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"...every single day?"
"Every single day. He just stands there, in the freezing cold, staring at that grave stone."
"That's a little weird, don't you think?"
From a hundred yards back, three abnormally large figures stood at the front of the village graveyard, not passing beneath the arch that designated entrance but rather peering beyond the division it created. A single line of foot prints, pressed into the soft, recently fallen snow, proceeded to weave around grave stones until they arrived where the man in question stood. He was silent, stoically so, looking upon the grave directly in front of him, as he had every day for the past several weeks.
"What do ya think his deal is, anyways? He just rolls into town and hangs around the graveyard like some creep. No one knows his name, he doesn't talk to anyone. You think he's human?"
"He'd have to be an awfully stupid one to hang around here. Ain't nothing but monsters and rejects around these parts."
"Speak for yourself. I ain't no monster, I just ain't got no other place to be. There's no where safe anymore for folks like us."
"He kind of reminds me of that story, y'know, the one with the creepy demon?"
The largest of the three scoffed at the idea. "You're not tellin' me you believe that shit, d'you?"
"What story?" Asked their third, whom had been quiet throughout the entire conversation, simply observing the man in the distance.
"Oh, boy, here we go again."
"Shut up and let me tell him about it, will ya?"
A small lull fell upon the conversation as snow began to fall once more. Fluttering, tiny flakes descended from a clouded sky, filling in the dips created by the foot prints on the ground as though they had never been made in the first place. Flakes began to catch on the haired ears of the watchers, their fur-bound skin providing them an insulation against winter's chill that the man in the distance who stood within the graveyard did not seem to have the luxury of. Yet, he seemed to show no sign of discomfort from the cold, it was as though he weren't affected at all.
Within his head, he was reliving a memory, fully aware that he was being watched but unconcerned with whom it was doing the watching. He had little fear left inside of his body and even less desire to spend feeling it.
It was difficult to find a reason to be afraid when not even time itself can punish you for your sins.
~~~
Isen felt the blade pass through his rib cage, carving deeply into his body as though his skin and bones provided no resistance whatsoever to it's edge. As his blood began to exit the wound he had inflicted, it formed into a crimson pool at his feet and he fell onto his knees to meet it.
"Have you learned nothing yet?" A voice within his head taunted him, speaking words that only Isen could hear. "You are immortal. You cannot die. How many times must you inflict harm upon yourself before you finally accept this gift that you have been given?"
Clutching the handle, Isen tried to push the sword even deeper into his sternum, as if doing so would somehow cause enough pain to shut up the voice speaking to him. It was, however, little use, and the blade seemed to force itself back out against his weakened push. Purple and white energy began to manifest from the blade itself, appearing like small specs of dust, rotating around one another like a pack of butterflies fluttering from the base of the weapon to the wound it had inflicted, covering the surface with a glow of the same color that seemed to mend the damage as though his skin had never been punctured with intent to harm.
For Isen, this was the third time today that he had tried to leave the world of the living. His first attempt came at the precipice of a jagged cliff face which he had plunged himself over and the second came in the form of a fall into the unforgiving current of a rocky, raging river. Now, by the tip of the very same blade that had sealed his fate, he had tried, and subsequently failed, to take the life he no longer wished to live. With guilt and regret heavy in his heart, he figured it simple to stop it from beating, to slow his breathing with indescribable pain until he finally found peace.
But peace was not meant to be his, nor did he deserve it.
~~~
"So, you think that's him? The demon?"
"I don't know, could be. It kinda lines up, don't you think? A traveling demon with a devil's sword who can't die...drifting between towns, killing as he pleases with no concern for life, human or other wise. A grim reaper, omen of death, bringer of de-"
"...I think all this snow is freezin' up your brains.
"Would it kill you to have an imagination for once?"
"Why would I spend my time thinking about that? This world is already fucked up enough as it is for folks like us. I don't need to think about demons and monsters bein' real, they've been huntin' us for ten years."
It had been ten years since the world had become aware. Ten years since life had changed for both humans and those of supernatural origin. When humans learned of the existance of creatures unlike themselves, it had given validity to every single story that couldn't be explained; monsters in the forest, the things that go bump at night, urban legends thought to be foolish tales intended to scare children.
Fear was inevitable. And fear was motivation.
