Here is second chapter. Didn't expect it to be up so soon, but school finishes in two days so I have plenty of time! Then winter break.. This chapter is mostly based on Mappa Douji and Zero chapters. After that, third chapter will depict Hao working as omnyoji, fourth will be near end of his first life and Shaman Fight, and fifth is back to modern times. Next chapters will also mainly be his POV.
I hope you like it. Please review!
Those were busy times. Then again, death was always busy on Earth, since moment animals started to evolve ( microbes were enough, spirits were enough, even plants were too much, death grumbled but then again nobody ever listened to it). And then humans came.
Death could work with natural disasters- after all, they were it's siblings, and like it, they too had role to perform. Death could work with famine, with pestilence (through grudgingly) and even with hunt.
But conquest? War? Murders? It could work with them, of course .Death could work with anything. Literally. Feathers, paintings, saliva, sleeping ducks. Name something and death could provide you with at least thousand hundred fifty three ways that thing has been used to send somebody to it. But it didn't have to like it.
Those things were always so messy, so fast, so horrible. It was useless and unnecessary- in the end, everybody came to it. Way didn't matter, all died same way. Neither did time- few nanoseconds didn't matter. But humans insisted on fighting, on killing their enemies as soon as possible ( with exception of those who preferred to torture them for bit first which was just as annoying- either you sent somebody to it or you didn't, no need to skirt the line), on adding more tasks on it's workload. As if it wasn't already overworked.
Currently, death was ( among too many other things) following one of those humans it hated. Fat man, with grey hair and wrinkled skin, who would surely soon join it. Man always wore detailed, rich fabrics, which meant that he had a lot of those small coins humans prized so much. Small cadre always followed him, armed and bowed. He was well-respected, and death was what brought him such respect.
Death remembered when man's hair was black and skin smooth. Remembered how he went around, sending people to it by so many means. Fire and stone and water and sword and sometimes even live burial. Skilled murderer, doubly so for never was it his hand that cut somebody's life short.
Not that it mattered much, for he didn't hide that his orders were followed by armed men that trailed behind him. And yet, there was always crowd, always audience to see his work. And they cheered and laughed and cried tears of joy as man performed his murders.
Well, if there was one thing you could say about humans with absolute certainty ( or any sentient life for that matter), it was that they were never predictable ( except for the end, of course).
River. Forest. Dirty child. Rushing men, bare weapons. Chuckling murderer. Worried demon.
Child raises shattered, broken katana. Demon flies and merges with stump of weapon and a new one emerges, a giant kanabo, black as night, with knobs like silver stars. They mix, essences of spirit and human till they almost become one. And so it begins.
They attack with swords and spears, and child jumps, almost flying. He ducks and avoids blades, dances without care between them, as if he has read the script of fate. So it goes on, terrified men striking and child avoiding. He seems to know their every move, as if he can see inside of their mind ( and maybe he can- death has seen far stranger things).
Men stand back as child stops and their master gives them new orders. They fear this child, child they would have murdered only second ago, and death know why. It has seen what it sees in this child so many times, mostly in animals but sometimes in humans too.
Starved and cold, homeless and broken, when pushed to edge, when they are so close to it, all living things either break and accept their fate... or with last few drops of strength, fight and snarl and cling at fleeting life, ready to do anything to escape it. Sometimes they succeed. Sometimes they fail.
That is what death sees in this child, this child whose bones protrude through bruised, filthy and scarred skin, child whose hair is long and matted and whose clothes are wet and torn. Child whose face is blank and eyes wide and shattered, expression not quite human, almost demonic. It may be enough to save him, or it may not.
Child and man shout at each other, and child shatters rock with his weapon and demon is begging as man is praying and throwing knives and child runs and it all makes perfect sense.
Weapon is raised. Man is kneeling. Demon is panicking. And child, child stands there, cold rage bursting under his skin like thousand mountain rivers. And death can feel demon's presence fading, as his power flows into child's soul and becomes part of it.
And then, there is a crack only death can hear, as child's soul widens and stretches, hungry and hollow, and feasts upon demon, making it part of him.
Humans shouldn't be capable of that. At least not this spiritually weak, this young, this alive. Only demons and gods should be able to consume souls. And it unmistakable what happens, for death feel's demon's soul go silent as it is absorbed by child, as weapon descends upon man and death flies with it.
Head breaks. Oversoul dissolves. Death accepts fat man like it accepted his victims, watches as his fear and sins chain him and drag him to Great Spirits, to bleak chambers of Hell. Watches child, whose soul is almost finished with meal.
His eyes are wide and shocked, tears mixing with blood that covers him. Something blinks in depths of his eyes and death feels his gaze, picking and pricking it's soul. It fades away, it's duty here done for now.
It doesn't think about child, forgets immediately as it focuses on other lives, other cases. But it knows that it will see him again.
No matter how strong they are, no matter how hard they cling to life, in the end, they all come to it.
