DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Except the story.
How long has it been since she's seen the light?
The passing of time has become lost to her. Darkness surrounded her. Cold air enveloped her body. The faint flickering of a nearby flame and the dripping sound of water inside her cell were the only things she could hear, aside from her breathing and her occasional sobbing.
She had resigned herself to her fate, ever since she had lost that Rating Game with the Phenex lad. Of course, she had prepared her peerage as well—she had broken her contract with them so as to have them be free of whatever Riser had in store for them. It was enough that she be treated like this, as long as it was not her family. To have her shamed and pained, rather than them.
Her dear brother had taken the rest of them in, all too gladly for her sake. Even Sirzechs' features had started to become blurry in her mind, and last she saw him he had the most sorrowful expression she'd ever seen. No, she did not wish to see him like that. The image of a strong leader, brimming with confidence and wits about him—yes, that was something she would rather remember her dear brother by.
There was another individual still who'd pass through her thoughts every once in a while.
She'd remember the scent of coffee, and the welcoming tranquility of that shop. The way it put her at ease, and made her feel nothing else but the fleeting experience of having nothing bother her was something she yearned to feel again. And then her memory would flash back to that person, smiling mysteriously at her, his gaze warm and knowing—as if he were an old friend of sorts. His pristine, white hair blended with the black and white of his cafe, although it did not exude that dullness from such a monochromatic combination. Rather, it emitted a simple beauty and elegance to it, with a deep message of sorts that perhaps no one person could easily decipher—perhaps something stemming from the cafe owner's experience in life. Yes, even the name Murakami had managed to etch itself into her memory.
A kind, charming, person. Yes, that was something she would have wanted in a man. Someone who would love her as she was, not because she was tied to things like nobility, power, or titles. It was purely idealistic in view, but wasn't that every maiden's heartfelt wish? Even if the possibility of it occurring in reality was close to zero?
It was a futile wish, a false hope for one who has already been dealt the cards of a deck that no longer exists to give any more chances. She was a prisoner, rendered powerless by the device strapped around her neck that nullified any sort of internal magical power. As of the moment, she was no more than a decoration for Riser Phenex's ego and a tool for the continuation of his bloodline. That was as she had been told.
She had not been touched yet, however—Riser was currently dabbling in business that required too much of his time, and that has resulted to minimal contact between the two of them. Last she'd heard, Riser Phenex had become part of a large conspiracy that went beyond the Underworld. It had primarily consisted of supplying Phoenix Tears to a number of clients, but as to what purpose, she knew nothing of. A gut feeling told her it was something catastrophic, and may as well lead to an event that concerned the important factions upon this world. Nevertheless, it was just delaying the inevitable, and did not change the fact that she was trapped in the fate life had chosen for her.
She wanted to see them again—her loved ones, her peerage, and that little cafe in Kuoh. She wanted to reach the ranks of the higher Devils, to be recognized not by name but through effort, to be there when her peerage members overcome the boundaries that had to be crossed for the sake of improving, and to fall in love just as she would want to. All these things, no matter how they had been already denied from her, were still what she had desired. What she had dreamed of having.
And so the sadness came over her again. It was all that came and went to visit her in the desolate cell she had been locked in deep within Riser Phenex's mansion, by the lower floors constituting a dungeon for prisoners.
No matter how much she had already wept, the tears still fell from the imprisoned Rias Gremory's forlorn eyes.
He'd thought himself the selfless one, willing to provide aid to anyone as long as they needed it. To help another was never an idea beyond him, even if it meant that he was to lose his happiness in the process—but then again, seeing the smiles of those around him more than accounted for that.
He'd thought he was the one growing strong. To help others meant he was more than capable to do so with his own strength and abilities. As reluctant as he was to admit, both Yamori and Rize had triggered the needed change in him in order for him to realize what gaining power meant—power to help the suffering, and power to protect his and the others' joy. The idea of defeating one who was stronger than him, no matter how overwhelming the odds are, was never beyond him. His fight with Shachi before was testament to both his willingness and recklessness to do so.
By the end of his tale, he'd gone mad.
