ARC I: The Return
There was nothing. Emptiness was all around. An endless void. The rest however, was surprisingly peaceful.
Let there be Darkness.
He floated in it. He was one with it. Was he the only thing existing here?
No. From afar there were the echoes of screams. He began feeling the pain, the fear, the confusion. Whoever else was there had been suffering profoundly.
How pleasant…
No matter how far it was, he was fueled by it; it gave him strength.
Yes, it seemed he had a body; he moved an arm to make sure, then a leg, then a wing, lastly his head.
Good.
Instinctively, he began swimming through the ocean of blackness, wandering aimlessly. No idea where to go, but remaining in one position was not an option. The only guide he had were the screams. He tried to approach them; however it felt as though it took him a long time to reach them.
Time… how much of it has gone by?
When the loud noises of torture were becoming unbearable, the temperature began to rise. All of a sudden, flames burst out of nowhere, lighting the area and harming his body. The pain, surging through him. But he would not allow himself to scream. More so out of pride rather than endurance. The force of those flames was pushing him back, almost as if it were trying to prevent him from escaping.
"No!" he screeched, surprised for a bit at the sound of his own demonic hissed voice, he had almost forgot how he sounded like. "I will not be thrown again in this wretched prison!"
A mix of stubbornness and desperation pushed him to jump into the flames and fight his way out. His fur burned, his skin ached, but he did not care. Either he went out or he vanished forever, no in between.
"Poor little demon." A deep voice caught his attention and then he saw a small dot of light appear in the distance, beyond the flames. "You never know your place, do you?"
"Who the hell said that?!" he demanded as the flames began engulfing him like a tight rope.
"I am far beyond your narrow-minded understanding," the voice mocked. "After all, what else do you know other than satisfying your own petty fragile little ego?"
"Show yourself, bastard!" he screeched and struggled even harder through the inferno.
"You wish to own existence itself, yet you are not even able to free yourself. You're no god, you're just a frustrated weakling." The voice began to laugh at his expense.
"I'll kill you!" he claimed and began slashing the flames away with his claws, making his way to the dot of light.
At this point anger was driving him through the pain of it all. Nobody dared disrespect him and got to live afterwards. Despite all this, the dot of light seemed to move a bit further every time he attempted to reach for it. Such cheap tricks served only to annoy him more, and with one single jump he made it past the inferno and managed to finally grab the dot of light. And then the surroundings turned white.
He opened his eyes. His sight was much clearer than before. Ahead of him was a vast black space decorated with countless circular lights of different colors and sizes. He reached out a claw to it and noticed that his fur was purple. Looking down at his body, he saw that it was fully covered by the same fur. His claws were sharp and his wings large. Yes, now he started remembering who he was and how he got there. His name was…
"Shishima," the voice from before spoke, now much clearer, making him look around.
An old man with long grey hair and beard, who was wearing nothing but a dark blue bathrobe and fur slippers, suddenly appeared in front of him, greeting:
"Welcome to the gap between existence and nonexistence."
"Who are you?" the being known as Shishima asked, maintaining the same aggressive tone.
"You may call me The Writer." The old man smirked.
"That's it? It's so…"
"Mundane, yes, I know. But really, to someone like you it shouldn't be."
"Keh, and why's that? You're nothing but an old geezer."
"An old geezer, yes, but this old geezer has more knowledge than you could ever hope to gain."
"Knowledge is nothing without power."
"But power is strengthened by knowledge. Shishima, you are an ambitious demon, unlike any I've seen before in this world of mine-"
"Yours?" the fiend interrupted him. "Fool, this world is mine and mine alone!" He stretched his arms and wings towards the vast space ahead.
"You wish it were true. But in actuality, I created this world just like I have created you and everyone else in it," The Writer gloated as he took out a pen and piece of paper. "With the simple act of writing a sentence, creation or destruction can occur. Because of this, I am the closest thing to God for your world."
At that point Shishima burst into hysterical laughter, his hisses fading into the cold deafness of space.
"You? A god? Spare me the poor jokes, I sense no ounce of power in your most likely mortal body," he criticized, only for The Writer to give him a disappointed frown. "And even if what you said about the power of your writing is true, why would you have allowed me to awaken and escape my punishment of eternal slumber from the Abyss?"
The flat response came quick, unnerving him, "It wasn't planned."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Look behind you."
Shishima turned around and saw nothing but endless darkness. It was the same darkness he had fought so hard to escape.
"I thought that after your latest defeat you had been bound there for all eternity, but somehow you awoke and managed to break out of your imposed imprisonment, thus reaching me here," The Writer explained.
