Ficticious Chaos
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Chapter 60: Always and Forever
🕑 Added 2025-12-21 02:58:40 +0000 UTCTiamat kept her gaze locked upon the sealed doors of his inner sanctum, though her vision barely registered the colossal megaliths themselves. No, the ocean in her eyes was unmoving and lifeless.
And even as the chamber she stood in seethed with molten pressure, as the eddies of magma shifted beneath the obsidian floor and demonic miasma curling against the wards... as his monstrous wolf paced in restless arcs and Huwawa’s massive shadow loomed ominously… it all fell peripheral to her; for her eyes and for her heart.
She saw none of it. She felt none of it.
Nothing more than static noise belonging to a world she was quickly growing to resent. For she was swiftly falling into the churning, more treacherous corridors of memory.
And she remembered.
She remembered having stood like this once before, so motionless, so unblinking and incapable of speech… back when she had first found Abzu - ichor-stained, heart carved and face frozen horror-stricken - as he lay undone at the steps of his own throne.
And she remembered the madness that followed. That all-encompassing insane grief that poisoned her mind and saw her wage war against her treacherous children. Her progeny with Abzu had been born out of love. The dragons that followed were filled with venom and hate. And all of it, all of it, saw her felled and shackled. Without flesh, without agency, a mere engine of power for her equally insane children and their never-ending thirst for power.
The madness that came afterwards had been of a different kind. One where isolation and crushing solitude wrapped around her mind like poisonous chains. The same poison that she had fed to her draconic children. How fitting…
And this felt so close to then. So very, very close.
Because, try as she might, she could not banish the image of Sirzechs holding his ruined head cupped carefully in trembling hands… of his once roguishly messy hair matted dark with blackened blood… of fragmented bone jutting out of burnt flesh… and the fleeting embers of his psyche pulsing weakly from his then empty skull. That was all that had remained of her beloved.
And again.
And again.
And again.
The memory repeated, seared into her mind hotter than Ddraig’s Outrage from so long ago
Tiamat had known affection before, of course; she had known loyalty, companionship, and lust throughout countless eons and numerous skies. But love - the dangerous kind, the all-consuming kind that demanded absolute surrender… she had not dared to dream of such deeply profound feelings. Not again.
But then he appeared so carelessly in her domain, and he had undone that knot in her heart with such simple naivete. And most laughably, he did not even know what he had done! Because she had seen it in him before he ever saw it in himself: the possibility of a lifetime of joy, a future where her heart’s most loyal friend was not sorrow but him. Always him…
That was why she bound their minds with the familiar bond. A desperate venture, to reach for happiness. To reach for him. Who else but he could bear the siege of Satan and still be so kind? So gentle? So loving and giving? And how magnificently had he done so.
And then? Of these few short and scant years together? Of the negligible measure for her who once held eternity’s breadth in her eyes? Yet nothing in the last twenty millennia had given her more life than the glimmers of joy in his smile.
But again, came the memory of his broken, remnant head. And she knew that forever more would she recall the horror and keening anguish of seeing him brought so low. It would haunt her for the rest of time. She would never forget.
And with that promise came the quiet invitation of fear and doubt and loneliness. The loathsome whisper that Fate would demand her maddened folly from ages past be paid again. You are a poison, it said to her. Destined to live in the mire of wretched and vulgar exile.
And it worked its way through her thoughts like a slow toxin, draining resolve and replacing reason with a despair she could never bargain with. For she did not have the will to even fight it.
Tiamat did not weep, she did not tremble, nor did she break her stillness… because she knew that this time she would not survive. There would be no insane rage and rampaging grief to follow.
If she lost him, if Time were to echo the same story as long ago, then there would be no future left for her to walk into. In this, doubt and uncertainty had no sway, because in a world without her beloved, her heart, Tiamat would simply consign herself to oblivion. She would let her mind fracture, let the immortal scaffolding of her being collapse and scatter until never again she could form thought or consciousness in this or any other realm.
She could not survive having her heart broken again.
And so reached out to him, she dared to brush against his mind, walled off behind the blackened sin of rage which cocooned him tight. Because she – Tiamat, the Chaos Karma, the Primordial of Chaotic Seas and Femininity, the Undying Storm, the Mother of Dragons... she was scared. She was so, so scared and feeling so vulnerable and she wanted him back!
So she whispered to him in the darkness of her own mind - half a chant, half a plea, and all of it desperation.
And I saw thee, a Fell Flame burning in the Abyss.
Her memories of that first meeting in the Familiar’s Forest gave that flame form: raw, unsure, and burning so bright. All edges. All conviction. All promise.
And thy tinder was of fear and doubt and loneliness.
And his pain was so naked, so deep. Why else would he have jumped into the Devil’s embrace so heedlessly? How young was he to bear such grief? How silently had he bore the choice of sacrificing all of his might for the sake others?
And most fearsome of all, I saw the tinder of cruel hope. My hope. In thee.
