(since apparently i can't post youtube links on ff, () indicate song titles on youtube)
Bocchi is many things.
A high school student. A guitarist. A friend, to some.
A human.
A human who, despite her immense misgivings and overwhelming sense of doubt, was standing on a stage in front of more than a few hundred people.
They—her and her band—had managed to book an actual concert hall for a reasonable price. And thanks to Bocchi's ever increasing online fame, selling tickets turned out to be the least of their worries. It was perhaps the most stressful period for the young Kessoku Band… So far.
The weeks preceding their scheduled performance were a blur; filled with a rush of bitter anxiety and distasteful memories that Bocchi did her best to wipe from her mind, for all the good that it did.
The deep, purplish circles under her eyes were a testament to that. Hopefully, all of their practice and preparation would pay off, for they surely put in the work required for the event to be a success. Yet, as Bocchi the Human stood there, she was filled with anything but confidence.
Being around one person that she didn't know was bad enough; multiply that many hundreds of times and it was far more than her brain, or heart, could handle.
There was so much noise. The room was flooded with a multitude of people talking in numerous conversations, speech and the shuffle of feet mixing together in a raucous cacophony that made the pink-haired girl dizzy. Blaring noise and blinding lights, and so many faces, blended into a sea of human expression that was turning more and more towards her, eyes set in many shades of hair seizing upon her, gnawing in their hunger, judging in their gazes, seeing how her hair failed to cover her entire face, how her arms were exposed by her simple t-shirt, how nervous she was by the constant shifting of her weight and touching of her face; everyone was looking at her, everyone was seeing her, her cheeks were burning, it was agony, it was–
–A hand rested on her shoulder. Bocchi turned slightly, and there was Ryo giving her a reassuring nod. Behind her, already seated at her drum set and smiling brightly, was Nijika.
Bocchi forced a shaky smile back as Ryo walked to her side of the stage. Ikuyo approached her mic, glancing over at the pink-haired girl and giving her a confident wink that does not help the tenuous status of her heartbeat.
Bocchi looked down to the floor—a shiny and smooth black surface—the only safe place in her entire world. The lights began to dim as the raging noise of the crowd finally quelled.
They were on the cusp of the moment that they'd been building toward for weeks, the moment that had plagued Bocchi's sleepless nights and waking hours with endless thoughts of the worst possible thing that could happen: from her forgetting how to play the guitar to a meteor striking the building.
At the time, she'd thought she had covered every possible nightmare scenario.
Bocchi is many things, but a prophet is not one of them.
There was a palpable tension in the air, a string ran as taught as could be before inevitably snapping.
Bocchi thumbed her pick while she placed her other hand on her guitar, mentally reviewing the cover they were about to play. Their first song of the night was the winner of an online poll Bocchi had done for her fans. The result, which seemed to be experiencing a resurgence in popularity thanks to the whims of internet memery, was Free Bird.
By Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Bocchi sighed to herself, a nearly silent exhale that faded into nothing in the tense atmosphere. It would not be the most difficult song, especially for her, but she was faintly worried about her bandmates…
Well, the present was no time for such a strenuous activity as thinking, let alone worrying. Bocchi glanced to her side, seeing the thumbs up passing between her bandmates and the backstage crew.
She took a deep breath.
Inhale.
Nijika counted them off to start.
Exhale.
And then they played.
(only the best part of free bird)
The song started off without a hitch, Bocchi taking the metaphorical backstage as Ikuyo and Ryo charged forward with their rendition of the lyrics.
The crowd before them swelled like a wave on the sea, overflowing with anticipation and enthusiasm as the song approached the moment everyone was waiting for.
Bocchi felt her nerves begin to wane; the familiarity and comfort of playing overrode even the incredible pressure of the numerous eyes upon her. The band continued to play well, feeding off the voracious audience until finally—the time had come.
"... Won't you fly high, free bird, yeah–"
This was Bocchi's moment. The opportunity she had been waiting so desperately for.
A moment to finally prove herself to the world; a chance to show her quality!
And so, she played.
Every ounce of her being was devoted to her guitar, evoking the inherent perfection within it—a perfection which had lain dormant, merely waiting for the right person to seize upon its power and use it for something greater.
The song sang in her head, and then it was ushered into the world. Her guitar was no longer an instrument; it was the will of God, exercising divine providence through the impeccable placement of her fingers, and the immaculate strumming of its strings. The very vibrations it emitted were holy, and nothing but all the powers of hell could stop her!
Like the rolling crash of the tide, a wave of euphoria swept over the crowd, as Bocchi the Transcendent went ham on her guitar, her fellow bandmates sweating profusely as they struggled to keep up with the pink-haired prodigy at their side. Nijika was panting already, her arms inflamed with soreness from sustaining the furious drum beat demanded by their gifted guitarist's performance.
