Short Story -- Despair (Kinda Long)

Some of this was supposed to be in italics and stuff, like the thoughts and certain words, but I'm copying and pasting this from word, and I don't feel like going through and re-formatting it. =w= Hopefully you don't get confused. I wrote it for a class a month or so ago. >.> It's like a crossover of Bleach and Blue Exorcist with my own characters. xD The first part is actually the end, the rest leads up to it. xD

---

“Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair.”
This sentence, when first uttered, had seemed so resolute; obsolete and determined. Nothing, not even death itself, could stop him. But now, because of his unwavering defiance, he had nothing. His friends, his family, his life; everything that he held dear was now but dust in the wind. For all his perseverance, what did it get him? Not what he expected, only complete and utter desolation.
“What is this . . . what the fuck is going on?!” a deranged voice cried out, shattering the silence of the empty room. The voice belonged to a boy who leaned against the wall of said room. Wild brown eyes stared blankly at a wooden ceiling. The only emotion that could be observed in the amber depths was absolute self-loathing. Shaggy black hair reached down to the boy’s shoulders and his skin was a pallid white. A haunted expression graced his features. As of now, this boy, Kazuma Masakazu, had no recollection of what had occurred over the last few hours. He had no idea why he was completely alone and he couldn’t place what the salty, metallic smell in the air was. It seemed to permeate the room, overwhelming his senses.
A liquid; thick and crimson ran freely cross the floor. After a few moments, it touched Kazuma’s hand, which had been resting on the floor in the form of a clenched fist. At first, he didn’t register the red, sticky liquid, but after a while, it became impossible to ignore. With a wondering expression, he raised his left hand up to his face, observing the substance that now coloured the pale skin of his palm. So red . . . what could it be?
“How ironic . . . her blood is on your hands, in more ways than one.” a sinister voice stated, invading the chaotic abyss of thoughts that plagued his mind.
Upon hearing the voice of his ghastly counterpart, his eyes widened, so much that the sclera of his eyes formed a white circle around the irises. “No. . . Not you. Not now. You piece of shit! This is all your fault!” he cried out from within the confines of his mind. Now that he was back in the material world, he could remember all too vividly what this second self had done . . . using his very own body, it had killed the most important person in the world to him.
There was silence after his mental outburst; no sneering voice replied to his accusation. His eyes wandered, observing the room he was in. It appeared to be the inside of someone’s home, wooden floors, a small table and a stove illustrated the fact that it was a kitchen; though he couldn’t see any door from his perspective; it must have been along the wall he was leaning against. His wandering eyes fell upon the stream of red liquid that seemed to be flowing towards him. He followed it with a dazed expression. Where did it come from? Did someone spill juice on the floor? No, that wasn’t it. The trail led to a huddled form, which was sprawled out on the floor just outside the kitchen. The same red liquid was forming a pool under the figure. Midnight-black hair was the only feature he could distinguish, but that was enough.
“Ahh. . . .” he stammered incoherently before letting out a scream of anguish; the pitch of it was enough to make his throat raw. He had come to a stunning realization; everything came back to him, the horrifying memories hitting him with the force of a tidal wave . . . that red liquid; it was blood, her blood. And this was their kitchen.
Violent black flames began to consume the room.
--


