The smoke had cleared, for the most part. The Kishin's wavelength had been plenty strong enough to cover the world on its own, aimed and controlled through the Moral Manipulation Machine, using it to turn the world to Arachne's goals--and against Death--had been pathetically easy. Oh the Reaper was still around of course. He and those few who had remained loyal to him held out still, offering opposition and trying to 'help' the world find it's way back to normal. Poor fools. They didn't know when to admit it was over. There was no going back. Madness was the new normal, and Arachne its queen.
How much of this Asura was capable of thinking through at any given point was debatable. Sometimes, it almost seemed the fog within his mind lifted, allowing him to form full thoughts, and regain himself. The moment he thought he had risen above the muddle in his mind however, he would find himself curled up in her lap once more, grinning and clinging to her, no memory of what had happened in the time between.
It was maddening, and not in the good way. Asura wondered sometimes if, as they laid together, she could see the occasional sparks of himself in his eyes, and if she noticed they were growing more frequent.
800 years is a very long time. Asura's mind had been damaged almost beyond repair from the pain and never-ending solitude. The brief moment of clarity he had experienced while fighting Death upon his escape had been short lived--merely a survival instinct?--and he was little more than a wild animal. In his more lucid moments, he was ashamed. Had he drooled? Disgusting. He was a god. A general. The most powerful being to ever walk the earth, and he couldn't even gain control of his own mind and body.
The thoughts spiraled through his mind, clenching his fist in anger and self-hatred as he thought of how low he had fallen. It took a moment to notice his hand was not empty. A handful of her dress, the warm, comforting presence that muttered soothing words to him to chase away his fear. The condescending, arrogant woman that thought she could keep the Kishin as a pet. He wanted to look up, to let her see that he was not something to be used and coddled, that he was, but he could already feel the lucidity fading. Trying to grasp it was useless. Back to the oblivion of his mind he drifted, sent away with the soft sound of her voice and the feeling of her fingers brushing hypnotically through his hair.
Soon, soon he would find himself. He would find a way above the confusion in his mind, and be something more than a mindless monster again. And when he did, he would rid himself of the strange constricting feeling that gripped his soul whenever he thought of her.