Selflessness was never his reason. It was his selfishness. His greed to preserve the happiness he'd never had before. His voracity to keep the things that mattered to him. And it drove him over the edge, past the point of sanity. He acknowledged that he was weak, and by being weak he was vulnerable to losing everything he had. And so he turned to power. To the dark entity lurking beneath the unseen fissures of his psyche. The power that took everything from him, ironically, when he'd faced the most grueling of challenges.
That was how he lived as "Ken Kaneki."
But life was a sick, twisted, puppeteer. It had more plans. It had more stories to tell, and tales to make or break. It had decided that it was worth giving him another shot, and gave him a clean slate. The perfect way to start from scratch and rewrite his thinking on who he truly was.
He'd become someone who valued the lives of his comrades, concerning himself over them like a father would and not merely as siblings. Then there were all his coworkers at CCG; some, he was close to like family; others, a workplace relationship that maintained a degree of respect, with a hint of hostility and distrust at times.
He approached his battles with a more careful pace. He was never complacent no matter what the enemy, and took great care to face differently ranked Ghouls especially when he knew that the odds were stacked against him. Though there was such a thing as being too careful, he could not bear to hold any risks that would place his comrades in any potential danger. Like how a parent would worry over a child, he'd rather be hurt than watch people important to him become nothing more than cold corpses, fading into distant memories.
Yet no matter how much he relied on his own strength, moments had come where he still came up short, being the weaker one on the stage of combat. It made him seek power, made him want to give up anything if it meant to help and to protect. And it was by that temptation that he still used the power he was reluctant to draw upon, one that he loathed as equally as he loved his humanity. Living in fear that he would lose control over it, fearing that it would do more worse than good.
And so was the life of the one known as "Haise Sasaki," of whose name he still carried on until the present.
But, really, who am I now?
It was that place again.
The tiled floor, akin to a chessboard, was outfitted with squares of alternating black and white, dirtied by faint stains of blood, dust, and fluids that have long dried. The ceiling above him curved as it was a dome, each panels of glass above murky and translucent with dirt, while other broken ones allowed him the sight of the reddish sky outside. He was seated in that same, rigid chair, where the touch of its surface brought him flashes of memories he longed to forget and sensations he wished he never felt.
Yes, it was that same observatory Yamori used, where he began his descent into madness.
Yet there was something utterly different, apart from the fact that Yamori was not there, or that he was not shackled to the seat. The place seemed larger, its corridor spanning around him in an area far larger than what he remembered. He noticed soon, as well, the lingering smell of rot and death in the air, and it was stronger than any he's ever smelled.
[And so we meet.]
A booming voice echoed from in front of him, one of command and of power. Its tone was laced with both age and wisdom, enough to even shake the very core of his being. He raised his head and looked forward to the looming figure in the center of the room—a being of size and strength, more ancient than the annals of any myth or legend. Its body was armored in scales of crimson, ironically bathing it somewhat in the supposed blood of all it has slain. The wings behind its back unfurled and revealed scars and old wounds that no doubt wouldn't hamper its ability to soar through the boundless heavens. Its claws were bathed in flames and glowed like white-hot steel taken out of the forge. Its fangs were blades sharp enough to tear through any known material, putting any known sword of legend to shame. By its snouted head were two, emerald orbs that trailed its sight unto his meager form, looking on not with hostility, but with a sense of curiosity and fascination.
[You seek strength. You seek to end the curse that you are. And where else shall your quest lead you, other than an avatar of power such as I?]
Flames flickered around the reptile, and as his eyes adjusted a little more to the lighting from it did he only take notice of the skulls and bones that lay underneath its figure. What surprised him, however, was the gigantic centipede it had held down with its claws and legs. The dragon was clearly feasting on it, feeding on the large insect and crunching down on its tough exoskeleton like it was nothing else but an additive to make the meal far more delectable.
[Never have I had a host with a soul as mangled as yours. Mortal, speak your name, so that the Crimson Emperor may give his own.]
"…" He knew not what to make of the situation at this point, and so he decided that perhaps the best course of action would be to acquiesce to the being's requests for the moment. As much as this seemed like a dream, the sensations he felt were all too real to be anything but such.
