These characters are under copyright by Atsushi Ōkubo, Squar Enix, Yen Press, Shōnen,
Akatsuki Yamatoya. Madman Entertainment, Manga Entertainment, Funimation, and/or others. This is a work of fanfiction, for no monetary gain.
A/N:
CAUTION: Vulgar language below, and Christianity discussed and reflected in a way that might be upsetting or objectionable to some readers.
Chapter 16 – Father: Forgive Me, for I Have Sinned?
Justin awoke in heaven, the pure, clear bliss of sweet sound surrounding him: music, his lifeline, the anchor to his sanity, the one soothing constant in an inconstant and cruel world. He drank in the thundering sound and frowned in puzzlement. Why is it Death Metal? I only listen to Death Metal when I'm fighting. I listen to Classical or Jazz when I'm sleeping.
He opened his eyes, allowing the sensory input of sight to steal attention away from his precious music, frowning at the unfamiliar ceiling. Where am I?
Justin reached for the familiar comfort of his iPod, frowning in confusion and then gasping in alarm when his seeking hands touched bare skin.
He bolted upright in the strange bed. Where are my pajamas? He never slept naked: not because nudity was a sin, ever since Adam and Eve had realized their shame in the Garden of Eden, as his father believed, but because he loved the feeling of silk or satin against his bare skin. Thoughts of his father had him frantically reaching for the reassuring presence of headphones, but the feel was wrong. They're not mine.
His eyes widened as he both saw and felt the bandage wrapped around his chest and side, and the reason for them became blatantly clear: Giriko. I was battling Giriko, he destroyed my iPod and… His hand went to the back of his head, expecting to feel more bandages, or dried blood caking his hair, but there was nothing.
He frowned in confusion. Giriko hit me. Why aren't I dead? Did he actually not use his blades? He always attacks with his blades!
Justin eyed the room warily. It didn't look like either an Infirmary room or Dorm room at the DWMA.
But if I'm not there, where am I? Who brought me here? Who's been taking care of me? No, it must be them. No one else understands about my music. Only Lord Death and Dr. Franken Stein. I haven't told anyone else my vulnerability.
He stiffened at the sound of footsteps outside the closed door of the room. Should I pretend to be sleeping, or unconscious?
The door opened, taking away his options. His eyes widened in panic and he tried to leap from the bed, but instead his legs tangled in the sheets and he went sprawling onto the floor.
"Hey, careful! Here I went through all the trouble of treating your wounds, and you're going to reopen them if you keep flailing around like that," Giriko scolded, to Justin's consternation.
"What do you mean, you treated them?" Justin demanded, as he stood shakily, his left hand shielding his groin from Giriko's eyes. But for some reason Giriko wasn't taking advantage of his nudity and was instead focusing his attention on his face.
"Who do you think bandaged you, the Pope?" Giriko quipped sacrilegiously.
"Why do you say things like that?" Justin demanded indignantly, as he wrapped the sheet around himself.
"You look good in a toga. The Romans, now, there were a people who got it right: sex, food, wine and more sex. You know that's what you need, right? A good ass fucking. Some hot and cold running debauchery to get your blood flowing. You're too damned pale, Priest."
"Why aren't you trying to kill me?" Justin demanded.
Giriko snorted. "I never wanted to kill you. What's the fun in that? I just wanted to play with you. Mark you as mine. But enough about me. What's with you and the music? You completely cracked without it. You fell apart."
Justin shook his head in denial, terrified that his worst enemy knew his weakness.
"I bet I can guess. You use it to drown out the voices, right? All the people who ever told you what a monster you were.
"I bet your parents were terrified of you, weren't they? They wanted a perfect little son, and instead they got an abomination. Those guillotine blades of yours, those aren't a humane and restrained weapon, something used to protect. Those are meant to destroy, to behead your enemies, not capture them. Mommy and Daddy thought you were a freak, right, a punishment by God for their sins? But they took it out on you, as if you'd asked to be born that way."
Justin stared, frozen in shock, completely at Giriko's mercy, and astonished to find he apparently truly had mercy. "How could… How did… Who told…?" I've been betrayed, by Lord Death, by Dr. Franken Stein, as I always knew I would be.
"What, you think I couldn't figure it out? You think I had it any easier than you? Being born like this, chainsaws under my skin everywhere, centuries before anyone even knew what a chainsaw was? I was eleven when they first appeared. Do you know how my loving family reacted, when I ran to my mother and father, terrified by these blades? I'd show you the scars – nothing scars quite like a barbed flail – but that was quite a few vessels ago. I was almost dead by the time I finally attacked him back. All I could think about was that I was dying, covered in blood, and that you can't hold a whip without arms, right?" Giriko challenged.
The imagery made Justin want to vomit. The memories of his own torment brought him to his knees.
