Abel's eyes opened, accompanied by a yell and a rush of sweat. He stumbled backward from nothing, his feet scuffing the color-mute bricks beneath him, and in an embarrassing display of oafish clumsiness he landed on his back. A brief but guttural cry of pain forced its way up through his throat to spill out into the cool, crisp air; so accustomed to the guardian was the protection provided by aura that unexpected injury hurt him all the more due to the shock. Panic surged through his veins, setting his brain afire and his heart athrob, but he could not recall why. Since the pain did not persist, he allowed himself to lie without dignity on the ground, slowly recovering his senses and his bearings. Almost instantly he noticed, stretched out there on the flat but unevenly-arranged stones, how odd the sky looked. Through spindly, fingerlike branches he could see a brilliant gray-white sky, overcast but almost blindingly bright. Puzzled, he inhaled the pleasant, tranquil air in slow, careful breaths before turning his gaze elsewhere. Only a few seconds later he saw something that truly made him wonder.
After Abel got over the initial shock, he found that his joints and bones suffered no severe soreness, and rose quietly to his feet. His eyes, however, never moved, for they were fixated upon the towering concrete-and-glass edifices of an unknown city. Perhaps a thousand feet away, there lay the shore of a sea of buildings, a massive and beauteous collage of blues, browns, reds, and grays. Glittering in the autumn sun stood a monolithic structure that appeared to be glass on all sides, and similar skyscrapers littered the colossal town. Abel's mouth hung open, hard-pressed to fathom how such a thing could exist. Before him lay a city utterly unknown to him, privy to neither his eyes or photographs, and to him this urban sprawl seemed utterly unreal. Where were the natural barriers? The walls? The security? It all seemed so civilian, as if ignoring the everpresent and indefatigable threat of the Creatures of Grimm. Was it some sort of paradise? Some far-off, mysterious region of Remnant where people lived without fear of Grimm? If so, the conclusion begged another question.
How did I get here...?He looked around for answers. By turning his eyes from the city to his immediate surroundings, he noticed an immediate discrepancy. As far as he could tell, the guardian stood in some sort of miniature nature park—an island of green in the middle of the great city. Ancient, gnarled trees lofted to either side of the path upon which he stood as he gawked. The color of their leaves nearly burned his eyes out, for never before had he seen such vivid reds, oranges, and yellows. Entranced by this fantastical resort, he rushed a few steps down the path to its edge, and peered down a grand stony staircase to the sidewalk far below. At the bottom resided a road, replete with the traffic and pedestrians that befitted so magnificent an urban center. Still, Abel could not believe his eyes. Even from this distance, he could surmise that these people moved, talked, and acted with no facade of normalcy or hidden fear that he had come to expect from the people of Vale. These people did not seem to be going about a daily routine as if monsters howled at the walls of their kingdom, and this notion marveled Abel.
Turning, about, Abel caught his breath. Behind him stood an ornate and awesome structure that seemed like some forgotten ruin. With a heart still beating vigorously, he rushed into the courtyard and beheld with wide eyes its every detail. Marble archways of a design never before seen dotted its entrances and exits. Stationed at corners were brick pedestals upon which like sentries stood fireplace-sized lanterns of stone. More leaves littered the ground like gorgeous candy wrappers, merrily dancing in the slightest of breezes. Even the rock used to make the paths and stairs themselves looked magical, for traces of moss speckled its surface turning them from ash-gray to steel-gray to forest green. Finally, at the far side of the courtyard lay a beauteous temple with walls of chocolate-colored wood, a curved silver roof that overreached the walls like the cap of a mushroom, arced lengths of knotted golden rope, dangling strings of paper scrolls, and a great many red rectangles hanging from equidistant nails inscribed with a vertical script that was alien to Abel. Though clueless of the identity or purpose of any of these, Abel dimly felt an aura of veneration and honor emanating from all of it. Once his initial wonder ebbed, the guardian happened to spot something so mundane by comparison that he had not yet noticed it: a man.
“Hey!” Stuffed to burst with questions, Abel rushed to his side, only to falter a few meters away. This middle-aged man, though dressed in everyday clothes, knelt upon the ground before the shrine in a position of ritual prostration. Stunned into silence, Abel searched the vicinity for things that might warrant worship, but found nothing supernatural. Abel retreated in tense silence, worried that he'd interrupted something important, though the praying man gave no response. Suddenly finding the shrine to be too rich, important, and beyond his comprehension, he beat a hasty retreat down the path and the staircase that followed it, his unspoken questions now burning like ulcers in his belly.