Celebration. Rich celebration, in fact. How beautiful.
Death is not welcome on this kind of party ( though honestly, rare are those who welcome it). But it has been to enough that it can guess what will happen.
Assassination. Somebody important and rich will get killed and there will be investigation and execution, blood feud, possibly war... Too much work, too much work.
Death waits as parade marches, as oni gather. With so many spiritually attuned humans gathered, it can only be ceremony meant to banish demons. All is going smoothly, and death almost prays that assassin finally makes move.
And finally it begins, though not as death expected. Hordes of chimimories appear, ghosts of things of mountains joined together, birds and insects and small animals that have forgotten their life, their form. They rush madly, intent to tear everybody to pieces ( humans will talk about mad, bloodthirsty demons, but death sees signs of spells, feels madness. This is assassination, just with tortured spirits instead of knives and poisons).
Young boy steps forward, ofudas in hands, confidence in every fiber of his being, lust for glory shining in eyes. He shouts and smiles and death guesses it found it's summoner.
Man with mustache and long black hat steps forward, sword in hand, and suddenly death find itself traveling with sword, through boy's stomach. Death worms it's way, nestles inside boy's pierced organs, ready to take him... and he doesn't go.
Death feels furyoku pour in, robbing it of it's charge, keeping him suspended between it and life. Second later spell forms, and hundreds of chimimories jump and enter boy's body, mind and soul.
Death can only silently scream as spirits fuse into one being, as giant demon is born from blood and betrayal. Despair given form, it arises- gigantic, humanoid skeleton wreathed in white flames. It is tall, taller than houses, than mountains. It roars and marches through city, and death becomes it's instrument as demon throws rubble and fire and tears humans apart with it's claws and takes more and more souls. Humans run screaming, run over each other, kill each other.
Demon steps on a man and death flows down, takes him and recognizes man as one who caused this whole Mess. In second his soul is dragged away to Hell.
If death had mouth, it would smirk, smile curved as scythe and cold as frozen steel. At least there will be some justice. Some would think that it would be satisfied- after all, hasn't life of boy who became demon been more than paid with lives of so many humans? Fools.
What satisfaction should it find in more work, more trouble? If this demon was put down, and his creator cursed for whole eternity, then price of breaking it's laws would be paid. But this way, it won't ever be enough. Life of every single human on Earth won't be enough.
Demon strikes and pierces human and it seems as if this will go on forever. Soul travels up, ready to be consumed by demon... But death doesn't take this person's life.
Another soul comes, and another and another, and death feels rage and fear and envy and loneliness and thousand other emotions and hears wicked thoughts and lusts after so many things and realizes. These are no ghosts but oni, demons formed from humanity's darkness.
And then it felt gaze, gaze that pierced it's soul. And at end of claws was young boy, impaled on demon's claws, his robes white as his pale skin and red as his leaking blood, face twisted with perverted, mad joy, grin wide, eyes open and staring, laugh like thunderstorm, blood and fire all over him.
Oni poured out of wound at his torso and were consumed by greater demon. Yet no matter how much it ate, they kept coming and coming. For each oni demon absorbed, ten came to replace it, And it could no longer contain them.
Demon was torn apart, whips of flame and shards of bone flying in all directions as scarlet and black power poured from it. And in center, only thing left was smiling, falling, dying boy with birthmark covering his whole face.
Death claimed him as he was falling. As his soul faded, ready to rejoin Great Spirits, death left, followed by pricking eyes.
Possessed man was dying. Fever and starvation and vengeful ghost did their work well, and it was only question of moment when this man would be freed of pain and sorrow by accepting it.
Door creaked. Nothing strange, family, or more of those exorcists, both attempting impossible. Fever and hunger and ghost were too strong. Death couldn't be banished by prayer or love, and ghost defied spells and rituals. Nobody could help.
And then death felt pricking eyes. And knew surprise was imminent.
There he stood, already grown and graceful, hair clean and long, robes rich and white. But still rather thin, still looking at world with caution of beaten, hungry animal.
He sat down and looked into empty air. Pricking grew stronger, as if he was attempting to stab it. And then he spoke. Not to man, not to ghost but to it.
'' Hello. I think we already met few times. Would you be willing to reveal yourself? We could talk.''
Silence. men cried to death sometimes, begging for mercy, for another chance, for exception. But they never wanted to talk.
'' You don't have to if you don't want to. I will introduce myself first. I'm Asakura Hao.''
Hao felt it moment he entered room. Cold as chilly autumn morning, dark shadow that stunk of sweet rotting flowers and cakes, that hummed low, quiet, slow rasping sound, that tasted of soft, too old meat filled with worms.
he sometimes felt it, always when somebody was about to die, and knew it felt him. In those short moments when he witnessed death, he would feel slight touch, like fresh frost and breathe in strands of dirty smoke. And then it would be gone.
But now, now it appeared that there was still some time left. He could save the poor man and talk to this mysterious being. two birds with one stone.
'' Hello.''
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