Hope was a cruel, cruel thing. A drop of water to the parched throat, the scent of moisture to the arid traveler. Hope had killed her once already, back when she believed Abzu and she would walk an eternity together. Hope was the withered poison when her own children tore her body asunder. And hope was the vengeful reason she had screamed silently through millennia of imprisonment.
And still she fed it. Still she surrendered to it. Ancient fool that she was.
I saw shadows of your Destiny, and flickering within your possibility mine own happiness.
How absurd, that she, failed mother and wife, dare to yearn for the chance of family once more. But in his own visions, in his own marches through Time, had she not seen herself swollen with his own children? Could she gift him fatherhood?
Of Love that is Love that is Love that is Love that is Love.
Forever and ever. With him. Always him.
You, so monstrous and young.
Monstrous in lineage. Young in flesh. But a creature of baleful fire and shadow that still smiled polite and gave heartfelt thanks. A vile thing that would hold her tender and make her dream of a better tomorrow.
I did not bind myself to thee in whim. I did not meld our minds with a wyrm's trickery as I had claimed.
It was Hope, it always came back to that dreadful thing named Hope.
I did so with a tumultuous heart daring to find what I had lost eons ago.
The story of Tiamat, of the mad mother who was betrayed and then betrayed in turn. She who had so treacherously gone against her own domain of Motherhood and birthed out of rage and hate, instead of love and affection.
And what joy it brings me to say I found that and more.
The greatest joy was the oldest truth: and that was love. Beyond even the Infinite Ouroboros and the begotten whims of the Illusion of Dreams, the only truth that mattered was the joy of love.
Does thou not see? Mine eyes searching for thee? My lips yearning for thee? My heart beating for thee?
And though her words echoed empty in her mind, her heart poured towards the dread edifice that hailed the entrance of the Irameron. Where he lay, where she wished she could be and hold him tight anon.
Always and forever more, this Tiamat is yours.
A promise, a vow. For them and them alone. To tread eternity once more with the blossomed potential of family anew.
So return to me…
The last thought broke as pure desperation. Just bordering on despair.
…just return to me.
A heartbeat passed, and she took in a breath, the first in what must have been hours. And yet, there was no response. No rushing warmth of his firm strength and unwavering conviction. She remained alone.
But then, in the growing pit of her own despair, something brushed the edge of her senses.
Tiamat immediately looked up, a jubilant light daring to glint in her eyes. Could he…?
But it came again, a faint flicker of demonic force, the type of subtle tremor that was so unlike the titanic force that was her beloved. And she immediately knew – through crumbling hope– that it was not him. But still, the trickle of power felt familiar enough to spark movement in her chest.
And not a kind one
Tiamat turned around with fury and rage, hatred blooming crimson in her heart. Here? Now? He dares!?
The cavern’s shadows shifted with her movement as lightning arced a thousand feet high and across.
Instantly Saviġuk responded in kind, ice blooming in coiled streams across her fur as she lowered herself into a predatory crouch. Huwawa’s massive silhouette expanded across the basalt wall, the ancient giant drawing breath with a sound like the grinding of the earth’s plates. The four Imperators stationed nearest the doors spread their wings, demonic pressure pouring outward with reckless furor, exuding enough killing intent to warp space as reality itself to began to fold.
Far to the end, beyond the roiling lakes of Infernity’s molten pits stood a figure of shifting crimson haze. A silhouette rendered from smoke and foul miasma.
Tiamat’s collapsed into serpentine slits and she felt her teeth sharpen to fangs.
“You.” And the depths of hatred she mustered could not be articulated. Millennia’s worth of revulsion rising like bile in and fueling her power and might, shaking the whole of the cavern and the underground of her beloved’s kingdom.
She could not, would not, allow that miserable wretch to bring any harm to him. Even if she had to tear the whole of the realm asunder and burn every life above, she would ensure that no harm befell him while he was consumed in regenerating himself. Least of all from this mangy cur.
The atmosphere around Tiamat thickened, a subtle siphoning at the edges of her emotional state. And she felt the pull of demonic power about her as she realized with furor that the dread, the hollow ache that had been pouring from heart were now being called out, insidiously pulled from her aura and taken by that thing. It was feeding on her. It welcomed her despair, encouraged it, and drank eagerly from her grief. It consumed and delighted in her negative thoughts like insects before nectar.
Her upper lip curled back. A prickle rose along her skin - not from fear, but pure, utter, revulsion.
A Demon of the Old World.
One who had been marked by Fell Lucifer eons ago, carrying the touch of that shattered monster’s insanity.
And it was maddening to know that it only gorged itself more on the complete disgust and loathing she felt for this thing. In a moment’s notice, Tiamat had made her mind to reveal her true form, to take on the visage of a Dragon King and order her beloved’s servants to guard his font of power with the utmost zeal.
And then the moment ruptured.
A single voice cut through the miasma: loud, resonant, and unmistakably enraged.
“Fuck off.”
The words rolled like a shockwave, not shouted so much as expelled with monumental and monstrous authority. Tiamat turned fully toward the guttural decree and witnessed the Irameron shift, not a full opening, just a measured crack between the titanic slabs of demonic stone.
