more hidan fic
Short chapter this time, because I like how it ended.
Life Incarcerated
destruction is all that matters, rated R
“Destruction is all that matters, something complete and vicious. Something you feel, something that rips through your being in a state of perfect agony.” The man’s eyes were reverent beneath his hood, his grin showing perfect, pointed white teeth. Hidan liked him, liked the way his frenetic energy put him on edge. The man was beautiful, his face ageless and flawless as if it was painted. Blood stained the hem of his cloak, and his smile was fixed and fierce. Hidan wanted to be him.
“Destruction, seriously?” Hidan asked, “That’s all?”
The man shook his head, “There’s more. It takes hundreds of years to learn the teachings of Jashin.”
“I’m not sure if I have hundreds of years.”
“You will,” another perfect, pointed smile, “Trust me.”
The first one had been a Zen Buddhist priest. Hidan didn’t know exactly what drove him to it but he had been starving and the man’s slow words had frustrated him. The monk must have seen him, a young, thin boy as aching for some sort of spiritual fulfillment. An urchin he could take in and clothe and feed and teach. But Hidan was determined not to be that wayward boy. Something-he still couldn’t decide what-flooded his mind and he found himself thinking about how wonderful it would be to see this man’s blood, hear his last feeble gasp of life. He leaned forward, small hands coming up to grip the monk’s throat. The man’s eyes widened but there was no fear, not yet, he would not be frightened of a half-starved twelve year old with lonely, desperate eyes. So Hidan had dropped his hands and the man’s mouth quirked into a half smile and Hidan pulled out a hidden knife and drove it through the man’s throat before his smile could disappear.
The second had been a bandit. Nothing special, a sickly, half-crazed bandit who had snuck up behind Hidan and wrapped a filthy hand around his throat, pressing the cool silver of a knife against the jugular. Hidan froze; “Far from home, runt?” The bandit’s whisper was low and desperate and Hidan ducked out of his grasp, knocking him backwards and drawing his katana with deadly efficiency, pressing the tip to the man’s chest wordlessly. The bandit’s mouth fell open and he made to scramble back but in an instant Hidan stabbed down swiftly, slicing his chest open, watching the rich crimson spread across the man’s tattered robe. It wasn’t just strength and it wasn’t just power, it was something else altogether, something dizzying and meaningful and something he couldn’t understand for the life of him. The bandit didn’t die right away. He gasped and writhed on the ground, eyes rolling in pain. It was knowledge, the knowledge that he had just destroyed everything the bandit had ever had, ever worked for. He had taken a man’s life into his hands and he had decided to end it, to nullify his entire existence in one slice.
“What was it you wanted, asshole?” Hidan had said roughly, in his still childish voice, “What was it you were going to kill me for?” The man was opening his mouth, but only a groan escaped and his eyes slid shut, the last breath bursting from his lips.
The wild-eyed monk would have been the third. He stopped Hidan on the street saying, “You, boy, you look hungry.” And Hidan had lunged at him, too bloodthirsty to think. But the monk grabbed his wrist and Hidan froze as if he had been burned. Fear had gripped him, for the first time in years because the man’s strength was not tough and malleable, but hard and cold as ice, sharp and painful.
“Let me go,” Hidan hissed, but the man only laughed and the sound rushed down Hidan’s spine.
“Come along, little one, I can tell you a story,” The man’s eyes were hungry, but not in the same way as Hidan’s were. Hidan’s was a feeble hunger, born of need and weakness. This man had everything he could ever want; his hunger was simply greed for more.
“Get away from me, fucker,” Hidan said coldly even though he didn’t want the man to get away, he wanted him to stay with his strength and his greedy, dark eyes.
“What are you looking for?” The man hadn’t let go of him, his fingers tightened and Hidan hissed, “I can show you everything you need,” He grinned and Hidan was fixated, riveted. “I can make you just as strong as me.” His voice was a whisper now and Hidan nodded slowly.
“How can I trust you?” He said, fighting to keep his voice steady. The man shook his head.
“You can’t. But if you do, you could live forever. Everyone wants that, don’t they?” The man’s whisper was a growl and Hidan turned to stare into his eyes. They were dark, shot with crimson and though they were bright they looked static, dead.
“Show me,” Hidan said, feeling like a child again, his voice slipping into anxious silence. The man’s face broke into a wide grin, wolf-like.
“My pleasure.”
