Lieutenant Michel Dubois, of the fifth demi-brigade of the Chasseurs Alpins, violently drove an army truck through the rocky hills and terrain of Northern France. His dôji, Paresse, representing Sloth of the Seven Deadly Sins, sat in the passenger's seat next to him, his limp mannequin-like body rapidly swaying and dipping with every sharp jump and turn the truck made.
The rising sun was chasing them through the territory, and Michel could see gathering clouds casting shadows over their destination - the Vosges mountains, covered in snow-covered firs.
Dubois had never driven a vehicle before in his life, much less a heavyweight Berliet, and he honestly wasn't sure how the brakes worked. Paresse had to show him how to wind up and kick start the engine ('How do you know how to turn on this damn thing? Have you ever driven before?" "No." "Then why should I follow your advice?" "...I just know"). He supposed that when the time came to leave the vehicle he would have to jump out of the driver's seat and watch it speed into a mountainous obstacle and explode. Maybe he would also be courteous and push Paresse out – God knows that the sleepy dolt wouldn't have the energy to save himself from harm's way if they were about to be involved in an imminent fiery automobile accident.
He shot a glance at the dôji. Paresse's eyes were scrunched up in tired, bored slits, just barely visible above the worn army-issued scarf that was wrapped around his head. Dôji. His dôji. That's right. Dubois was now a karakuridôji master. Whatever that meant.
The night before, at around 0300 hours, Dubois shoveled the last pound of dirt on top of the bodies.
He had dug the six-foot hole and dragged each and every body – along with their severed heads – into the makeshift grave. He had to admit it was a careless effort – he had covered the top layer of dirt with some torn-out bushes, branches, and leaves, but he knew that the stench and the missing presence of a dozen or so army soldiers would lead the villagers to this grave in the morning.
Dubois was sure that the burial process would have gone faster if the dôji had helped him. He glared up at Paresse, who was still standing in the same spot he was when he had chopped everyone's heads off. The dôji had not moved an inch - a solitary statue in the darkness.
His eyes, however, were still wide with emotion, and they had followed the trajectory of the bodies as Michel pulled them, one by one, into the grave.
"Pathetic."
Paresse's glazed eyes snapped to attention, peering at the human from beneath his bangs and scarf.
"Your look," Dubois said. He didn't stop himself from letting out a snicker. "The cowardly look of a boy that just made his first kill. What, did a little blood scare you?"
Paresse said nothing.
Dubois lifted his fist and opened it in mock solemnity, letting the last handful of dirt fall.
"How can I believe you're made for war when you're scared by something as small as this?" He gestured towards the mass grave.
A hint of tension; just like back up on the mountain. Paresse's injured leg had fallen to the ground when he executed the men, but Paresse maintained his towering stance, his shoulders squared as though he stood on both legs rather than balancing on one. The metallic gauntlets emitted a faint creak before snapping back into human-like hands.
"I'm not scared," Paresse responded. Dubois discerned the subtle challenge in his demeanor, reminiscent of their initial encounter.
He weighed his options once more, as he had done all night long since Paresse killed the company. If he agrees and becomes his master, he'll be able to spar with someone who isn't physically weak; someone that he knows is a threat. Someone who can actually kill. The prospect brought a sly grin to his face.
Paresse possessed supernatural abilities beyond his comprehension, powers that hinted at untold potential. If he could decapitate a slew of humans at once: what else could he do? Michel would never have to worry about watching his back during a battle ever again.
But then - what is a Master? He thought back to when he first met Paresse. And before that, the old man. Pareses had mentioned a 'war'. He said there were more…. And he assumed they were all just as, and probably even stronger than Paresse was. They had to be, Paresse was a lazy piece of shit from what little he knew about him. It was the being's namesake. But he could train him. He could turn him into a killer. Would Michel have to participate in this war as well? He wasn't the type to strategize from the back, using Paresse as a chess piece and barking orders for him to move. No, he liked his hands to do the killing themselves. If he was to engage in the battle, he would fight next to Paresse. In front of that lazy fool, more likely.