“Kazuma! I just got an order; I’m going out for a bit.” a familiar feminine voice called loudly, jolting Kazuma out an intense reverie. He had been staring off into space, leaning back on the couch. His light brown eyes lost their dazed look and he looked over his shoulder, to where his roommate was still half-in, half-out of the doorway, awaiting his response.
“All right, I’ll probably be here when you get back.” Kazuma replied, recalling that he, for once, wasn’t required to do any “work”.
After the brief exchange, the girl left and quietly closed the door behind her. That was Lieko Hayashi, Kazuma’s esteemed roommate, and . . . an “exorcist”. Not some glorified guidance counsellor kind of exorcist either, the real thing. Demons and malignant spirits; those apparitions are real, very real. The only reason the world hasn’t been overrun by the gruesome beasts yet, is because of exorcists like Leiko. Kazuma himself had seen what they were capable of . . . well of course he had, one could say that he was close to demons, other than the fact that he “helped” Leiko sometimes.
The two of them were similar in so many ways. . . Kazuma would reflect. He had deep, convoluted feelings for Leiko. But whenever he thought of the possibilities, he had to shake those thoughts away. There was no way it would work, just no way. He was too dangerous; he would only end up hurting her.
With a morose sigh, Kazuma got up off the couch and made his way over to the window at the north side of the room. Gazing through the smooth glass surface of the aperture, Kazuma found himself looking down upon group of children playing in the streets. His apartment was on the second story, so he had a fair view. The kids seemed to be kicking a circular object around; a ball of some sort. It seemed familiar to him somehow; the very form of the ball itself seemed to dredge up partially lost memories from the recesses of his mind.
“Kemari. . . .” Kazuma murmured with an absent expression. He remembered playing that once, or trying to. Back then, his control over . . . “it” had been quite lacking. It was immediately obvious how different he was from the other kids. They wouldn’t let him join in; in fact they had thrown rocks at him. It was from that day on, that he stopped trying. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, but each time he brushed it aside. Those particular kids just didn’t like him . . . he could find other friends. That’s what he would think to himself. In truth, he was in denial.
In that old society, no one would ever accept him. Most of the kids had parents who were exorcists. Why is this relevant? A little known fact: Kazuma had been a little over fourteen years old when the kemari incident had occurred. Another fact: the kemari incident occurred roughly forty years ago. Now, after those forty years have passed, he looks relatively the same. While everyone else grew old and retired, Kazuma had retained the body and visage of a teenager. This fact, coupled with the dense and darkly powerful aura that had surrounded Kazuma most times during his “youth”, could only mean one thing. He himself was part demon. By now, he had learned to control his demonic impulses and his fangs and claws weren’t visible anymore; but it was a delicate balance.
Sometimes he could hear it, that voice in the back of his mind. It called out to him, chastising him with honey-smooth words, attempting to convince its vessel to let it free; so that it could roam. When Kazuma refused, the demon within lashed out, screaming and taunting him from within the confines of his own mind. He would never let that thing out though. If he did, everything would be ruined, just like that time in the spring. . .
--

