(Inspired by The Summer Hikaru Died. Part One.)
(Part Two.)
“You’re not Anaxa, are you?”
A breeze passes over the whispering foliage of the Grove, distilling the question among the quivering leaves.
It’s not a question, really. You know you’re right.
Beside you, Anaxa hesitates. He turns his head toward you, right eye narrowing. The red circle of his pupil glows with an unnatural light. His stare is arresting, and beyond the silent calculating lies something… not quite shocked, but intrigued. Like an unexpected variable has suddenly appeared in front of him.
He tilts his head. “How did you know?”
How did you know?
Images flash in your mind. Images you tried to—can’t—forget. Of running, running, running to the ritual site in the darkness, lungs burning, head spinning, feet pounding until—
(The body, sprawled in the centre of the array. Hair strewn across the ground around its head. Like a ragdoll, you had thought. Blood trickling from the mouth. Lips frozen in an almost-smile. Eye glassed over, and skin so white it’s grey. You don’t dare touch it and yet—you have to—reaching out your hand, it’s—
(Cold. Unmistakeable, undeniable, irrevocable.)
How did you know?
Your eyes fall to your hands. “I just got this feeling. You look exactly like him, but… you’re different, somehow. If you aren’t him,” you say, turning to him, “then what are you?”
The thing which is Anaxa stares at you. For a few seconds nothing happens. Then half of his face… melts. Slides away like ink. From behind his eyepatch emerges a twisting mass of something, pulsing and contracting like a living thing, composed of swirling patterns and shapes which shimmer like oil in water: mesmerising coils of turquoise, indigo, crimson. The writhing mass stretches outwards, winding through the air towards you. You freeze, pulse spiking with the realisation that it’s going to–
The creature (is that what it is? A creature?) halts a few millimetres from your face. There it lingers, swirling, undulating, folding dimension and light into itself and back out again. Staring at it makes your head swim. This thing is not—of this world. (Your vision lapses.) Not meant to be comprehended by the likes of you.
“You were not supposed to find out,” he says calmly. His—its—voice distorts as he speaks, phasing out of sync and then back together like a viscous liquid congealing back together after being run through with a knife.
Your mouth is dry. Forcing down the lump in your throat, staring into the eye shining in the midst of the living void, you whisper, “What will you do?” Does it plan to kill you? Suck out your soul?
The thing regards you for a moment. Its swirling tendrils hover above your skin, tips wavering lightly as if caressing the air. Its silence is devoid of malevolence. Instead, you feel it unpicking you with its incomprehensible mode of perception, dissecting you, even—you shudder as one of the tendrils just barely ghosts over your cheek—tasting you, with the same curiosity and intent of a scientist peering through a microscope at a new discovery.
Strangely enough, with half of his face warped into a swarming, psychedelic splatter, it feels the most like Anaxa since this thing took up his body. Something in your chest gives a heavy throb. Because this isn’t him. He is dead. However much it might act, or look, or speak or stare like him, you know it isn’t, because you saw…
The mass draws back, receding slowly as if it’s being sucked back into his eyepatch. The last few wisps flail and vanish behind the dark cloth. It concludes, in Anaxa’s voice, “I will not harm you.”
Stars swim behind your eyes. Your heartbeat flutters in your chest, which is so tight it might burst. Short, sharp gasps of air are all you can pull down your constricted throat. “Why?” you stammer out, barely audible.
The question seems to puzzle him. Plainly, he replies, “I don’t want to.”
You exhale a breath. “Oh.”
The world tilts around you. Your head drops forward. You don’t fall. A hand on your shoulder keeps you upright as the grass beneath your feet turns into the waves of a green ocean. It feels like a human hand. You force yourself to glance over at him. He looks normal; as normal as Anaxa ever looked. His gaze is firm, not unkind. Not his. Its. Why do you have to keep reminding yourself of that distinction?
“You may pretend I am him, if you find it easier.”
Pretend it’s him? You almost want to laugh. It’s unthinkable. Anaxa is gone. You saw him. You can’t ever forget that fact. And yet…
Having this thing here, wearing his face, speaking in his voice—this thing, which is so utterly alien to everything you have ever known—having it here is almost like having him here, for all of its fundamental discrepancies. And having something almost like him here is infinitely better than not having him at all.
Before going ahead with the experiment, Anaxa had told you that there was nothing to worry about. He had it all worked out; you would see him once it was over. Part of you is furious with him for making you a promise he didn’t keep. How dare he leave like that? How dare he lie to you?
Staring at the thing that is (not?) Anaxa, it strikes you for the first time: maybe he didn’t lie to you. You are seeing him now, aren’t you? A close enough approximation, at the very least. (At the most. His insides are gods know what, and his mind has been hijacked by some bizarre entity you can’t begin to fathom.) If you simply… let him be what he now is… maybe he doesn’t have to be gone. And if he doesn’t have to be gone, you don’t have to be alone.
(Inspired by The Summer Hikaru Died. Part Two.
(Part One)
The thing which is Anaxa stares at you from across the room, his arms folded across his chest. He looks exactly like the Anaxa you knew: mannerisms, posture, expression, everything. It’s so easy to forget, most of the time—until he does something which is decidedly not what Anaxa could do.
“You said you wanted to know how I dealt with that creature,” he says, regarding you coolly.
You nod. “That’s right.”
That morning, you, Anaxa and Hyacine went to the outskirts of the Grove to collect some samples for one of Anaxa’s… his experiments. The thing inside Anaxa has assimilated seamlessly into his former routine at the Grove, lectures, research and all. He’s told you he has most of Anaxa’s memories, and if you had any doubts, his unbroken continuance of his role dispels any possibility of him lying. None of his students have batted an eye. You don’t even think Hyacine has noticed anything off, or if she has, she didn’t make any indication of her suspicion earlier on.
As you were crouching knee-deep in foliage, a prickle on the back of your neck told you that you were being watched.
