Digital Devil Saga (Gale/Demi-fiend)
Title: Not In This Life
Author: emerald_embers
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence, bad language, not so much foreshadowing like anvils as outright spoilers up to the end of DDS2.
Pairings: Gale/Demi-fiend, reference to Lupa/Gale
Word count: 983 words
Summary: You look at me like I'm the strange one.
Disclaimer: Non-profit fanfiction, this lot aren't mine.
Prompt: 19th - Digital Devil Saga, Gale/Demi-fiend: tattoo worship - "That's the biggest atma I've ever seen."
Note: Because I didn't want the Serph/Demi-fiend fic later in springkink to turn out identical to this one, I went with characterising him solely off what we see in Digital Devil Saga, ignoring Nocturne. Also? This one went weird, and contains gratuitous use of present tense.
You're the last of them to remain conscious and I'm happy to concede this victory to you. You and the silver-haired one held my interest throughout; quiet ones always do, but you were fascinating for other reasons. You only spoke when it was necessary, unlike the red-head who babbled nonsense and obscenities at every turn.
You seem puzzled when I don't revert as you did to a human state; puzzled enough to ask, despite my being your enemy, if this isn't my demon form.
Funny that such a simple question has such a complex answer, so I smile instead of answering. I imagine the red-head would have lashed out in frustration by by now, but you just frown a little, walk over to sit at my side with a hand close to that mark on your leg, bow your head slightly while maintaining eye contact. "I apologise. I did not realise you were also a mute."
Also? Ah, that explains how the silver-haired one seemed to communicate with you and the red-head despite his silence. Strange sense of etiquette, that you can sit here bloodied by my hands, surrounded by unconscious comrades, and still apologise with meaning.
"Excuse me for asking, but do you have another form? That is the biggest atma I have ever seen."
I shake my head but find myself wondering what atma is. It doesn't sound obscene, given your tone; but then, you seem fond of speaking in monotone anyway, and your expression reflects that tendency, eyes constantly half-lidded and level.
There's a thin streak of blood across your lips but I'm clueless as to whose blood it is.
Fingers that would seem strangely smooth had I not witnessed your fighting style reach out to trace the edges of my marks and I'm suddenly aware that this must be what puzzles you - the thick black marks on you and your comrades trigger the demons inside you to emerge but mine serve little purpose other than to show what I am and, when as wounded as this, the state of my health.
You begin at my arm but move out across my chest, down my stomach, and I tense instinctively but you seem unaware of any sexual connotations in your motions, blindly fascinated by the patterns on my skin.
"Do they cover your whole body?" You ask, fingers caught in the waistband of my shorts. I honestly think you would peel them off if not answered, so I nod - it's true as far as I'm aware - and pull your hand away from the danger zone. Omnipresence carries a certain sense of confusion and you're only contributing to it with the fact your curiosity is so analytical, almost as if you consider this behaviour of yours to be normal. It's been a long time since I've been touched without reverence or violence.
Seeming aware that you're not allowed that low - not today, though I'm certain I could be persuaded at some other juncture in time - your fingers move back up, over my neck and into my hair in a gesture that could be seen as tender if I weren't aware you were simply following my marks past my hairline. "Fascinating," you murmur, and I suspect that's as close as you'll ever come to saying something is beautiful.
I want to know more about you but there's too many lives under your skin when I try to scan who you are - I can see everything and it's too much. You, your translucent pale skin and green hair, you're as vital as any of your incarnations but too short-lived. There's a blonde man with glasses and a stone hand that should be flesh; there's a little boy in your clothes whose eyes are bright with curiosity and intelligence; there's another man too, so physically different but psychologically similar, with skin like honey and an incarnation of fire, an incarnation of bullets. Names fly past meaninglessly - David, Greg, Lupa, Gale - I can barely catch the last but I know it's yours for this version of you.
Such a complex soul, Gale, and yet your green eyes are still steady and calm. Maybe that's who you are, the calm center of a storm - it makes your name ironic but appropriate.
Your expression shifts slightly and I know it's because you've read my own. "You are not one of us," you say, careful to keep your statements and questions to those that can be answered with a gesture of the head. "You have no tag ring. These marks are not atma."
I wait before you finish to nod in confirmation, and the violence normally hidden in your soul rushes to the surface so fast I scarcely register it before your hand in my hair grips tight and drags my face closer to yours.
"Have you seen Nirvana?"
I nod again and there's pain narrowly disguised by your otherwise calm features, another flash of honeyed skin and flames, and I know, now, there's a soul in you that wasn't always joined with yours.
"Is it worth reaching?"
It pains me to think it, but I've lingered here too long. I can't answer that question for you; there's suffering you must endure yet before you find out.
Careful not to nod or shake my head, I free myself from your grip and kiss your cheek. You're too intelligent for such a young soul, or maybe too young for such an intelligent soul. Part of you wants to change the world for the sake of fire in a wolf's form.
I can't make this be a dream for you but I'll make this experience as unreal as all else you've been through in this world, leave nothing but smoke and my words for you and your comrades.