And from that sliver poured an impossible radiance, a dark lambent, laced with a hellish red so concentrated it seemed to cast shadows rather than any true light. It did not strike the cavern in a beam. Instead, it unfurled in a single, disdainful sweep across the lingering vapor.
And Tiamat sensed the fury of the red haze, she felt it recoil in equal measures of defiance and terror. But instantly the intruding Demon’s mental projection was vaporized and banished from Infernity.
And despite the radiance’s lethal edge, none of them suffered a burn: Saviġuk still braced, went unscathed; Huwawa still towering, remained unmoved; and the Imperators still flew without injury. The destructive authority knew exactly where the hammer needed to fall.
And Tiamat’s heart, which had been drowning in dread for weeks, rose tight into her throat.
For a fraction of a second, she glimpsed a terrible outline inside the glare of the Irameron: impossibly tall and regal, merciless in poise, and crown of hateful fire suspended over the shape of a King whose entire presence roared a damnation. A golden shadow who wore the mantle of immortality: Satan, perfected in wrath and unchallenged in dominion.
Her mind balked and trembled as Hell itself turned its gaze on her.
And then the silhouette dissolved, so suddenly and without notice, it melted apart like the first fall of snow after the break of day… and out of that infernal mouth stepped her heart.
Her beloved. Whole again.
Her heart slammed against the wall of her sternum so violently she wondered if the flesh would break. And as the doors of the Irameron sealed behind him with dull thunder and, in the sweep of motion that followed, the four Imperators descended in reverent arcs and knelt, heads bowed, hands pressed to the volcanic floor. Their devotion echoed in the charged hush of the chamber.
Though the gravity of the moment was broken when Saviġuk ran, nay launched herself across the space, nearly bowling him over as she pressed muzzle and cheek and fur and delight against him.
And he laughed. Her beloved laughed. A real laugh. A warm, jubilant sound that was so completely and utterly him and it sent her heart fluttering.
That sound shattered Tiamat.
Or perhaps it mended her. Because tears slid free before she even realized she was crying and her throat closed around a starving sob at the sight, at the sound, of his smile.
His gaze lifted and found hers, brown eyes alight with such fervent adoration and devotion.
And that was all it took.
She crossed the distance in a single step, and in one single motion, her arms hooked around his shoulders and her mouth pressed to his lips with a fervor born of longing and separation. She kissed him as though trying to force her own life into his; desperation pouring through the familiar bond, emotions slamming open without restraint. Fear. Relief. Love so enormous it would have dwarfed stars.
He answered, steadying her by the waist as their minds meshed again: chaotic currents of memory and panic and hunger crashing together. Her vision blurred and she kissed him harder. Tears streaked down her face unopposed and unbidden.
When she finally tore her mouth away, she framed his cheeks with both hands and drank in the sight of him. Her eyes devouring every line of his jaw, every fleck of color in his eyes; the newness of his skin the hues of his hair.
He let out a breath and offered a rueful, apologetic smile. She quickly committed that expression to memory, vowing to never forget any moment of their time together, never again. And one other breath later, he opened his mouth.
But before the words could shape and his mouth could make sound, Tiamat’s visage fell cold and she struck him hard across the face.
“Oof!” He staggered backwards, looking rattled and stupefied. “Holy crap, beautiful,” he said as she rubbed his jaw. “Easy on the new face, I just made it!”
The four Imperators surged to their feet with a united growl, murderous intentions thickening the air.
But Tiamat ignored all of them and snarled dangerously. “Do not ever, and I mean ever, do this to me again!”
He looked at her incredulously for a moment, before he broke out in a laugh and waved a hand to settle his beasts down. “I’m sorry, I promise it won’t happen again. I-”
But he stopped and rubbed his jaw more, testing the hinge, rolling the bone in an oddly.
Immediately regret and concern flooded her. Had she been too impulsive? Was he not fully healed yet?
His answering smile told her he heard every panicked thread of thought. “No, it’s not that. Just… strange using a new set of teeth. And a new tongue. And, well, new everything. Everything feels kind of… I dunno, soft? Might take some time to break in the new body.”
As she stared at him, not saying a word, his expression turned soft once more and he stepped closer and caught her hand. That simple contact unraveled her all over again and her heart kicking hard in her chest, warmth spilling outward until she could scarcely hold herself upright.
And the tears came again. And instantly, he brushed them from her cheeks with gentle fingers, his voice softened to a whisper. “I’m here. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”
She did not answer. Words had nothing left to offer. She only hooked her arms around his neck and clung to him, her silent tremors pressed against his shoulder, while he held her steady, one palm splayed firm across her spine.
He was back.
Her Ichigo was back.
------
Yasaka sat behind her desk and used every ounce of mental discipline to force her attention onto the neat columns and tables of projected revenue. Her hand moved furiously as she wrote annotations and notes all along the text. The characters were immaculate, her handwriting always was, but the proposal itself was a complete disgrace.
Somehow, the Ministry of Finance had allowed a ridiculous number of errors to slip through three subordinate approvals before reaching her desk. Numbers transposed, projections misaligned, one entire subsection that simply repeated what had been written before. She paused over that empty box and let her pen rest against her lower lip, her eyes glowing gold in irritation.
