CW: Explicit language, violence.
“You wanted to see me?”
Rin approaches Dasom’s grave, where the Faceless Devil stands, tall and regal with his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Despite his dull earth-tone robe, he exudes gravitas and regality, appearing like a lord surveying the great expanse of his land.
Today, the Devil wears a face that is youthful and bright. A quiet tenderness around his peach blossom eyes, giving him an air of introversion. Like his other faces, this one is as humble and forgettable, save for one or two features that stick to the mind like tack. Perhaps borne from vanity, Rin thinks.
Masao greets his tyro with a flickering smile and a dip of the head. “Come and greet your mother.”
The subtle order sends a spark of irritation through the youth, but he approaches nonetheless. He kneels before Dasom and brushes a light layer of dirt from her name plate. There’s an odd pang in his chest, like he’s a bad bout of indigestion.
“Your wounds. How are they healing?”
“Fine,” Rin says shortly, flexing his aching hand. While the bones have healed thanks to Sparrow’s elixir, he is yet to return to full mobility. As for his side, it’s just another scar to add to the many. Nothing as significant as the one he cherishes upon his back.
“You must not underestimate your opponents,” Masao says, coming to stand beside his son. The hem of his grey robe sweeps the grass. “Hwan Sun has recruited veterans into the Silverswords, which has led to a significant increase in ability. You must take greater care, Rin.”
Around them, countless spirits whisper and shift, but none dare approach the living. An odd phenomenon that Rin notes in silence (and with a modicum of relief).
“Thanks for the warning,” the raven scoffs, rising to his feet. His side twinges in protest. “If it weren’t for Sparrow, I wouldn’t have my right hand anymore.” He shoots the Devil an accusatory glare.
At least the older man has the sense to look guilty, even if it is fleeting. “I will ensure you are better informed for the next mission.”
“What use do you have for those shitty weapons anyway? I thought the Otsukis were well armed.”
Masao hums and raises his chin, glancing into the distance. He catches a flash of blue – patrolling Silverswords passing the cemetery. Peach blossom eyes narrow and harden. “We have been quietly amassing superior armaments, yes. But have you not considered the obvious? If these weapons are in our hands, they are not within our enemies’.”
“A wagon of weapons aren’t gonna cripple the Empire,” Rin huffs, folding his arms. The Faceless Devil truly is the epitome of arrogance. Just how does he share in his blood?
“Do you believe yours to be the only mission? Every day, we have countless Otsukis carrying out hundreds of operations. We are the mason, chipping away at a boulder. In time, the boulder will be reduced to nothing but the smallest stone carved to our design.”
“Then tell me what your design is,” Rin says, impatiently. “I’ve gotten the stupid moon on my palm. I’ve taken the name. Done my first mission. Almost lost my damn hand because of it. I think I’ve proven myself trustworthy by now.”
Masao turns to look at his son, smiling genially. He reaches out to touch Rin upon his shoulder, but the latter flinches away. The older man sighs lightly. Covers the sting of rejection with a resigned chuckle.
“If there is anyone in the world I should trust, it is you.” The Devil’s austerity weighs his every word. A restless breeze rustles the naked branches of the trees and the spectres shiver in tandem.
“Rin.” Masao locks his eyes onto the youth’s. A silent anguish that their gazes will never be equal. “You are my son. This means that you are my singular heir. The one who will inherit this mask if I should fail in my quest.” He touches his own cheek, sending an odd ripple through his illusory features.
Rin’s heart flips.
In other words, he, the Rat, is expected to lead the Otsukis in the Devil’s stead one day. The implication is too immense to comprehend.
“But I thought…” He hesitates. Licks his lips nervously. “Shouldn’t it be Gou? Or Iris? Even Nuwa makes more sense than me.”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“There is none who qualifies more for this mask than you,” Masao affirms, firmly. “As my heir, that is the heavy burden you must learn to bear.”