Hidan would always remember the blood. There was blood everywhere, in his eyes, in his mouth, sticky and hot between his fingers, salty and thick on his tongue. The pain was nothing; it had been blurred and forgotten, diminished by the greater pain that came later. But Hidan had never seen so much blood, enough wet scarlet to blind him, so unbearably hot. The blood weighed him down; it anchored him to that one excruciating moment, the last moment of consciousness when he signed his life over to a God who had never spoken to him.
The man was speaking, or chanting or something but Hidan could not understand the words he was saying, although something in his mind was telling him that it was probably important. But all he felt was a hot explosion of power, bursting through the boundaries of his body and spilling into the heated air like light. All he saw was red, even as the power tightened around him and he felt the parameters of his being once more, unbearably condensed. And then he was nothing but himself, bleeding and shaking on the laughing ground and his power had collected into a smooth, burning stone pressed deep into his heart. He didn’t know which was beating, his heart or this stone, this jagged, holy power that seemed to reside in his chest now, expanding and contracting with his every gasp. It squeezed his heart, surrounding the organ, smoldering steel wrapping around the fleshy helplessness of his heart, it suffocated his heart until he was sure it had replaced it altogether. Each beat seemed to shake him, every contraction made him grit his teeth, hands clenching into fists he could no longer see.
Finally he heard the voice, the torrid voice of the being that had become his god. “You can do nothing,” the voice was smooth and sharp at once, throbbing in his brain and overtaking his senses, “Nothing but serve me, and destroy in my name. Beauty can only be found in death. Beauty and death, in a glorious, burning blaze of blood and heat, the cries of women and children. The taste of blood on your tongue, bodies rotting in the sun, steel through flesh.”
Stop, thought Hidan but he knew it was far too late, he could feels Jashin’s claws sinking through the weak flesh of his brain, his sharp white teeth whispering curses and prayers, pulsing through his veins in a dizzying new power.
“You want this,” Jashin’s voice is too low to be a hiss, but too refined to be a growl, “Choose, child, my love or your death, my power or your death. Our power. Your power.”
Give it to me, Hidan’s want was too large for his chest, it billowed through him, a wish too vast to be uncontained, make me a legend, make me all there is between life and death. Make me fucking great. And Jashin was silent. All Hidan felt was the steady, painful beat of the stone within his empty chest, cooling now. He could not feel his heart, that perishable organ, so precious and so easily punctured. He did not think, he did not move. He shut his eyes against the crimson and prayed to his new God.
/end part two
link to part one
more to come!
Life Incarcerated
destruction is all that matters, rated R
“Destruction is all that matters, something complete and vicious. Something you feel, something that rips through your being in a state of perfect agony.” The man’s eyes were reverent beneath his hood, his grin showing perfect, pointed white teeth. Hidan liked him, liked the way his frenetic energy put him on edge. The man was beautiful, his face ageless and flawless as if it was painted. Blood stained the hem of his cloak, and his smile was fixed and fierce. Hidan wanted to be him.
“Destruction, seriously?” Hidan asked, “That’s all?”
The man shook his head, “There’s more. It takes hundreds of years to learn the teachings of Jashin.”
“I’m not sure if I have hundreds of years.”
“You will,” another perfect, pointed smile, “Trust me.”
The first one had been a Zen Buddhist priest. Hidan didn’t know exactly what drove him to it but he had been starving and the man’s slow words had frustrated him. The monk must have seen him, a young, thin boy as aching for some sort of spiritual fulfillment. An urchin he could take in and clothe and feed and teach. But Hidan was determined not to be that wayward boy. Something-he still couldn’t decide what-flooded his mind and he found himself thinking about how wonderful it would be to see this man’s blood, hear his last feeble gasp of life. He leaned forward, small hands coming up to grip the monk’s throat. The man’s eyes widened but there was no fear, not yet, he would not be frightened of a half-starved twelve year old with lonely, desperate eyes. So Hidan had dropped his hands and the man’s mouth quirked into a half smile and Hidan pulled out a hidden knife and drove it through the man’s throat before his smile could disappear.
The second had been a bandit. Nothing special, a sickly, half-crazed bandit who had snuck up behind Hidan and wrapped a filthy hand around his throat, pressing the cool silver of a knife against the jugular. Hidan froze; “Far from home, runt?” The bandit’s whisper was low and desperate and Hidan ducked out of his grasp, knocking him backwards and drawing his katana with deadly efficiency, pressing the tip to the man’s chest wordlessly. The bandit’s mouth fell open and he made to scramble back but in an instant Hidan stabbed down swiftly, slicing his chest open, watching the rich crimson spread across the man’s tattered robe. It wasn’t just strength and it wasn’t just power, it was something else altogether, something dizzying and meaningful and something he couldn’t understand for the life of him. The bandit didn’t die right away. He gasped and writhed on the ground, eyes rolling in pain. It was knowledge, the knowledge that he had just destroyed everything the bandit had ever had, ever worked for. He had taken a man’s life into his hands and he had decided to end it, to nullify his entire existence in one slice.
