#mod decay

One would equate their personal Dazes to Hell of some sort, wouldn’t they? Touma had been certain his had been just that. Awakening from death in his own home had been jarring enough, but to face his own blood, dried & caking against the floor had been a sure enough sign to set his stomach into knots & twists. Panic had arisen in his eyes the first time he had come upon it, a dull ache in his skull blooming as he tried to glance around despite the fog that had settle over his vision. His ears had found the first source of life before his sight could, & the result hadn’t left him feeling any more safe. Hell was meant to punish: & Punish it would, as the familiar scent of gunpowder wafted through his nose. The distinct clicking of shotgun shells bouncing against the ground after a fired shot had been ones he could never forget, & it only set his nerves ablaze. He had been a soldier, & a soldier knew when to run -- So he would, throughout these never-ending halls, until he would stumble upon his own daughter. In this moment, he had hated her, & he was certain she had hated him, too, with the way her hallucinated figure had chased him out.

But that had changed.

Things were different now, & yet he had been faced with the familiar setting once more. His body stood perfectly still at the door way, as if his feet were chained to the Earth beneath it. Every muscle in his form refused to move, his pulse’s rapid beating nearly deafening him with how it had reminded him of war drums. Compared to his prior experience, the air had been more crisp, silent -- there had been no eruptions of gun shells, no erratic footsteps stampeding throughout the house, no strangled cries through raw throats that bled of pain & betrayal. If anything, the hush that had lingered had been maddening. It was far too much, too serene for what he had experienced before. The atmosphere had lodged itself in his throat & choked him, strangled him, made his body tense -- there was nothing safe here. Something was to come, it had, hadn’t it? If the snakes were sentencing him to an execution, then this would surely not last.

As if hearing his thoughts ( & maybe it could, given the nature of the serpents who had overtaken this world for their own ), a hissed laugh echoes in his ear. It sounds dangerously close, & he swears that he can feel the coldest of brushes against his shoulders. Instinctively, he tenses further, nerves attempting to steel themselves given the combat that had stained his memory -- his fists clench at his sides, & his eyes slip to his peripherals, only to find that no one was there at all. Despite the lack of a physical presence, words are uttered against his ear, constantly resounding in the confines of his mind as if it were an echo chamber. 

「If you value your pathetic life so much, why not fight for it?」

Hasn’t that been what he’s been doing? Surviving in this world, killing for an ‘out’ -- they made their rules clear. So what was this? A trick?

「That is your desire, beyond even your wife’s suffering, isn’t it? A normal life -- perhaps even with your own daughter that you’ve come to care for?」

Those final words leave his body to replicate time in the Haze: Frozen, never moving forward, never inching closer despite the day & night cycles that it had gone through. They had rooted him entirely, his eyes slightly widening, for he had never trusted snakes. How he had hated them -- feared them, they had always tricked him, just as Shion did. Their presence as ‘rulers’ over this so-called ‘game’ held no significance to him: It had only made him more & more initially wary, & this proposition had buried the hatchet. There had been no reason to trust them, & rightfully so, he didn’t. But when backed into a corner, what other option was he left with then to listen? No doors or exits immediately made themselves available: As far as Touma was concerned, he was in the palm of their hand.

The thought made his stomach sink. Hissed laughter only grew in his ear at that, & he cursed how they sounded so nestled in the back of his head as if they had nested themselves there.

「Your task is simple: you had found your way out before, hadn’t you? Do it again. Relive this nightmare once more, & you will be set free with your beloved daughter. 」

That couldn’t be right, could it? They had only offered freedom to those who had gotten away with their crime -- not those who had gotten caught. His brows knit together, lip curling in dissatisfaction & suspicion. Rightfully placed as it was, he wouldn’t be given the time to think it over as much as he would like to, nor reply to the serpent who had invaded his mind. For again, it would speak, its tone cruel & unforgiving as always:

「My, imagine how happy she would be beside you, well & alive again! To think, she had become so attached to you--」

  In that moment, he swear that even beyond the serpent’s words, he could hear one thing clear as day: Marry’s weak voice, tired in her throat. There’s a single word, battered between long-exasperated sniffles & evident mental exhaustion:

‘Otou-san...’