Lets meet again, whoever you are, but not in this life.
The End
Author: emerald_embers
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence, bad language, not so much foreshadowing like anvils as outright spoilers up to the end of DDS2.
Pairings: Gale/Demi-fiend, reference to Lupa/Gale
Word count: 983 words
Summary: You look at me like I'm the strange one.
Disclaimer: Non-profit fanfiction, this lot aren't mine.
Prompt: 19th - Digital Devil Saga, Gale/Demi-fiend: tattoo worship - "That's the biggest atma I've ever seen."
Note: Because I didn't want the Serph/Demi-fiend fic later in springkink to turn out identical to this one, I went with characterising him solely off what we see in Digital Devil Saga, ignoring Nocturne. Also? This one went weird, and contains gratuitous use of present tense.
You're the last of them to remain conscious and I'm happy to concede this victory to you. You and the silver-haired one held my interest throughout; quiet ones always do, but you were fascinating for other reasons. You only spoke when it was necessary, unlike the red-head who babbled nonsense and obscenities at every turn.
You seem puzzled when I don't revert as you did to a human state; puzzled enough to ask, despite my being your enemy, if this isn't my demon form.
Funny that such a simple question has such a complex answer, so I smile instead of answering. I imagine the red-head would have lashed out in frustration by by now, but you just frown a little, walk over to sit at my side with a hand close to that mark on your leg, bow your head slightly while maintaining eye contact. "I apologise. I did not realise you were also a mute."
Also? Ah, that explains how the silver-haired one seemed to communicate with you and the red-head despite his silence. Strange sense of etiquette, that you can sit here bloodied by my hands, surrounded by unconscious comrades, and still apologise with meaning.
"Excuse me for asking, but do you have another form? That is the biggest atma I have ever seen."
I shake my head but find myself wondering what atma is. It doesn't sound obscene, given your tone; but then, you seem fond of speaking in monotone anyway, and your expression reflects that tendency, eyes constantly half-lidded and level.
There's a thin streak of blood across your lips but I'm clueless as to whose blood it is.
Fingers that would seem strangely smooth had I not witnessed your fighting style reach out to trace the edges of my marks and I'm suddenly aware that this must be what puzzles you - the thick black marks on you and your comrades trigger the demons inside you to emerge but mine serve little purpose other than to show what I am and, when as wounded as this, the state of my health.
You begin at my arm but move out across my chest, down my stomach, and I tense instinctively but you seem unaware of any sexual connotations in your motions, blindly fascinated by the patterns on my skin.
"Do they cover your whole body?" You ask, fingers caught in the waistband of my shorts. I honestly think you would peel them off if not answered, so I nod - it's true as far as I'm aware - and pull your hand away from the danger zone. Omnipresence carries a certain sense of confusion and you're only contributing to it with the fact your curiosity is so analytical, almost as if you consider this behaviour of yours to be normal. It's been a long time since I've been touched without reverence or violence.
Seeming aware that you're not allowed that low - not today, though I'm certain I could be persuaded at some other juncture in time - your fingers move back up, over my neck and into my hair in a gesture that could be seen as tender if I weren't aware you were simply following my marks past my hairline. "Fascinating," you murmur, and I suspect that's as close as you'll ever come to saying something is beautiful.
I want to know more about you but there's too many lives under your skin when I try to scan who you are - I can see everything and it's too much. You, your translucent pale skin and green hair, you're as vital as any of your incarnations but too short-lived. There's a blonde man with glasses and a stone hand that should be flesh; there's a little boy in your clothes whose eyes are bright with curiosity and intelligence; there's another man too, so physically different but psychologically similar, with skin like honey and an incarnation of fire, an incarnation of bullets. Names fly past meaninglessly - David, Greg, Lupa, Gale - I can barely catch the last but I know it's yours for this version of you.
Such a complex soul, Gale, and yet your green eyes are still steady and calm. Maybe that's who you are, the calm center of a storm - it makes your name ironic but appropriate.
Your expression shifts slightly and I know it's because you've read my own. "You are not one of us," you say, careful to keep your statements and questions to those that can be answered with a gesture of the head. "You have no tag ring. These marks are not atma."
I wait before you finish to nod in confirmation, and the violence normally hidden in your soul rushes to the surface so fast I scarcely register it before your hand in my hair grips tight and drags my face closer to yours.
"Have you seen Nirvana?"
I nod again and there's pain narrowly disguised by your otherwise calm features, another flash of honeyed skin and flames, and I know, now, there's a soul in you that wasn't always joined with yours.
"Is it worth reaching?"
It pains me to think it, but I've lingered here too long. I can't answer that question for you; there's suffering you must endure yet before you find out.
Careful not to nod or shake my head, I free myself from your grip and kiss your cheek. You're too intelligent for such a young soul, or maybe too young for such an intelligent soul. Part of you wants to change the world for the sake of fire in a wolf's form.
I can't make this be a dream for you but I'll make this experience as unreal as all else you've been through in this world, leave nothing but smoke and my words for you and your comrades.
Lets meet again, whoever you are, but not in this life.
The End