You glanced over your shoulder. Anaxa was a few metres away, standing with his back turned to you, and Hyacine had gone on ahead. Both were preoccupied with their own tasks. Nothing out of the ordinary. You turned back to your venture, extracting a delicate tendril of nebulous matter from a willing druid.
The feeling didn’t go away.
It was probably some bird watching you from the trees, you reasoned. But something about this sensation… it wasn’t a curious stare from an unseen critter. There was something darker in it, like a predator watching its prey.
The druid in front of you vanished without warning. With a drop of dread, you realised it had fled.
You turned around and peered into the mottled shadows of the foliage which spread across on the steep valley walls. Your unease had sharpened into fear—a primal kind of fear, beating low at the base of your brain.
—There! A shadow, distinguishable from the rest only by a low amber glow emitted by its… head?
The silhouette was humanoid. It moved in a lurching manner but its feet didn’t seem to touch the floor. Something was wrong with it—something seriously, seriously wrong. Its torso was thin. Not thin, you realised. The thing was split in two, top half and bottom. And the face—it wasn’t a face. Tendrils like twisting fingers branched out from the neck, curling around the source of that strange glow.
You still couldn’t get a good look at it. What was it? Some species new to the Grove? No. What kind of ‘species’ was so close to human, yet so far away? If anything it was like a… mutation of some sort. A distortion of everything it meant to be human.
Whatever it was, it was getting closer. A rustle of leaves, twigs crunched beneath feet that didn’t touch the ground. The closer it grew, the more acute the pressure on your skull. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was a gnawing, a madness, a living aggressor, buzzing in your brain and threatening to consume you whole. Something reached out toward you—
—A deafening crack split the air. You whirled around. Anaxa had appeared beside you. At the same time as the noise, he staggered back a step, clutching his hand to his eyepatch.
The presence was gone.
You stared at him, astounded. “What did you do?”
“I consumed it.” His voice betrayed a hint of pride; there was a touch of arrogance in the flash of his smirk. “Nothing but me can latch onto you.”
“Consumed?” you asked in bewilderment. “How did you—wait, are you okay?” A golden line trickled out from under his eyepatch, trailing a thin path down his cheek. You reached towards it without thinking. “Your eye…”
He turned his head sharply away from you. You pulled your hand back.
“From now on, don’t look at anything but me.” His voice was firm. “So long as that is the case, I can keep you safe.”
Hyacine burst through the trees. “Is everyone okay?” she said, slightly out of breath. “I heard a sound just now, and I hurried back as fast as I could.” Concerned eyes landed on you and then on Anaxa, at which point her concern deepened. “Professor, what happened to your eye? Do you need me to look at it?”
“Don’t concern yourself with it.” He cleared his throat and straightened his back, proclaiming with regal poise, “I fell into a thorny bush.”
Anaxa removes his coat, and then his tunic, until his top half is bare.
Anaxa was never this brazen, you think, staring at the pale planes of his upper body. Not in this way, at least. He had a sense of restraint when it came to displaying his body, to exposing the more vulnerable parts of himself to prying eyes. It was a right one had to earn.
His skin is stretched tight across his ribs and stomach. White scars, some tiny and some larger, litter his body like fine etchings. There’s a dark irony in it. Despite being dead, he looks no more unhealthy for it. You’re tempted to say he even looks more alive. There’s a flush in his skin which wasn’t there before.
A six-pointed slit is cut into his chest, disturbing the smooth canvas of his torso. The tip rests just below his throat and the incision extends down to the middle of his pectorals. In the narrow space between his flaps of skin, you glimpse a shimmering shade of blue-turquoise, speckled with what looks like stars.
“Well? Don’t you want to touch me?” he says, cocking his head to one side. The curl of his lip is expectant, like he already knows that you can’t resist your own morbid curiosity. “To know what it feels like?”
You swallow thickly. You do want to know, because this is—like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Even if it’s wrong, even if it isn’t him (even if it proves it isn’t him), you can’t stop yourself.
You reach out your hand and place your fingertips on his skin. It’s warm, like a living person’s. Not like the cold stone you felt when you touched Anaxa’s body. You can feel the slight rise and fall of his chest of his breathing: up, down, in and out. A rhythm familiar to you, in yourself and others. You fight down the urge to clutch his skin and hold him to you.
You doubt he needs to breathe, or even have a beating heart. It’s a performance, you suspect, adopted by this thing to make itself less alien to you. Can such an act be called considerate? Does he really think it’s enough to let you forget what he is, or what he isn’t?
As much as you rationalise it, you can’t deny the insurmountable relief of feeling him alive and warm beneath you. This far, he is human.
Whatever is inside him will shatter that illusion.
“Are you afraid?” asks the thing that is Anaxa.
You shake your head. You’re not afraid. You just need to steady yourself before you go into… that.
He isn’t Anaxa. You know that, so there’s no illusion to shatter at all. No matter the thing which now resides in his body, it can’t hurt you like he did.
You slide your fingers across his skin and dip them into the incision.
A shiver runs through your entire body. It’s—
Everything. Nothing. Cold and wet and fuzzy and hot and electrifying and spinning and your head reels like a mirror shattered to pieces and your skin crawls because this is beyond anything you should ever know. Every cell in your body vibrates with the awareness: This is wrong.
Steeling yourself, you push your hand further in.
Once the initial shock subsides, you realise the sensation is… not as bad as you thought.
“You’re cold,” you think aloud. Or at least, it’s something akin to that. It doesn’t feel like a temperature as much as it’s like an… existence. Not an existence. It’s nothing you've ever felt before. But it resembles cold.
Almost softly, he replies, “And you’re warm.”
The experience is difficult to describe precisely, because no human tongue has evolved to have the words to describe a being which exists on another fundamental plane. His insides slide against you like a current, soft and wet like a tongue, parting around your fingers and giving way to you as you move through them. They pulsate lightly against your skin, almost ticklish; not unpleasant. The chasm seems endlessly deep; reach as you might, you find no bones, no organs. It’s like an ocean, vast and unfathomable. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was bottomless.