It was when he was merely ten years of age . . . he didn’t know what he really was back then; he thought he was human, just like everyone else. He had lived with in a quaint little village with his mother. He didn’t know his father; apparently he had disappeared some time before Kazuma’s birth. His life was relatively peaceful. He had friends that he would play with after work and lessons, and a roof over his head. He wasn’t rich by any means, but he had her, his mother, and that’s all he wanted; she was the centre of his universe. That all ended the day that “it” came to the surface.
“Hey. . . .” a sinister voice had murmured. Kazuma had been alone in the hut; his mother had gone out to get something in the woods. Now his knees hit the wooden floor with a thump, and his hands came up to clutch the sides of his head.
What’s going on?! Who are you. . .? Kazuma thought. Only he had heard the voice, and somehow, he knew that it was coming from within him; he could feel it.
“I am you, don’t be alarmed. And now, I will free you from the custody of those lowly humans. This place is unbecoming of a demon.” The voice responded. Its tone was harsh, yet gentle at the same time.
What. . .? this was the last thought that Kazuma had before he lost consciousness. Oddly enough, he stood up. This wasn’t Kazuma anymore, it was that thing. A curious black substance seemed to be slithering from the corner of his eye. Substance was the only word to describe it, and yet, the murky darkness had no actual substance; it was more like a visual effect. After a brief moment, the whole of both Kazuma’s sclera were pitch-black, like the void. Instead of their usual languid brown, his irises were now a blazing orange, reminiscent of liquid flame. Kazuma’s face was now contorted into a bloodthirsty, twisted grin as he looked from the left to the right, slowly scanning the room. He raised his right hand upwards slightly, flexing his fingers, which were now adorned with razor-sharp claws, each one an inch long.
Just as he was about to descend the miniature stairway that led out the front door of the hut, the door opened from the outside. The hatchway swung open, revealing the form of Kazuma’s mother. She was holding a basket filled with various fruits. Her cheery expression changed to that of horror as she caught sight of her transformed son standing in the doorway.
How could it have surfaced so early?! She thought with a torn expression, regretting not telling Kazuma about his heritage sooner. If she had, then maybe he would have known how to resist the demon within. Now it was too late; for both of them. She took one small step forward, determined to embrace her son. Maybe that would bring him to his senses . . . but she never got the chance. As soon as she took that step, the demon saw her as an aggressor, nothing more than an obstacle, and with sickening speed he lunged forward, impaling Kazuma’s mother through the chest with his right hand. The vicious claws protruding from his fingertips easily tore through her flesh and were now visible through the back of her floral-print kimono.
Kazuma’s mother looked down at her son as blood began to dribble from the corner of her mouth. Her lips moved, trying to form words that just weren’t there; instead, she coughed, painting Kazuma’s face with a crimson mist. Then her eyes went dull, and she slumped over, still partially held up by the sheer strength of Kazuma’s arm.
With distaste, the overtaken Kazuma pulled his arm free from the corpse, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud.
“Pathetic. . . .” he grumbled. Oddly, his voice sounded as if there were two people talking. Kazuma’s own voice and a more baleful, corrupt voice; both joined together to create one low monotone.
He nonchalantly flicked his stained right hand to the side, attempting to get rid of some of the blood. All he could smell was that blood, that filthy human blood. It was already beginning to pool out around his mother’s body, and would soon start to congeal. Driven by unknown impulses, the demon looked back at the corpse. The sight of her limp, lifeless form sprawled across the floorboards triggered something deep within Kazuma. The first reaction was minuscule and barely discernible, a mere twitch of his left eye. Then suddenly a bloodcurdling scream tore the night air. That scream came from Kazuma himself. The murky darkness slowly started to recede from the boy’s eyes as Kazuma screamed once again. The dark aura that had filled the room before now burst upwards, blowing the entire roof off of the hut, a small explosion of black flame complimented the odd sight. If Kazuma’s screams hadn’t already alerted everyone in the village, this would. Many people, who had seen the light of the explosion through their shutters, thought that it was fireworks at first. But no, it wasn’t fireworks; it was in fact, the flames of hell, En’netsu Jigoku.
By now, Kazuma was back in control of his bodily functions, for the most part. Tears streamed down his face as he remembered what he had just done. He had killed his own mother! Once again, he fell to his knees, staring blankly at his bloodstained right hand while his tears continued to fall freely.
I want to die. . . . this was his last rational thought before he was pulled into the depths of despair.
When the other villagers had made it to the scene of the “fireworks”, all they saw was a totaled house, and inside of the structure, a young boy, covered in blood, his sanity quickly beginning to deteriorate.
--

