A memory bloomed from the static nothingness.
The leaves had begun to fall from trees, and cold winds settled in the evening before bedtime, when she'd keep her window open to invite the cool gusts into her bedroom. After all, the air conditioner was always switched off once fall began, so there was no air flow beyond what came from the outside.
It was a week after her sixteenth birthday. The feeling of becoming an almost-fulltime adult was only just being impressed upon her when the news came, on that fateful day.
A clash between Public Safety and some devils of an unspecified variety, in the northwest stretches of Tokyo. A skirmish escalating to a brawl, which ended in multiple buildings destroyed, their occupants becoming trapped inside and amongst the rubble. Thirty-seven critically wounded, and fifteen dead from various causes.
Among them, her second-eldest sister.
Kobeni had come home from her academics to the sight of her mother being consoled by the rest of her siblings on the living room sofa. No one had bothered to call the school and notify her of the emergency concerning her family, and so she had trudged the one-and-half miles on foot back home only to hear of the fate befallen to her dead sibling. The shock of it, and the idea that it was a bad dream had been so conclusive to her at the time, that it seemed right to say her sister must be playing an elaborate prank on the lot of them. Sure, it was a stretch considering the nature of this sister, who worked a 9-to-5 and never missed a day, never called in sick, never left any of her chores unfinished, but it just had to be true that this was a prank of sorts. It had to be.
And that's what Kobeni had believed when she stumbled into the backyard—a small patio with a U-shaped plot of gravel surrounding it—and found her father sitting in the only outdoor-chair they had, a lit cigarette in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in another, wiping away at the tears in his eyes. She didn't notice these things until after taking her eyes off the smears of blood still on his work shirt, and the dried streaks on his hands and keychain.
The funeral was two weeks afterwards.
Kobeni spent every second of those two weeks wondering how she would be able to leave this world whilst also not becoming a burden on her family in the process. It soon became apparent, that it was impossible to do so. Living was her only option, has been her only option—and shall remain this way until Death finds her fit to leave this world.
Even though it was against her wishes, the sister's body was cremated, if only because a casket was too much for the Higashiyama family to afford. The urn was held close in the mother's arms from the moment it was given, to the moment when they arrived at the cemetery and laid their kin to rest.
The procession lasted for the rest of the afternoon, and the sun was falling steady when the Higashiyama family returned to their home, silent all the way.
The weight had settled entirely in Kobeni's heart and bore the fruits of guilt. Though nothing she'd done had contributed to this tragedy, she felt as though her sister would blame her all the same.
Being the youngest of her siblings meant she received the hand-me-downs as the years passed, and all the envy that came with parental treatment, if mother's constant scolding counted as "treatment". She had simply assumed that the grudges held by most her siblings would remain and would live until they passed away on their death beds. It made the subtle disdain she held for them seem justified, even when she knew it could never be acted upon.
But to any honest soul that lives, there exists the innate premise that comes with the familial bond, the culmination of years of memories, good and bad. Moments in time that have legitimacy to no one in the world but those who were there to experience these memories first-hand. That even despite the animosity that gripped the hearts of brothers and sisters alike, there lived something in the form of empathy, that which refuses to be broken.
Kobeni had childhood memories of staying up late at night, having suffered too much from anxiety to properly fall asleep once the sun set, and had spent this time with her second-eldest sister in the living room's sofa. The older sister would be up for a more justifiable reason, being in the throes of her upper-division academics and writing up pages upon pages of essays, or so she'd claimed to her little sister at the time. Having not the slightest clue of what an essay entailed, nine-year old Kobeni had found a better alternative to pass the time, and her older sibling would lend an ear to the girl's quiet ramblings about her day.
Though the family had dinner together at the long dining table, the din of conversation always kept Kobeni from opening up, even when her brother or sisters dared to ask. It felt as though there was nothing she could say, nothing that was worthwhile in her daily life that warranted it be spoken like it was a proper spiel.