"Haise Sasaki."
[Oh? You'll go by the name of your other self?]
The way the dragon had phrased it was of interest to him—how did it know of the inner turmoils within him?
"… 'Ken Kaneki' has become a curse, and 'Haise Sasaki' is the being who carries the burden of many. Even if the curse is the real 'me,' I would rather not forget the onus I carry with this life."
There were things only "Haise" could protect, and these were the things "Ken" had long lost. "Haise" may only be the shadow created by the maddening light "Ken" was blinded with, but it was with that name that he would do right by the lives he had chosen to never forget. In the end, the shadow was the one who had stayed behind and protected all that was left of him. Sometimes even the light could be so bright it blinded one from the things that truly mattered, that they blindly follow their beliefs, no matter how full of fissures, into the edge of time. Shadow was never truly darkness, nor was it born simply from light—it was an entity in the middle of it all, sometimes fading and sometimes darkening, yet it was always there.
And that was how he wished to be, in order to always remember what needed to be remembered. In a world where light and dark simultaneously existed, he would be the one to stand in the middle of it all for those who could not choose between any two. Guide them as he will into a place they would belong.
The dragon chuckled, a deep rumbling that rose from its throat and resounded through the hall with gravel in its tone. It was not mocking nor gloating from the gesture, rather he sensed a fascinated glee from the beast, although he was unsure as to why.
[Interesting. Then the Welsh Dragon, who goes by title of Crimson Emperor, gives his name. Ddraig is what you may call this ancient one.]
Yes. He was familiar with the name—it was one worthy of song and legend, of the terrors it wrought upon thousands of enemies, of the benevolence of its being, and of the tremendous power it exuded just from merely existing upon the earth. Truly, Ddraig was the ire of many of his kind, an Emperor whose strength brought forth epics, telling tales of glorious battles only so few historians have ever managed to inscribe into even fewer parchments, of annals that seldom knew existed. Wonder was pushed to the back of his mind, however, when curiosity posed him the question as to why the dragon had appeared before him—in what felt like his mind, as well.
[To begin with, my being here is obviously not physical—it is but my soul that you see this moment. The essence of my being, so as to say.]
He nodded, knowing that it was truly impossible to actually have a dragon of this size existing physically within his own body. Just the thought of the dragon being here, however, was a question begging for an answer.
[However, it seems that I have only been recently passed to you. The untimely death of my previous host irked me, but fate seemed gracious enough to have had you come at the right time—though I cannot hide the fact that I was mildly surprised to have landed here after you've… consumed my previous host.]
He had actually regretted that decision, however. For some reason, he gained the ability to access a few of the memories of the people he'd consumed, and the memories that he gained were usually significant (at least, he thought they were) to the person. He was disgusted with the brown-haired lad's perverse memories, but soon enough pitied the lad—someone who was never regarded by his parents and peers, talentless and ignored; yet had the potential and selflessness to protect what mattered to him, to safeguard his bonds and never back down from life's challenges. If only the world had more people like him, perhaps even his own experience with his loved ones back in Anteiku and CCG would have been different. They would be living, and living in a world abound with the cause to live for others apart from personal sake.
As idealistic as it was, it was a worthwhile dream to his belief. No matter how much reality served to tell him otherwise countless times before.
[Our link has told me so much about you, and I must say, your abilities intrigue me. For one so broken and battered by life, your strength is admirable, and your resolve even more so. Never have I encountered a creature like you. Although I must say, I am adverse to the idea of sharing the space of this den—which is why I have taken care of the nuisance you've had for a while. A bothersome tenant, this one was to say the least.]
As if reacting, the centipede (which has regenerated most of what it has lost) squirmed underneath him, to which Ddraig's response was to tighten his grip and take a bite off of its body. As the Emperor chewed and crunched through the tough creature, he felt a little disturbed at the sight—almost as if the feeling crawling down his spine was the most minute sensation of him being eaten.