Anaxa, or the thing that is Anaxa, exhales a sigh. His eyelid flutters and he tips his head backwards. He places a hand (warm, human, alive) on your forearm and holds it in place. Not to restrict you; the contact is too light for that. To steady himself, maybe. To steady you.
You move your hand upwards, and the incision spreads in your wake, creeping up his neck, his chin, cleaving him in two with a clean line of starlight. His lips split into a grin (a sharp tooth flashes at you) as you cup his cheek from the inside.
“That feels good,” he breathes. You don’t think Anaxa would have said that. He would have borne the pleasure alone, in silence, like torture.
He goads, “Keep going.”
You do. You glide your hand downwards (the split in his face closes without leaving so much as a line behind) and he shudders when you brush the spot where his heart would be. His grip on your forearm tightens, urging you deeper still. His eye has glassed over, grown hazy with delight. You curl your fingers inside him and he lets out a soft groan, almost a giggle.
You still don’t know what to make of it. Whatever this thing is, though, you don’t think it’s evil. Just incomprehensible.
A tug on your arm. The vast chasm contracts suddenly, clamping down on your skin. Your very being crawls. All at once it’s wrong again, your brain is blaring, your body screaming as the thing latches onto you. It’s slime, a thousand needles, countless tentacles and tongues suctioning your flesh. His insides pulsate against you and the force—it’s like it’s trying to suck you in. You struggle against the pressure in vain. Your elbow is swallowed up, followed by your upper arm.
Inside him you can feel the thing crawling up your wrist, your arm, your shoulder, neck—oh Titans it’s in your head—
In a flash of strength wrought by panic, you tear your arm out from him and stagger backwards against the wall. At once, the terrible suction vanishes, but phantom sensations continue to tingle on your skin.
The thing which—which isn’t Anaxa stands in the same place, staring at you.
“What—” You choke over the thickness in your throat. “What was that?”
He frowns. You’re not sure whether an entity like him can feel disappointment, but that’s the sense you get. “You touched me, and so I touched you back,” he says.
Touched you… back? You glance down at yourself. On the back of your right hand is a pale red mark composed of intertwining lines. It definitely wasn’t there before. Though it doesn’t hurt, your skin itches with the memory of his touch.
The huge, endless void has all but vanished, shrinking back into the narrow incision with blue cracks on his chest. Anaxa—it is so definitely not Anaxa—runs a thin, bony finger along the sharp outlines of the opening, his expression contemplative, before he looks at you again.
“It is equivalent exchange, yes? I remember I…” He blinks. “No, Anaxagoras, was rather fond of this principle.”
“Why would you follow it, then?”
“Curiosity,” he replies. “A wish to reciprocate your warmth. You felt…” and here he sighs again, deep with satisfaction, “wonderful.” He pauses, considers for a moment. “You did not find it enjoyable.”
You stare at the floor. “Well, I—I thought you might…”
“Might what?” he asks, arching a pale eyebrow. The gesture makes your heart ache. “I have already said I will not harm you.”
You thumb the newfound mark on the back of your hand. Quietly, you mumble, “Maybe we have different definitions of ‘harm’.”
After a moment, he admits, “It’s possible. I don’t yet understand the limitations of humans.” He turns his eye on you. “Can I learn from you? About being… human.”
“What do you have to learn?” you ask. It’s a question of genuine curiosity, not one of spite. “You’re already convincing.” Convincing enough that nobody else has realised the truth: that Anaxa is dead, and that this thing in his body is not him.
“I would like to understand the intricacies. To understand you, and myself.”
You blink. “You don’t know what you are?”
“No.” He frowns. “Do you?”
“Don’t you pull that one on me.” The easy laugh is rolling off your tongue before you’re aware of it.
“Why not?”
“It’s a big question. You can’t just spring it on me and expect me to answer you straight away.” You hesitate, catching yourself before you get carried away. A sigh breaks its way out of you. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll do my best to help you be human. To… understand the intricacies.”
He inclines his head. “Thank you.”
A knock on the door behind you. “Professor Anaxa?”
It’s Hyacine. You and Anaxa exchange a glance. You’d forgotten that you were in his office. Thank the stars the door is locked. If someone had walked in a few minutes ago… You shudder at the thought.
“Put your clothes back on,” you urge, now all too aware of the fact that he’s half-naked. Without any apparent sense of urgency, even as Hyacine knocks again, Anaxa lifts his tunic back over his head and dons his coat. Your eyes linger on the blue incision as it disappears behind the fabric. Catching your eye, he smiles, sharp but not unpleasant, and you swiftly look away.
He opens the door. Hyacine stands behind it, her hand raised for another knock. She lowers it and glances between yourself and Anaxa, who’s leaning against his desk and flipping through some papers like nothing in the world is the matter.
Finding yourself flustered, you exchange a quick greeting with her and head down the hallway. Your brisk footsteps echo off the cold stone floor.
He doesn’t know what he is?
It’s something you hadn’t considered before. You were under the impression that the thing that was Anaxa was sure of itself. That it had an agenda of some kind—not necessarily a malicious one, but an intention, a clear reason for taking up Anaxa’s body and assimilating undetected into what would have been his life.
Suddenly, this thing isn’t just an impersonator. It’s confused and vulnerable, like anyone else. It’s… alone.
You glance at the mark on your wrist. It doesn’t show any signs of fading. If anything, you think the red colour is getting deeper. Thinking back to the strange sensation of touching his insides, you suppress a shiver, not necessarily one of discomfort.
Help him how to be human? You want to laugh at your own presumptuousness. You don’t know what made you say such a thing.
How could you possibly teach him how to be human, when you don’t even know how to do that yourself?
A certain shift in the air, the scent of a new heartbeat—that was how Heizou knew someone was approaching. Someone he didn’t recognise, so not Kujou Sara asking for his help on another case.
He cracked open his eyes. They landed on a human, nothing too remarkable, tentatively pushing the sliding door shut behind you. From the rapid thrum of your heart rate, he could tell you were nervous—yet your eyes stared straight at him, like twin shards of light.
It was not often that strangers sought him out. Consider his interest piqued.