But there, in those sleepless nights, speaking her thoughts aloud to her sister made them feel special, even when Kobeni knew that her sibling wasn't actively prying for details. It had felt good enough, to know that she had spoken of her day as importantly as everyone else, and that these memories of hers lived, and would live on forever in her heart, and in her sister's heart as well. That even if she were to be struck by the hand of fate, she would live on somehow in another's heart, perhaps as more than just a name.
Nine-year old Kobeni was a fool, thinking that such an optimistic future would come to be.
Now, Kobeni watches her sixteen-year-old self, sat at her chair in the dining room, head down and hunched with remorse. Words not spoken were being brought forth, wrought with a burning intensity. Father had broken into the alcohol almost immediately after returning from the procession, and it wasn't too long before a fiery exchange of words between him and mother unfolded in the kitchen.
"I've told you several times already, it's fine, she would have understood what we had to do—!"
"No, it's not!" Mother Higashiyama cried, "We could have afforded the casket, we could have afforded a proper spot to bury her—like she wanted! I don't see why we couldn't have done this one thing for the sake of our child."
"How would we afford next month's bills? Where would the money be for that repair bill on the car that's due two weeks from now? We haven't even stocked up on groceries for the wintertime, we couldn't have tossed all that we have left on a damn casket of all things—"
"Oh, how about the money that's been going into the booze you drink? Ever since you've gone off with your friends to those late-night drinking charades, you've been coming home with a bottle in your hands!" Kobeni looked over her shoulder to the kitchen, seeing her mother point an accusing finger at the grouchy man, "How about you explain that, huh? Explain where all our money's gone—!"
"It's not about breaking the promise, it's about whether we can keep ourselves afloat before we all end up on the streets," came the responding growl, "I'm making ends meet, I'm putting in all my effort—if you're so damn worried about making up our daughter's wishes, then why don't you ask who's not been pulling their weight around here? Ask any of the kids if they can get a job, since all you give a damn about is blowing away the money on a casket."
"I give a damn about keeping this family together, and all you give a damn about is breaking it apart! You're sitting there, giving me all this grief about wasting money when you've spent much more getting shit-faced every single day!"
Kobeni ducked her head, because now her father was trudging into the dining room, a bottle in-hand and a grimace to his features, being tailed by her mother, who still shouted despite being right on his heels, "I just wanted this one thing, this one parting gift to my child—"
"Oh your child?" came a sardonic snicker, "Funny how that works."
"Yes, my child," came the bitter, self-righteous reply, "and all I'm hearing is you whine like a baby about how we can't afford this and we can't afford that; all while you cling to your beer bottles like candy! I bet I could buy two caskets with all the money you've spent on your stupid drinking habits!"
It was time to leave. The arguments Kobeni's parents had were tame compared to the stories she'd heard from her classmates at school, but they would burn and boil for hours at a time, and would not falter in intensity. Father had a nasty look to him, clearly unappreciative of her mother's anger, which could be seen in the way her face was flushed red. Woe be to the poor soul who touched these flames, for they would be consumed in a torrent of repressed fury. All Kobeni had to do was silently get up, out of her chair—
"Need I remind you, dear, of how much you have already wasted with that god-awful fu—!"
creak
Kobeni froze as the combined resentment shifted immediately to her, shivering as the cold sensation of dread crept along her spine. The chair had caught on a hard spot along the wood floor.
She remembers the feeling, but not the words. Though she tried, Kobeni could not remember exactly what had been said after that moment, after she had doomed herself to her parents' scorn. A part of her wondered what she had said in her defense, because she did try to defend against the fury. She remembered that much, at least.
Her parents probably didn't mean to be so cold and callous, so harsh and condescending. But the thoughts swirling in her head at the time, of the guilt, of the shame in not being good enough, of never being good enough for her family; it stung to hear it from them, of what she was: another mouth to feed, another pouring of the glass, another bed, toothbrush, backpack and pair of shoes that could've gone to someone else, someone more deserving. Someone like her dead sister.