"My father beat me with a bat and then drowned me," he whispered. "He called it baptizing me: he said it was the only way to drive the Devil out. He threw me in the river, raving about how Satan had gotten hold of me, and he had to exorcise him. He held me under, spewing all kinds of hateful things, about me, about my mother, begging for me to repent the sin of my birth, like he thought God might wash the blades away. I was struggling and fighting. I didn't want to die, but I couldn't hurt him. Not because he was my father, but because he was too big, too strong. I fought so hard to control my blades, but I was so afraid, and they emerged again and…"
"So you killed your Pops too, huh? Those fuckers deserved it," Giriko said with a satisfied smirk.
"It was self defense," Justin was quick to claim.
"And from the fact that you're working for the DWMA, I guess they believed you, right? Whereas me, they hunted like I was some kind of rabid wolf. My uncle, my father's older brother, made me his own personal vendetta. But I got even with him. I possessed his oldest son, and every kid in that branch of the family tree, down to this one, whenever my current body starts to get too old," he crowed.
"You thrive off the pain of others," Justin accused.
"You're damned right I do," Giriko agreed.
"That's not right. That body you inhabit, the soul it already contains…" Justin began, but was cut off.
"Oh please! You think I'm bad? You should see what this fucker was like. Talk about sadistic. At least I'm no pedophile. I only wish I'd found out sooner. I would have possessed this bastard years ago. I may be a lot of things, but at least I never hurt kids. Well, not any who don't work for the DWMA, anyway," Giriko claimed, and then he frowned.
"Crap! You've got to be fucking kidding me! So that's why I tied the brat spread-eagle like that, sliced him up while he was restrained, even though it's no fun when they're not fighting back. You bastard! That was you, wasn't it, trying to get out to play? You sick fucker. You almost got loose, didn't you?" Giriko demanded, glaring, but he wasn't facing Justin anymore.
"I told the rest of you to keep an eye on him, didn't I? What game are you playing? You think by letting him be in charge for a while things would be better? That maybe the rest of you could go free? Idiots! I told you, we only have the one body between us. You want to die, go right ahead: jump ship, be my guest. But this body is mine. I stole it and I'm keeping it," Giriko fumed.
Justin realized he wasn't the one Giriko was talking to any longer. He focused on Giriko's Soul Wavelength and stared in horror and fascination. There wasn't the single pulsing, twisting soul, flickering on the verge of becoming a Kishin Egg as he'd seen before. He realized now there were nearly three dozen souls, all inhabiting the single body. Of the 31 souls, one was already a Kishin Egg, but only one.
"Hey Priest. You can perform exorcisms, right? Can you get rid of this asshole for us? The rest of us are usually fine together, in spite of what I just said: when given the choice of immortality, of living like this together with us or dying, they all chose to join us. Frankly, at this point, even if we had enough bodies for everyone, I don't think we could live without each other anymore, but this sick bastard Jared has been literally driving us crazy, every since we possessed him," Giriko claimed.
To Justin's astonishment, as if to verify his fantastic claim, thirty of the souls reformed and coalesced back into a single, large, pulsating, amorphous, peaceful sky blue soul, leaving the smaller purple Kishin apart, like the twilight that seeks to stain the evening sky and plunge daylight into the shadow of the twisted, bloody madness of the Moon. Even as Justin stared, intrigued and entranced, the Kishin attacked the larger, purer combined soul.
The effect on Giriko was instantaneous and terrifying. He fell to his knees, grabbing the cloth of his shirt, over his chest, gasping, as if he was having a heart attack. "How the hell can you have gotten strong enough to…? No! We won't let you!"
Justin watched helplessly as a battle raged for control of Giriko's body, like the Madness in Dr. Franken Stein that constantly tried to overcome him. The difference was, Stein's own soul was tainted. Nothing could be done for him, short of killing him. It wasn't possible to exorcise part of a soul. But this was more like a demonic possession.
Justin suddenly realized he wasn't helpless at all. This, he could fix. All he needed to do was cut the Kishin soul off from the others and expel it.
It didn't matter that Giriko was the DWMA's enemy, or what he'd done to Kid. Here was a soul that could be saved from the Kishin's Madness. And if this worked, maybe he could even fine tune it somehow and use it on people like Dr. Franken Stein, and prevent them from ever falling from grace. It could change the course of their war against the return of the Kishin, the fear of it emerging again.
This wasn't something he could use his blades for, not without killing the body housing Giriko and the others. For the first time in his life, he was thankful that he was the son of a reverend, that he'd been force-fed the Bible by a man obsessed with the Devil and convinced it was inside his son, that he'd been on the receiving end of a number of exorcisms, in a vain attempt to purge Satan from his body. Those ancient words had been powerless to 'cure' him, but they would be able to expel the Kishin soul, he was certain of it, with the power of his Soul Wavelength behind them. Justin began incanting in Latin, careful to focus upon the single tainted soul, not the conjoined mass soul.