Of course, that was years ago. Though the horrifying memory still pained him, Kazuma had recovered considerably. Now, he considered it an incentive to work harder. So that he could protect lives instead of taking them. He knew that this was what his late mother would want.
Turning away from the window with a passive expression, Kazuma sighed. He wasn’t used to having so much time to lounge around. Truthfully, he didn’t like it.
Well, I may as well get some sleep while I have the chance. Kazuma thought to himself, casually walking back over to the couch and lying down. After a few minutes, he was fast asleep.
Kazuma was dreaming, he had to be; how else could he have ended up in such an odd place? He appeared to be in a large, rectangular room. The ceiling, walls, and even the floors were an odd shade of purple, and were all covered in a square pattern. Off too each of Kazuma’s sides, the walls weren’t visible. Opaque fog, pure and unwavering, obscured those areas.
What the hell? Kazuma thought as he took in his surroundings. He knew that he must have been dreaming, but this felt real somehow . . . and achingly familiar. He racked his brain, trying to figure out the feeling he had. He remembered this place . . . maybe he had dreamed about it before? A hazy image flickered through his mind for an instant. It was his mother, looking down at him. In that moment, they were both covered in blood. Kazuma’s eyes opened wide in fervor as he realized it. The last time he had been here, was that time in the spring, when he was ten. This was where he had watched, as his mother was killed, literally by his own hand.
“No!!” Why now?! I’ve worked so hard, why is this happening now?! A couple of the pale purple tiles in front of Kazuma flickered for a second, before changing. Now he could see the inside of his apartment, though the tiles. It was like watching TV. That’s all he could do now, watch.
In the material world, Kazuma stood up, but of course, this wasn’t Kazuma as he usually was. His eyes were now a fiery orange with jet-black sclera. Just as before, his fingernails had changed into jagged claws. It was a couple hours since Kazuma had went to sleep on the couch.
“Took me long enough . . . but I’m finally out again.” the demonized Kazuma uttered, in the very same, sinister monotone. I’ll make him pay for keeping me imprisoned like that. . . .
The demon looked around, hoping to find that girl whom Kazuma lived with. He knew that Kazuma cared deeply for her. If he were determined to make his vessel feel despair, killing her would be the best way to do it. She wasn’t here though. Though the demon was loathe to simply sit around waiting, this was just too good a chance to pass up. He knew that she would have to come back sometime.
--

When Leiko came back, she was relatively content. The exorcism had been a success; it was only a lower class demon that she had needed to deal with. She opened the door and saw that Kazuma was still in the same position as when she had left him. She could see the back of his head, with its oddly spiked hair, over the top of the couch.
“How lazy can you be?” Leiko asked in a good-natured tone, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind her.
Upon hearing the voice of his intended target, Kazuma slowly turned his head to face her, with a twisted grin contorting his features.
“Welcome home.” he said, in the same chilling voice. The demon was evidently still in control.
At the sound of the warped voice, Leiko quickly turned her head. She stared at Kazuma, her expression went from surprised, to serious, in an instant. Staring into the abysmal orange irises, Leiko felt like she was looking into the depths of Hell
He’s been overtaken. Leiko had already determined this; she knew what Kazuma was. And yet, she still accepted him. That was why Kazuma loved Leiko, deep down, though he would never admit it.
In one fluid moment, the pseudo Kazuma had hopped over the edge of the couch, so that he was now facing Leiko. The same twisted expression still played upon his features. The demon couldn’t wait to tear her apart, and see Kazuma’s face when he realized just how weak he really was.
I thought you were stronger than this, Kazuma. . . . Leiko reacted instantly, sliding her right foot back so that both feet were a one-foot distance apart. This was her battle stance, and she would have a better sense of balance this way. She knew what she had to do. She had to exorcise this demon and Kazuma along with it. It was all she could do for him now.
Leiko began to chant. Her lips moved quickly as she chanted the beginnings of what was known as a Verse of Death.
“Sharp tower, red crystal, steel ring. Move and become the wind, stop and become the calm. The sound of warring spears fills the empty castle!” as Leiko chanted this, her hands began to glow with a pure, white light. But then, she paused, and the light began to die down. A single tear slid down her cheek as she realized what she was trying to do. No, she couldn’t kill Kazuma, she just couldn’t. She let her hands fall to her sides and ended the chant. The brilliant glow from earlier quickly dissipated in entirety as she canceled the progression of the verse.
Ha . . . foolish girl. You should have ended it while you had the chance. With that thought, the demon made Kazuma’s body rush forward. He watched as the girl tried to keep her sight on him. It was amusing. No matter how strong they were, no human could ever hope to keep up with him, and he knew that.
Leiko took a single, trembling step backwards before the dark form of Kazuma descended upon her. That was it. He did it again.
Back in Kazuma’s “dream” the rain began to fall, and everything crumbled.

Wow, that was amazing!~ *.*

Thanks! ^.^

^^; sorry for late comment on it but I really enjoyed reading it :3 real good story Mug ~<3

Thanks~ ^^