A sect of the government had been created, rather swiftly, to form contingency plans against what they couldn't understand or control. As natural a reaction as any in the face of an unnatural threat, they sat out to find their weakness and put them down before it became a problem. For lycanthropes and vampires, spirits and demons, there seemed to be but one common thread connecting them all; magic was their Achilles heel.
And thus began the first phase of their plan. Mages, those who practiced in magic long before the grand reveal, were hunted down and forced to use their abilities to craft traps and weapons capable of destroying what the government had deemed as "Dissonants", unwanted beings who were different than humanity. In secret, they forced those fluent in the arcane to turn their spells against those considered Dissonant, while the public believed this culling to be in the name of public safety and protection.
It wasn't a surprise that three werewolves, seeking refuge in a small village away from the watch of the powers that be, seemed to take interest in the sudden appearance of a human in a place full of castaway Dissonants. Why would a human willingly choose to live amongst the very creatures that had instilled so much fear into an entire world's populace? And with all the humans had taken away from them, it seemed foolish to surround himself with powerful beings who had every reason to hate him and his kind.
And yet, Isen stood alone, unshaken and unbothered by weather or company alike.
"Come on, I'm tired of this. Let 'em freeze. Demon or not, if he wants to stay outside in a snowstorm, the more power to 'em."
The three turned away from the graveyard and began their trek back towards the small, adjacent village, hoping to beat out the inclement weather before the path ahead became shrouded in the thick squall of a blizzard.
And yet, he remained steady. His eyes, golden, transfixed upon the lettering engraved into the stone before him. Resting beneath the white blanket that had covered the ground were a pair of graves dug side by side. On the left, the writing read his own name; "Isen Hiyori". However, Isen seemed more interested in name of the person laid to rest on the other side.
"Meribell Hiyori.
Loving daughter and sister.
2021-2029."
Isen was aware that his guests had left him alone but that annoying voice in his head thought it a good time now to make him aware of another visitor who was approaching their position through the fledgling storm.
"Someone else is coming. A girl. Hm, this one's interesting...Isen, shall we say hello?"
Isen's silence answered that with a resounding "no".
"Every single day. He just stands there, in the freezing cold, staring at that grave stone."
"That's a little weird, don't you think?"
From a hundred yards back, three abnormally large figures stood at the front of the village graveyard, not passing beneath the arch that designated entrance but rather peering beyond the division it created. A single line of foot prints, pressed into the soft, recently fallen snow, proceeded to weave around grave stones until they arrived where the man in question stood. He was silent, stoically so, looking upon the grave directly in front of him, as he had every day for the past several weeks.
"What do ya think his deal is, anyways? He just rolls into town and hangs around the graveyard like some creep. No one knows his name, he doesn't talk to anyone. You think he's human?"
"He'd have to be an awfully stupid one to hang around here. Ain't nothing but monsters and rejects around these parts."
"Speak for yourself. I ain't no monster, I just ain't got no other place to be. There's no where safe anymore for folks like us."
"He kind of reminds me of that story, y'know, the one with the creepy demon?"
The largest of the three scoffed at the idea. "You're not tellin' me you believe that shit, d'you?"
"What story?" Asked their third, whom had been quiet throughout the entire conversation, simply observing the man in the distance.
"Oh, boy, here we go again."
"Shut up and let me tell him about it, will ya?"
A small lull fell upon the conversation as snow began to fall once more. Fluttering, tiny flakes descended from a clouded sky, filling in the dips created by the foot prints on the ground as though they had never been made in the first place. Flakes began to catch on the haired ears of the watchers, their fur-bound skin providing them an insulation against winter's chill that the man in the distance who stood within the graveyard did not seem to have the luxury of. Yet, he seemed to show no sign of discomfort from the cold, it was as though he weren't affected at all.
Within his head, he was reliving a memory, fully aware that he was being watched but unconcerned with whom it was doing the watching. He had little fear left inside of his body and even less desire to spend feeling it.
It was difficult to find a reason to be afraid when not even time itself can punish you for your sins.
~~~
Isen felt the blade pass through his rib cage, carving deeply into his body as though his skin and bones provided no resistance whatsoever to it's edge. As his blood began to exit the wound he had inflicted, it formed into a crimson pool at his feet and he fell onto his knees to meet it.