The Kishin flared brightly, drowning out the others in a bright flash of violet, and suddenly Giriko was attacking him, his chainsaws glinting.
Justin immediately slipped on the headphones, even as he countered the first blow, confidence flooding him as he heard the familiar, empowering screeching thunder of Death Metal surrounding him. This is why I exist. This is why I was born, Father. Not as a monster, an abomination against your God, but as an instrument of Lord Death, a tool to fight against the true monsters of this world, against the Kishin.
Peace flooded him, as every movement became a dance, a dance of death, of cleansing holy light, as the strength of his soul empowered the ancient words until they became an almost physical manifestation, as they wrapped around the Kishin and dragged it from the body it had been born into, until it floated and bobbed freely.
Justin opened his mouth to eat it, but he was tackled.
No! I let down my guard and now Giriko… He expected to feel pain, the whirring blades of Giriko's chainsaw to rip into his throat, his arms, but instead, he was pinned to the floor by Giriko's weight.
"What are you, stupid? I've been fighting and repressing that fucker for years. Talk about evil incarnate. Trust me, Weapon or not, you don't want to eat Jared. It would be too damned dangerous. Can you use your blade on him? Slice him and dice him? Just don't let him possess you," Giriko proposed, as he struggled against him.
Justin couldn't hear a word, but he could read his lips. He stopped trying to free himself. "I can do that," he agreed.
The warmth and relief in Giriko's formerly panicked brown eyes made Justin's heart race.
He frowned when Giriko didn't get off him.
"Why aren't…?"
"Because I finally have you exactly where I wanted you," Giriko purred. And then he kissed him.
Justin was so astonished, he didn't try to turn his face away, and then, when he felt Giriko's surprisingly soft, shockingly warm lips on his own, he lay there, motionless, allowing Giriko to continue the kiss.
When Giriko pulled away, he couldn't restrain a yelp of protest.
Giriko frowned down at him in confusion. "Wait. I thought you didn't like it. But… Look, do you want me to kiss you, or don't you, Priest?"
"I'm not a priest. I'm a sinner, just like you," Justin argued.
"Good," Giriko said with a smirk.
For the first time, the thundering music in his ears frustrated Justin. He wanted to hear Giriko's beautiful voice. He pulled off the headphones, and reached down for the iPod, frowning, as his hand hovered over it.
Giriko frowned back. "Right. You can't live without that damned music, can you?" he grumbled.
"No. It's not that. It's just… I'm not sure where the off button is. I only ever control the volume in battle. I've never actually turned one of these off before. But I want to be able to hear you," Justin admitted sheepishly.
Giriko's eyes widened, and then a slow smile spread across his face, unlike anything Justin had ever seen. There was still lust in his eyes, but now there was tenderness as well.
"Too bad, Sinner. Because I've got other plans for my mouth right now," Giriko claimed, as he leaned in for another kiss.
"Wait. Stop. I shouldn't be doing this. You're still holding Kid hostage, you and Esmeralda," Justin insisted, though it took nearly all his willpower to remember his duty, his mission.
"Tch. Yeah, about that… We don't actually have him anymore. He escaped from us before the ransom rendezvous. That's why I ditched Esmeralda. She screwed up, and tried to blame me for it. I mean, she was the one who warded the place, right? So if someone was able to detect him and get him out, that was her fuck up. But she wouldn't admit to it. Frankly, I just played along long enough to catch you. I don't give a rat's ass about her or that damned grimoire she was after. I just wanted to fight you again. Well, fight, fuck, whatever."
"You're lying," Justin claimed, hating that the thought actually hurt. Giriko was his enemy, their enemy. What did he expect? "If the DWMA already rescued him, they would have contacted me before I went to the ransom drop."
"You think you have all the answers. But what if it wasn't you, wasn't them? We're pretty sure it was the Witch Angela and that annoying, self-righteous bodyguard of hers. You should have seen the screeching tantrum Esmeralda threw. And I thought Medusa and Arachne were dangerous.
"So, are we good now? Come on! You people actually signed a treaty with Medusa, to work against Arachne, even though you knew she was possessing the body of that little girl at the time. I'd never sink low enough to possess a kid, or work with someone who would, so don't get all pious and sanctimonious on me now, Sinner o' mine. Now will you shut up about Death's son and let me kiss you some more, or maybe fuck you?" Giriko challenged bluntly.
Every hesitation and rational argument fell from Justin's head, as that sinful mouth hovered over his own. He grabbed Giriko by a handful of shirt and pulled him in for a kiss, consequences and his soul be damned.