[The madness you hold—it is power beyond your control. Instead of evolving you it has become poison to your body and venom to the mind. Strong, yes, but a tad bit too unreliable. Which is why I am here to tell you something that will be beneficial to both our cause and existence. But before that, tell me…]
The flames around Ddraig vanished, and the mountain of bones underneath him began trembling. Fragments aligned themselves, and pieces connected. Where there existed only death, life began to breathe once more as tissue, muscle, sinews, and blood vessels formed over the decaying os. In front of the Crimson Emperor rose figures that, to his horror, were reminders of his dreaded past.
[How worthy are you to be the Crimson Emperor's vessel of dauntless potential?]
Shachi. Ayato. Kureo Mado. Amon. Eto. Nutcracker. Madam A. Rize. A slew of Aogiri Ghouls. The Fallen Angels he'd slain. And at the center of it all… Yamori. Enemies he'd fought through grit, yet ended up having to resort to madness in order to match—here they were, appearing as the horrors he'd thought he'd never have to see again. To lay his eyes on them again… it was nothing short of a nightmare for him.
It drove him mad.
One thousand… m-minus… seven…
The surge began. His hand found itself clutching the side of his head that had began pounding in intense pain. He felt his kakugan activate without warning as the waves that strained his head came and went, almost as if he was in some sort of painful inebriation.
Their numbers grew. He saw the faces of those from Anteiku. Tsukiyama. Hirako and the rest of the Qs, the squad he had mentored and handled. Akira and all the CCG officials he'd worked with. And then there was Arima amidst them, wearing that calm and calculated expression as his fingers tapped impatiently on the quinque case he held.
Fingers… on the bench… centipede… in my ear…!
[Will you overcome your past, and tame the beast lurking deep within your mind? Or will you break and be rendered useless once and for all, unable to ever regain the resolve once lost and finally give in to the madness that sleeps?]
He gritted his teeth and pushed forth the tendrils of red behind him, hitching a breath as they forcibly jutted out from his back. He squeezed the blade-like quinque that manifested in his right hand, the trusty weapon he'd wield as an Investigator. His breaths were ragged, similar to whenever he was at wits end in battle while the darkness within him swirled for a contest of dominance over the shared body of Ken/Haise.
"I will… I will…!"
Before him next appeared a swirling mass of darkness, with all the people of his past caught up dead center. One by one, each individual was torn asunder into uncountable pieces. And then, when all the wind had died down did he see the figure that had come into existence from the coalesced horrors and wonders of his life.
Draped in a tattered black shirt and white pants shredded to the knee area. White hair fluttering softly from whatever breeze blew by. Sneering with blood-caked teeth. Staring back with maddened eyes of mismatched colors. Pairs of red and black-armored tendrils swinging around impatiently from behind, like insect segments anxiously crawling all over a surface.
Crack.
Its right thumb hovered delicately above the middle finger, slowly pressing down and producing a resounding crack that followed from the index. Saliva dripped down from the maddened grin on its predatory face, looking on at him with hungry eyes from the kakugan on both eyes. Black ooze poured out from its forehead, forming a strange mask upon its face that draped it in a macabre facade that only served to amplify the aura of dread it already exuded.
[Prove your worth, Haise. Show me what you're made of.]
"Finally woke up, huh? And here I thought you'd finally kick the bucket."
A dull headache welcomed him together with an all too familiar voice back into the present. The smell of antiseptic and various chemicals tingled his olfactory sense, indicatory of perhaps a clinic or a laboratory. He'd been here before on occasional visits, so memory told him that his location was actually both. But the resident who owned it, however, was not the average doctor, nor was he the average chemist.
Despite the height, the short temper, and the prosthetic left leg, he did consider the man to be a reliable friend and aid. It was quite ironic, he admitted, that the man's sincerity did not reflect on the state of his residence, however. It still looked like a seedy establishment from the outside.
"… How long was I out?" The voice that exited his mouth were croaked out, and so did he only realize of how dry his throat was. The other resident of the room stood by his bedside, handing him a glass of water that he thankfully accepted.
The blond, dressed in a lab coat over a usual office attire, pulled out a silver pocket watch and glanced at the time for a short moment before answering. "About two hours. You were moving a lot too. Boogeyman got you or something?"