As my heir. A spark of irritation. “You decided this all on your own, did you?”
“Ktlr kjr vfmlvfv atf wbwfca sbe kfgf ybgc.”
“Tbe’gf cba fnfc ubccj qgfafcv atja P tjnf j mtblmf?” Elc rcjqr, jcufg rqlxlcu.
Zjrjb yilcxr ja tlw, mjiwis. “Ktlr lr sbeg ylgatybgcf veas–”
“Duty? What of your duty to me and Dasom?”
“P tjnf jigfjvs rqbxf bc atlr, Elc. Ktfgf lr jc fcalgf fwqlgf ja rajxf–”
“Why?” Rin snarls, rage coiled tight under his skin. His hands are balled so tightly, his joints crack. “Why do you want me now? We’re no better than strangers, and you’re ready to give me everything. But outside of this, outside of being your tyro, I don’t want anything to do with you.” Sanguine eye flares. His scarred visage holds a brittle coldness that pierces Masao’s heart like an arrow made of ice. “I don’t recognise you as my father. You lost that privilege when you tossed me aside.”
There’s a flurry of emotion crossing the Devil’s face – hurt, guilt, depression – but there quickly grows a hardness, a frustration that sharpens his expression and tongue. “Foolish child.”
Elc lcajxfr rtjgqis, qeqlir mbcraglmalcu ab qlcqblcar.
The Devil regards his tyro stonily as he holds himself like a noble, spine straight, chin lifted, a glimmer of innate arrogance in his glare. This expression, as though he sees Rin as nothing more than an insect, sets the youth ablaze in uncontrollable fury.
“I do not have to be your father if that is what you wish,” Masao says. “I cannot undo my past mistakes and clearly you are unwilling to forgive. Thus, we must set aside our quarrel, lest we waste resources that are better used for the cause. Acting like a petulant child achieves nothing. We are at war. We are dying for the revolution. If you cannot look beyond yourself to the suffering of our people, then you do not have the right to call yourself Otsuki.”
Rin seethes, vision flashing white as he audibly grinds his teeth. “Fuck. You.” is the only thing he can spit out in his apoplexy.
Masao wrinkles his brows. “How disappointing,” he says, impassively. “Perhaps I had misjudged your character. Evidently, you are no better than our enemies, thinking only of yourself.” Something keen enters his eyes. Cold and calculating. “…It is a blessing that Dasom is not here to see her son like this. A man in body, but pathetically jejune in mind. It is utterly shameful–”
Rin lunges at the older man, throwing a punch straight at his jaw.
Masao deftly sweeps an arm through the air, striking Rin’s fist off course. The latter stumbles and scowls, clutching his throbbing hand.
The Devil’s glare is rending. “You dare raise a hand against me?”
“I dare!” Rin snarls. “It’s the least you deserve!”
Masao draws himself up, anger tight in his form. “I allowed you two strikes before. One for your mother and one for yourself. The third strike will be man against man, and I shall not hold myself back.”
Rin giggles, the sound wild and unhinged. “That’s the point, asshole!” And he lunges at the man again, this time aiming to drive a fist into his gut.
A hand whacks the youth’s chest and slams him into the ground. He hits hard-packed dirt, air expelled from his lungs in a pained wheeze. Pain lances up his spine and grips his body.
Masao keeps his hand tight against Rin’s throat, pinning him down, but allowing him a sliver of air. His graceful form arcs overhead, one leg pinning Rin’s struggling limbs to the dirt.
Dark eyes meet a single red one, like cold stones rolling into a frothing pool of lava. All the Devil sees is animalistic rage. He doesn’t know if his son is even present.
“Get…off….me–!!” Rin squeezes out, vision blurring and burning. He bucks and squirms, but the older man has him completely trapped.
In desperation, he thumps his hand against Masao’s chest and blasts him with white light. Dark miasmic tendrils erupts across the man’s chest like armour and absorbs the offensive magic.