For no reason in particular, he turned right upon reaching the street. Having somewhere lost his blue jacket stripped him of protection against the elements, but also, he felt, of a part of himself. So, he walked down the streets with his hands buried in his pockets to ward off the nippy air, feeling less than wholly prepared to face what may come. Frequently, his wonder overpowered his itch to keep moving, and he temporarily cut short his long stride to stare at a building, poster, advertisement, or product. Dozens of people passed him by, speaking in a language Abel did not immediately recognize, which he tuned out. None took any notice of him more personal than one might greet a passing breeze, despite few of them seeming especially preoccupied. The feeling crept over Abel of loneliness, though a thriving metropolis surrounded him on all sides. Be it the language, the people, or the city itself, he felt oddly and coldly cut off. Though having already subconsciously acknowledged it, the guardian did not appreciate the revelation that he couldn't think of any clue where he was going or what he was doing.
Sighing heavily, Abel slumped over to a sidewalk bench and seated himself on the opposite side from a young man. He rested his head in a hand, trying to get a clue. Getting nowhere quickly, he resigned himself to watching the people that walked nearby, one of whom -who bore a noticeable resemblance to the boy beside him- approached and seated himself right next to Abel. This guy wasted no time in striking a conversation with the other, presumably his brother, and for the first time Abel listened. With sudden surprise, he sucked in his breath; he could understand their speech after all. While in wasn't exactly normal now, it certainly didn't sound as alien as what he'd heard before.
Maybe it's some sort of dialect I'm getting used to? He listened further, though with more and more disbelief, as the brothers discussed in low but still audible tones very personal family matters, namely the alcoholism of their mother and her soon-to-be divorce because of it. Abel felt massively uncomfortable at being accidentally made privy to information not meant for him, and he stood up, saying,
”Excuse me.”The brothers not only took no notice of him, but did not stop their conversation for one moment to allow Abel to be heard. Disgruntled but unperturbed by this, Abel turned away to walk off, only to run directly into a woman holding several packages. The parcels flew from her arms and scattered over the pavement, and the woman cursed. Abel recoiled.
”Oh, damn, I'm so sorry. Here, lemme he...?”“Hey, you alright?” The brothers from before had risen from their bench and rushed to help the lady. They crowded around Abel, pushing him aside, as they assisted gathering the lost packages. After a few moments the flustered woman's load had been reassembled.
”Thank you. I'm good. No escaping bad luck, right? Take care!” She stepped neatly around Abel and went on her way, though without looking at him. The brothers waved before returning to the bench. On the way, one glanced his way, and despite his own befuddlement Abel could see that the man's eyes did not focus on him. He felt instead as if they saw straight through him. Now more than a little shaken, Abel stammered,
”Um, that was my bad. Thanks for helping?”No acknowledgment whatsoever came.
Despite being the perpetrator of a fresh accident, Abel ground his teeth. He hated being ignored. His thoughts thundered with sudden anger, but he managed to keep some of his unhappiness out of his tone.
”Hey! Sorry, alright? No need to pretend I don't exist!” His shout, and even the spittle that flew from his lips, did not seem to register with either brother. A cold feeling settled over Abel. He glanced around, slightly embarrassed that others might be watching him make a scene, but nobody else even looked his way. An edge of panic replaced the anger in his tone.
”Huh...hello?” The guardian laid a hand on the brother's shoulder, but not even that elicited any acknowledgment at all. Abel cranked up the volume, turning this way and that.
”Why is everyone ignoring me? Am I invisible?” He wheeled around, and the immense gray boxes all around him took on the sickly semblance of tombstones in his eyes. Names, faces, and explanations surged into his memory.
”Sapph, is this some sort of prank with your semblance? Shiro, some sensory illusion? Hello...?””Anybody...?”It became apparent to him that even were he in the most barren desert in the remotest parts of the world, he could not possibly feel more lost and alone.
-=-=two hours later=-=-
The discovery of loneliness made by Abel only a few hours prior turned out to be a little off the mark.
