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, as well as mention of sex, blood play, animal death, child abuse, and thoughts of suicide. Also, Christianity discussed and reflected in a way that might be upsetting or objectionable to some readers.
Chapter 18 – Helpless Captive: What Horrors Does the Scry Reveal?
"Make a blade manifest in my finger?" Justin asked, breathless and thoroughly puzzled. He was feeling a little dizzy, actually, though he wasn't sure if that was from the earlier blood loss, the intense lovemaking, or the blood play that had been part of it, though none of the cuts had been deep, almost more like paper-cuts really, providing an intense bite of pain at just the right moment, which had felt as amazing as Giriko had promised it would. Just thinking about it had Justin hard again.
"What, seriously? Come on, Sinner, you're making me feel like an old man, here! You're a damned nymphomaniac," Giriko grumbled.
Justin immediately felt ashamed, and grabbed the blanket and covered his now rapidly wilting erection.
"Damn it!" Giriko snapped, yanking the blanket away. "I was joking, you idiot. You're a teenage walking wet dream and eight hundred is not old enough to not want some more of that action. But I've got something else I want to do first. I've given you about a zillion love bites, and maybe thirty strategic cuts, but other than those slices during our fight in the cathedral, nothing to claim you as mine so far that won't heal up and disappear in a day or two. Which is fine, I doubt you're ready for more than that yet. But I want something more lasting, something to show I'm yours, even if I can't show you're mine yet.
"So, my blades can manifest all over my body, right? And other Weapons can turn their whole bodies into a weapon, or manifest them anywhere too, right? I know I've only seen you manifest your blades on your arms and legs, but you should be able to manifest them anywhere," Giriko encouraged.
"Really? Are you sure?" Justin asked, intrigued, forgetting about covering himself, and sitting up in the bed.
"Fuck that's sexy. That wide-eyed innocent look right there. One minute your eyes are so knowing, like you've fucked the Pope on his own altar, and then you give me that look and… Oh, right. Sorry. No more Pope references. But at least I didn't screw up and call you the "P" word again. I like calling you Sinner better anyway. But yeah, I mean see, like this, the way I made those other cuts on you. I guess you were a little too distracted to notice, huh?" Giriko said with a smug smirk, as a miniature chainsaw whirred around his index finger.
Justin bit his lip, captivated. The tiny blade was so cute, he couldn't stand it. He took a deep breath and turned the music off, the way he had when they'd actually been making love, blushing furiously at the memory of how it had sounded.
He heard the diminutive whir of the saw blade and was completely entranced. He reached out to touch it and yelped, putting his bleeding fingertip into his mouth.
"You little idiot! Just because it's little doesn't mean it's not still sharp. You're lucky I yanked back. You could have lost your fingertip and I'm not willing to lose any of those," Giriko claimed possessively. "Now look but don't touch, alright?" he ordered, watching him warily.
"I'm not two," Justin grumbled.
Giriko raked his body with a lecherous gaze that almost had him reaching for the blanket again. "No, you're not."
"Um… you can make the blades manifest anywhere?" Justin asked, both appalled and intrigued by the thought.
"Why you little pervert," Giriko said with a grin, and Justin realized his eyes had betrayed his thoughts, and he yanked his gaze away.
"Anywhere with bones. And it might be called a boner, but… my hips sure, but not my cock or balls," Giriko said bluntly.
Hearing Giriko speak so crassly sent a shiver of desire through Justin. That was the first thing he'd found so mesmerizing about Giriko, how completely uninhibited Giriko was, in direct opposition to how restrained and controlled he was. Justin had always thought dropping his guard would mean letting the Madness in, letting it win, but he was surprised at how much quieter his father's voice had gotten, in so short a time.
Maybe he was just hiding, lulling him into a false sense of security, ready to pounce, like when he thought he'd hidden effectively from his father, by the riverbank, just before the bat had slammed into his back, bringing him to his knees, and his father's viselike hands had wrapped around his neck and pushed his head into the icy water and…
The knee pinning his wrist didn't drag him from the nightmare of the past, or the teeth biting into his shoulder, but the blaring music that suddenly thundered through his headphones had him snapping back to awareness, to a shower of sparks. He realized Giriko's blades were tearing against his own, that without them, Giriko would have lost at least an arm, if not his life.
