o Hikari o
Member
Chapter 1:
They called him darkness. They called him a shadow without breath or depth.
Silently moving, menacingly equipped, sinister as it devoured everything in its path. Some called him devil but most knew him by one name...
The abyss had claimed him, and so it was said, to fill the void all things were brought unto himself.
It was those nights when he was about. The days when the moon appeared blood red, and screams erupted from barren alleys through out the night. And the sound of flesh ground by unholy teeth, sent chills down even the hardest of spines. Following such nights blood would stain the alleys for days, and even in broad daylight there was never a time the predators didn't fear.
Once, the thirteenth ward had been branded a most dangerous place. Branded by human and ghoul alike. A place inhospitable to those without strength.
Now that was only the case for ghouls...humans lived safely and in abundance. It was ghouls who now had to hide as fugitives, who died by the dozens at the hand of one man.
You will know him by the eyes that are not quite human. You will know him by the hair that mirrors a raven's wing. And the tar black coat that shields his form and a single red iris, glowing in the dark.
He is the Nightmare blessed by the Reaper. The plague that sweeps in until naught but decay is left. The past knew him as 'Centipede'; the kind that coil, the kind that poison,the kind that stab their victims to death. Now, he is known as the 'King' of the Underworld.
Now they call him...Abyss.
All That Remains, Is a Ghost
"They're already dead, Kaneki sir."
"..."
"Sir..?"
"..."
"Kaneki-!"
It startled him, the plaintive sound; Beckoning, alarmed, and fearful in its repetition. Cutting through the haze of awareness that sought only to consume its prize, his meal was interrupted, even though he had certainly earned it.
But that was to be expected, when you were shadowed by little birds; greenhorns who fretted over everything and didn't understand, 'couldn't' understand, what it meant to live as a ghoul. This team of his, powerful as they were, he found annoying to the nth degree. A failed psych evaluation was at fault, his punishment to now mentor a group of exceptional CCG graduates. The psychotherapist said it would help him get in touch with his inner nurturer. In hindsight the outcome might have been better, if he hadn't laughed in the man's face at the suggestion.
He was suffering from emotional apathy he said and thus the brats were put in his care. He had taken it all in stride when they finally arrived, but made it painfully clear he would not be saving any of them; they were baggage anyhow.
Relenting to the calls by his underlings, the special class investigator sighed, turning from the pile of dismembered limbs and entrails, set like a grand feast before him, scarlet streams seeping from the organs, almost black against the dark asphalt of the alley. A crimson iris fell upon the three standing at a distance, clad in black like himself, lit like angels, by the street lights above.
"What." he snapped, facing them fully now, not having stained his pale mouth with even a single drop of blood.
"W-we think... y-you've had enough."
"I don't know what you're talking about." The King's expression was mischievous, deviously handsome as he smiled an empty smile. The gruesome scene that unfolded minutes before them was something they likely would never see again. An arena of dilapidated brick and mortar buildings, flanked them on both sides; Many windows to such dwellings were boarded shut with nails and planks. Darkness fell over without a star to be seen and the air carried a stench that could only be sewage and flesh. Yes, he meant to break them. To drown their pristine pallets in disgust and fear. Until they ran back to the Commission with their tails between their legs, and he was a lone wolf, once more.
As it stood however, they were tougher than he thought, and he could only turn the gruesome factor up so much. If he was rumored to be out of control, then Arima would come after him, and though, at this age, he was more than capable of holding his own, he preferred having the man as an ally. Having the stoic father who would knock you senseless if you misbehaved, but would also destroy anyone who meant to kill you...was convenient.
"You've had enough to eat, Kaneki-san. If you continue we'll have to make 'the call'. "-The next voice he heard was the one he hated the most. It was painfully soft; and reminded him of a certain person he had long since broken contact with. "According to the dietary index for human ghoul hybrids, your flesh intake should not exceed 11 RnCs in a 24 hour period."
...
"Damn goody two shoe brats. I'll eat you all one day." The investigator growled softly, rolling his eyes as the three hooded investigators, made quiet fist bumps and exchanged looks of relief. Ordinarily he would have pressed the issue, maybe even try to intimidate them. But then, Shoryu would cry and Shion would challenge him to a fight, and then Shuu would give him that 'Are you a child?' look he hated so much. Gore and entrails left where they were, he walked past them in the narrow space, stopping under the light and onto concrete sidewalk, looking up and down the empty stretch of abandoned road. With the coast clear, he reached into his pocket, retrieving a worn out cell phone. "Investigator Kaneki reporting to HQ. The last of M7's accomplices have been taken care of. Requesting Sanitation Units and Forensics at once."
The team would arrive in an hour or less; but he wouldn't be waiting around. His job was done for the moment. There was nothing else left.
The three individuals stood at a distance, watching as something very bothersome took place in their leader. It always happened after an assignment was complete. The eyes once burning with determination and a steel like precision would gloss over, the limbs once tense and alive with energy, would slump and become lethargic. Kaneki the man would become Kaneki the ghost. A being with unparalleled power, having nothing to live for, nothing to fight for...waiting, to die. Shoryu, Shion, and Shuu, watched the transformation with broken hearts. So far their attempts to bring him into the light of society, had failed. Invitations to dinner were declined, attempts to confront him resulted in fights, and it wasn't as if they could outsmart the man.