As he wandered aimlessly through the city, he disconsolately sought any form of recognition, but found only further confounding. No throat-destroying shout would get the shyest child to flinch; no extravagant display would surprise the wrinkliest elder. When he laid eyes on a woman waiting by the bus stop, he bit his lip and stole her purse only to find even that garnered no reaction. Shamefully returning it a moment later, he watched her grab it as if nothing happened and board the waiting vehicle. No human deigned to lend any credence to the notion he existed.
He did find something strange, however. Scattered randomly around the city were diminutive, elusive creatures which Abel first mistook for animals, only to discern otherwise the bulbous shapes of their bodies and the saturation of their skin by only a few, bright colors. Crawling along the pavement, hanging from buildings, or sitting atop streetlights, these tiny beasts fled at his approach, stoking his curiosity. Of all the living things in this city, these amorphous, alien beings alone responded to his presence. Once, the guardian managed to sneak up on one curled atop a roadside trash bin. Its long, sleek shape struck him as weasel-like, harmless, and oddly cute. When Abel got too close, it made a chirping noise and leaped from its perch. Abel watched, dumbfounded, as it scampered across the sidewalk, through the legs of a tripping girl, and into a grate. There it disappeared, but the next second Abel froze, for between the bars of the drainage grate he could see eyes—big, round, blue, and uncannily human eyes, looking directly at him.
You smell nice.Abel jumped a foot off the ground, and looked side to side in inexplicable terror. He saw nothing but plastic, bricks, stone, steel, and people, none of which seemed responsible for the gruff but passionate voice that made his skin crawl. Then he looked again, and in the most inappropriate of places he found things that looked back at him. Wherever there was darkness, the eyes lurked. Alleys, glass panes, doorways, arches, eaves, cracks, crevices, and streetlights were all their habitats. Every one fixated on Abel, who felt most suddenly and acutely that too little attention might have been preferable to too much. His pounding heart made him jump to the conclusion of Grimm, and while he planned to treat them as such, he knew for sure that what he faced now embodied an entirely different threat. To him, no question existed as to whether or not these eyes foreshadowed a fight.
You smell nice.This time, the words came tangibly. They rippled deeply and discordantly like sound through the depths of some arcane lake, and Abel instinctively leaped back from the source. When he witnessed the enemy, slithering down the side of the nearest tower, he nearly laughed aloud in mixed parts despair and amusement. The creature he watched appeared to be some kind of huge slug whose head rose like the neck of a vase into an oblong, misshapen, four-eyed head. Perched on either side of this gooey, odious excuse for a cranium were thick, crablike arms, whose melodiously clapping pincers revealed within clusters of additional eyes. On a pallid ooze it slid down the wall of concrete and glass, unfurling onto the pavement to stare like a night terror at the shocked, weapon-deprived man. Still, Abel would fight. His beloved Ampere had been worryingly absent since he'd first awoken in the shrine, but a true guardian could ever be helpless. He brought his palms together, spread them, and watch the threads of electricity dance amongst his fingertips.
All alone. Nobody cares about you. Left you...As if he'd gazed into the eyes of a gorgon, Abel stood stiller than a statue. Slavering jaws and deadly claws he could deal with, but some kind of alien trying to probe his psyche? It took all his willpower to not shut down—to say 'I just can't deal with this' and carelessly relax.
Nobody appreciates your work. Why not take it E-Z? They tell you what to do and leave you. Just take it E-Z...lighten the load...Abel hastily retreated another step, only to bump into a streetlight. The eyes stared at him, mockingly, and one of the monster's claws reached out to brush against him. Some sort of feeling radiated from the thing's lime-green flesh...a kind of relaxed melancholy that really made taking it easy sound like a good idea. At the same time, however, Abel felt an unnatural, never-before-breached horror: a core fear for his very soul. He jolted to get away, but it was too late. The claw was going to touch him.
”No!””You who would desecrate this land of the rising sun!”The sound of human speech drove Abel's terror-filled eyes skyward. Evidently the monster heard it too; it followed his gaze. Guardian and ghoul saw far above a thin, black shape plummeting toward them. It veered slightly in its downward path, headed for the monster, whose head Abel grew sick to see split nearly in two to expose a gaping, toothy maw. Closer and closer the blur came, until Abel could make out a humanoid form with something bright and hopeful in his hand.
