civil defence militia' or something like that – not sure." Summer warmth was making him feel comfortably fuzzy, thoughts drifting in and out between the lines of cicada song and tousling up in sleepy yarns: the gentle tickle on his skin was the only thing that kept him connected to his body in the waking world. "They don't draft us to the regular troops, that's the bottom line. There's always a higher incidence of demonic activity during war; somebody's gotta take care of that, too."
"'Cause people are afraid", Kasumi nodded to herself, rubbing her cheek against his chest. "An' hungry an' poor. So technically they just want'cha ta do what ya always do?"
"Pretty much. Stay put, protect civilians, get rid of demons. In case enemies invade we'd fight them, too, but I really hope it never goes that far." He didn't want to experience something like Deep Keep ever again. For an instant the nightmares hovered at the corners of his eyes; he squinted against the sky, letting in the bright light to chase them away.
"Yeah, pray the gods we never go ta war again", she murmured. Shiro had never been to Hiroshima or Nagasaki, but Kasumi's family made pilgrimage to the cities every year to pray. Did someone hear those prayers…? Or they went as unheard and unanswered as his? "Speaking o' that, I always wondered why humans aren't usin' demons in warfare. Not that I'd want us to but when it comes ta war we tend ta try all dirty tricks we can think of."
"God, I read about that in exorcism history, but it feels like it's been forever." Shiro rubbed his forehead, as if the motion would clear the sleepy fuzz out of his thoughts. "It goes back to Solomon, I think."
"Neva' heard o' the guy."
"Some old king who's been dead since forever. He's one of the greatest Tamers we know of, though what he's really famous for is his fuckups. He kept hundreds of familiars that he used for everything from warfare to construction work. Then one day he summoned something – for war, probably, since it was so powerful – and something went very wrong. The land Solomon ruled has been cursed ever since. And we're talking a three thousand year curse there." When she heard that, Kasumi blew an impressed whistle. Three thousand years is a long time, even for demons. "It's not that different from the radioactivity after the atomic bombs, actually. It had the same consequences in more than one way: on behalf of the world's nations, religious denominations everywhere have agreed that demons should never be used in warfare, to avoid a catastrophe like the one Solomon caused."
"Hah, whaddaya know – one man's pain, another man's gain."
"What?" He turned his head slightly, hoping to hear her better.
"One man's pain, another man's gain. Ya never heard that? It's mom's favourite idiom."
"Your mom suddenly sounds like a pretty brutal person", he smiled.
"Far from it!" Kasumi laughed. "I think it's an idiom that inspires ya ta humble yerself and reflect on the world as a whole. Nothing's ever inherently bad – bad fer you, maybe, but it always benefits some otha' creature in some way. An' what's good for you might be bad for someone else. Thus we're all connected."
"I just think it sounds like someone's benefitting from someone else's misfortune." Like demons, although he didn't say that out loud.
"That's 'cause ye're an exorcist through an' through", she jabbed with a smile in her voice. "Not much in touch with yer spirit. It's weird that they don't teach ya that, really. Ye're more… Yeah, military, without being proper military." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "I guess this means I won't get ta see ya all handsome in a uniform."
"You can see me all handsome in an exorcist uniform."
"Uh-uh: not the same. Speaking o' that: why do ya have dresses fer uniforms? Isn't that damn impractical if ya need ta jump fences or somethin'?"
…while Shiro had never explicitly thought of their uniforms as dresses, he too had wondered if there weren't better design options.
"I hear the final test to pass your exams is to run an obstacle course with the robes on: if you can do that you pass", he joked with a grin. "No, but I will probably face-plant the first few times I'm in the field. I'll get the hang of it eventually. Then I can look handsome for you."
"My knight in shining evening gown~" she snickered.
"The little black one isn't just for women, you know", he snorted as laughter bubbled up in his chest.
"An' then ya tear it off an' shout 'Honey Flash!'" Kasumi whipped her hand up in the air as if tearing off his t-shirt.
"And then we start singing!"
"I've heard yer singing – that fatal verse'll kill anything!"
"That must be the secret to abbreviating chants!"
"Holy shit Fuji ya cracked the mystery!"
And like that, they writhed in the sunny grass, sniffling with laughter and clutching at each other and laughing even more, as if everything was suddenly very funny and no serious matter could reach past their little bubble of sunshine silliness. They weren't exorcists then, nor were they weighed by contracts or worries for the future: they were two tired lovers, both young, both high on summer, and they were drinking life in with every breath. It was a fairy tale image for a fairy tale ending: prince and princess heading for the sunset hand in hand, your perfect happily-ever-after.
Not all appreciate that kind of ending.
Tch! A torch to keep away the dark: indeed! And how skillful your ineptitude at keeping it alight!
Faith is found in times of need: dark times, hard times – desperate times, when hopes and wishes are all that's left. That is when faith is needed most. Beyond that shielding light are shadows that will cater to the heart's despair at slightest sign that torch burns weak, for hopes and wishes are the merchandise of Hell. 'Tis not coincidence that it is men of faith who combat demons; they are the only ones who can.
You have yet to learn what it means to wear those black robes, little lion.
A/N
Tonbo should mean "dragonfly", but do correct me if I'm wrong!
Nikuman are relatives of dumplings in that they're steamed buns with filling, but they're bigger and fluffier.
Niboshi are small dried sardines.
Cutie Honey is an anime about a Catholic school girl android who strips in every episode and fights… I-don't-even-know. The character design on the enemies are just wtf. Lots of things in that anime are wtf, like Honey randomly turning her fight into a song number. You could watch it for laughs, I guess…?
The army that wasn't - I realise this might need some clarification. Many of you will know that Japan hasn't actually had an army since World War II; the treaty signed then forbade them from having that, and instead they would rely on American troops for protection. By the 50's, however, Japan did get an army. The Korea war came about and the US transferred its troops from Japan to Korea, leaving the island nation without protection. They had no choice but to allow Japan an army of its own. It came with restrictions on manpower and equipment but was in every way an army, just never called an army because the treaty specified that Japan couldn't have one. Instead they called it "Self-Defence Force". Which is an army that can only be used for defending against attacks, not for attacking.
The mystery of how verses work isn't exactly clear to me. ≥.≥' It's mentioned in one of Kato's Q&A's that powerful Arias can say shortened versions of the fatal verses and still get the same effect. I had always thought, like Shiro, that the power of the verses lay in the words: in the same Q&A, Bon says that as an Aria you have to get the whole verse right for anything to happen, so if you miss or add a word somewhere you'll have to start over from the beginning. But evidently there's ways to hack that. How that works I don't know, but if the power doesn't come from the words then the only other place they could come from is the Arias themselves (or God, or some demon posing as god, but I'll refrain from speculating on that track since it, so far, doesn't look like AnE has any actual gods). Still, all the power can't be from the Arias, 'cause then you wouldn't need special verses.
The way I think of it is like… The verses can, on their own, take down a demon: you don't need to put any mental strength into it as long as you say them verbatim right. But reciting the whole thing takes time, and you might not always have that time. If you do have access to that extra strength within yourself – be it focus or faith or whatever – then you can draw additional power from that. You can abbreviate the verse, which means lessening both its effect and its duration, but compensate for that loss of power through pitching in your own inner strength. That saved time could, in a tight spot, be the difference between life and death for you and/or your teammates.
One man's pain, another man's gain is a catchier version of one man's loss is another man's gain. Similar idioms exist in most languages, I would think. Essentially I was just playing around and trying to fuse the English version with the Swedish "den enes död, den andres bröd". That reads "one person's death, another person's bread". I guess I like the harsher tone of the Swedish one?