"Don't die before tomorrow." Kaneki ordered suddenly, fixing them all with a level stare that roused them from their silent vigil. "You have training in the morning, and anyone late runs laps for three hours straight."
"Yes, sir!" The three bowed low, lingering in position for several moments. The man, though a shell, was worthy of their respect and admiration. He got on their nerves and sometimes scared the hell out of them...but he was their captain and, in his own way, showed he cared. Each hoped sincerely that one day the ghoul would become whole. But was there any way? Was there anyone who could do it?
-All was silent once the young doves departed, leaving the man to do what he always did. Stand there, in the darkness, alone, waiting for what, only he knew. After twenty minutes of this stone still repose, he exhaled softly, chiseled muscles tensing as he pushed off on the ground and took to the roof tops.-The wind was pleasant, despite the many scents it brought with it, giving him more information than he really cared for. You always knew when you arrived closer towards civilization, because the people smelled better, and barely held the scent of fear.
An unknown shadow gliding pass the masses unaware, he made easy work of the varying heights and terrains. This was quickly becoming a hobby of his; this late night sojourn.
The epitome of wealthy living, a high rise of lavish proportions came into view, its windows numbering in the dozens, casting light from within. Coated in reflective paneling, it mirrored the city's lights and signage, the entrance embellished with velvet carpeting, a long awning leading to glass doors. This dwelling was the place he called home, preferring to dwell in places most couldn't afford. This was for but a simple reason; Rich people minded their own business, and rarely, unless prompted, tried to play 'friendly neighbors'. Security did their job and left it at that...no one tried to get close and that was just how he liked it. Entering the building, his steps were silent against the marble floor, his destination, the elevator, and finally to the spacious apartment that was his own. He would never admit he actually liked the upscale home.
Little was the sense of presence as he opened the door, no discerning photos or signs of personal style to be seen. If there was anything like himself in the place, it would be the mini barista station he'd custom installed; For those Anteiku like brews he longed for at times. And several shelves of books, growing in quantity every month. Locking the door was a ritual he hadn't adopted like most, For there was nothing for him to be afraid of...he could kill whatever came wandering in, even in his sleep. The dark trench, boots and shirt, were abandoned in the hallway, then his socks, then pants until he was all but fully exposed. He preferred the scent of other ghouls not lingering in his sanctuary. Attuned to the cadence of silence, he washed his hands thoroughly in the kitchen sink, drying it on a clothe towel someone had given him as a house warming gift. And then it was time to play 'barista', a thing he did well in his near 'birthday suit' attire.
In no time at all, roasted beans would be filling his cup. The silken mixture, scalding to some, the perfect temperature for his calloused throat. When nursing his evening coffee, he often bathed in the deafening quiet...but sometimes, on certain days, like today, He'd think about other things...things he desired but didn't believe in enough to grasp. Things like 'peace', things like 'sleep', things like 'happiness'. At this point, he wasn't quite sure what they looked like in him; There were so many doors he'd locked in his heart...and somewhere along the line he had lost the key.
As the last drop of his liquid relaxant faded, he exhaled slowly, and with it, the tension in his muscles released. Bath time was next on the agenda, and something he put more thought into than any other mundane thing. He liked only certain shampoos; one with lemongrass for the moment. He also liked a lot of bubbles, to wash away the sweat and grime and scents of others. His favorite was a woody herbal wash. He spent at least an hour and a half on bathing each day.
Wet prints would be tracked through the hallway, as he headed for the master bedroom, a cloud of earthy, alluring scents, wafting in the air from the shower's steam. Plain was the room he called his own; the only noticeable features being books, a weathered journal, and some out of place head phones. The head phones were rather silly, an obnoxious orange and yellow he couldn't help but grimace at sometimes...not to mention they were cracked in places, the wires torn, an utterly useless piece of junk. And yet, the special class king could not part with them, was bound to have them stand vigilant on his night stand as he slept. A scent lingered on the tattered item, a presence of ownership and the owner he had once loved as his best friend, as his brother...and now...as something he couldn't quite identify...almost tangible, soothing, as he closed his eyes.
The strange ritual always began after a thorough cleansing, his eyes listless as slender fingers held the object like a prize. Placing them over his ears he sighed, closing them to the room clothed in shadow...
"Kaneki..." -He could hear his voice now; Light and airy, free and uninhibited. "I found a new arcade...wanna go?"
It haunted him. In the throes of his quiet madness beckoned him, a silent seduction brought on by putting the foreign device over his ears. Banishing him from the autonomous reality and into his memories Kaneki swam, hearing the man whose voice had become a balm for his empty self. "Hide..." Leaving his lips like a prayer "Hide..." The only comfort to lull him to sleep "Hide..."
There was solace in the name...but there was also pain. For he had killed him...hadn't he? Had torn him limb from limb to gain the nourishment to survive, had woken only with the sweetness of bloody bliss, staining the roof of his mouth; The only proof of the devilish act made unawares. For if Hide were alive, surely he'd be with him?
If there was anyone that might turn the Abyss towards himself once more, might rouse the man now only known as the underworld's king, it would have been that soul, that one alone. And so he found himself in a sleep both feverish and comforting...longing for someone he could never again touch, willingly taking the torment to atone for all he had done.