"You can say that." A shrug was the only reply Haise received from the blond. He'd always appreciate how the man never really probed into what troubled people, just like he did now.
"Well, if you're this lucid, I'm sure you're good to go already. The redhead who came with you here told me you can meet him in front of Kuoh Academy, and that you should bring along 'that paper.' Said you knew what to do with it. Not that it concerns me, anyway, but he had the same damn aura as Mephistopheles. Sonuvabitch hasn't shown up in a while, too…"
The white-haired lad got off the bed and stretched out, finally feeling the headache subside into a manageable bother. His hand dug into his pocket, and found the parchment riddled with different runes that he had made use of a little earlier. Magic, Devils, Fallen Angels… It was still quite an idea far too foreign to him, but then again, there was another unexplainable thing with him within that clinic—one who had a knack for getting into weird experiments and all kinds of trouble.
Perhaps weird things were just a magnet for trouble—like how he was a Ghoul, for example.
"I'll be off then. Thanks for the treatment."
"Sometimes it's kind of irksome that I'm the only guy that specializes in this crap. But, yeah, don't mention it. You live long enough, and you get used to doing this. Same payment as usual, okay?"
"… One of these days, you're going to have me run out of coffee from all the free cups you're getting."
"Hohoho, I intend to do just that. You can't really complain if I do a damn good job at what I do. And I'll be around for a while, too, just to enjoy a good cup of coffee by Murakami. After all, immortality's a bitch." The two shared a mutual grin, somehow reducing the tension that's welled up within Haise. Good friends were quite the luxury for him, he admitted.
As Murakami's owner exited the premises, the blond clapped his hands together, charging the air with momentary energy as small lines of electricity crackled from both of his scarred hands.
"Right, now where's my other coat…"
"I never expected you to be friends with an alchemist. I've thought them long gone, what with magicians becoming the more lucrative and trending job of this age."
He was seated in what was a lavish office within one of the buildings of Kuoh Academy. A lone desk of expensive (he surmised) wood, for some leader or high officer of sorts; a sala set complete with comfortable sofas; antique objects that ranged from fascinating to disturbing that were hung on the walls or placed on shelves and displays; and wooden shelves that were lined with tomes of already peeling covers and bids.
Students were already long gone, and the night meant that only the patrolling guards were around. It seemed that Sirzechs Lucifer's authority extends even to the human world, where the school was apparently part of the Gremory family's liabilities for all the young Devils and accompanying peerages that attended the prestigious institution, as well as used it as a headquarters of sorts.
"Well, sad to say he's been around for quite some time now. He's told me that he made a deal once with someone, who turns out to be one of your kind." He knew how much his acquaintance had come to regret that decision, however. But sometimes, everyone made choices that were past who they were once they lost people so close to heart. The alchemist had lost his wife and children to an accident that he claimed to be his fault, and wanted nothing more than to see them again, for them to live a life that was deprived of them.
And in that time of weakness did a Devil come, and offered a deal—an irresistible one, for that matter, to the blond clinic owner.
"Then he must have been born quite some time ago. Devils of today no longer make this cliched 'in exchange for your soul' type of deals with humans, as far as our race is concerned. But then again, a select few are still quite loyal to this rite, and would want nothing more but so. I can only hope your friend has found peace, despite the harsh things he must have gone through for the time he's lived."
It was quite funny to him, actually, that his friend got the sympathy of a Devil, kindred to the one who had so tempted him to make the worst decision of his life. Then again, he found that Sirzechs was a good person in his own right, and his claims have rang with nothing short of sincerity and truth. Unfairly judging the many based on the few was never him, after all.
"But, I digress. I'll be holding up my end of the bargain first before you do—after all, I was the one who asked the favor."
Shortly after the two had their exchange within the dilapidated confines of what was previously the cafe Murakami, he was mildly surprised to have been met with a favor from Sirzechs Lucifer. Of course, if what the Devil had told him about his rank in the Underworld was true (he didn't really doubt it that much), then it meant a serious request from an important man of symbol and stature. And he was a Devil noble, no less. Meaningless as these things were to humans who obviously don't even have to concern themselves with such problems, the natural spark to help when within his reach was both temptation and habit to Haise. He'd taken up Yoshimura-san's philosophy and wanted to live it not as penance but as a way of remembering people important to him—those he'd never hesitate to help.