The very ground beneath them quaked with righteous fervor, the sweet sound of heavenly music ascending through the night air to permeate the surrounding city blocks, filling countless many with an inexplicable passion born from the greatest musical performance in the world.
Yes, for this one single moment, all was right in the world.
Bocchi was at the height of her power, the ravenous adoration of the crowd washing over her like a cool summer breeze on a blistering, sun-drenched afternoon. A burning energy flooded her heart, an intangible hope burgeoning within that cried out for release.
Bocchi slammed her foot into the ground, throwing her entire body into her ordained work.
This was it. Never before had Bocchi the Perfected felt more alive. Every vein, every blood vessel in her body sang in tandem with her straining muscles, all the many parts of her body working together in a symphony of harmonic perfection. In her adrenaline and dopamine-addled mind, Bocchi thought it was surely impossible for things to go wrong in such a wondrous moment.
The band continued to play; unaware of the lurking doom laying within their midst.
It was at this moment that things started to go… Wrong.
The ground shook with incredible violence, and the distant sky above them was rent open; a terrible screech sounded, the sibilant scream of a siren echoing across the earth, accompanied by a sound not unlike the wail of a trumpet. Waves of reddish light permeated the air, as reality bent and contorted around the concert goers. Screams—echos of their confusion—joined the chorus of chaotic noise.
A rip in space-time formed, before splitting apart to show a vision of a nightmarish landscape, bathed in fire and despair. Out of the portal spat an abominable creature, rippling with muscles and claws and teeth.
It was, by every definition of the phrase, a demon straight from hell.
Panic gripped the crowd as people turned away in terror, finding their way blocked by those who were less aware of what was going on.
The delay proved costly, as a young woman lost her balance and fell to the floor. The demon saw this and leapt upon her, wasting no time in ripping the girl apart with its now blood-stained claws, ignoring her desperate wails and increasingly high pitched screams—before they quickly sputtered out into gurgles, and then pitiful silence.
Among the band, Ikuyo was the first to notice what was going on, the sound of her dropped pick hitting the floor merely the faintest whisper among the sudden rush of visceral carnage, and horrific deluge of screams and violence.
It was a scene of apocalyptic disaster, and it was only to get worse; for as the portal crackled and spittled, more demons of various sizes clambered out with vicious cries. The demons came forth, and fell upon the screaming masses.
So engrossed in her performance, it was only now that Bocchi the Guitarist finally stopped playing. The star of the night stood motionless, her blue eyes sweeping across the carnage that had befallen the concert hall.
There was something… Stirring within her.
The sight of so much blood and death, senseless and cruel, was setting a fire alight in her chest. Her heart exploded with righteous zeal, thumping and pumping with such intensity it felt as if a bomb had been placed in her ribcage. Thoughts and rationality leaked from her mind, the coherence of logic giving way to one singular, burning emotion, which seared her brain and scorched her existence.
Rage.
Endless, burning, and with a voracious appetite, the singular mindset of unfathomable anger filled her veins.
Bocchi clenched her hands. Her eyes found one large demon in the center of the crowd, its wicked claws set above its next victim, a young man crawling backwards on the ground, uncomprehending of the horror before him. He had perhaps less than a second left to live.
Bocchi raised her right hand into the air, still holding her guitar pick; before she violently threw her wrist forward.
The pick flew out of her hand, whistling through the air with such speed as to appear instantaneous. It sliced through the brain of the tall demon, sending a trail of blood flying behind it; followed shortly by the demon itself falling to the ground, its muscles twitching pathetically as it collapsed.
Bocchi's bandmates swung their heads to her, their eyes wide. Shock and confusion had rooted them in place since the attack began.
Bocchi turned towards them: her face was covered in shadow, but an ethereal glow in her eyes was distinctly visible. She spoke to them in a furious, silent voice.
"Run."
A single word, a dutiful command that dared defiance. Fear covered their faces, but they quickly obeyed—disappearing behind the stage with furtive glances at their once former timid bandmate.
Bocchi's gaze swung robotically back towards the increasing crowd of demons. She unstrapped her guitar, holding it in one hand like an oddly-shaped club.
Many did not know this, but Bocchi's guitar was not made of ordinary materials. It was an expensive thing, sure, but more than that, it was built to last.
It was made to take punishment.
And before her stood an entire host of hell, ready to be punished.
A bluish glow began to surround the pink-haired guitarist, as her gaze darkened and a deep, roiling lust began to take over her.
A lust for revenge.
(Halo - Rock Anthem For Saving The World)
Her footfalls echoing like the beat of a drum, the call to battle drew the guitarist forward into the fray.
Bocchi the Awakened took a step forward, and then another, the demons finally starting to take notice of her after slaughtering or running off most of the people within. She flexed her rippling muscles, normally hidden beneath her baggy clothes; they were the unseen product of her incessant practice, clandestine workouts, and something else that was unknown to her.