Kobeni had fled home, once she was sure that they were done with the verbal lashing, once they had wrung her of any strength to hold back her tears. Once everyone had fallen asleep, she swiped a cutting knife from the kitchen drawers to keep herself safe and snuck out into the back yard. It was a simple task, taking the outdoor chair, setting it against the perimeter wall and hopping over without so much as a sound.
So then, Kobeni ran. The horrid sensation in her lungs had felt perfect then, a fitting distraction to what she had heard. Streetlights guided her with their bright fluorescents, marching overhead as she ran past.
The cemetery had a small weakness in its walls, on the opposite side of where the front gate would be. She knew this because she had noticed it when her family had been there earlier, laying their kin to rest. A skinny kid like her could fit through this break in the wall easily, and no one was around to stop her.
And the memory sharpened, so much that she remembers the way the blades of grass swayed when a subtle breeze swept through. Salty tears stung at her eyes as she fell on her knees before the small little plaque in the ground.
It was the first time she had bawled, had truly let the agony flow from her heart and into her tears. Many days had passed previous where she had bit her tongue, and wept silently in her bed, once the lights went out and the house was silent.
The thought of it made Kobeni want to cry, here and now, as she watched her younger self sputter forgiveness to the ground. It hurt because she remembered that she pleaded with sincerity; she believed that if she begged hard enough, then the dirt would part, the ashes would be molded into flesh and bone, and she could hug her sister one last time.
Words mean nothing to the dead, and everything to those still living.
It was almost comical, the way the devil subsequently approached her. The humanoid creature, a figure of black and blotchy skin, was just too curious about whatever woes that assailed poor Kobeni. Even went so far as to cusp a hand under its rotting chin, and cock its head like a dog, staring curiously at her as she wailed.
Even now, looking back through the lens of time, this devil still terrified her to no end. Perhaps it had a name to it, like the Devil of Rot, or the Devil of Decay. It certainly looked the part and had the cunning to roam the quiet stretches of this place of the dead, where it may prey on any soul foolish enough to venture out at night.
Worse yet was it, that when her younger self finally noticed the wretched monster looming over her, she cried out in fright, raising her arms in defense as the devil licked its putrid green lips with its blackish tongue, seizing at one of her outstretched arms and opening its maw to chomp down on its prize.
And that's when the horrid creature began to…dismantle itself, so to speak. With wide eyes Kobeni watched as its shrieks were quickly silenced, its ribcage having been crushed by an unseen force, and it uttered a death rattle that was swiftly replaced by the pop and crunch of bone. Black flesh and pointy pale bones crumbled and converged at a single point in space and were swallowed by nothingness. It was as though a black hole had taken the devil, leaving everything else out of harm's reach. She was safe.
And that's when she had heard its voice, speaking to her with its gentle command. It was the first time it had addressed her with its sinister speech, and yet still, Kobeni shivered as the memories brought those feelings to light—the sudden apprehension, and the dread.
"Look to me, child."
Both Kobeni and her younger self looked, and beheld a ragged black cloak. And he who wore this cloak was named Death, and silence followed with him. This silence settled between them; no sounds of the surrounding city could be heard. Streetlights were dimmed, and shadows advanced in the absence of light.
"W-who…who are you?" she sputtered, the knife held in shaky hands, "T-that devil, was that you who killed it?"
A scythe lay in its bony right hand. The blade was a rusted metal, stained red by the sharp end with blood. Though it never moved, Kobeni shivered at the thought of its blade burrowing through her flesh and gouging her eyes out. Whispers of the long-forgotten reach her ears, indistinguishable amongst their horrible chorus.
"You are not alone, child," its voice broke through to her once more.
"Ah—!" and though she had not noticed until now, Kobeni could see them there, hiding amongst the shadows of the headstones: more devils and fiends, drawn like moths to the figurative flame. Eyes of sinister intent surrounded her, and she would not have noticed them until it was too late. It was too late, really: they would be upon her, would feast on whatever remains of her corpse once this silent horror was done with her.