Heizou slid out from the shadows, separating from the darkness as naturally as a single stream diverging into two. His bright green irises glinted in the dimness which the paper lanterns set in each corner of the room failed to drive away. You gulped, but did not withdraw from his presence.
“So,” he began in a conversational tone, a smile curling on his lips, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Tentatively, you said, “You’re Shikanoin Heizou, right?”
“The one and only.” Heizou bent low into a bow. His eyes did not leave your face. Straightening, he asked, “How do you know about me?”
“I’ve… heard things.” Your eyes darted around the room, no doubt trying to determine your surroundings beyond the suspended shadows. You were like a little bird, he thought; so skittish, so fragile, as humans always were.
Heizou laughed lightly. With a single step he closed the distance between you. You took a sharp inhale as he leaned in and whispered, low and breathy in your ear, “What brings a lovely thing like you to me, then, hm?” You stiffened beside him. He drew back to face you and pressed his thumb to your lower lip. The sharp tip of his fingernail touched your Cupid’s bow. Knowing he had your full attention, he leaned closer again, leaving only a hair’s breadth between your faces. Your pupils dilated and swiftly flicked away to avert his sharp gaze. The scent of your fear, tinged with attraction—or perhaps the other way around—was positively intoxicating. “Tell me,” he murmured, almost against your mouth. “What can I do for you?”
He felt the quicken of your breathing, sensed the rising of your blood as it surged to your cheeks, and cracked a smirk. Hardly a minute in and he already had you wrapped around his finger. So pliable, he thought; and somewhat endearing, too.
You squared your shoulders and forced your eyes to meet his. For a moment Heizou was locked in place by the bright, determined spark burning behind your irises. The flame which draws in the moth.
“I want to learn from you.” Your voice quavered a little, but your expression was set in determination.
Learn from him? Now that was something new. He could appreciate originality. Typically the only requests he received came from the Tenryou Commission, when they encountered a supernatural case they couldn’t handle on their own.
“Learn from me?” he echoed, taking a step back so he could see you properly. “How so?”
“Take me on as your assistant. Or partner, or whatever you want to call it.” Your resolve hardened as you spoke. “I want to learn more about the supernatural world and how to investigate it.”
Seeing you burn with such passion, he almost couldn’t bring himself to let you down. “Aiya,” he sighed, and shook his head. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to teach you much. My intuition—my one true companion—isn’t the kind of thing that can be learned. Plus, a lot of what I do relies on my senses, detecting things a human like you can’t perceive. Of course,” he mused, tapping his forehead in thought, “I could turn you”—something akin to dread passed over your expression—“but I don’t want that light in your eyes going out just yet.”
Your disappointment was evident. Your eyes dropped, their spark dampened by this revelation. Heizou found himself scrambling to reignite it. He reasoned, “Although, some company would be appreciated… and it’s not like there’s nothing at all you could learn from sticking around.”
You glanced up, lips parting and eyes widening in rekindled hope. Really? your expression was asking. He winked at you and pressed a finger to his lips, as if to say, Keep this just between you and me.
An assistant… It was certainly an intriguing thought. Yet your emotions were so fragile that Heizou was almost afraid you wouldn’t be able to withstand the contents of your own request. That spark you had—he wanted to preserve it, not lead you down a path of your own destruction and smother it prematurely.
Heizou grew serious. His smile faded, and his voice lost its playful lilt. “If we are to be partners, I need you to understand this. Being at my side means entering a world which cares little for humans—in fact, often works directly against them. There’s a reason humans come to me to tackle these things instead of handling them themselves. You’ll see things you can’t unsee, the kind which keep you up at night. There will be things you encounter which want to rip you apart and I can’t guarantee your safety.” His pupils were narrow pinpoints. “Can you handle that?”
You lifted your chin, your eyes flashing. When you answered, “Yes,” Heizou believed you.
The corner of his mouth rose to reveal a glinting canine. Maybe not so fragile after all. He spun around and sang, “In that case... Come along, my little human ‘assistant’. Lesson one of detective work, supernatural or otherwise: there’s no rest for the wicked.”
He heard you hesitate momentarily before your footsteps fell into step behind him, following him deeper into the house. Heizou chuckled to himself.
His intuition had told him that tonight would be interesting.
Just a silly collection of incorrect quotes inspired by the fic, organised by chapter! A warning for shenaniganery and quite a lot of quotes ahead…
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
Chapter One: In which you talk to kites
Reader: So when are we gonna tell her?
Qingque: Just give her a minute.
Sushang: *pulling on a door that clearly says push*
Qingque: *screams*
Sushang: *screams louder to assert dominance*
Qingni: Should we do something?!
Reader, observing: No, I want to see who wins this.
Reader: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no clue what to put in them. Suggestions?
Qingque: Put spaghetti in it.
Reader: I'm currently taking suggestions from literally anyone but you.
Sushang: Put spaghetti in it.
Reader: I'm currently taking suggestions from anyone but you two.
Qingni: Put spaghetti in it.
Reader: I'm no longer taking suggestions.
Qingque: *Gently taps table*
Sushang: *Taps back*
Yukong: What are they doing?
Reader: Morse code.
Qingque: *Aggressively taps table*
Sushang: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-
Chapter Two: In which you are forced to go and seek your fortune
Yukong: Name something you believed in as a child that you no longer do as a teenager.
Reader: Myself
Phantylia: My assistance will be an act of beneviolence.
Reader: ...Don’t you mean benevolence?
Phantylia: No.
Phantylia (to Reader): You seem familiar. Have I threatened you before?
Chapter Three: In which you take a daring leap of faith into unexpected encounters
Yanqing: Fu Xuan
Fu Xuan: What? It's the middle of the night!
Yanqing: I can't sleep
Fu Xuan: I can. Good night
Fu Xuan: There’s just something about the sound of my own voice which fascinates me.
Chapter Four: In which you discover a number of odd things
Yanqing: I am 32 cheetos tall.
Reader: Why… are you measuring your height in cheetos?
Yanqing: Because we're out of doritos.