It was beyond unacceptable and only served to exasperate her already foul mood.
‘Did they want to be fired,’ she cried vexed in her own mind.
But centuries of discipline urged her to take a breath, and then another, until her thoughts settled still and were tranquil. She knew better than to decide a nation’s budget on a chaotic mind, after all.
Outside her window, high noon spilled a warm gold across the length of her office. Kyoto’s skyline glittered under it, red banners along the palace pagodas, the older tiled roofs below it, the shimmer of summer haze caught over the gardens. A beautiful day, by all accounts. And as High Priestess of the Celestial Sun, she should have felt empowered by it.
She did not.
Not in the least.
Her pen resumed its slow march across the margins, tight annotations and recalculations carefully scrawled so meticulously that the only sound in her office was the scratch of her pen. And this was the norm for Yasaka, a quiet, productive day without the hustle and bustle of servants and secretaries running in and out of her office. It’s how she liked it, and, more importantly, it was how she needed it. Especially right now.
Because if she could keep her mind consumed with the endless mires of bureaucracy, then she wouldn’t have to think of those titanic, demonic slabs and the man she loved sealed behind them.
A knock came, two quick taps that were light and easy on the doors to her office. She knew, of course, who it was. Yasaka’s senses were constantly spread out through her palace. She was hyperaware of every single soul, where they were going and what they were doing. And on those rare occasions she was feeling extra invasive, what they were saying.
The maids did so enjoy speculating about her and Ichigo’s romance. But again, she quickly prevented her thoughts from drifting towards him.
Yasaka released a long breath, closing her eyes as she smoothed everything from her face: anxiety, irritation, the dull ache sitting beneath her sternum, all of it melting away. She did not want those negative thoughts in her head when she was interacting with her daughter, after all.
“You can come in, dear,” she said.
The door slid open and Kunou stepped in, balancing a polished tray with two cups and a small porcelain teapot shaped like a curled fox. Yasaka felt her throat loosen. Gratitude struck first and was quickly followed by pride. Even if she didn’t know why, Kunou was perceptive enough to note her bad mood. And it was just like her little bloom of sunshine to try and ease her worries, to take care of her mother.
Kunou set the tray down with careful ceremony, tails swishing once behind her.
“Okaa-sama, you’ve been working all morning! You should take a break!”
Yasaka smiled warmly. “An excellent idea, dear. Care to join me?”
Kunou beamed and moved to pour her a steaming cup of tea.
The fragrance was floral and bright, jasmine with a hint of peach. Yasaka’s smile went a fraction wider, it was her favorite blend. That her daughter was considerate and kind enough to brew it for her… it caused sunlight to blossom in her heart.
Yasaka lifted the cup and inhaled once, a not-too-distant memory of her daughter futilely trying to instill the delicate arts of tea onto the iconoclast that was her husband. Her smile dimmed a tad bit, and she ruthlessly buried the memory.
“You’ve certainly improved in carrying the tray, not a drop dripping off the walls this time,” she said with an impish gaze.
“Okaa-sama” Kunou whined. “That was one time! And it wasn’t even my fault! Onii-san stepped on my robe and tripped me!”
Yasaka shook her head. That’s not how she remembered. Ichigo had been- she quickly cut herself off and focused on the now.
“The weather is so pretty today,” Kunou said with much cheer. “Maybe we should have a picnic!”
Her lips twitched, she recognized the distraction at once. Yes, her Kunou was growing up to be too perceptive. Already trying to maneuver conversation with her mother. Children really do grow up too fast.
Yasaka looked out the window, through the gleaming afternoon sun and said, “Yes, it really is quite lovely.”
A far cry from the heavy storms wracked with the howling of wolves from weeks ago.
It had been obvious to anyone with trained senses; the clash between the Nordic Wargs and the gleaming Valkyries alight with thunder.
The Clan Heads had demanded explanation, because, again, there were foreign powers waging battles in their lands. A far too familiar occurrence as of late. Not willing to scare the world with the return of the Apocalypse Dragon, she had given them a partial truth: that there were conflicts growing between the immortals, but she had given heavy assurances that the mortal world would not be adversely affected and that there would be no War in Heaven. She had said so resolutely and with the finality of a ruler.
It had been a lie. A bold-faced one at that too.
The truth was, Yasaka simply did not know. There were so many things happening all at once that she truly had no clue as to how the future would unfold. And yet, matters of the world took second place when she was with her daughter. She willed herself to smile a touch more and looked Kunou in the eye.
For her part, the little vixen tapped her fingers lightly at the knees before she blurted what she had been circling toward. What Yasaka had been anticipating for several days.
“Okaa-sama, have you heard from Onii-san? He hasn’t picked up any of my calls and isn’t responding to my text messages.”
Yasaka’s grip on her cup tightened by a hairbreadth, but she did not allow her breath to falter.