And Dubois came to the inevitable conclusion. He cared little for the intricacies of the war Paresse spoke of. The notions of "good" and "evil" seemed as meaningless to him as the slogans plastered on French propaganda posters that wrapped around soldiers' rations. What mattered to him was the visceral reality of the bloodshed. He wanted it.
"Let's go." The man reached for his backpack, already strapped with rations and his sleeping roll. "Now that I'm your Master, what should I call you? Servant? Slave?"
Paresse did not find it funny. "You're not my master…..yet."
"What now?"
"We have to Pledge."
"I pledge I won't kill you if you shut your damn mouth right now."
"No…The Vow." Paresse's voice was a whisper, and Dubois detected uncertainty in his tone. He was being serious.
"What is that?"
Paresse began to shrug off his uniform's polo shirt and Dubois took a step back. The dôji's shirt fell to the ground, tugging his scarf off as well, revealing his naked torso and face.
"You're fucking with me."
With a swift movement, Paresse dug his long, jagged fingers into his bare chest and ripped it open, revealing a cascade of cords, liquid, and wooden-metal tentacles spilling out. The soldier jumped back, his backpack falling off his shoulder.
"I am not."
Eyes narrowed in disgust and confusion, the lieutenant scanned his eyes down from Paresse's head to the surreal scene in his chest. Squinting closer, he could see a glowing sphere casting light on the ribs, wheels, and mess of wires within Paresse.
"Nice show. What the hell am I looking at?"
"Touch it." Paresse whispered, this time with a hint of emotion that alarmed Dubois.
"What happens?" He could feel the night wind whip through the trees and around them.
"I…can't describe it."
"Can't describe it?"
Paresse's shoulders betrayed a soft shrug. More uncertainty. "I've never done it before."
"Why are you lying?"
"I'm not lying."
"You want me to take this… this Vow and you can't tell me what happens? What it means?"
"...No." Paresse admitted, his gaze betraying a hint of fear. Dubois was confused.
"-trap their souls for all eternity." The old hermit's words floated in his mind.
He looked from the sphere to Paresse's face and realized that this was the dôji's soul he was staring at.
The man pushed past the gravity of that realization and decided he had enough of Paresse's lack of answers. Enough of thinking, enough of asking about things that ultimately do not matter. He swiftly reached past the mechanical mess into the dôji's chest, and Paresse responded by wrapping the man in his stick-like tentacles. Dubois felt a surge of energy course through him, but before he had time to react in disgust, his hand took hold of the orb. He had made his decision.
–
Michel Dubois was rendered speechless as he entered an out-of-body experience, his head thrown back and his eyes rolling uncontrollably to the back of his skull. He felt his entire life's memories choke him as if an avalanche from the Alps was engulfing him. Images, sounds, and textures rolled through his body, out of order and chronologically at the same time. He witnessed his death, tasting the dirt in his mouth from the first time he was ever knocked to the ground, his birth, smelling gunpowder on his cheek when he fired his rifle, reliving that one aggressive fuck, smashing his reddened soles against a tree, howling with laughter, his right eye darting across the treeline, blood running down his face, crazed ravings to the cloudy sky. Nothing made sense. He didn't have the cognition to understand if these were all memories - they were real - or hallucinations by how intensely he felt them.