Fu Xuan: Here is my wall of inspirational people.
Reader: Is that a picture of you?
Fu Xuan: Yes, I am big enough to admit that I am often inspired by myself.
Chapter Five: In which you break two of the three rules
Yanqing: I think I'm having a mid-life crisis.
Reader, sweeping the floor: You're like 15 years old
Yanqing: I MIGHT DIE AT 30!
Reader: What's your morning routine like?
Jing Yuan: Existential despair, then I always remember to use some lip balm.
Reader: Why can't any of you ever clean up after yourselves?
Jing Yuan: I have a person who does that for me.
Reader: Yeah, ME.
Jing Yuan: I'm glad you agree.
Fu Xuan: Have you been yelled at by Reader yet?
Jing Yuan, smiling: I’m not scared of them.
Fu Xuan: So that’s a no.
Chapter Six: In which Jing Yuan expresses his feelings with very very frightening thunderbolts and lightning
Reader, while Mimi is being sick in the background: Hold on, I can explain!
Jing Yuan: Really? Can you now?
Reader: I can if you give me a minute to think of a convincing lie.
Jing Yuan: I can’t believe there’s a cat somewhere in my house. Amazing feeling. Love cats. And she's here, in my house! Somewhere! And I may encounter her! What a treat.
Chapter Seven: In which you break the third rule
Jing Yuan: I’m not lazy, I just find it hard to put effort into things I’m not passionate about.
Reader: What are you passionate about?
Jing Yuan: Sleeping.
Reader, pointing at their sign: Don’t worry, I have a permit.
Shopkeepers: ...This just says “I can do what I want”.
Yanqing: Oh, look at all the pretties!
Reader: Can you please stop talking about deadly swords the same way you talk about shoes?
Reader: I’ve only had Yanqing for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.
Chapter Eight: In which you leave the flying ship on a flying sword
Yanqing: Don’t panic, I have a few swords up my sleeve for situations like this
Reader: Don’t you mean tricks?
Fu Xuan: No, he doesn’t
Yanqing, taking a sword out of sleeve: No, I don’t
Yanqing: Hold on, I’m having one of those things - a headache with pictures
Reader: Huh?
Fu Xuan: he’s having an idea
Jing Yuan: I know you snuck out last night, Yanqing.
Reader: Play dumb!
Yanqing: Who's Yanqing?
Reader: NOT THAT DUMB!!!
Reader: So what do you do for a living?
Jing Yuan: I stop political coups and clear up threats to Luofu’s safety.
Reader: The fuck no you don't.
Jing Yuan: Have you ever heard of any?
Reader: No?
Jing Yuan: Then you are welcome.
Chapter Nine: In which the shiny talisman remains a mystery
Yanqing: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death?
Fu Xuan: How am I supposed to know?
Reader: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult.
Fu Xuan: *sighs*
Fu Xuan: You wouldn't be trapped.
Yanqing: *slices Cirrus a gazillion times*
Cirrus: You son of a bitch!
Reader, watching from the sidelines: Watch your language. That's beeatch to you.
Reader: It’s dark in here
Yanqing: Don’t worry I got this
Yanqing: *stomps his feet*
Yanqing: *Skechers light up*
Reader: *dangling from a rope over a pit of fire* Remember when I said I’d tell you when we’re in too deep?
Yanqing: Yes?
Reader: We’re in too deep.
Chapter Ten: In which your following has grown
Jing Yuan: What am I supposed to do all day while you’re in Fyxestroll Garden?
Reader: I dunno. What do you normally do when I’m gone?
Jing Yuan: 🥺 Wait for you to get back.
Fu Xuan: Presents are the best way to show someone how much you care.
Fu Xuan: It is like this tangible thing that you can point to and say, “Hey, I love you this many strales’ worth.”
Reader: I’m not doing too well.
Reader: I have this headache that comes and goes.
Jing Yuan: *appears*
Reader: Oh look there it is again
Jing Yuan to Yanqing: Turn that frown upside-down!
*a little while later*
Jing Yuan: What are you doing?
Yanqing, trying to do a handstand: You told me to “turn that frown upside-down” but it’s not working.
Chapter Eleven: In which more shiny talismans are found in a strange land (China)
Jing Yuan, on the phone: Hi, it’s Jingyuan
Qingzu: What did he do this time?
Jing Yuan: No, jiejie, it’s me, Jingyuan
Qingzu: Oh… what did you do this time?
Chapter Twelve: In which you practice your disguise
Jing Yuan: Let's play two truths one lie. I'll start.
Jing Yuan: My best friend was killed, my master went insane, and my eyes are yellow!
Reader, nervously: I don't like this game.
Chapter Thirteen: In which an infiltration goes south
Reader: So, what, now I’m just supposed to do anything that Jing Yuan does? I mean, what if he jumped off a cliff?
Fu Xuan: If Jing Yuan were to jump off a cliff, he would’ve done his due diligence regarding the height of the cliff, the depth of the water, and the angle of entry, so yes. If you see Jing Yuan jump off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff.
Reader: You jump off a cliff!
Fu Xuan: Gladly. Provided Jing Yuan did first.
Jing Yuan: I think we're missing something.
Yanqing: Teamwork?
Fu Xuan: Cohesion?
Reader: A general sense of what we’re doing?
Reader, talking to Dan Shu about Jing Yuan: I mean, yeah, he's clearly mentally ill. But you gotta admit it's a little charming watching him walk around pretending like he's not.
Jing Yuan, talking about Reader to Jingliu: I mean, yeah, they're clearly mentally ill. But you gotta admit it's a little charming watching them walk around pretending like they're not.
Yanqing, through text: *sending a voice recording*
Reader, texting: I can't listen to it now, is it urgent?
Yanqing, texting back: No, play it when you can
*later*
Reader: *playing the recording*
Yanqing, in the voice recording: THERE'S A FIRE--
Reader: You know what? Let’s give it a go. What’s the worst that could happen?
Phantylia: Humiliation, embarrassment, fire, explosions, collisions, tears, nudity and death.