Justin shrank away from Giriko, horrified, his blades sinking back into his body, as his heart sank into his stomach, as memory of the first time his blades had manifested grabbed him by the throat harder than his father's hands. He could still hear the horrible, shrieking, yapping keen of the bloodied puppy, see it stagger, a look of confusion and betrayal on its face. He'd run to his father, covered in blood, begging for him to help, telling him they'd been playing, wrestling and…
He thought his father would help the whimpering puppy, bring it to a doctor, but instead, he'd "put it out of its misery" with a single bat strike to the head, and then started to beat him within an inch of his life with the bloody bat, screaming about how he was the son of the devil, that his mother was a whore, until he stumbled away and hid, by the river, remembering hearing how walking through water masked your scent, not that they had a dog to track him anymore.
He still heard that horrible whining keen, or thought he did, until he realized it was him, that Giriko's voice was laid over it, alternately yelling and begging, loud enough that he could actually hear it over the booming music, but he wasn't touching him anymore. Afraid, he's afraid of me, like Father was. I killed him, I killed my father. I'm a monster, an abomination, a demon child, the son of the Devil.
He'd thought his father was right, when he looked up from his bloody corpse into the skeletal face of the Grim Reaper. He'd fallen to his knees, crying and apologizing, not even trying to explain what he'd done. He'd expected hellfire and brimstone and damnation. He hadn't expected strong warm arms to hug him, hold him as he sobbed wildly, hands that firmly but gently kept him from killing himself with his own blades when he finally realized what he should do.
Lord Death had calmly made him tell him what had happened, and Justin had sobbed out everything, about hurting the puppy, his father attacking him, what he'd said, and then everything else, the beatings from as early as he could remember, being locked away in his room night after night without supper, the failed exorcisms, his every shameful secret. He waited for the Reaper's vengeance.
"You're not to blame for any of this, son. I don't sense any malice in your Soul, only terror and guilt and despair, and sadly, because your manifestation was so catastrophic, more than a hint of Madness. Killing yourself will only mean one more death. It won't restore balance. It happens this way, sometimes, a Weapon manifests suddenly, violently, usually at a moment of extreme terror or desperation, joy or even love: any strong emotion that resonates within your Soul Wavelength can make your Weapon appear. You need to come with me, son. I'm going to bring you to a place you'll be safe, a place where you can learn how to use your power to help people, to protect them, a school for special children like you."
In his time of greatest need, Death had appeared to him, not like one of the Angels of God his father had always ranted about, a harsh, vengeful soldier of God, ready to punish the wicked and reward the righteous, but instead a being full of compassion and kindness, all the humanity his own father had lacked.
The comforting memory, of order being brought from chaos, of kindness arising from the basest cruelty, rode on the crest of the thundering music roaring through his head. He focused on the present again, on Giriko, relieved to see he was alive and relatively intact, not missing any limbs at least, though he was bleeding from a number of new wounds, and was bent over, a short distance away, out of blade range, hands on his knees, panting.
"I'm sorry," Justin said insufficiently, not knowing what else to say, dismayed and horrified. He'd just lost his mind in front of Giriko, after making love with him. Giriko would never want to touch him again, or even look at him. He was a monster, an abom…
"Fuck, Sinner, are you OK now?" Giriko asked, the warmth and relief and concern in his voice, the use of his pet name, after what he'd just done, bringing tears to Justin's eyes and yanking him forcefully from the precipice of his self-loathing again.
Justin nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat, and then he started to cry, curling in on himself, relief flooding him anew, when instead of looking at him in disgust, Giriko wrapped his arms around him and held him.
He couldn't believe how gentle and compassionate Giriko was being. But then, Giriko knew what he had gone through. Giriko's father had tried to kill him, too. Of everyone he had ever met, Giriko was the only one who innately understood him.
He frowned in guilt. No not the only one. Crona had understood too, what it was like to have a parent despise, ridicule, threaten and attempt to kill you. Crona had barely survived their mother Medusa's machinations or her attacks.
Justin closed his eyes and forced himself to relax in Giriko's embrace, which was a lot easier than he had any right to expect.