“If I recall correctly, he is currently fulfilling his duties in another reality,” she said smoothly. From what she had gleaned from Grayfia, it was the same lie being told in the Underworld. “He probably just has bad reception in whatever dimension he’s currently in,” she added lightly with a touch of humor
Kunou seemed to accept it, but the girl’s golden eyes held worry. Yasaka quickly shifted the conversation in another direction, for both of their sakes.
“And how fare your calligraphy lessons?”
Kunou straightened excitedly, and her tails curled high with delight. “I can write with chakra now! Sensei thinks I should be able to write holy talismans without any ink by next autumn!”
Yasaka felt maternal pride flood through her chest. “That is excellent progress, dear. Holy seals written without medium have become increasingly rare among the Onmyōji of today. I am so proud of you.”
Kunou beamed and instantly launched into another topic. For five unhurried, and sorely needed minutes, mother and daughter spoke of small triumphs and training mishaps, with Yasaka adding anecdotes from her own childhood. But then, quite suddenly, Kunou jerked upright.
“Oh no! I’m late! I’m late! I have barrier practice!”
“Then you best be going, I won’t write you an excuse note,” Yasaka said with a hint of laughter. And Kunou ran around the desk to kiss her cheek before running away; her tails flailing wildly as she scrambled down the halls.
When the door slid shut, Yasaka allowed a small laugh. It escaped her unguarded: quick, soft and grateful. But, as always, the warmth of motherhood quickly cast her thoughts towards the glow of matrimony.
And Yasaka found herself remembering a warm night on the Kamo river, where she Kunou and Ichigo sat alone on a boat as they drifted down the flowing water. She remembered Kunou’s laughter vaulting across the night as Ichigo magically coaxed the river into spiraling shapes and how the dancing water caught lantern fire; turning ripples into shades of gold and warm oranges. Kunou had delighted trying to chase and catch the flying shapes while Yasaka rested against Ichigo’s shoulder, feeling him breathe beside her.
And as the ache of the memory sharpened, Yasaka bowed her head and set her arms on the desk, resting her brow against them. In truth, she was emotionally exhausted. There was just too much to deal with as of late. Never mind all the grand political theatre, the issues with Akihiko suddenly returning and unsettling her family was taxing enough, now her husband was a deteriorated husk at the hands of one of the Undying she had been raised to worship.
A civil war near ready to erupt in Takamagahara. It was all too much.
She told herself she would not cry, but her eyes betrayed her anyway, she could feel warmth and wetness begin to pool. She inhaled once, attempting to recover her discipline. And she failed rather miserably.
Another memory came unbidden.
A lone night where she and Ichigo had taken a stolen moment together in the garden. No words spoken on that walk, just her and her husband hand in hand. And utterly content. She would never forget the warmth of his hand, the crunch of the gravel path beneath their feet and the faint night-bloom scent of jasmines. A rare moment when they were not an Empress and Demon King – only husband and wife.
And in one of those odd moments, where regardless of joy or despair, inspiration struck her. A moment fueled by her intense desire to hold her husband in her again and all the memories that came with it.
Eight Slopes on your lips
Fifteen Shadows on the bed
Sunlight learns to blush
And her tears flowed easy as she thought of the horrid possibility that he was forever gone from her. That Grayfia and the Dragon King were wrong. A dark and malignant whisper told her that that this was the gruesome end for them. Of the first and only romantic love she had ever known.
Yasaka let out a soft cry.
Come back, she begged. Just come back to me.
The sun pressed warm along her spine and her tails flicked, a reflexive reach for steadiness. And so normally it would have filled her with strength and purpose, but so deep was her sorrow and dread that even under the light of the Sun Yasaka could only feel a cold numbness.
Moments passed with darkness settling across her heart, where all traces of composure and dignity slipped away. Replaced instead with stark and naked fear. Yasaka let out a trembling breath, even as she wiped at her tears.
Urgh, she was such a mess. She had thought the tumultuous part of her marriage was over, in those first few trying months where she had to deal with the uncertainty of her abrupt marriage to Ichigo made all the more troubling by the presence of the ancient seductress that was Tiamat by his side.
How novel did those days seem now.
But then she felt it: a subtle kink in the palace wards, as though a fingertip brushed a locked seal. Yasaka jerked upright, heart pounding. She knew that touch.
A seam in space folded open at the center of her office. Blue light cracked along its edges, and out stepped Tiamat—unannounced and an unmistakable laughter in her eye. With bated breath, Yasaka’s gaze drifted to the figure behind Dragon King.
And there he was, smiling like the sun and so very much alive.
Yasaka’s feet surged before she consciously decided to move. She rounded the desk, crossed the room, and threw herself at him with enough force to drive him back a step. Her cry tore loose: all semblance of a regal queen was gone and only the distressed wife remained. She clung to him and felt his arms close around her with all too missed familiar weight.
When she finally pulled away, she framed his face in both hands, memorizing every feature: his cheekbones, his jaw, the new sharpness at the eyes. And he gazed back and offered a soft, apologetic smile.
“Hey there, princess.”