“What was it you wanted, asshole?” Hidan had said roughly, in his still childish voice, “What was it you were going to kill me for?” The man was opening his mouth, but only a groan escaped and his eyes slid shut, the last breath bursting from his lips.
The wild-eyed monk would have been the third. He stopped Hidan on the street saying, “You, boy, you look hungry.” And Hidan had lunged at him, too bloodthirsty to think. But the monk grabbed his wrist and Hidan froze as if he had been burned. Fear had gripped him, for the first time in years because the man’s strength was not tough and malleable, but hard and cold as ice, sharp and painful.
“Let me go,” Hidan hissed, but the man only laughed and the sound rushed down Hidan’s spine.
“Come along, little one, I can tell you a story,” The man’s eyes were hungry, but not in the same way as Hidan’s were. Hidan’s was a feeble hunger, born of need and weakness. This man had everything he could ever want; his hunger was simply greed for more.
“Get away from me, fucker,” Hidan said coldly even though he didn’t want the man to get away, he wanted him to stay with his strength and his greedy, dark eyes.
“What are you looking for?” The man hadn’t let go of him, his fingers tightened and Hidan hissed, “I can show you everything you need,” He grinned and Hidan was fixated, riveted. “I can make you just as strong as me.” His voice was a whisper now and Hidan nodded slowly.
“How can I trust you?” He said, fighting to keep his voice steady. The man shook his head.
“You can’t. But if you do, you could live forever. Everyone wants that, don’t they?” The man’s whisper was a growl and Hidan turned to stare into his eyes. They were dark, shot with crimson and though they were bright they looked static, dead.
“Show me,” Hidan said, feeling like a child again, his voice slipping into anxious silence. The man’s face broke into a wide grin, wolf-like.
“My pleasure.”
Hidan would always remember the blood. There was blood everywhere, in his eyes, in his mouth, sticky and hot between his fingers, salty and thick on his tongue. The pain was nothing; it had been blurred and forgotten, diminished by the greater pain that came later. But Hidan had never seen so much blood, enough wet scarlet to blind him, so unbearably hot. The blood weighed him down; it anchored him to that one excruciating moment, the last moment of consciousness when he signed his life over to a God who had never spoken to him.
The man was speaking, or chanting or something but Hidan could not understand the words he was saying, although something in his mind was telling him that it was probably important. But all he felt was a hot explosion of power, bursting through the boundaries of his body and spilling into the heated air like light. All he saw was red, even as the power tightened around him and he felt the parameters of his being once more, unbearably condensed. And then he was nothing but himself, bleeding and shaking on the laughing ground and his power had collected into a smooth, burning stone pressed deep into his heart. He didn’t know which was beating, his heart or this stone, this jagged, holy power that seemed to reside in his chest now, expanding and contracting with his every gasp. It squeezed his heart, surrounding the organ, smoldering steel wrapping around the fleshy helplessness of his heart, it suffocated his heart until he was sure it had replaced it altogether. Each beat seemed to shake him, every contraction made him grit his teeth, hands clenching into fists he could no longer see.
Finally he heard the voice, the torrid voice of the being that had become his god. “You can do nothing,” the voice was smooth and sharp at once, throbbing in his brain and overtaking his senses, “Nothing but serve me, and destroy in my name. Beauty can only be found in death. Beauty and death, in a glorious, burning blaze of blood and heat, the cries of women and children. The taste of blood on your tongue, bodies rotting in the sun, steel through flesh.”
Stop, thought Hidan but he knew it was far too late, he could feels Jashin’s claws sinking through the weak flesh of his brain, his sharp white teeth whispering curses and prayers, pulsing through his veins in a dizzying new power.
“You want this,” Jashin’s voice is too low to be a hiss, but too refined to be a growl, “Choose, child, my love or your death, my power or your death. Our power. Your power.”
Give it to me, Hidan’s want was too large for his chest, it billowed through him, a wish too vast to be uncontained, make me a legend, make me all there is between life and death. Make me fucking great. And Jashin was silent. All Hidan felt was the steady, painful beat of the stone within his empty chest, cooling now. He could not feel his heart, that perishable organ, so precious and so easily punctured. He did not think, he did not move. He shut his eyes against the crimson and prayed to his new God.
/end part two
link to part one
more to come!