0 0 0
"Are you done crying? Are you alright now, Sinner?" Giriko asked hopefully, when Justin finally seemed to calm.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry for acting so improperly," Justin apologized. "Please tell me what you were trying to tell me before. Why did you want me to form a blade on my finger?"
"Stop apologizing to me, damn it. You didn't do anything wrong. As for the blade on your finger, I want you to manifest one because I want you to write something for me," Giriko said, as he nuzzled his neck, and licked along his collarbone.
"Write something?" Justin asked, puzzled. "What?"
"Your name. Right here," Giriko said, pressing his hand over his own heart.
Justin's breath caught. "You want me to carve my name into your chest?"
"Well, when you say it that way, it sounds kind of weird, instead of romantic. I want you to sign your name over my heart, so everyone can immediately see who it belongs to," Giriko explained, as he dusted Justin's collarbone with kisses.
Justin gasped and then dove onto him kissing Giriko passionately, making him laugh.
"Well, aren't you enthusiastic?"
Giriko was worried for a moment that he might have hurt the young Weapon Meister's feelings, from the sudden intense stare, until he spoke.
"I want you to sign your name on me, too, right here," Justin said, pressing his hand to his own heart.
"You… seriously? You'd let me?" Giriko asked, stunned. He hadn't expected that. He'd been half convinced Justin would refuse to sign his name on him, that he'd think he was a freak, in spite of the spectacular sex they'd shared.
"I'm not letting you. I'm asking you to. I want everyone to know I'm yours, too," Justin said fiercely.
Giriko felt a slow grin light his face, as he bent in for a kiss. "Well alright, then."
0 0 0
Soul saw a shower of sparks in the scrying mirror, and beneath it, a no-holds-barred fight, both of the men naked, the larger, older man pinning the young one to the bed, his knee pinning one wrist and his teeth clamped on his opposite shoulder, as the young Autonomous Weapon fought wildly, a look of pure terror in his eyes, blood splattering as Justin fought a losing battle.
"No!" a horrified voice yelled from behind them.
Startled, Michiko's concentration shattered, and the image vanished.
"Kid!" Mifune called, reaching out a hand, in a hopeless gesture of comfort.
Kid recoiled, wrapping his arms around his chest, shaking his head wildly in denial at what he'd just seen.
"Shit," Soul cursed, as he reached out and pulled Kid in for a hug, not caring he was struggling, fighting him.
Death appeared in the room, coming through the door, not the mirror, but just before Death's hand reached them, to pull Soul off his son, Kid stopped fighting him, and collapsed into the hug, sobbing. "Damn it! I wanted to be in time to save him, to keep him from… I'm going to kill him!" There was more fury than despair in his voice, and suddenly shadow flooded Spirit's office, erupting out of Kid like an explosion, tearing Soul's arms off him and slamming him against the wall.
Soul's breath fogged as his heart raced and he shivered uncontrollably, as the temperature in the room plummeted dramatically, and a layer of frost iced the mirror, obscuring the damning surface. He fought to move forward, but his arms and legs were like lead, it was as if he was chained to the wall, and he wasn't the only one. He saw Maka and Crona were pinned as well. Michiko and Mifune weren't: the two of them were surrounded in a silvery glow, at least one and possibly a number of the wards on her kimono activated by Kid's shadow, as she encompassed Mifune in a protective layer of magic as well as herself.
"Son, you have to calm down," Death urged, the only one among them who could still move freely, though he wasn't approaching his son, likely afraid of pushing Kid completely into the Madness that was seeking to overwhelm him.
Soul realized he couldn't reach Kid with his body, but he was confident that he could reach him with his soul. Soul closed his eyes and breathed deeply, forcing his body to relax, calming his racing heart with the force of his will, ignoring the bone-chilling cold, though he was sure his lips were turning blue and his hands felt strangely numb. He ignored his body, and concentrated inwards on the warm blue glow of his soul, and then he expanded it outwards, as if he were performing a resonance with Maka.
The edge of his soul touched the edge of Kid's, but there was nothing familiar about the feel of Kid's soul. The icy, jagged discordance where their souls touched sounded like his hands slamming down on the keyboard of the piano in his head, over and over, a horrible, jarring sound, but it gave him a desperate idea.