She swung her guitar above her head and leapt down from the stage. A demon swirled to meet her, its spread claws poised to strike.
Bosch swept her instrument forward, letting it carry all of her momentum, and the demon was cleaved in two. Blood splattered across her, causing her to blink for a moment, before turning to meet the next demon which was already almost on top of her. She swung her guitar horizontally, swiftly decapitating the hell beast, side stepping its corpse which continued to fly forward with its sheer momentum.
All of the demons in the stadium turned towards her, fear and rage clear on their faces. Bocchi was surrounded, outnumbered one hundred to one. There was a great pause, as the girl took in a deep, hateful breath, the smell of blood and ash filling her nostrils.
She was alone. By every estimation, this small, young human should not have stood a chance.
But she was not the one who was afraid.
With a ravenous cry, the first wave of demons surged forward, clawing and gnashing their teeth in the boiling air.
Bocchi stood motionless, her guitar held in one hand and the other wrapped around her strap, having torn it off to force her fingers closed into a fist. The first imp reached towards her, and she casually reached out her hand in turn, grabbing its wrist and pulling it towards her, before spinning around and releasing it into another demon, both of them flying into the wall with an audible crunch.
She then jumped into the air, kicking out one foot which smashed into the face of a Hell Knight, using it as a cushion to push herself. She fell back to the ground, her shoe covered in skull fragments and brain matter. More demons reached for her, one after another in a queue of wretched flesh.
Bocchi sliced through them all, swinging her guitar through the air like it was a natural extension of her arm; the imps found themselves bisected and torn into bloody pieces before they could even comprehend their own demise.
Dark purple and crimson blood showered the concert floor, and soon her pink hair was a much darker shade. Until then, her rage had been a silent one.
But now was the time for the voice of judgment to speak.
With boiling blood and adrenaline burning like fire through her veins, she unleashed a ravenous cry—primal and powerful. The wave of demons paused, a lull in the storm as her wrath pierced through the veil of bloodshed, echoing deep into the night.
With a loosened tongue, Bocchi charged forward, taking the offensive. She ripped through her infernal enemies, smashing them with her guitar or throwing them against the ground. Demonic blood and guts soon covered the teenager, her chest heaving as she fumed and yelled, the unbelievable strength she displayed finally beginning to take its toll on her young body.
But she did not relent. There were still dozens of demons left, several Barons among them. Her beloved guitar, faithful servant to the end, finally lay broken, one half still embedded in the skull of a Hell Knight. She discarded the handle, letting it crash to the floor. The atmosphere of the room changed, some of the demons growing hungrier at the sight of her shattered weapon. But for others, fear was still rank in the air; as the wiser Barons knew what they were facing was no ordinary girl.
For Bocchi the Rock, there was no such thing as fear anymore.
The glory of violence was now all that she knew, and she met the demons head on with unnatural strength, tearing limb from limb, flesh from flesh, bone from bone; even using her teeth in her wild rampage to tear out chunks of vital organs and arteries. The demons wailed and cried, furious at her assault, but still they pressed on, unable or unwilling to concede victory.
Bocchi wiped her face, her sight having been momentarily blinded by the sheer amount of blood covering her. If any human were to see her, they would have undoubtedly fallen to their knees—for she was the very image of an angel of death.
The few remaining demons continued to attack her, an endeavor as fruitless as the ones who had previously failed to accomplish. Despite their unholy and formidable power, they were unable to defeat the enraged human.
Indeed, their only solace from her wrath was damnation. An unholy orgy of death was the concert hall, as the last Baron finally fell, its throat ripped out by the high-schoolers bruised and bloodied hands.
There was only one demon left—its red-orangish flesh nearly indistinguishable from the flood of gore which bathed the floor. This Imp knew only sheer terror, and the forlorn hope of escape; it scrambled over the corpses of its fallen brethren, clawing desperately towards the closed doors at the end of the hall. It looked over its shoulder towards its tormentor, but she was no longer there.
Bocchi stood directly in its path as it slid to halt, far too late to escape. She reached her hand out, her fingers finding purchase around the imps neck.
And then she squeezed. With a final pop of its eyeballs exploding out of their sockets, the Imp fell limp, and she discarded it like a piece of trash amongst the others. The room was finally cleared of the affront to the divine.
Yet, the sacrilege was not yet over; for in the distance, sirens wailed and gunfire prevailed. The first seal had been opened.
Bocchi stood atop a mountain of corrupted flesh and bone, letting out deep breaths in a moment of respite. Sweat intermingled with the blood coating her body, which had been bruised and cut a multitude of times. Her shirt was ripped to shreds, revealing the bright pink of her bra and the hard muscles covering her sculpted stomach.
She was the very image of nightmares. She, who was once but a mere human; a young high-schooler, an aspiring guitarist, and a friend to some.
Bocchi was many things.
Now, she is Bocchi the Doomslayer.