Rin’s pupil shrinks in shock. He sends out another blast, only for his attack to be absorbed in the same manner.
“You cannot touch me with your magic,” Masao says, calmly. “This fight is already lost. Admit defeat in honour and I shall release you.”
The way he keeps the youth pinned down is like an unyielding master disciplining his unruly pup. He glares down at said pup through lowered lashes, a calculating glint in his eyes.
Though he’s not strangled, Rin’s kept hostage by those lethal black wisps curling around his captured throat. He knows from his initiation the potential danger Masao’s ‘anti-light’ magic poses. But his rage knows no bounds. It envelops his entirety like he’s drowning, and no matter how hard he struggles, he sinks deeper and deeper–
“What will you do?” Masao snatches the raven’s jaw, trying to bring him to focus. “I have you trapped. On the edge of a blade. And not even your magic can touch me. What will you do?” He hisses the last through bared teeth, eyes flaring wide.
Rin chokes in anger, eye stinging with tears. Despite the blood roaring in his ears, he hears Masao’s words clearly taunting him, challenging him, and all he can do is struggle.
“Look at yourself!” Masao shouts, sweat beading his creased forehead. “Defeated by the man who ruined your life! Was it not I who abandoned you and your mother? Was it not I who left you to suffer? Yet you simply lie here and submit to my will! What are you? Are you a beast or a man?”
Another voice echoes the Devil’s. Discard the rat before it’s too late.
This is a familiar sight. Looking up at yet another who would dare oppress him; keep him pressed against the dirt like he was nothing more than his moniker. Korain. Dasom. Kahin. Hwan Sun. The Mother. The Silverswords. The bluebloods. Otsuki Masao. They force him to the ground and mock him as he struggles to look them in the eye, as if his debility were of his own making.
The youth’s clammy skin pulses and lumines the cold enveloping light of a full moon. His eye snaps wide open, unseeing, beyond maddened, just a hollow space where a person should be. Without a word, a white blaze erupts between their bodies, striking Masao with a visceral force and he careens into a nearby tree. The trunk cracks from the impact. A shower of dead leaves scatters over his crumpled form.
Rin rises to his feet, heaving torrid breaths, both hands outstretched on either side. Arcane light twines around his arms like a frenzied whip of clouds caught in a tornado, coming to a point in either palm which glows brighter and brighter–
When light meets shadow, a magnificent clash of black and white explodes over the cemetery. But the shadow consumes the light as soon as they touch, turning Rin’s magic desiccate and empty, until all that’s left is a lingering darkness, petrifying the very air.
The spirits become restless. Whispers, murmurs, cries and howls, they fill the ringing silence in an incomprehensible cacophony. Spectral bodies take on malformed shapes, warped expressions, broken limbs, horrific visages that flit on the very edges of Rin’s periphery. They daren’t come any closer, lest the dark magic consumes them too – but they are called forth into this realm, lost souls to a single sirenic beacon.
He drops to his knees, hands clamped over his ears, a rising panic constricting his gullet. “Stop–” he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut. Incorporeal hands traverse his body, making him sick to the stomach. “Make it stop!!”
Masao recovers himself and dispels his magic with a graceful wave of the hand. In the next breath, the spirits cease their restless attack and Solaris warms the desolate landscape once more.
“Impressive,” Masao says, striding over to the raven with an almost imperceptible limp. “However, at present your true power is only unleashed with the loss of control. You must learn to harness your anger and value it for the utility it is. Lose control of your emotions and you will lose control of your strength.”
Rin climbs to his feet shakily, expression worsening with every word his father utters. He’s a vision of pure misery, drenched in cold sweat and trembling as though he were dunked in ice water. “...You’re a bastard,” he spits, though he’s too drained to commit to his waning anger.
The Devil huffs amusedly and inclines his head. “So I have heard.”