”With my advent I, the Yato God, lay waste with the Sekki...”All at once, the man landed beside the creature, unharmed by the impact. Abel's eyes widened to see a katana blade of exquisite craftsmanship and lethality in his hand, secured there by wrapped bandages rather than a hilt. The newcomer looked to be in his early twenties, thin, black-haired, black-jerseyed, and wearing a fluffy white scarf. He roared out, finishing his strange but inspiring cry,
”And dispel thy vast defilement!”The radiant blade zipped through the vomitous, sluglike body of the monster, sliding like a knife through butter. Except for a feeble gurgle, the thing offered no resistance after the impact of the sparkling sword, its claw stiffly suspended a foot away from Abel's face. He didn't know what to think or feel, but for some reason, he felt a lot better than he had before—better now that he had someone looking out for him in this lonely and unfamiliar land.
”Rend!”Before Abel's eyes, the creature burst apart into black goo, and around him the sunlight turned rose red. The goo melted away instantly, replaced by mesmerizing prismatic runes that floated at odd angles in the air. There came a fulfilling sliding sound, and the runes stretched away in every direction before disappearing themselves. The light returned to normal, and Abel stood alone with the blade-wielding stranger on an eye-devoid city street. They stared at one another, neither quite certain what to do yet.
”Um, Yato?”The jersey-wearing fellow blinked, looking at his sword, from where this new, young voice emanated.
”Oh, right. Revert, Sekki.” A sweet sound like a chiming bell rang out, and in a flash of metallic light the blade transformed into a teenaged boy with messy blonde hair. Along with his bright orange eyes, he amazed Abel with the foreign symbol tattooed on his collarbone. Of course, the fact that this kid had moments ago been a sword struck him in particular.
”Whoa.”His simple intonation caused a catlike smile to appear on the face of the man called Yato.
”Hey! An uncorrupted spirit! Must be my lucky day.” He held out a hand to Abel, who tentatively shook it. Yato pumped his hand vigorously, his slitted eyes demanding contact with Abel's, and continued,
”I know you must have a lot of questions! Let me tell ya, you're doing great. Not panicking, not corrupted, not too desperate. We're on the way to a friend's right now, taking out any phantoms we see on the way. Come along with us, and Yukine and I will answer your questions.” Still too confused to properly articulate himself, Abel simply nodded, and the trio set off.
Yato walked ahead, leaving Yukine and Abel to make their way down the sidewalk side by side. Having regained his power of speech, Abel began immediately.
”What was that thing? And what was it doing? I felt so weird when it was nearby.”Yukine nodded officially, pleased to be useful.
”That was a phantom—a resident of the Far Shore. So are all of the eyes you've probably seen. They come here in times of stress and sadness, invisible like us to the living, to screw with people. They cluster around the troubled and whisper to them, trying to influence them. People with tragic, incomplete lives become spirits after dying, which the phantoms can then corrupt into more phantoms. You're actually really lucky we came along when we did; if that phantom touched you, you'd probably be...well, doomed. Heh.”Not quite comprehending everything at once, but feeling too relieved to really register more fear, Abel nodded sagaciously.
”Crap. I thought they were like Grimm.” At this, Yukine looked nonplussed.
”Grimm?””Yeah, the creatures of Grimm,” Abel explained. Talking about something familiar to him, however bizarre it seemed for Grimm to be familiar, made him feel better.
”They're drawn to negativity, and try to kill people. But these things, it sounds like they just seek people out and make negativity. Man would it suck if a place had both! Monsters and ghosts. Hey, wait!” A realization hit him like a sack of bricks, and he jolted to a dead stop. A pedestrian altered her path slightly to move around him.
”Did you say, 'invisible like us to the living'? You said that thing tried to corrupt me, after saying that these phantoms corrupt spirits? Am...are we...dead?” His voice dropped to a whisper.
”Yukine...? What's the Far Shore?”Yukine took a deep breath and started walking again, leaving Abel no choice but to follow him around a corner after Yato. He began.
”I'm sorry. Yeah, you're dead. So am I. The Far Shore is what living people call 'the afterlife'. The Near Shore is the normal world people live in. That's this.” A hand waved at the buildings, cars, and people.
”I don't know how, but your life was cut short. Please, don't be mad. I made the same mistake. I got really jealous of the living, and hurt some people I really care about.” He reached up to put a hand on the bigger guy's shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, Abel tried to come to terms with this. So, he was a ghost. It really didn't feel that different. Truly, he felt lost aboard a floundering raft in a stormy sea. Right next to him stood a lifeline, however, and he clung to it. If knowledge escaped him, questions would save him.