Mentally Soul sat down at his piano and began to play, the harmonious music from his keyboard fighting against the cacophony of Kid's chaotic soul, as Soul used his music to tame the howling rage whirling around Kid. Soul swore he actually saw the Kishin for a moment, the image of Kid's dead brother superimposed over Kid, before the music tore it apart as if it were tissue paper, the remnants swirling across the floor like dead leaves in a winter storm.
Gradually, as he played, Kid's soul started to stabilize, the jagged violence of it calming, their two distinct Wavelengths merging, blending, harmonizing with one another, as Soul fought to bring them into Resonance.
Fortunately Death stayed back, apparently realizing what Soul was attempting, and hopeful it might succeed.
It almost worked, Soul was so close he could taste it, but then another wave of fury surged, and Soul's vision started to spark as he was crushed against the wall, unable to move, to breathe.
"Forgive me," Death said, his voice laced with sadness, as his own shadow emerged and wrapped around both his son and himself, concealing them in a blanket of opaque blackness.
Suddenly, Soul could breathe again. He slid down the wall, his feet momentarily unable to bear his weight and crashed to his knees, but he braced himself on his hands, sucking in lungfuls of welcome air. He forced his head up, looking for Maka. "Maka! Are you OK?"
She nodded, apparently not able to speak quite yet, but needing to reassure him.
"Crona?" Maka asked anxiously a moment later.
The shadow around Kid and Death cleared and Death was cradling his son in his arms.
"Crap! Is Kid alright? I tried to resonate with him, but I failed," Soul admitted shamefully forcing himself to stand and heading on unsteady feet towards them, though his strength returned with each lungful of air.
"I know. Thank you for that, Soul. It almost worked, I could feel it, which is why I didn't act sooner. It would have been much better if Kid could have recovered on his own, but he was too enraged, and his soul still too unstable from his own ordeal. I should have done a better job keeping him from this room, but he managed to sneak away before I realized.
"I need to keep him unconscious for a while, until you rescue Justin, or recover his body. What's happening is too traumatic for my son to deal with right now. Once it's resolved, one way or another, Kid will be able to accept whatever has happened. At least, I hope he can." Lord Death turned to Michiko, who was still sheathed in a protective halo of silvery magic.
"Witch Michiko, please forgive my son for his attack. As you've seen, it wasn't directed against you, or even intentional. Thank you for not taking hostile action against him," Death said, dipping in a bow to her, even as he still held Kid. "I'll leave with him now. I know you are likely afraid of me, and that's entirely my own fault. But please, if you were able to locate Justin's position, if you could lead us to him, or tell us where to find him, I will be further in your debt."
To Soul's surprise, the silver sheathe of magic began to dissipate, the shimmer dispersing like glitter tossed into the wind, until only Michiko and Mifune remained.
"I was a fool. I didn't include Reapers in my vow when I entered, nor did I catch Angela's omission and demand her to include you and your son. If I'd died, it would have been because I deserved it, because of my own carelessness," Michiko admitted, looking upset with herself.
"But I have no interest in rekindling hostilities with you, Lord Death, when we stand on the verge of the first hope for peace in nearly a millennia. Please see to your son. I was able to note Justin Law's location before the scry was dispelled. Your rescue party can leave as soon as they are assembled and my spells are ready. If Angela aids me, I'll be able to transport them directly. We'll be able to send three people, if she helps."
"I could transport more of them," Death volunteered, but Michiko shook her head.
"Reaper magic and Witch magic are incompatible. I don't have a street name, I can't tell you where the building is, but I can send them there, using a Tracking and Transport spell combined. That's complex enough, I assure you," Michiko explained.
"Then Soul, Maka, and Crona, please rescue Justin. Every second counts," Death commanded.
"Of course. We'll bring him back, we swear," Maka assured him.
"You just take care of Kid. We'll handle the rest," Soul agreed, casting one last look at Kid. Then he turned towards the Witch Michiko and the mirror.
Finally. I'm finally going to get vengeance for you, Kid, to pay that bastard back for what he did to you. And then you'll be alright again. You have to be.