His soul was lurching forward and backward at the same time - he saw medieval ruins and gigantic mirrored monuments build themselves in front of him simultaneously, artificial colors flashing just as he could feel the cold sun beating down on him. He, naked and enclosed in monstrous steel, was in space, staring at unholy fires ripping through the stars. Another Great War. Holding a scythe. Swinging a metal crutch for the kill. His body wasn't recognizable anymore - he felt his limbs grow and contract, hair tickling his ankles and his nape shivering at the same time, unbearable pain that he thought, for sure, was going to stop his heart-
He was gouging out his eye again, the last time, the first time, seeing the blood spatter across white hospital bed sheets, hearing a high-pitched wail as the shiv ran slick with sweat - he looked up with desolate rage at who screamed - it was her own voice -
He beheld Paresse's origin as if he was the being. Green liquid drowning and sustaining him in a large tank. Ugly reflection. Trailing behind a paper floral parasol. Licking his jagged teeth. Being pushed to the ground by his brethren, their fake eyes leering down at him. Crouching among the treetops. Biting down. Letting her wrap gauze around his head. Gauntlets slashing through necks, staring at the one-eyed human, staring at his future. He saw flashes of the old man - a dragon, a decrepit ascetic - staring at him from behind a glass window - in front and behind them - ripping Paresse's head off his body, the sound of ripping wires rendering him deaf with pain - and looking at him, no, through him, as a deep smile engraved itself on his wrinkled face.
"Hello, Michel." The old man said.
–
Lieutenant Dubois fell to his knees and then onto his side, kicking himself away from Paresse by digging his feet into the dirt, gasping for air. His ears were ringing, seeing nothing, tasting bitter blood and spit.
The silence of the forest pressed upon them. Dubois slowly blinked his eye open.
The tall dôji's silhouette was a dark shadow in front of him, his green eyes glowing in the dark. Glimmers of the pale grey morning sky illuminated the edges of his shoulders and his hair. His chest was closed as if what transpired was just a dream.
Michel looked down and saw a scorched burn on his left hip, which had ripped through his pant's waistband. The smoke sizzled and dissipated in the cold air, and he saw it was a brand - stacked triangles enclosed by a circle.
Paresse's face was contorted in an unnatural, inhuman expression - his eyes wide, his cheeks slack, his mouth gaping open. Dubois realized his own face was making a similar expression. What they just felt was an excruciatingly painful and yet blindly pleasurable experience, and it unnerved him.
Paresse locked eyes with him.
"Master."
Dubois stood up with difficulty. It was as if he was walking for the first time. Seeing for the first time.
"Let's get out of here." He spat out, his voice rugged.
A wood branch snapped, and Dubois was jolted from his thoughts. It was a day and a half later. He was crouching over to collect his growing pile of firewood. He stood to attention and whipped around - to see Paresse lugging a chopped piece of thick wood with one hand.
"What did I tell you about making noise?"
As he glared at Paresse, he noticed the dôji's eyes still held a residue of emotion from what had occurred. It annoyed him to see such depth in those usually vacant orbs. And it annoyed him more that he related to what Paresse was feeling. Relating to this lazy, inconceivable creation.
Dubois adjusted his rifle on his back and felt the winged metal tip dig into his shoulder blade. He reached up and adjusted his eyepatch, feeling a lingering burn on the useless eye hidden underneath. It was the only memory he knew for sure was real during the shattered mirror of events that was shown to him, and it still felt like a fantasy. It didn't exactly line up with what he remembered - of when his eye was injured, and afterward when he pulled the stitches out in the hospital. He couldn't stop thinking about it.
"Let's head back to camp."
Paresse nodded, turning around and lugging his own collection of wood, sticks, and leaves.
Later, the being watched as his master expertly stoked a wood fire.
He looked up, through the burgeoning flames, at Paresse. He was staring right back at him. His scarf was still covered in wood chips from earlier that day. How amusing - he can chop heads with ease, but a few trunks of wood were a bit harder for him.
"Your eye." The dôji said, his raspy voice breaking through the silence. Dubois didn't react.
"Master, you haven't eaten." His dôji continued, after a long while. The man let out a weary sigh.
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten since we left town."
"Mhm."
Another beat. Your eye. How dare he. He couldn't read his mind. No matter how he looked at him. But yet he exposed the only vision that had been echoing through his mind since The Vow. And that one memory led to a waterfall of the other recollections that Michel never wanted to touch, never wanted to recover from the black in his mind and heart.