And so he acquiesced to the Maou after hearing him out, and made it a fair trade by asking a favor of the Devil as well. There was something he needed to check, and it meant tracking down a number of property damagers. Information on the current state of things was important, and it meant having to be prepared for any of the Three Factions accounted to by the redhead standing in front of him. Right now, Devils were of interest to him, but Fallen Angels were of higher priority to him.
The operation he was about to pull off was also a probable way to test his newfound abilities, and bring out the power the Maou had mentioned before that the Fallen considered reason enough to deal with him. Even Ddraig doesn't seem too opposed to the idea, as well.
"I understand. Please, continue."
It was ironic that he'd found them within the confines of an abandoned church.
Sirzechs has told him that the place has been empty for the past three decades or so, having been forgotten by the Church as a relic of the past and nothing more. Perhaps it was due to the incident the Maou had told him about, one where a deranged group of zealots were discovered sacrificing virgin maidens in the altar of the location and performing various rituals that they claimed were "for the greater glory of our Father." Perhaps it was also a coincidence that it was left that way—a reminder of bloody past that was never meant for such a place. It reminded him of that observatory Yamori had trapped him in.
The similar feeling he had when he first met the Maou and his subordinate began welling up within him—the sensation of purging darkness until there was naught a shred of it left. The more it flowed into him, the more he considered the theory that having eaten the two Fallen Angels from earlier affected his physiology just as the act of cannibalizing a Ghoul transformed him. If it would do him more benefit than harm was still up for debate, however.
[The sensation you feel is akin to anxiety and excitement before battle. It would be wise to dismiss it as such for now; unnecessary discomforts only do you disservice and unleash the dark within you much easier.]
"Well, if you put it that way, I guess the Centipede got more rampant the more nervous I was." It made sense that his crazed power gained initiative to burst out of him during his more emotional moments, especially when he lapsed into the horrendous traumas of his past.
[But you possess better control of it now, so perhaps my worries are for naught. Hmph. Carry on then, youngling. The powers that be here… such irksome creatures.]
"Eeeeeh, who the fuck are you? Anybody ever tell ya to knock before going in? Shitty people these days, ain't even got a shred of manners left!"
A young man stood by the entrance of the dilapidated church, holding with him two blades that seemed almost alive with the aureate shine they possessed. There was a bestial glint in the lad's eyes, one that was familiar to him. It was a look of lunacy, of depravity and of fantasy. Despite the staple clothes of a priest he was in, the maniacal aura he exuded told him otherwise of the hostile's background.
[… Well, well. An exorcist who reeks of sin and insanity. I doubt it's a good thing he's holding a pair of dangerous holy swords.]
"Exorcist? Like from the Church? And what do you mean by holy swords?"
[Exorcists combat the supernatural that the Church views as a threat to the faction they side with. Those holy swords… are weapons creatures affiliated with darkness should learn to fear. For the Excalibur blades to be here of all places, though…]
Excalibur… It was a sword that had quite the reputation among the many that were given birth to by myths and legends. Wielded by the leader of the Round Table's knights, it was more than just a weapon that lay waste to the many who opposed King Arthur. It too was a symbol of his sovereign rule and his right to be king, and ironically of the fate that would befall him by the end of his tale.
However, the fact that Ddraig mentioned the legendary sword in the plural sense begged a question in of itself.
[I have heard that the Church had split them into multiple swords, of which each were given an attribute unique to the one Excalibur. So the one sword of multiple powers was split into the many blades carrying each a piece of the whole.]
"Ho~, you smell like those damn Fallen Angels, but that's not the only thing you reek of. Ah, whatever," the priest's grin doubled in size as bloodlust clearly reflected on his eyes, "I was getting bored of fucking those girls they've captured, so I guess killing trespassers ain't such a bad to spend time."
The lad dashed off towards him in an instant, closing in the distance between them almost in the blink of an eye. Haise's reflexes kicked in, parrying the swinging blades with his kagune. The activation of his kakugan gave him better vision of the evening, and gave him a clearer look at the exorcist's movements.