Her laugh came out hollow. Yet, the kiss she gave him afterward was anything but; she claimed his mouth fiercely, drowning weeks of fear and anxiety in a single desperate press. Relief, possession, longing - she poured all of it into him until she needed breath again. She rested her forehead against his, smiling through wet lashes. Ichigo smiled back and the sight filled her with such intense warmth she thought her heart would burst.
And then Yasaka slapped him.
Hard.
The crack echoed off the office wall and Ichigo staggered, hand flying to his jaw.
“You thoughtless, selfish, horrible man!” she snapped, voice sharp with weeks of held tension. “Don’t you dare ever do this to me again!”
Ichigo blinked, dazed, and rubbed his jaw where Yasaka’s blow landed. All the while, the silent Dragon King by his side snorted as she crossed her arms.
“…I guess that’s going to be the running theme for today.”
-----
Even as Ichigo reunited with Yasaka and Tiamat and resolved to reassure the two loves of his life, a fragment of his mind reached beyond time and space and into the darkest abyss where the most powerful demons dwelled. His consciousness emerged into the great dais of Yfel, where stood the Thrones of the Seven Deadly Sins.
And without any ceremony, his presence easily slid onto the Throne of Wrath. He closed his mind and took a deep breath, allowing himself to connect to the ever turbulent flow of the Underworld’s currents of magic. And he felt it, the myriad forms of rage and hate, billions of seething strands all across. Every little annoyance to every moment of unadulterated fury. A whole empire’s anger running straight into his psyche through the byzantine web of demonic magicks.
He took in a deep breath, and the Sin within his soul hungrily reached out, devouring it all and gorging itself on all the negative energy. And, in turn, it fed it back to him, nourishing his still unstable body.
An ironic tranquil moment passed as he fed off of all the hatred, but soon enough, there was a shift in the reality of Yfel. A subtle movement that was deeply profound all the same. Ichigo opened his eyes and, across from him now, sat Ajuka, peering intently at him.
They locked gazes for a brief moment, and finding whatever he was searching for, Ajuka nodded to himself and said, “Welcome back, brother.”
“Thanks,” Ichigo said. “Glad to be back.”
There was a second shift, and suddenly Sirzechs sat to Ichigo’s right. Green eyes blinked at him, and with an expression of fondness so at odds with this evil place, Sirzechs smiled genuine and true. “It’s good to see you in one piece, Ichigo.”
“Berry-berry!” And he turned to see the bubbly as ever Serafall beaming at him. “You’re not dead! Yay!”
Ichigo snorted
“Yay indeed,” came Falbium’s sardonic drawl. “It gave us quite the bit of extra work to cover up the extent of your injuries.”
“Oh no,” Ichigo drawled as he rested a cheek against his fist. “You had to lie to people. The horror.”
“Quite horrible, yes. Don’t make me talk to people if I don’t have to.” And with that, Falbium closed his eyes and leaned back into his throne, pretending to fall asleep.
Ichigo shook his head with exasperated fondness. Falbium was the one person in the Underworld even lazier than Tiamat.
Serafall crossed her legs and leaned forward, looking at him in equal measures of concern and eagerness. “So? Are we to take it that you’re fully recovered?”
“Not one hundred percent, yet.” Ichigo said while shaking his head. “I’ve got all of my body back, but it’s still not fully acclimated to my powers. At best, I can use Ultimate-class strength before it starts to break down. I’ll need a few more days to be back to my usual self.”
Sirzechs frowned. “Then why leave your inner sanctum at all?”
Ichigo’s expression immediately soured. “Because that fossil of an ancestor of yours sent a psychic emanation right in front of the Irameron. How he even got that far in is beyond me, but I was basically forced to come out early so I could kick him out of Infernity.”
All four looked at him. Sirzechs’ expression sharpened before it boiled.
“He dares?” Sirzechs’ eyes flashed crimson as his aura pulsed around. “I’ve been far too lenient with the Great King, it seems. Bah! If the ancient demons had not fused their essences into the Underworld itself after the Great War, I would have annihilated the lot of them from the get.”
Ajuka let out an assenting hum, even as his lips curled slightly. “A long-standing plague. Destroying the Underworld to be rid of them would be simple, and though it would be immensely costly to rebuild the plane, it would still be feasible. But the billions of our kind dead would be impossible to resurrect. Hell will never let go of the claims it has on the souls of our kind.”
Ichigo grimaced. It was the single largest setback for their species, Lucifer’s pact ensured that every single Devil ever born was bound for Hell upon death. And it was the ultimate goal of the Satans to finally break free of said pact. Ichigo, knowing more about Hell than perhaps anyone else, knew it was impossible to get any of the dead Devils and Demons back, not that any of the latter deserved salvation from the Inferno, but, at the very least, future generations would be spared from eternal torment.
If he, Ajuka and Sirzechs could truly apotheosize in the coming millennia, then maybe, just maybe, they could create a new afterlife for Devils.
Freedom from Hell itself.
But that was a matter far into the future. Centuries even.
Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Ichigo waved Sirzechs off. “Leave Old Bael for now, his future is for someone else to decide.”