”Dead...oh...okay. Alright. I...am dead. Fine. It's better than I thought it would be, I guess. I mean, better this over nothing. I thought I'd be able to...you know, go through stuff. Or fly. It's not all that different, except for the alone part.” He sighed, and caught sight of Yato up ahead.
”What about him? Dead too?””No,” Yukine shook his head.
”Yato is a god. A minor god, without a proper shrine or many followers.” That last part he muttered.
”But he's pretty cool. He might not seem like it, but he really cares about people. When I sinned against him, he could have severed ties with me anytime, but he let me redeem myself instead.” A smile flitted across Yukine's face.
By now, Abel was done dropping his jaw at every little surprise that came his way. After realizing he was dead, nothing else could rattle him.
”A god. Alright. I heard that some cultures have lots and lots of gods. So, gods and ghosts and phantoms are linked to the Far Shore but exist on the Near Shore, which is the normal world. Well, I say normal. This isn't anything like the country I know. So, ah, what's with the turning into a sword? Don't get me wrong, I think it's awesome, but it's a little, you know, weird.”A laugh issued from the blonde boy.
”Heheh, I guess. I'm what you call a Shinki—a regalia. Since you can't touch phantoms without getting corrupted and a lot of gods hunt phantoms, they use pure human spirits as divine weapons called regalias to enact their will. It's a contract that involves naming, just as one names their own child. My full regalia name is Yuki. Less formally, Yukine. As a regalia, Sekki.”Abel considered this briefly.
”Hum. Neat. What is there for spirits to do?””Basically anything that doesn't involve interacting directly with people. Technically we're not invisible or nonexistent...it's more like we're really hard to notice. If you, say, picked up a rock in front of a person, it wouldn't look like a floating rock to them. I think they'd realize that someone was holding the rock, but that it matters so incredibly little that it's not even worth really noticing. If not for the phantoms, you could travel the world, play videogames all day, or do whatever you want, but having phantoms around makes it super dangerous. You'd be better off finding a god to serve as a regalia for. Serving sucks sometimes, but it's a life. Strong spirits can stave off corruption for a while, but without a purpose, they all slip away in the end. It also keeps you safe, and gives you someone to interact with.” He brushed at his gray hoodie.
”Even if he has really sweaty hands.””Augh!” Right in front of the two stood Yato, who looked stricken by his regalia's comment. Even his skin seemed bleached white by Yukine's acidity.
”You...you're still not over that, Yukine?”The boy snickered. Yato turned to Abel.
”Well, I hope you're caught up. We've got a big ol' phantom right ahead. It's surrounded by little ones, so it won't be a picnic. ” Now Yato seemed embarrassed.
”Uh, I have a favor to ask. Even if it's not permanent, I've never had two regalias at once before. It might be a good idea for you to get used to the feeling, if you want to be one for someone else.”Yukine lightly punched his master's arm.
”Don't say that, Yato! You just want to look cool.”Fluffing out his scarf, Yato smiled dismissively.
”Maybe a little. But it's still a good idea!””I'll try it.”Yato's eyes widened, and he pumped a fist.
”Lucky!” The next second, the stray god had composed himself, and a seraphic light entered his eyes. He held out his index and middle fingers, and traced through the air an ephemeral blue symbol.
”You who have nowhere to go and nowhere to return, I grant you a place to belong.
“My name is Yato.”Not until now, brought down to earth in the feelings of fire, had Abel realized how weightless and disconnected he felt. Sparks surrounded his soul, and his mind went blank.
”Bearing a posthumous name, you shall remain here. With this name, I make thee my servant. Hashira.”Abel blinked. The name meant 'pillar', though he knew not how he knew. He watched as Yato traced its word in his language, ingraining the symbol upon his soul.
”With this name and its alternate, I use my life to make thee a regalia! Thou art Hashira! As regalia, Kami! Come, Kaminari!”Abel's body flickered, but he did not hold onto its shape. He let it slip away, as if into a dream, and transformed in azure light. The shining blur flew into Yato's hand before dissolving in a refulgent spray. Abel's eyes opened, and he found himself in completely new dimension, a tiny realm like a mirror's shard. He felt both himself as human and himself and weapon at once. In Yato's hand lay an enormous morning star. Its handle, if placed on the ground, would have reached halfway up Yato's body; its head approximated a basketball in size, and spikes like daggers radiated from its surface. Between the spikes danced numerous blue sparks. Yato, however, did not grin. For a few moments he gazed into the empty distance, his face grim and troubled as he saw in only a few instants the entirety of Abel's incomplete life. Only after Yukine nudged him did Yato stir.