Rin regards the older man with fresh wariness. “My light. It was…negated. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“You described my magic as anti-light, did you not?” is Masao’s simple reply.
The raven scowls. “Don’t take me for an idiot.”
The Devil sighs lightly and brushes down his robe. After a moment, he says, “My magic is drawn from the underworld. Some may attribute it to Izayoma himself.”
“Iza…” Rin’s face contorts spectacularly. “You’re descended from Izayoma?”
“It is not as simple as you state it,” Masao hedges, dark eyes glittering.
Rin pauses, absently rubbing the scars upon his neck. No matter where the magic comes from, the important thing to note is how easily it consumed his own. The light from the Imperial God of the Night so easily overwhelmed by the Devil’s magic…
An indescribable greed rears its head within the youth.
“If we share the same blood,” Rin says, “then it must mean I have access to this magic.”
Masao pauses, seeing the dark hunger in his eye. By the way the elder hesitates, it’s clear that he has edited his intended response. “Not all inherited magicks are compatible. Sometimes, they do not take.”
A sanguine flash. “What are you trying to say?”
“You must not be so hungry for power. Too much can corrupt, and in your current state, you are especially vulnerable.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Rin snaps. “You just don’t want me to be a threat.”
Masao narrows his eyes. “What a preposterous notion.”
“I think it makes a lot of sense.”
“Are you truly this foolish, or are you hoping for another fight?” Masao says, coldly.
Rin barks a laugh, resentment twisting his features. “You’re so comfortable up there in your golden perch, it would be a real shame if someone came along and knocked you off–”
“Have I not already offered you my ‘golden perch’? What need is there to keep you subdued? I am advising you to abstain from corruption–”
“And you think you’re so immune?” The raven jeers. “From the moment you took over the rebellion, how many times has the Empire offered you a peace treaty? Nine times, right? No counter-offer, no efforts to negotiate. You’d rather shed blood than contemplate peace.”
“Their terms were unacceptable,” Masao says, coldly.
“I know you only care about the throne. Even if you’re able to hide your real intentions behind that stupid mask, I can see right through you. If it meant you could sit at her side, you’d grovel and kiss the Mother’s feet just like everyone else.”
The Devil stiffens in shock. He blanches red then white in anger and for a split-second, his illusory mask ripples, revealing flashing red eyes and a face that’s oddly refined.
“Mind your tongue,” Masao says, quietly. There’s the barest quiver in his voice.
A sick delight unfurls within the raven at having incited such a powerful reaction. “The last Emperor Consort died over two decades ago,” he drawls, tossing his hair over a shoulder. “I’m sure she’s on the prowl for another poor fucker to suck dry–”
There’s a blur of motion as Masao backhands his mouthy son.
The resounding strike echoes across the cemetery grounds; and a second later, a stomach-lurching crack, when Rin falls into Dasom’s nameplate.
He quickly rolls off the broken stone, wide-eyed in silent panic. Shaking hands attempt to piece her name back together, but the damage is too extensive.
Masao steps away in alarm. He looks shaken to his very core.
The apoplectic youth rises to his feet, tightly gripping onto the shattered halves of Dasom’s nameplate. The glare he gives Masao is drenched in blood and unforgiving. Every shred of loathing and blame is directed at the Devil in this one look, and it chills the latter to the bone.
“Rin–” Masao begins guiltily, reaching out for his shoulder.
Rin shrugs off his hand and walks away in silence. The hollow pit in his chest engulfs his turbulent emotions, leaving him cold and empty.
Dude is NOT father material wtf
Thank you for the chapter!! <3
LOL yeah….he’s gotta read some parenting books 😛 thank you for reading! <33
I have no word except… bastard
hehehehehe thats certainly an apt descriptor!
I don’t care–I’ll stand by Rin. Even if/when he totally loses himself and his marbles, I want happiness for him.
*when 100% marbles will be lost 😛 <3
🤣🤣❤