Four stares fixed on him as he spoke with such absolute certainty that time and space seemed to tremble in response.
Falbium arched a brow. “And since when did you start spouting prophecies?”
“Very recently,” Ichigo replied dryly.
Ajuka lifted his chin even as his gaze lit with his own demonic power. “You’ve taken another step.”
Ichigo didn’t confirm or deny, not that he needed to. Ajuka was arguably the most perceptive person beneath the divine. Instead, Ichigo said, “What happened after the battle?”
Sirzechs answered quickly. “Well, after I brought you back and sealed you in your sanctum, Falbium increased the intensity our attacks on the Old Satan Faction strongholds. Though the Void’s blessings have vastly bolstered their ranks. Luckily, not to the same extent that we encountered at the Summit. But enough that we’ve had to deploy Ultimate-class in numbers not seen since the Civil War. Meanwhile, Sera has been negotiating nonstop with Heaven and Grigori. The main points of the agreements we made still stand, but we the finer details are being hammered out.”
Serafall nodded enthusiastically. “Mm-hmm, mm-hmm! We’ve also pushed back the Youth Rating Game tournament. Given we’re still expecting the Old Satan idiots to try something to coincide with the event, we wanted you back to full power.”
Ichigo nodded. That made sense. They were fully expecting an attack on home turf, Hell, they were allowing it. All to gather their enemies in one spot and decisively crush them.
Sera then put a finger to her chin and looked up in thought. “Oh yeah! Speaking of them! Sirzechs managed to detain Katerea while rushing your broken-self back to the Underworld! I wanted to kill her but Sirzechs insisted we keep her in confinement so that you can deal with her yourself.”
“Thanks,” Ichigo said, not really caring either way. He had far bigger concerns than Katerea Leviathan’s deluded ass. “That being said, I have a few things to handle while I’m up and about, but I’ll be back in my inner sanctum within the day. Like I said, I still need a few days to fully stabilize my new body.”
Once upon a time, Ichigo’s bones creaked under the weight of his own power, he had no desire to live through that experience again. The faster he got his body back to full strength, the better for everyone… well, everyone who didn’t find themselves on his now much longer shitlist. At the top of it was Tsukiyomi, he was looking forward to living up to Zangetsu’s name. And then there was that asshole of a Divine Dividing wielder. Stab him in the back, will he? Ichigo promised himself he’d break all the Lucifer descendant’s limbs with a vengeance.
As if reading his mind, Sera gave him a piercing look. “How aware are you of who attacked you?”
Ichigo’s mouth twisted acerbically. “Very aware.” He then launched into a lengthy explanation of what he saw in his soul, the remnant divinity of Tsukiyomi and the words spoken to him. He also revealed to his fellow Satans the divide between the Shinto Sun and Moon, as well as how Tsukiyomi was the one to lower the barriers around Japan, allowing Kokabiel to enter the place unnoticed with an entire legion of Fallen. As well as Ophis’ role in aiding the mad Cadre in breaking into the vaults of Heaven and releasing Rhongomyniad.
Though he did not mention the Soul King and Hades, nor the lengthy conversation he had with the two. There was something about the moment outside of Time that was oddly… personal to him. As much as he valued his fellow Crown Princes, that moment was far too intimate to share with them.
Sirzechs leaned back, eyes narrowing in thought as he digested the information Ichigo had divulged. “Well, that confirms our suspicions then. But then let us bring you up to date on Khaos Brigade-”
And Ichigo listened intently as his fellow Satans brought him up to speed.
-----
While fully aware of what the fragment of his mind was saying and observing in the dimension of Yfel, Ichigo’s main body, however, sat in the gardens of Kyoto feeling something he did not think he would ever feel. Especially given recent events.
Gratitude.
Ichigo was feeling damn grateful to that bastard Tsukiyomi.
Why? Because, as he sat in a small pavilion located at the center of a pond in his wife’s palace, Tiamat laid down with her head on his lap. And on his other side, Yasaka leaned into his shoulder with her eyes closed.
He looked down, taking in the content eyes of his Dragon as he gently brushed her hair with his fingers. And then he looked over, as his other hand rested on Yasaka’s shoulder and held her tight against his chest.
He had dreamed about this moment. No, seriously, he literally had dreams about this moment. And all it took for it to happen was him being blown up by some petulant, entitled divine moon… fuck. He might actually have to offer that bastard Tsukiyomi a drink… right before he sent him straight to Hell.
Had he known this is what it would take for these two immensely prideful and powerful women to set aside their possessive natures and get along for longer than five minutes, he would have…
Ichigo’s eyes widened even as he nervously swallowed… he could never let Tiamat or Yasaka ever know he had such thoughts. Otherwise, they’d finish what Tsukiyomi started.
But wandering, intrusive thoughts aside, for well over an hour now, Ichigo had told them everything. He had told every truth and secret that had been unveiled to him in the Fourth World to these two women. Because, while he would keep such things from the other Crown Princes, these were his loves. His consorts, his partners for the rest of eternity, however long that would be for the three of them.
Ichigo did not want secrets between them. Not those on the magnitude of this.