「--Fathers cannot resist the cries of their own children, begging them for protection, can they? 」

Before he’s given the chance to respond, the floorboards beneath him shake. Startled, his vision darts downward to the source, the sound of wood snapping & breaking away apparent. Cracks & gaps form through the boards, & in a burst of darkness, snakes shoot out, hissing as their venomous fangs bared. Shock settles through his bloodstream, & he gasps as he staggers back, his nerves shot. They persist despite his movements, striking towards one of his ankles -- they wrap around the limb & constrict with the intention to cut off blood flow & throw him off of his balance. He stumbles, teeth grit & adrenaline pumping through his veins, a pained noise cracking through as their fangs sink in with the goal to tear into him & poison him. In a swift motion, he reaches a hand down to grip at one of the snakes, pulling it free & tossing it onto the ground, crushing it beneath his foot. He kicks aside the others, rage boiling in his eyes as they, too, are smashed beneath the sole of his shoes, their forms dissipating with a shadowy smoke.

It was clear he had only one intention: Run.

Even with the torn fabric of his pants leg & the warm blood seeping from the bite marks on his skin, he still rushes forward. If he were to remain idle, then that would leave him in more danger, wouldn’t it? What if, of all things, they had sicced their kind on Marry? As her father, wasn’t it his responsibility to care for her? If they had made it out together -- would he be able to redeem himself? Would they carry on happily, he wonders? It’s an odd thought process to traverse through when fear is alive in his heart & the feeling of snake scales against his skin has him feeling sick. It was to be expected that they would leave ‘trap doors’ before the road to freedom; snakes were frequently described as cunning, involving trickery & falsehood in order to trap prey. When he had died at the hands of a monster, one who had used those very things against him, he would not fall again. That was what he had told himself.

Droplets of blood splatter onto the floor as he rushes down a hall, & becomes increasingly aware that this is not the exact house layout he remembers. He had lived there for years, after all, & he had become familiar with the temporary housing that Marry provided him with that was a near replica. One’s memory could never forget a place that had been once considered “home” -- it was nearly perfected mapped out in his mind, & these coordinates weren’t aligning perfectly. Had it been another trick from the snakes, another illusion? Decidedly, he had deemed it so -- the hallways had seemed longer, twisted, labyrinths of their own design that surely weren't trustworthy. The floorboards were more rickety than he last recalled, & the walls felt as if they were peeling away & much too fragile to touch. What areas & pathways would have taken a few normal paces to get across had taken countless step after step, leading him nearly nowhere. 

In a sense, it was if he was running in a constant bubble: never moving forward, never moving backward.

Still, he persists -- his footwork is clumsy, but he finds himself turning a corner roughly, messy steps & a sharp pain in his leg causing him to teeter & his ankle to bend awkwardly. His eyes squeeze shut in the pain that shoots through his body, a hand shakily gripping itself against the wall as he tries to correct his legwork, cursing under his breath. But in that moment, not even there is peace: For the wall beneath his fingers seems to crackle & crumble away like drywall, more scales felt beneath the skin of his fingers. The immediate answer as to what it is rings through his mind like an alarm, & he pushes himself away, breath tight in his lungs as the wall chips & crumbles. It only leaves a hole there, larger than his head, but through it is a mess of scales: The body of what can only be a snake is much larger than the ones who had struck him earlier, & his back hits the parallel wall without recognition of the rough texture against his spine. His throat feels tight as a large, red eye comes into view, hissing filling every angle of his hearing, the gaze that had locked itself on him is judgmental, even predatory as if it’s mocking him, either prepared to taunt his existence or devour him whole. Maybe even both.