Chapter Fourteen: In which you do a lot of thinking
Reader: Jing Yuan, does it ever seem to you that everything just feels... wrong? Like you're living in a nightmare?
Jing Yuan: I’m okay. I just have trouble breathing sometimes and I wake up screaming
Reader:
Jing Yuan: I’m fine, Reader. I know tons of people who cry out of nowhere.
Jing Yuan: On the scale of 1-10, how annoyed with me you are right now?
Reader: 8
Jing Yuan: I can do better than that.
Chapter Fifteen: In which Yanqing’s cold worsens
Yanqing: My head hurts.
Fu Xuan: That’s your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.
Reader: Fu Xuan, you need to react when people cry!
Fu Xuan: I did. I rolled my eyes.
Yanqing: I wanna be like you when I grow up.
Reader, panicking and confused: Umm... thanks? But please reconsider.
Chapter Sixteen: In which a flying ship moves under the sea
Jing Yuan: I will now exorcise this room to get rid of all the demons and evil spirits.
Yanqing: *clutching Reader tightly* No please, they’re family!
Reader: I hate both of you.
Reader: I’m going to take you out.
Jing Yuan: Great, it’s a date!
Reader: I meant that as a threat.
Jing Yuan: See you at five!
Fu Xuan: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room.
Reader: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you.
Jing Yuan: *walks into the room*
Reader: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know.
Chapter Seventeen: In which there are more unexpected encounters
Reader: Tingyun was annoying, she almost triggered my fight or fight response.
Fu Xuan: You mean fight or flight?
Reader: No, I mean fight or fight. I'm not a bird, Fu Xuan
Reader: So, what’s Jing Yuan’s type?
Fu Xuan: Fox ears, kind, oblivious, good at cooking, under a curse.
Reader: Sounds kind of like me. Too bad we’re just friends.
Fu Xuan: Did I mention oblivious?
Reader: Yeah, why?
Fu Xuan: Nothing, just making sure.
Chapter Eighteen: In which you express your feelings with hot tea (among other things)
Jing Yuan: Once I figure out how to undoom them from the narrative the wedding is BACK ON
Bailu to Reader: GIRL (gn) you are KILLING IT!
Bailu:
Bailu: GIRL I don't think it's MOVING ANYMORE
Bailu: GIRL you can STOP THROWING TEA
Bailu, banging on the door: Reader! Open up!
Reader: Well, it all started when I was a kid...
Fu Xuan: No, she meant--
Bailu: Let them finish.
Reader: I prevented a murder today
Bailu: Oh, that’s nice! How?
Reader: Self control
Bailu: Idk man… does he make your heart beat faster?
Reader: I have anxiety, everything makes my heart beat faster
Chapter Nineteen: In which many long stories come together
Bailu: Where’s Reader?
Jing Yuan, sighing: They went to go fight everyone who has hurt me.
Bailu: Oh no, who first?
Jing Yuan: Themself. They’ve been yelling at the mirror for the past hour
Reader: You’re smiling. What happened?
Fu Xuan: What? Can’t I smile just because I feel like it?
Yanqing: Shifu tripped and fell down the stairs today.
Jing Yuan: I wanna sleep for 40 hours
Reader: You know that's called a coma, right?
Jing Yuan:
Jing Yuan: That sounds so refreshing, I could totally go for a light coma right now
Reader: *makes Jing Yuan a cup of tea but accidentally curses it*
Jing Yuan: *sips tea*
Reader:
Jing Yuan: *finishes tea*
Reader: Didn't it taste bad?
Jing Yuan: Yeah, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all.
Reader, tearing up: Oh, okay.
Reader: What was that noise?
Jing Yuan: My shirt fell
Reader: It sounded louder than that
Jing Yuan: I was in it
Reader: Nothing anyone can say would make me cry
Yukong: Nothing bad that’s happened to you, or anyone close to you, is your fault
Reader:
Reader: Excuse me for one se
Yanqing: Are you okay?
Reader, crying: Yeah, it was just the onions.
Yanqing: *picks up an onion* What the frick did you say to them??? (Jing Yuan doesn't allow him to swear)
Jing Yuan: *gets down on one knee*
Fu Xuan, looking at Reader: Oh my Aeons, it’s finally happening.
Jing Yuan: *falls over*
Fu Xuan: The poison is kicking in.
Phantylia: I have your child
Reader: Which one?
Phantylia: The annoying one who won’t shut up
Reader: Which one?
Chapter Twenty: In which a contract is concluded
(After Reader returns to the Seat of Divine Foresight with Jing Yuan)
Yanqing: Wow, you're so brave! You didn't even hesitate to throw yourself in danger!
Reader: That's because I have no regard for my own personal safety. You can ask Jing Yuan
Jing Yuan: I have never been more stressed in my entire life
Mimi: *nods in agreement*
Phantylia: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 million strales?
Fu Xuan: You stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass ship.
Jing Yuan: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 million.
Fu Xuan: Good thinking.
Chapter Twenty-One: In which a curse is lifted
Reader: Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night?
Jing Yuan: It was autocorrect
Reader: Autocorrect wrote "you're so hot please step on me"?
Jing Yuan: Yes
Fu Xuan, redecorating the ship: And if you have any suggestions feel free to put them in the suggestion box.
Yanqing: But – that’s just a trash can.
Fu Xuan: It sure is!
Fu Xuan: The real treasure was the memories we made along the way.
Reader: Jing Yuan almost died.
Fu Xuan: That... was my favourite memory.
Jing Yuan: Phantylia, my old arch-enemy.
Phantylia: ...I thought I am your arch enemy?
Jing Yuan: I have a life outside of you, Phantylia.
Fu Xuan, at Jing Yuan's funeral: I need a moment with them.
Everyone else at the funeral: Of course. *leaves*
Fu Xuan, leaning over Jing Yuan's coffin: Okay, listen here you little shit. I know you’re not dead.