"That was-"
"Shut up." He snarled. The dôji fell silent, respecting his master's command.
He unbuttoned his jacket's front pocket and pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He picked a loose one out and placed it in between his lips, leaning down to the fire to light it.
"Listen up, dôji." He blew out the first puff of smoke. ""I'm not interested in being your ami. I agreed to the Pact because I saw an opportunity for power, but don't think for a second that I'm beholden to you."
"I'm your master, and you'll do as I say," Dubois stated, staring at his doji through the fire. "Understood?"
Paresse remained silent, his expression unreadable, though his attention never wavered from Dubois.
"Unless it's about survival or Savate, do not speak to me," He continued.
"I don't know what that stupid ritual was. I don't know how that crazy hermit made you, nor do I want to know. I dont care." He took another drag from his cigarette.
He raised his gaze to meet his dôji's.
"Reciprocate it."
He saw the dôji take this in, mull it over. He had realized a while ago that when Paresse went completely still, his face devoid of expression, it meant he was thinking.
The dôji remained still as Dubois rolled out his sleeping mat and went to bed, facing the precipice of the mountainside they were on.
He was not in the mood to elaborate any further to the doji. Instead, Dubois laid on his side and remembered his life up until that point, doing his best to filter out the warped memories he was shown during The Vow. He remembered only the incidents that kept his chest empty. He remembered coming home to an empty cabin one afternoon. He remembered that time his brigade paused during their mission because a German soldier below was singing a hymn, his teammates scowling when Michel didn't stop moving forward. He remembered beating the other, older men in the streets at their own game, feeling his kicks move the air. He remembered his first kill, looking down at the face of one of the trainees in his camp. Positioning the rifle point right between his eyes. First smile.
Paresse will understand in time, Dubois decided. No use beating it into his stupid head right now.
Halfway through the night, the fir trees rustled with the wind.
The Lieutenant reached for his rifle out of instinct, but decided not to - he wanted to see something. He laid his hand down on the dirt ground instead, fingers splayed & relaxed.
"Guh!"
A large thump was heard. Another one. Choking sounds. Silence.
Dubois lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. Paresse had killed two men in blue uniforms. Their bodies lay face down, glimpses of their limbs and backpacks illuminated by the fire. Curiously, the dôji had not killed them in the same execution-style manner he had used a few days ago. He had retained his human form. His master observed the blood on his hands, his fingernails, and on his uniform.
Paresse kept his fists balled as his eyes met Michel's. He was trying to prove something with his intentionally vacant gaze. But Michel saw right through him.
He was staring at his master with an expectant look. Like a mutt waiting for recognition and a treat. Pathetic.
"Sloppy work." Dubois yawned, laying his head back down on his makeshift pillow. "Your training starts tomorrow."
A/N: Hey everyone. Let's start with the obvious – it's been more than a DECADE since I last updated this fanfic. I was a teenager when I published the first two chapters. After that, high school, life, all the things that usually dissuade someone from updating their fanfic happened. I remember that I also wanted to wait and see if anything developed in the manga that could tell us more about Paresse and Mizho / Michel. Spoilers – it never happened. I was admittedly disappointed with the last 3 volumes or so of Karakuridôji Ultimo, so my interest in the series dropped and I forgot about it – and this fanfic - for years.
Fast forward to now. Last week, I remembered that I used to write fanfiction, and logged on (can't believe I still remembered my login info after so long) to find that a Guest had written a very touching review. I was humbled that this small fanfic was thought of and read by at least one person out there after all these years. I also felt like I owed it to my manga-obsessed teenage self to finish what she started. So, I found all of my old outlines and drafts for the fanfic, and I'm going to finish writing it. I'll also post this fanfic on other platforms. (ao3? wattpad? I'll figure it out) Please anticipate 2 more chapters.
Thank you to whoever finds this fanfic and reads it, and a special thank you to the Guest who left the review on this fanfic in 2019 – I hope life is also treating you well.