#DYN ♥ Naraku

[cryopathiic]

'did any of this matter to you?'

angst prompts || no longer accepting

TIME FREEZES WITH THOSE WORDS; platinum locks fall softly back into place mid-bounce and the rime slowly settles around Upper Two like snow mellowing after the blizzard. A thin crystallic sheen glosses over his perplexed gaze as he takes in sight of his opponent; beaten bloody, within an inch of his existence in this sadistically prolonged fight. Naraku gargles a sardonic laugh and Dōma swears he can taste the bitterness in the air around them.

And he can't help himself. The fans lower. A second time he's caught in that man's web — somehow the former Kizuki always has the right words to lure him in. And it's frustrating.

Behind them, the ice children lament the sound of their own crackling as Upper Two's blood art begins to run amock with the oncoming surge of emotion. That flutter in his chest that he has yet to settle with — the one Master keeps insisting is just poison seeping into his system. Kill it, Muzan-sama insists. And he must know something, right? He's a thousand years old, so he must know something.

DON'T ENGAGE WITH HIM. KEEP FIGHTING.

But Dōma's expression only darkens; and stills into a deadpan he so rarely dons. It's not one of his prettier masks, the smiling, kind ones he usually prefers. And once again Muzan's rich cadence becomes a distant echo and Dōma enters that space — the one his former colleague introduced him to. A realm where colors look brighter and sounds ring louder; where life feels more vivid. Just like it had when they first —

❝ Naraku. ❞ He begins calmly, as if they were to start a civil discussion about it. But Dōma can't help the crescendo, no matter how adamantly he drags the words between his teeth.

❝ How ... could you ever ask me that ... after you ruined my life ?! ❞

A step forward taken in tandem with the accusatory finger pointed in his adversary's ravaged face. Venom drips from its skeletal maw and sizzles on the frost-glazed ground. Upper Two's hands motion wildly as he begins to count his woes — urged by a pressure between his lungs that has only been building ever since his companion left. And now it feels like if he doesn't let it out, he might implode!

❝ I... I've lost everything because of you! Master's favor, I—I've lost my appetite, I'm losing my mind day by day and I— ugh! Do you even realize how agonizing that is, Nara? Watching myself go mad in that place, day by the day, when I know I've got a whole eternity ahead of me, and- and that's a long time to be going insane, Naraku! That's a really, really long time! ❞ For once he chooses to ride the wave; throws his hands up in frustration, lets his fingers curl and teeth show and eyes widen in a way that's far from flattering. It only grows worse when a realization hits — in that moment, he forgets all about the blood bond, all about his place and task there, overwhelmed by a thought that he has not dared speak to anyone else; not even himself.

❝ And the worst part of it is I don't think Master is going to kill me. I'm worried that he might— he might let me live like this! ❞

His voice cracks and that alerts him to the reality of their situation.

The shattered creations, the flowers growing on the walls like a parasite enveloping this woman's lab from the inside — the way his nails have dug into his own palms and more lotus blossoms spawn on the ground around him. His hoarfrost is moving on its own accord, spreading Naraku's way — is ... is he longing to be ... near that wretch? To hear something comforting from lips that were made to spew nothing but poison?

No. It can't be. Subconsciously, his hand hovers to feel the bloodstained crown that suddenly feels so heavy on his neck. For a moment, Dōma lingers amidst the frigid chaos, visibly disoriented. Naraku stands there with an expression he can't quite decipher and it feels as though he is the only piece of direction in the room. The only thing he can recognize is the smell of his poison. He squishes his eyes shut.

❝ ... It... I suppose... it doesn't matter. What's done is done now. I realized that I can't change what you have done to me. You infected me when you gave me a piece of your humanity to hold. I suppose I should be thanking you for that experience. ❞ There was a note of sarcasm. Once, he had let the confession slip past his lips while sharing a cup of warm blood with Upper Three in the outback teahouse. 'I wonder what it feels like for them. Naraku? Do you think a demon like me could ever... experience that?' Inadvertedly his memory recreates the scene - the way a tender breeze had stroked through Nara's tendrils and the soft curves of his face as it contorted in an unnatural expression. A smile. So warm and inviting, just like that woman.

The smile of someone who sees you. And not just what they wish to see.