But that begged the question of why such an entity stood before her here, in the path of hungry monstrosities. Was this Death, or was this an illusion, standing there with such ominous intent?
"You have their attention. Your fears, your anguish, it excites them to bloodlust," the cloak moved gently to the motions of its owner, as they gestured to the salivating mass of devils surrounding them, "Go alone into this good night, and you shall never return from whence you came."
"Ah, ah—!" the younger Kobeni rasped, "—w-who are you? Why are you here, helping me?"
"For the very same reason these fellow kin are now," Death spoke, and the scythe was raised ever so slightly.
Wait, fellow kin?
"I am the Devil of Death, he who serves the will of Death himself. I bear witness to your plight, child, and see in you the key to a better future for Man and Devil alike," he spoke, whispers touching her ear even though he stood several paces away, "I shall grant you what you desire most, and in exchange, I will hold claim to your soul once you pass. You will be bestowed the agility and the speed of the gods, and be blessed by luck to survive almost any troubles that come your way."
"Refuse this offer, however, and these devils shall feast on your innards, and drink from your blood," the Death Devil gave as a final warning, a plea of sorts. Though her younger self could not see past the pairs of eyes surrounding her, Kobeni grimaced at the thought of the truth.
This devil was clever than the others. Where they saw another morsel to feast on, this devil saw opportunity: and what better method than coercion, to give an easy ultimatum to the fool trapped in this dilemma? A single oath was all that was necessary—
But even at sixteen, Kobeni was not entirely blind to the costs of devil contracts.
"W-what will it take? Will it be my heart, or will it be my arm, or m-my leg?" but this devil cocked his head, and she could feel the snickering more than she heard it, "It does not have to be a physical form of collateral to satisfy devils like me. In exchange for your inhuman luck, your agility and speed—your fears and doubts, your anxieties and insecurities—they shall be mine to control. A small price to pay for the sake of returning to your home. All you have to do, child, is say that you accept these terms."
A small price to pay. How silly she'd been, thinking that this devil would let her go in peace once all was said and done. How the representative of Death would stumble into a mortal's life and not have their way, consequences be damned!
But it was either this, or a brutal end at the hands of lesser devils, they who saw flesh and blood instead of a human being. It left no other choice to take, no other path to follow.
And deep down, she had felt the twinge of some feeling deeper inside, suppressed and breaking at the seams. A gnawing feeling, an itch that could not be scratched. It has been four years since this fateful day, but Kobeni always wondered if this feeling was her deceased sister guiding her towards the path of justice, towards a path that could give solace to them both. And though her younger self could not hear her sister's voice, she could feel this burning emotion then, and knew what had to be done.
"I…I accept."
So, the Death Devil bore witness to the moment when time no longer stood still between them. And when the horde of devils made quickly for their prey, the cloaked devil watched silently as Kobeni's knife sung its bloody mantra, the horde's screams dying out with every slash of the blade.
Look, and shudder. How steady this mantra flows! The streaming lifeforce ebbs and flows like a river, smooth and sweet as on a cold winter's night! Crisp is its taste, bubbling and bursting with powerful woes!
A chuckle. A rise in pitch, a sputtering of laughter—
Then a coughing fit. Got a little too excited there.
It settles into its comfortable crib. It is a lax devil, and has no need for the active labors that other devils require to sustain themselves. Blessed is it by circumstance, to have to never work a day in its life.
For this devil's sustenance predicates on the fallibility of Man, of which there is never a short supply. Man's imperfections doom him to be just short of acheiving a perfect state, and in this was the crux of our resident devil's plan: for Man cannot know the perfect truth that knowledge provides him, and thus cannot know the intentions of everyone and everything he interacts with. Such shortcomings lead to the subtle pangs of terror that fester in the minds of men and women alike: lies and deception.
To make a living on it was costly to some, but for others, it was a profession crafted by divine coincidence. The devil lounging in his crib is no exception.