"So that's what you meant about the gap between existence and nonexistence," he replied while turning back to the old man. "What awaits me on the other side?"
"The same world you've been into during your past life."
"Excellent. And I suppose you'll try to stop me?"
What followed next surprised the demon. The old man smiled slyly and stepped out of his way, saying, "Go ahead."
"What?" Shishima replied, dumbfounded.
"I said: go ahead."
"You're just going to let me free into your world?"
"Sure, why not? It will definitely make things more interesting around there."
"What kind of god allows someone like me to exist in his world? You know very well what I'll do once I get there."
"Yes, I know exactly what you will do, which is why I'm allowing it. It's been a long time since I've witnessed something entertaining."
"Keh, so that's it? You seal their fates because you're bored?"
"Precisely… and why do you even care about them or my motives, Shishima? You have your own goals, so in my opinion you should take this one in a lifetime opportunity I'm giving you to try and take over the universe I've created." The Writer crossed his arms and looked at him expectantly. "It's either that or back into the Abyss with you. So what will you choose?"
All of a sudden, Shishima's claws went through him, his image disappearing as soon as the sharp claws collided with it.
"You're wasting my time," Shishima dismissed him.
And thus he plunged with arms and wings open wide into the vast universe that lay ahead of him. He fell and fell, the coldness of space making him feel so alive, the speed with which he moved messing his purple fur and black mane, but he did not care at all. Passing by countless galaxies and black holes, he could not help but marvel even a bit at the wonder of that existence. There was some sort of majestic feeling that he got from seeing all those planets circling their own stars. But more importantly, his greed grew even bigger. He wanted them all for himself, and nothing would stop him from that goal. Eventually he reached the Milky Way and searched the pale blue spiraled galaxy for the Solar System. The nine planets and their sun soon came into his vision and he went ahead, going straight towards the seventh one, a blue sphere known by its inhabitants as Earth or Terra. As he approached it, he could not help but ponder on how insignificant the tiny planet was compared to the rest of the universe. And yet, despite that seeming drawback, it was the place where the fate of said universe would soon be decided. Yes, it was the stage for his future master plan. With a little ambitious smile on his sharp face, Shishima fell into the Earth's atmosphere. He began to feel his entire body get engulfed by flames once again, and before he knew it he blacked out.
A soothing sound. A salty smell. A cool breeze. He opened his eyes. Above was the dark blue starry sky. The sky from which he descended.
Raising a hand towards it, a shocking surprise awaited - it was bald. More so, there were no claws either. It was a human hand. Quickly he began touching himself and felt no sign of fur, rather the soft touch of fabrics. He wore clothes, he was a mortal.
Instinctively he got on his two feet and looked around. He was on a very familiar beach. For some reason he knew that he had been there before, in a human body. He had to know what he looked like, immediately. Taking large awkward steps, he slowly approached the ocean. The calm waves hit the muddy shore and retreated like nothing happened. Staring in the water, he saw his reflection: a man in his early twenties wearing white sneakers, dark blue jeans and a black T shirt with short sleeves. He had long black hair that reached his shoulders, his eyes having their sclera black and the pupils were shining red. That face was very familiar. He was stealing someone else's identity. For a moment the reflection changed into that of a bipedal lion demon with purple fur and wings coming from his back, a black mane and sharp face with horns coming out of his forehead, the only thing similar to his human body being the eyes.
He then remembered: he was Shishima, a lion daiyoukai, the highest class of demon. He had once attempted to destroy the universe and then remake it in his own image, using a human's body that resembled the one he had. He failed and was imprisoned in the endless depths of the Abyss, condemned to eternal slumber. However, his never-ending ambition awoke him and pushed him to escape that prison, leading to his meeting with The Writer. He began to giggle as he recalled their conversation, which concluded with the prospect of him having a second chance to correct his failure and finally achieve his ultimate goal of conquest.
He put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Shockingly, he found a familiar feeling gracing his fingertips. The perfectly cut shapes of fate, the strands of his own past misgivings, given shape and form. He tightened his grip. A realm of darkness appeared in his mind, then that of slaves, dragging their shambling frames towards a pale light. Next, came the taste of blood into his mouth, and then, a feeling of danger.
Yes, it was all coming back to him. The familiar sense of satisfaction, of bodies twisting and groaning, of mortals begging for mercy. It was all coming back.
"Duel Masters," he whispered as he placed the deck back into the pocket. "I am Demon Subaru. And I'm back."
He turned to the shining and imposing futuristic city that lay up on the beach's hill. With silent discreet steps, he started climbing the stairs. This time he would have his way.