"The fuck's with those eyes and tentacles? You're not a Devil, that's for sure, but something about obviously screams inhuman. Ah, does it really matter? You'll be shitstain in a few moments, so I guess it's no use thinking about it too much."
"… Quite a mouth he's got. Worse than Ayato." The sentence passed his lips as a disgusted whisper as he narrowed his eyes at his foe. He had to finish this fast, lest he wanted reinforcements to arrive and compromise his whole reason for coming in the first place.
Crack.
He darted forward and spun, red tendrils spinning around him and readied to parry any hit from the exorcist.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why the fuck can't I cut you up?! Fucking stay still, goddammit!"
Constantly moving and never taking his eyes off of the sword-wielding opponent, he pushed his body to move as fast as it could to match the priest's own pace. For a normal person to move that fast just wasn't possible, but in this world that worked all too differently from his, then perhaps the key to knowing the abilities of this exorcist…
[A correct deduction—those troublesome swords allow him to fight like so.]
Changing strategies and adapting in battle was not simply a phenomenon unique to few battles as a Ghoul—it was a basic concept to do so. Arima had always taught him to never rely on just one way to best an opponent, because doing so spelled nothing but arrogance, hardheadedness, and death. If one were to succeed, it was by patiently waiting for the opponent to reveal their weak points one piece at a time, then exploiting them until the foe was nothing but an empty shell with lost strength and all impuissance.
"Drop dead and please just die, for fuck's sake! I'm not letting anyone else have my evening fun, so come here and get cut up by my Excalibur swords before those Angels come!"
He darted in, to which the priest replied in earnest with a rising slash to his shoulder. He spun his body in order for the sword to miss him, exactly timing the arc with utmost care that he felt the sword pass by his back as he turned. The red kagune then shot out and pierced through the exorcist's right shoulder, turning as it did in order to penetrate flesh more easily.
The alarmed cries from the exorcist was music to the kagune as it glowed slightly, delighting in the blood that flowed down on it. In a swift twist to the side, Haise pulled in the priest with his tendril and landed a corkscrew uppercut to the lad's gut. Air forcibly exited him, and so did blood and saliva. Two more of the crimson tendrils shot out; one which restrained the uninjured arm, while the other wrapped on the priest's neck to choke him.
Before he could move his tendril to twist the foe's neck and leave the corpse crownless, sharp pain invaded the nerve endings behind him. The familiarity of it all gave him a bad realization of the situation as he released the priest and tumbled back, dodging the glowing projectiles sent his way.
Spears of light… well, I'll be damned.
"Tch. You're really beginning to be thorn by our side."
"Cool it, Raynare. We need to finish him here and now, both for the sake of Kokabiel-sama and the comrades he's killed."
The remainder of Murakami's visitors earlier were up in the air, with the same get-up as before and the similar black wings that jutted out from their backs. The venom in their eyes were directed at him, clearly demanding his blood be spilled and his body be desecrated for the sake of their kin. He met their glares with an impassive look, focusing on his goal.
He analyzed the situation. Though he could easily defeat the Fallen Angels, the problem lay in the priest who was still standing. Battered his body may be, as long as he still had the two Excalibur swords in hand, he was as dangerous as a cornered predator. His speed was also a problem, and that would make it clearly more difficult to also pay attention when the airborne opponents would fling spears at him.
His odds were slimming.
"Guuuh, you bitches! Do you have any idea how troublesome this bastard is? God, I fucking thought he was gonna rip my fap arm off!"
"Can it, Freed! We know just as you do how hard it is to crush this cockroach." The girl in bondage leather, revealing too much skin for his taste, spat out with a bitter and irate tone.
"But a cockroach is just a cockroach, so it doesn't matter—you're not leaving this place alive!"
Both winged women pelted him spears, throwing with complete disregard for the exorcist on the ground, seemingly fine with the idea of skewering him if it meant death for Haise as well. He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he sprinted to the side, dodging the rain of projectiles coming down his way. As he moved, Freed sped up beside him, wildly swinging the blades in his hands in unpredictable arcs that were to difficult to dodge. He swatted at the exorcist with his tendrils, aiming to parry the blades while he gave a little more focus on the spears sent his way.