And he was brought back to the moment as a slight breeze picked up. A warm summer wind that skimmed across the pond, ruffling the mirrored surface until ripples scattered the drifting sakura petals in soft, tumbling circles. The air thickened with flowery perfume; of jasmines climbing from shaded trellises and peach blossoms sweetening on the branch.
He took in a deep breath, inhaling the indulgent, sun-kissed fragrance that settled over the garden with a soft sigh.
After having told them everything, after having literally given the secrets of his life and existence to these two women he loved more than said life itself, they had gone quiet. Rather than immediately offer him any sort of consolation or voice their outrage, they had gone quiet with contemplation.
And Ichigo appreciated that more than he could put into words. Again, he was left touched by how amazing these two women were. Not many had the wisdom to hold silence and carefully consider revelations before voicing their thoughts. Ichigo could readily admit he could be dumb and reckless at times, so that such sage women had allowed him to enter their hearts… he really was a damn lucky Demon.
But finally, it was Yasaka who broke their silence.
“But what does it change?” She asked in a soft voice. And he looked over to her, her golden eyes shining with such an outpouring of love that it nearly stole his breath away. Gingerly, he picked a lock of golden hair between his thumb and index finger and massaged it gently. “Does it change anything, knowing what you know now?”
“No.” And it was Tiamat who answered, firmly resolutely. And he looked down to see ocean blue eyes staring up at him fiercely. And she raised an imperious hand to touch his jaw. “He is still he. No matter what decrees come down from the Fourth World, no matter what claims the Undying try to press onto his Fate, he can only ever be himself. That can never be taken from him.”
And Yasaka touched his other cheek and Ichigo turned towards her. “You’re right, it doesn’t matter what anyone says or decides. He is our Ichigo. Always and forever.”
His mouth parted just slightly, but in that moment, he found himself choking with emotion. He hadn’t felt this… he blinked. Oh Lucifer, were those tears?
This overwhelming sense of self and security… the last time he had felt such choking emotions was when he last stood before his mother’s grave, confessing to her his decision to jump headlong into the unknown.
“I-,” he closed his mouth, pushing down the knot in his throat as and nodded to himself. “I really love you. I really, really love you two.”
They both smiled at him, soft and indulgent.
“We know,” Yasaka said, rubbing her thumb along his cheek. “We are never letting you go, Ichigo. No one will ever take you from us.”
“Ever, and none shall take us from you, beloved.” Tiamat said, conviction ringing in her eyes as she sat up from his lap.
And something clicked then: not in him, but in the moment itself. In the way their tender gazes hardened with resolve and unyielding, ironclad will. There was a fierceness there now. His wife’s charming gaze had become colored with a vulpine mania. And those serpentine eyes of his familiar glowed with an avaricious craze he had not seen in a very, very long time.
And – oh.
He just got it. They hadn’t put aside their possessive tendencies at all, had they? No, quite the opposite. Somehow, someway, without him having realized it, these two had merely decided to put their jealous and covetous natures together for their mutual benefit. And suddenly, Ichigo felt like the proverbial canary caught between two very hungry cats.
Yasaka and Tiamat looked at each other, and the glow in their eyes seemed to reflect off of each other’s gaze and only seemed to intensify the frenetic passion there. And slowly, they turned towards him, and he could only gulp helpless at the sheer want and desire he found staring at him.
Uh-oh.
Yasaka reached up and slowly pulled her kimono apart, revealing the soft curves of her magnificent breasts in full. Tiamat followed in suit, easily slipping the straps of her dress across her shoulder, her lithe and bountiful curves falling out right before his eyes.
As his mouth went bone dry, Ichigo never felt such an amazing concoction of fear and arousal in his life.
And as both his consorts closed in on him, Ichigo had one lone and errant thought –
I can get used to this.
-----
A/N:
Tiamat's Poetic Prose
And I saw thee, a Fell Flame burning in the Abyss.
And thy tinder was of fear and doubt and loneliness.
And most fearsome of all, I saw the tinder of cruel hope. My hope. In thee.
I saw shadows of your Destiny, and flickering within your possibility mine own happiness.
Of Love that is Love that is Love that is Love that is Love.
You, so monstrous and young.
I did not bind myself to thee in whim. I did not meld our minds with a wyrm's trickery as I had claimed.
I did so with a tumultuous heart daring to find what I had lost eons ago.
And what joy it brings me to say I found that and more.
Does thou not see? Mine eyes searching for thee? My lips yearning for thee? My heart beating for thee?
Always and forever more, this Tiamat is yours.
Yasaka's Haiku
Eight Slopes on your lips
Fifteen Shadows on the bed
Sunlight learns to blush
Comments
Harris Hussain
I’ve read many stories where a character goes through grief. But yours is perhaps the first that felt like it understood the hole it leaves behind. You’ve turned Tiamat feelings into something so intimate and raw. The way you described the shadow of potentially losing a soul mate is hauntingly beautiful.
Harish
Please tell me we have another chapter of some pure family goodness before the Narrative takes center stage again.