”Ah...”From the morning star, Abel's voice echoed.
”Did everything work out fine? I feel...I feel as if you're very sad, mister Yato.”The stray god shook himself off.
”Not at you, Kami. It's just...your world was so different. Never mind that now. You're a grand regalia, Kami. I've mostly had swords over the years, and Tomone was a knife, but a giant mace is exciting! Never used a strength weapon before. Yukine, how'd you like to sit this phantom out?”Nodding, the boy slipped his hands into the pockets of his green jacket and turned to walk away. He snickered as he did.
”Kaminari's a girl's name, even if it does mean thunder.” Yato followed, morning star in hand.
-=-=-=-
Three children sat on a bench: a slender girl of fifteen, dressed in gemstone blue. A fat boy of fourteen, in grass green. A yellow-eyed boy of thirteen, with dyed hair to match his white clothing. All wore the same brand of sweater, albeit different colors, which taken with their facial similarities marked them as siblings. Not all was well in this little team, however, as both boys sat opposite their sister and regarded her only with resentment and contempt.
Why is she the boss of us? They thought and whispered.
Just because she's older and more serious. She doesn't care about us! She never talks to us, or plays with us. Just minds her own business. How selfish! As their lips moved, so did those of the red-skinned leviathan only inches behind them, pressed up eagerly against the glass. It watched with beady orange eyes as the boys plotted, contributing with its own noiseless words whenever the whispers died down.
She's never there for us. But dad likes her the best! And all the teachers too! What a teacher's pet. She's so far away, but close enough to smother us at the same time. Why doesn't she jump off some bridge and let us stand on our own!The girl shuddered slightly, keeping her feelings inside. She couldn't help but sniffle, however, when she heard, audibly and definitively,
”You're a rotten big sister.””Help me,” she murmured, barely keeping her tears inside.
Outside, a black shape shot upward from the sidewalk. The weight and imbalance provided by Kami did not hinder Yato's jumping ability. He soared upward toward the colossal eel, whose sinister coils wound around the entire block. This type of phantom Yato called Grudge, and the sight of it set his eyes afire with fury. As he drew level with it, he cried,
”You who would desecrate this land of the rising sun! With my advent I, the Yato god, lay waste with the Kaminari, and dispel thy vast defilement!” All of the stray god's strength swung the lightning-wreathed weapon downward.
”Crush!”The scarlet skin of the insidious monstrosity rippled and burst like a blood-filled balloon. Compared to the slow, smoky deterioration of a Grimm corpse, the phantom exploded instantly and violently, a wave of mental interference barely outpacing the gooey eruption. To the eyes of any Far Shore beings nearby, the sky turned rose red, and the ruptured phantom ink-black. In a nebulous shower its remains shot, propelled by the brutal force of the Kaminari, toward the ground to vanish into the pavement. Yato's decimation of the Grudge was total. Those enigmatic, brilliant lines of script radiated outward from the point of impact—symbolic of good tidings in the wake of the defeated evil. A chime resounded through the spirit world, unheard but nevertheless felt by those still living, and it brought fragments of inexplicable warmth to their hearts.
The next instant, the world's colors returned to normal. Yato stood upon the sidewalk, and as Yukine approached he observed a kooky, delighted grin on the delivery god's face.
”Great purification, Hashira.” A bell's sound rang out as Abel's personal name was said, and in a flash of light he returned to human form. Feeling somewhat stiff, he flexed his fingers experimentally.
”Wow,” he breathed at last.
”That was weird. But...good. There's something else.” He struggled to explain, but Yato and Yukine waited patiently for a profound thought to occur.
”I don't know why, but I felt as if everything is going to be okay. Back when, um, I was alive, I guess, I felt depressed and hopeless all the time, like no matter how strong I got I could never make a difference against monsters. But this...to become the weapon of a god, even if he's more sweaty than holy, I feel like we can take on anything.”Yukine whistled.