"Have you learned nothing yet?" A voice within his head taunted him, speaking words that only Isen could hear. "You are immortal. You cannot die. How many times must you inflict harm upon yourself before you finally accept this gift that you have been given?"
Clutching the handle, Isen tried to push the sword even deeper into his sternum, as if doing so would somehow cause enough pain to shut up the voice speaking to him. It was, however, little use, and the blade seemed to force itself back out against his weakened push. Purple and white energy began to manifest from the blade itself, appearing like small specs of dust, rotating around one another like a pack of butterflies fluttering from the base of the weapon to the wound it had inflicted, covering the surface with a glow of the same color that seemed to mend the damage as though his skin had never been punctured with intent to harm.
For Isen, this was the third time today that he had tried to leave the world of the living. His first attempt came at the precipice of a jagged cliff face which he had plunged himself over and the second came in the form of a fall into the unforgiving current of a rocky, raging river. Now, by the tip of the very same blade that had sealed his fate, he had tried, and subsequently failed, to take the life he no longer wished to live. With guilt and regret heavy in his heart, he figured it simple to stop it from beating, to slow his breathing with indescribable pain until he finally found peace.
But peace was not meant to be his, nor did he deserve it.
~~~
"So, you think that's him? The demon?"
"I don't know, could be. It kinda lines up, don't you think? A traveling demon with a devil's sword who can't die...drifting between towns, killing as he pleases with no concern for life, human or other wise. A grim reaper, omen of death, bringer of de-"
"...I think all this snow is freezin' up your brains.
"Would it kill you to have an imagination for once?"
"Why would I spend my time thinking about that? This world is already fucked up enough as it is for folks like us. I don't need to think about demons and monsters bein' real, they've been huntin' us for ten years."
It had been ten years since the world had become aware. Ten years since life had changed for both humans and those of supernatural origin. When humans learned of the existance of creatures unlike themselves, it had given validity to every single story that couldn't be explained; monsters in the forest, the things that go bump at night, urban legends thought to be foolish tales intended to scare children.
Fear was inevitable. And fear was motivation.
A sect of the government had been created, rather swiftly, to form contingency plans against what they couldn't understand or control. As natural a reaction as any in the face of an unnatural threat, they sat out to find their weakness and put them down before it became a problem. For lycanthropes and vampires, spirits and demons, there seemed to be but one common thread connecting them all; magic was their Achilles heel.
And thus began the first phase of their plan. Mages, those who practiced in magic long before the grand reveal, were hunted down and forced to use their abilities to craft traps and weapons capable of destroying what the government had deemed as "Dissonants", unwanted beings who were different than humanity. In secret, they forced those fluent in the arcane to turn their spells against those considered Dissonant, while the public believed this culling to be in the name of public safety and protection.
It wasn't a surprise that three werewolves, seeking refuge in a small village away from the watch of the powers that be, seemed to take interest in the sudden appearance of a human in a place full of castaway Dissonants. Why would a human willingly choose to live amongst the very creatures that had instilled so much fear into an entire world's populace? And with all the humans had taken away from them, it seemed foolish to surround himself with powerful beings who had every reason to hate him and his kind.
And yet, Isen stood alone, unshaken and unbothered by weather or company alike.
"Come on, I'm tired of this. Let 'em freeze. Demon or not, if he wants to stay outside in a snowstorm, the more power to 'em."
The three turned away from the graveyard and began their trek back towards the small, adjacent village, hoping to beat out the inclement weather before the path ahead became shrouded in the thick squall of a blizzard.
And yet, he remained steady. His eyes, golden, transfixed upon the lettering engraved into the stone before him. Resting beneath the white blanket that had covered the ground were a pair of graves dug side by side. On the left, the writing read his own name; "Isen Hiyori". However, Isen seemed more interested in name of the person laid to rest on the other side.
"Meribell Hiyori.
Loving daughter and sister.
2021-2029."
Isen was aware that his guests had left him alone but that annoying voice in his head thought it a good time now to make him aware of another visitor who was approaching their position through the fledgling storm.
"Someone else is coming. A girl. Hm, this one's interesting...Isen, shall we say hello?"
Isen's silence answered that with a resounding "no".