Now he didn't want to let his mind wander to the thought; but he still heard it, reverberated in his head by some voice that was neither Muzan's nor his own. Naraku had listened. He was the only one who had listened and knew of Dōma's most treasured secret; that he longed to feel in the way humans did. He longed to live the lives he had spent so long watching from his pedestal. A God who wished to laugh, to cry, to love and hate like a mortal.

How... utterly disgusting to admit for himself.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head.

❝ But instead, I think I'm just going to kill you. Then Master will be pleased again and this farce can come to an end. And, well, because killing you might make me feel better! ❞

[cryopathiic]

'we were a mistake.'

angst prompts || accepting ( 4 /5 )

SURROUNDED BY ENDLESS INTERTWINING bridges, the ponds allude to an endless expanse that borders on infinity itself. The deeper in their maze one ventures, the more each spot resembles the one before it; and the one after it is just as treacherous. A starless sky and glorious moon paint the background of a heated exchange. The tone between the two demons is harsh and bitter, a stark contrast to the serenity of the beauty surrounding them.

A few seconds ago even he had been boasting and giggling — treating Naraku's plan as if it were a bad joke. And where Dōma's hands had been bracing to send a freezing net forth and stop the deviant as ordered, he now stands still as a jade statue. His reflection ripples as a toad bounces from one lily pad to another and for a moment the gaping maw within it resembled something less of a smile — no, it was no play of the light, no cheeky trick from the water's surface. Naraku would be wise to trust his eyes this once -- as the expression on Upper Two's face contorted into something less than perfect.

He begun to shake his head slowly.

❝ ... no. No, you don't mean that. ❞ Dōma's lip quivered lightly over the words. The pout he wore wrinkled his chin in an unflattering manner. He almost made that step closer; his eyelids begun to flicker moisture away. The weapons in his grip were languidly folded and lowered in front of his hips. The more he saw Naraku through wet eyes, the more every thought in his head gave way to a singular one; the image of his friend taking back those words. 'Sorry, I did not mean it', his lips would say; in a softer tone, a placating one. Dōma would prance to him for a hug. It would all be solved; Muzan-sama would forget about this unfortunate incident soon enough, what with all his memory issues. And it would all go back to the way it was before.

'We were a mistake.'

❝ No. It's-- You c-can't. ❞

'KILL HIM. NOW, UPPER TWO.

It's only a distant reverberation. Such is the power of that thought that Dōma can't hear anything else but Naraku's voice telling him it's going to go back to that way. No one has to die. No difficult choice has to be made. And yet, against all instincts, he speaks his mind. The Lord's most devout priest indulges a most visceral vice — he allows himself to feel the comfort of a pure touch and the warmth of an intimate joke, the feeling of knowing what another's happiness looks like and yet wanting naught more than to make it your secret. Every memory of what they shared in the last century flashes before his eyes. And the short lived elation of that revelation ( ' I felt it! It was real! ' ) is soon followed by a sharp pang in his chest.

❝ You can't— You can't tell me this was a mistake, because this-- if this was a mistake then, then wha'— ❞ His breath begun to pick up - and it was not pretty. Not with the way his shoulders heaved rhythmically with each hiccup, not with the way his eyes darted to the side and the whites within them showed.

He feels something land on the back of his hand. And when he brings it up to witness it ... it's a tear.

For a moment, the demon merely watches it reflect the moon's perfect glow on its crystalline surface. When was the last time he had experienced something like this? A pain so true that it gave him something to live for.

Claws curled into his skin as he begun to grip his own chest; a breath held too long rattling out of him as he sunk down to his knees. Like some tremendous weight was pulling him to the floor, an anchor tied to his neck. And he stayed there, squeezing those agonizing breaths out against the wood. The frigid beauties born with the intent to stop Upper Three's exit begun to weep - silently, yet each motion left a soft echo of chimes as the ice beat into itself. They grabbed their wispy hair and swayed their heads, in deep mourning. And so there's no longer a wall of freezing air between Naraku and his freedom. As the second moon lay quivering in shock, curled up on the floor like some motherless infant, he would be free to walk away.

DŌMA.

It was Muzan's voice, he knew; but that was the time it fell into deaf ears.