”Jeez, you're taking this whole business like a champ. First dead, now a weapon for a guy in a jersey who doesn't even have a shrine. Were you super easygoing or subservient where you came from, or something?”A laugh escaped from Abel, which he promptly noticed and wondered: had such a weight really been taken off his chest?
”Well, maybe. I just roll with the punches, you know? When I was alive, I was part of a four-person team, and not the leader, so I'm used to uh, service.” All at once, the memory of his teammates returned to him: the carefree giggle of the catman, the larger-than-life intensity of the orc, and the condescension of his blue-haired partner. Their unique variations on insanity struck him as something to be missed, but all that he felt looking back on them was insufficiency. For certain, they'd been a deadly and efficient team, but for someone or other's fault they'd never truly connected with one another. Only Shiro had even tried to get to know him.
They were more coworkers than friends, but still, it's sad to think of them as just people that I used to know.Quite suddenly he realized he was looking blankly into space. During this time Yukine had raised a curious eyebrow, and Yato had partially recovered from his indignation at the belittlement casually thrown his way. Abel smiled at them, tentatively thinking of them as more united and companionable than he'd ever been with his team.
”So, why don't we go and get some ice cream?” Yukine suggested: the perfectly mundane way to round out an otherwise extraordinary and violent outing.
”If Yato here interacts with people directly, they'll notice him and can be made aware of us. Though they'll forget us again in a moment. I can call Hiyori too. We were gonna meet her after school anyway.” Abel blinked, and in some dim recess of his mind knew that this decision would be the one that decided his fate: acceptance of this bizarre but ironically invigorating life, or denial followed by attempts to regain what he had lost. Despite the obvious choice, he also knew without a doubt the right course of action to take. Even if he didn't know them too well, he owed something to the people who'd brought meaning to his aimless life.
”Sounds cool,” he punned, and glanced at the delivery god, who gave a straight-faced thumbs up. The three set off down the sidewalk with sweet confections in mind but no knowledge of what might be around the next corner.
And that was how Yato, Yukine, and Hashira became friends.
-=-=-=-
When called for, particularly with shouts laced with panic, the doctor dropped his paperwork and ran. By the time he arrived in the room, however, he was too late. In plain white clothing on the hospital bed lay a large figure, but one bereft of vitality, and therefore nothing more than a massive waste. Only this morning, the boy arrived, ferried from airship directly to intensive care. When asked for details concerning his injuries, the three teenagers who'd arrived with him attested to a fearsome battle with the Grimm, specifically a beast of the dreadful breed called Manticore.
Evidently, in a feat of 'heroic' self-sacrifice, the boy had climbed onto the colossus' hide and attempted to bury his bladestaff into its eye. When the beast went berserk, however, it tried to drown out the pain by bashing its head into the ground, and mashed the kid several feet into the earth with its bone mask. While one of the nurses' healing semblance had reconstructed his insides, he had not emerged from a deep and deathlike coma, and the doctor feared brain damage even if he did.
Now, however, the boy had evidently given up the ghost. To their credit, the three remained with him once allowed to visit by the hospital staff, anxiously waiting for his aura to refill and the life to return to his eyes, but alas, it seemed his soul had already passed on. With these teenagers in attendance, the doctor tearfully acted the part of the undertaker, writing out the time of death with a shaking hand.
Sapphire, Shiro, and Gren stood stolidly by the body of their comrade, standing a silent and brief vigil before someone could arrive with a black bag. None wept, or offered one another words of condolence.
Still, Gren broke out from his utter silence long enough to be touching.
"You were always protecting us, Abel. Now you can protect us in spirit too."Shiro's stripes burned with an intense darkness as he clenched his fists so tightly that his claws dug into his own skin and drew faint droplets of blood.
”We're all going to miss you when you go but take comfort in the fact that we'll carry your legacy with us. Take comfort in the fact that you can rest now, and be in a better place. Rest peacefully, buddy. We'll never forget you."Sapphire looked down at him. "Reckless bastard. You never thought about consequences just charge in gung-ho and hope for the best. What's left for us? The ones left behind, the ones who have to clean up your mess. Then what's it to you? All you've been looking for is your personal blaze of glory. Well guess what, you fizzled out." Then, polearm in hand, she left.
One after another, they uttered epitaphs, be them praise and solace or condemnation and disappointment, but few words could be found to commemorate a man who none could genuinely call a friend—some body that they used to know.
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