Jing Yuan, sitting up in the coffin: Yeah, no shit
Jing Yuan: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives
Reader: I wake up at 4:30AM everyday
Jing Yuan:
Jing Yuan: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives
Bailu: I'm sorry but we can only allow family in to see him at this point
Reader: Bold of you to assume I won't legally adopt him right now
Yanqing, half asleep inside the hospital room: You tell 'em
Reader: You deserve a reward for putting up with me.
Jing Yuan: *smiles* You are my reward.
Reader:
Reader: *starts sobbing*
Fu Xuan: You deserve a reward for putting up with me.
Yanqing: Yeah, you’re a real beeatch sometimes.
Yanqing: *accidentally kills someone* Oh geez.
Yanqing: *Kills a cockroach* Holy moly!
Yanqing: *escapes a near death experience* Okie Dokie that was intense.
Fu Xuan: Just say “fuck” for the love of the Arbiter!
Yanqing:
Yanqing: Fudge.
Miscellaneous:
Reader: I’m gonna need a human skull and I can't have you ask any questions why.
Fu Xuan: Only if you also don't ask why
Fu Xuan: *Pulls out 7 pristine human skulls* Take your pick.
Reader:
Fu Xuan:
Reader: This one is fine
Reader: Why is Jing Yuan coming out of a prison cell?
Yanqing: Jing Yuan why were you arrested?
Jing Yuan: I was arrested for being too cool.
Fu Xuan: *smirking* The charges were dropped due to a lack of evidence.
Yanqing: What is it called when you kill a friend?
Fu Xuan: Homicide.
Reader: Murder.
Jing Yuan: Homiecide.
Fu Xuan: I hate when kids scream in public...
Fu Xuan: You don't have real problems.
Fu Xuan: It should be me screaming.
Fu Xuan: ME!
Reader, texting Jing Yuan: Text me when you’re home safely.
Jing Yuan: I’m home dangerously.
Reader: Stop it.
Jing Yuan: I’m home lethally.
Reader: I can’t believe we're locked in this room together
Jing Yuan, throwing the key out of the window: Truly unfortunate
Yanqing: *walking around disappointed after visiting an aquarium*
Jing Yuan: Yanqing, what did you think a tiger shark was?
*at a zoo in China*
Yanqing: What are they in for?
Jing Yuan: This isn't prison.
Yanqing: So they can leave?
Jing Yuan: No, but--
Yanqing, pointing at a meerkat: I bet that one murdered someone.
Fu Xuan: I’m not mean, name one mean thing I’ve ever done
Yanqing: When I first came to the ship, you convinced me eggs weren't real
Fu Xuan: They're not
Yanqing: Haha, very funny
Fu Xuan: I’m serious! Didn’t you hear?
Yanqing: No... what happened?
Fu Xuan: *looks into camera*
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
If anyone has any more ideas, let me know and I can add them to this post!
He remembers the first moment of his creation; in this, he was already set apart from all other living creatures. There was darkness, and then there was light. Torn from the dark and thoughtless reverie of oblivion, a sudden, blinding light, which gradually coalesced into distinct forms before his eyes.
He remembers, vaguely, the face of his creator—no, his mother. Hardness written into the lines of her mouth, he recalls, and steel in her eyes. There was extension and dimension, and new appendages, appendages attached to veins attached to him attached to wires and humming tubes of golden blood. There is a memory of warmth—the fleeting touch of a hand placed upon his shoulder in the first and only gesture of affection his creator would grant him—and words, the first words he ever heard spoken: “It is a success.”
He had not yet existed in the world for a second when he was overwhelmed by it, a faulty vessel unable to withstand the weight it was designed to hold. The newness of sensation and the assault of the world on his senses broke over him like a wave. Birth is the ultimate violation, through which one is thrust against their will into an existence which inevitably begets suffering. Human infants wail in the face of such violent confusion; he but slipped silently back into oblivion.
Darkness, then light, then darkness again. The capsule of an entire lifetime.
Hi, I drew fanart for your Kitsune Heizou a while ago and I’m back with stuff for Vampire Heizou!
I tried to look for a Japanese equivalent to a vampire but couldn’t find any, so I figured I’d keep his design similar enough to in-game…Anyways I’m not experienced with comic stuff so this helped me practice, I hope you like it!
OU MY GOD?? THIS IS SO COOL??? The comic panel at the end is insane. The lighting, the close-up, and the way you referenced his in-game pose… omgzjdorvskskf. It’s so so so so cool. Thank you so much for drawing it! (I also remember that kitsune!Heizou fanart which was banger as well)
I’ve actually been thinking of my own design for him, too, which I might post at some point — it’s really funny because I also had the collar layered the opposite way to show he’s dead!
Also a mini side-note but I really love how you draw his hair
When you find the maroon-furred fox, it is dark, but not yet dark enough to hide the divine blood crusting the mouth of the metal trap in red.
The traps are new, recently imported from across the sea, with hard steel teeth and a spring mechanism strong enough to bite through bone: a far cry from the bait-and-netting strategy your village still uses. You do not agree with the method, but it yields results, and from what you have heard, prey is harder to come by these days. Nevertheless, to set these traps on the outskirts of Chinju Forest strikes you as particularly negligent—the work of either a fool or a threat.
The fox lies with its back leg ensnared in the metal jaws. You approach with trepidation, creeping towards it through the shaded underbrush. Cricketsong chirrs around you; mosquitos whine past your ears as you approach. A twig snags on the hem of your sleeve. Carefully, you release it, and carry on.
The fox’s eyes snap open and land on you. Their colour is a striking green, like budding leaves in spring. Its look is almost electric. You feel a shock slam through your body, paralysing you as would a lightning strike. Whatever you are nearing, it is of power far surpassing that which you normally find here. You hesitate for a moment longer before advancing further. You are, after all, no stranger to the mystical forces which govern these woods.
You kneel down in the grass and place your hands on the trap. (You will have to find some way to wash your hakama before the new sun rises—but that is a concern for when you return to the shrine.) To no avail, you try to prise the teeth apart. The mechanism is too strong, and your fingers slip on the blood. The fox watches you, unmoving and silent, as the red stains creep further into the grass. From the half-dried appearance of the blood, and keeping in mind the humidity of summer, you surmise it must have been no more than a few hours since the fox was caught. Strange, then, that no flies have come to feed from it.