What's more, is the comedic beauty of which kinds of humans this devil contracts itself to. Suckers, schizophrenics, paranoid shmucks and losers; the naïve are its personal favorite, as their woes are the most delightful to taste. Everyone hates to be lied to, but some grow so fearful of it that this fear etches itself into their subconscious, it becomes them. A terrible fate for the poor soul lost in their anguish, and a wonderful investment to the Devil of Deceit, who spends its weekends wandering the city and its weekdays lounging in its crib, torn from the remnants of another dimension.
It prides itself on its catches. And while bigshots can claim their power by sheer volume, the Devil of Deceit can claim its power by quality. It does not settle for half-baked posers who define treachery as being synonymous to white lies, it will not place its bets on humans who can rebound so quickly from betrayal.
There was this one catch it had made, some time ago. Humans would claim it was a long time since the present, years they would emphasize—but the devil could recall it perfectly. It was as if it happened moments before, as if the devil could snap its claws and have the memory play back with vivid detail. It was the best catch it had ever made, and it wasn't even by its design.
Some little human girl lost to her grief, a miserable soul doomed to be a morsel for some hellish creature to snack on. It had found this little girl wandering in a cemetery of all places, and beheld the transformation of this soul, steeped in tragedy. The potency of this human's fear shone so brightly, that it was unlike anything the devil had seen before; too often the light in a human's soul fades the more they are traumatized, but this one refused to accept its reality. This human lived in a state of denial that it could not see, so wrapped up in circumstantial dread that it saw nothing to mend its despair. It was so perfect, that the devil couldn't resist.
Its kin were drawn to this tangible fear, and Deceit used this to its advantage. A disguise to shroud its true form, one which mimicked the human's assumptions of the Devil of Death, then it offered a bargain for this human's lifeforce, in exchange for some pitiful enhancements. Just enough power to where the girl could make mincemeat of the devils surrounding her, and that's all. A perfect trade deal.
It has lived and sustained itself off that single investment for a long time. And to be truthful, it cared not for where this little human wandered, for misery and misfortune orchestrated by its hand would follow with every step. There was no escaping the doubts lurking in the back of one's head, but for those enthralled to Deceit's contracts, there is never an escape from the fear of its lies.
And so, it snickered to itself, for the lifeforce flowed potently to it, ever delectable.
It was content to be here, and not at the top. It had settled into a nice and comfortable place upon the social ladder of devil society, if there ever was one. It had no need to toil amongst humanity and seek out its next form of sustenance—the humans did this work for it. This devil was enraptured by the tendencies of a sloth and cared not what other devils might think of it, nor did it care what humans might believe of its existence. So long as it had its share of fear, then there was no need—
The lifeforce seized up and sputtered into nothing.
Deceit rose from its slumber and was overcome with its own spell of fright; it had lost its prized investment. Granted, it had expected this to happen at some point; devils often try to exert their influence on humans already swayed by other devils. It was common enough to have a human be fearful of many devils at the same time, and so their lifeforce is distributed to however many fears they serve.
But this wasn't like an exertion of will. This was like a scissor cutting the rope, like a chainsaw slicing through flesh and bone—abrupt and deliberate.
Someone else knows—they've taken my prize!
It slithered from its crib and called forth its conscious power. And in the black miasma of nothing that swirled in its mind, the process of shapes began to take form. There, the dimensions of an enclosed space, with four walls and a floor and ceiling. The human placed in a chair, almost lifeless but glowing brightly in this textured abyss. And standing there, beside the human—
Golden eyes, with red rings.
Control—
Deceit snapped the vision away, and coiled on itself, shuddering. Its prize was well and truly lost. No effort on its part could recover its investment, not when it lay in the hands of a high-tier devil like Control. It was time to find another morsel to take advantage of.
Deceit pulled itself from its slump and set off into the overworld, never to be espied again.
A/N - (Updated Chapter Seven, Section Two - 10th November 2022)