Suddenly, the sound ringing metal filled his ears for a split second, before he spotted a spark of blue in a nearby grove. Pillars of stone, sharpened at the end, shot upward towards the Fallen Angels, making them scatter from their position.
He made use of the disturbance and kicked off the distracted exorcist to a nearby tree, with Freed colliding onto the trunk with a dull thud. He guessed that that was enough to at least fracture some of the bones on the priest's spine. He turned towards the origin of the pillars that now stayed in place like statues, and saw an approaching figure draped with a red coat around his broad shoulders. His long blond hair was tied to a ponytail behind him, the usual hairstyle he's always preferred. Behind his spectacles were eyes that looked like they were tired of witnessing days pass almost endlessly, as if they were so ancient in watching over the course of the world's events. The handsome face, however, did not match the fatigue in the eyes—he still looked like a man in his late twenties.
"Quite a nightlife you got, Haise. Beats my boring evening strolls 'round Kuoh by a mile."
The clinic owner gave the white-haired cafe owner a small grin, eyes flaring up with vigor and excitement. Haise sighed, returning the smile almost like he knew what was exactly on the man's mind.
And the fact was he actually did.
Crack.
"I get the Fallen Angels. Both of them."
The blond cracked his knuckles, and them pressed his hands together, the gesture producing a spark of blue energy that crackled in the air.
"Then let me have fun with the sword brat. Fullmetal wants to kick ass tonight."
A/N:
Well whaddya know, I freakin' finished this before the rest of my Persona fics. Unbelievable.
For some reason, writing Colorless is therapeutic to me in more ways than one. People who've went through depression and are still going through it need some sort of way to cope or altogether find a way to keep them from reaching that dark place, and this is what did it for me. I can vent out in my writings about the thoughts that haunt me, but I think I'll be reserving the darker ones for this one (not that it'll be too morbid). Fanfics have gained more meaning for me lately because of the troubles I've been experiencing, so I hope people don't mind some of the things I put out.
Apologies. Enough of that IRL rant.
You might be wondering why I included that character here, all of a sudden. Actually, to be perfectly honest, even I don't know. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, and by the time I was done, I was thinking "Why the fvck is he here? Ah, crap, I'll just roll with this."
Now that I think about it, I kinda like the idea, actually. I mean, if magicians existed in the DxD-verse, then why the hell not alchemists? Just a side note. Hahaha. But it does give me the idea that a few more characters may pop up (but that's not to say they'll all be alchemists; they may be people from other anime/manga, too). There's no need for worry, too—I know exactly just when a story gets too cramped with too many characters. The crossover of characters that I got inspired with will be kept to a bare minimum.
It's obvious that some events here were skipped over. Well, I wanted to reserve some of them for the workings of later flashbacks so that I can explain and go over some things a little bit better. Aside from that, the more minute events were just too tedious and unimportant to write, to say the least.
Ddraig's depiction is also different. I wanted to go with one that flaunts his identity as a dragon with pride and power, kinda like how The Hobbit depicted Smaug. Kinda. I'm just tired of the whole Oppai Dragon thing. I just think a being of his caliber deserves some more justice as a mythological creature, which is what I'm after with some of the other DxD characters. But that doesn't mean Ddraig or any other character will be too serious just to accommodate the tone of Tokyo Ghoul. Just putting it out there.
As of the moment, I'm still thinking of what to do with Ddraig at this point. I'm not to keen with giving Haise/Ken the Boosted Gear. I wanted something different, something that would be quite nice to pair up with his Ghoul-ic abilities, and even represents him to an extent. But definitely not something that gives him a cheap power-up or resembles a simple quinque. These are the reasons I came up with that's giving me a headache on what to do with Haise/Ken's apparent Sacred Gear.
Read, review, and drop a line. Tell me what you liked, what went wrong, and stuff you'd like to suggest. Comments help me be creative, as long they are not worthless, waste-of-time flames. Thanks for reading.