You search the forest floor for something you can use to assist your effort. Twigs and stones litter the ground in abundance, either too thin or too small to be of any advantage. Wandering a little further away, you find a branch of aralia lying beside a tanuki statue, fallen from one of the trees overhead. You bow your head to the statue before you take the branch back to the fox, and the trap.
You insert the end of the stick into the crack between the metal teeth and push. The trap opens, by a sliver. You push harder. The gap widens, inch by reluctant inch, until there is room for the fox to remove its mangled leg. With a quiet yelp, it wriggles free of the trap and limps away a few paces. You let go. The jaws snap back into place.
The fox stops and fixes you with a stare. Intelligence flashes in its eyes, bright as lanterns. You draw in a breath in spite of yourself. Now that it is no longer caught in the trap, the severity of the fox’s injury is more evident. White bone pokes through glistening sinew and muscle on the lower part of its back leg, bent at unnatural angles where it is not crushed altogether. If left untended to, an infection may very well end the fox’s life where starvation in the trap has not.
You mean to treat it somehow—take the fox back to the shrine, perhaps, or fetch medical supplies from elsewhere—but the animal starts the moment you take another step forwards, springing away into the underbrush in a streak of maroon before you can close the distance any further.
It is getting late. You hurry back to Grand Narukami Shrine before the night can grow any deeper. On the way, you stop at one of the many Inari shrines built beside the mountain path, and make a prayer and an offering of incense. May the goddess take good care of her servant, you think as you lay your smoking incense stick in the bowl.
You remove your geta sandals before slipping into the sleeping quarters of the Narukami Shrine complex. Treading softly on the edges of your feet so as not to disturb anyone, you slide the fusuma shut behind you with a soft click and pad further into the room. Nobody stirs when you wash and wring out your hakama above the wooden washbasin, nor when you undress and join your fellow miko on your futon at the edge of the tatami mats.
As you fall asleep that night, an image remains stuck in your mind: a pair of eyes, the colour of leaves in spring.
——————
The next morning, you find a young man waiting outside your sleeping quarters. You have risen early, before the others wake, and dressed under the shelter of darkness. It is not that you are unable to clothe in the presence of others, but rather a distinct preference of yours which has grown habitual over time. When you step outside, ready to begin your morning by sweeping the floors of the main shrine, you see him. You are certain you have never met before, but he strikes you as strangely familiar.
The man wears a dark brown haori tied around his waist, at once lending him a decided air of unkemptness. His hair, tousled and unshaven, is the same shade of burgundy as the coat of that fox from last night, and his eyes are a striking green, each marked beneath by a dark dot. There is an off-balance in his stance which you initially put down to his laid-back posture—but on closer examination, it seems he is avoiding placing weight on one side of his body. Your eyes trail down to his left leg, where they land on a streak of stained bandage which pokes out from beneath his hakama.
You stoop into a low bow. “You are very welcome at the Grand Narukami Shrine. Please, why have you come here?”
“A kitsune always returns a favour,” the young man answers, shrugging, “and you saved my life last night. In turn, I’m indebted to you.”
“Indebted how?” you ask.
“To ensure your safety and longevity. You can think of me as a kind of guardian spirit, if that helps.”
“Very well.” You consider this development briefly. Certainly you had not expected to gain the favour of a divine spirit when you snuck out last night, but neither is it an unwelcome surprise. Although… you do not know precisely what the guardianship of such a spirit entails. How much privacy you will have, for instance. You place these thoughts aside and decide to focus on what is in front of you first. “If you are to act as my guardian,” you say, “then please, what may I call you?”
“Just ‘Heizou’ is fine,” he replies.
You smile at the spirit’s evident sense of humour. “Your joke is amusing, but I’m afraid I cannot refer to you so crudely.”
The man frowns and tips his head to the side in an animal-like fashion. His green eyes are sharp, like sparkling knives. “A joke? Human ‘jokes’ are told for the purpose of entertainment, yes?” When you affirm his conjecture, he says, “Then no, that wasn’t a joke.”
You stare at the spirit in front of you, hiding perplexity beneath your unfettered expression. “But to refer to you by your first name alone… only those closest to each other do such a thing. I cannot call upon a divine spirit in the same way I would an old friend.”
He tips his head now towards the other side. “Why not?”
“It is disrespectful towards you.”
“Who says it’s disrespectful?”
You frown. “It’s tradition, the way our business is conducted. Respect must be given wherever respect is owed, and you are the servant of a kami.”
A smirk lifts the corner of his lip and reveals the flash of a pointed canine. “And this ‘tradition’ of yours is why a shrine maiden was creeping around the spirit-riddled forest at night all by herself?”
You wince a little behind your uniform mask, not only because his point is fair. The white kosode around your torso constricts for a moment. He may have been the one in the hunting trap, but at this moment, you feel like the one caught between metal jaws.
It is only for a moment that you falter. You soon collect yourself and maintain calmly, “If you are here because I saved your life, surely you are able to tell me your name in return.”
Something in the kitsune’s expression has changed. That intelligent green glint in his eyes surfaces again, sharpened further with keen interest, and he observes you in so calculating a manner that you cannot help but feel you let something slip which you should not have. A twitch of his vulpine ears reminds you how far removed from human this being is, despite his outward appearance.
After an enduring moment of scrutiny, he gives in. You find yourself thankful that his eyes shift away from you to somewhere in the distance. “Aiyaya, humans are such stubborn creatures, aren’t they?” he says at last, sighing exaggeratedly. “But fine, fine. I suppose the name Shikanoin would be more acceptable to you, wouldn’t it?”
“Shikanoin-sama,” you begin, bowing towards him once again, “I am grateful for your presence, but may I ask how long you plan to stay here?”
The kitsune, Shikanoin, looks at you like the answer is obvious. “The rest of your life, of course.”