It’s only when he feels the wall begin to tremble against him that he moves again, not wanting to be faced with that fate. It was one he would refuse. He dashes again, his fight or flight instincts in full force. His own footsteps become the metronome of his heartbeat as he continues down his path, eyes immediately darting to a door. Shoes scuff against the floor as he slides with the sudden stop, hands reaching for the door knob & throwing it open. Through it, he’s only met with darkness, but against the serpents that lurk behind the walls, he would take it above all else. Reason & logic has no room, only the instinct to survive. Stepping through the doorway leads him into nothing but sheer blackness, & any attempt to go & turn around leads him further nowhere. For a long while, he’s certain that he’s completely trapped himself -- until light begins to show. He swears he can hear Marry’s voice, so his footsteps become less sluggish as he follows a gradually increasing light. Forward & forward he goes until he comes upon another door, opening it to--

Lead him right back to where he began.

Cursing beneath his breath, he heads down the corridor again, following the same path as before as it was the only one offered. After the same repletion, he passes by the door he had previously entered, which, for some reason, had shut itself without him needing to do so. Still, he presses on, eyes searching for another way, another door -- & turning another corner leads him to one, where he opens it only to find another wall. Another swear rings out as he slams it shut, turning briskly on his feet & gauging the area for another way. He swears he can hear the snake laughing in his mind again, as if this is all a show for him -- & knowing their behavior, he wouldn’t be shocked if it was.

Turning to his left, he tries again. Doors are opened & closed as he’s met with dead end after dead end, & going through various sections of halls lead him to virtually nowhere. Exhaustion fills his bones as he rushes down another hall, positive he can make out Marry’s voice, only to freeze in his steps. Though their back is turned to him, he recognizes the figure. Clothed in all black, & her hair a similar shade of ebony, but her hair is what sends terror through his veins. At first glance, it seems like nothing more than thick, wavy curls -- but upon a closer inspection, it’s clear that they are snakes too, ones that curl & hiss & change their stances to stare him down. A sick twist flares in his stomach, & before he has the chance to dart off from the side, she moves as sharply as a viper would, turning her head to face him -- he’s only given the luck of not meeting her eyes.

Fury radiates off of her supposed figure, & he spits out something akin to ‘monster’ as she faces him fully. She embodies what Shion’s bloodline was. She represents the threat that he was tricked into loving, & he hates it so terribly. Eyes firmly shut, he attempts to move to get away -- But she just so happens to be faster. The snakes that had gathered to be her hair lash out suddenly, & they wrap themselves around his waist & legs, forcing him harshly to the ground. He trips this time, the skin of his elbows & knees burned against the harsh wood, blood dampening the fabric of his pants & his shirt. He can hear her approaching, feel the vibrations of each step against his body, & he snarls in response. Though he considers her the monster, he, in this situation, is cornered like an animal. But humans are those, aren’t they?

「I did say fight, did I not? 」

Bastard snake. He makes another attempt to move, his body trembling as his brain moves through too many emotions at once, his heart rate haywire as he tries to push himself up from the ground. Once more he’s brought down by the weight of serpents, feeling them curl around his neck & restrict his breath, causing him to choke. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head, coughs & gasps spat & dripping out of his mouth as he kicks & struggles to stand. He can only manages to crawl, body low to the ground as he staggers & stumbles for some footing, nails tearing against the snakes with the utmost urgency, uncaring whether or not he reddens his own skin or even breaks away at it. Blood collects under his nails, & more is added as he feels the snakes bite away at him, their jaws clenching at his shoulder, his head, his hands, fingers, where ever they can reach, & each & every bite earns a pained noise, makes his clawing & attempts to tear them away more desperate.

Fortunately, the Medusa dares not to follow, but her snakes stay with him. He rips & growls, tearing some free & throwing them aside, but some are more persistent. Through snarls & perseverance, he eventually rids himself of them, but not without struggle -- Here & there he tumbles, crumpled posture against the wall or forced upon his knees again. Let go of him, his mind persists, he has no interest in being contained by snakes anymore. The final one, the most threatening that had made his neck its target, is eventually yanked away, a sharp breath of air taken into his lungs as a hand rests over his Adam’s apple -- & the snake in question thrashes & hisses, attempting to strike at his hand. Offering it a sharp glare, he drops it onto the ground, crushing its head beneath his boot.

Again, & again, & again, & again & AGAIN & AGAIN until it’s nothing but a mess of blood & muscle & bone beneath him. 

He stands there, glaring upon it with disgust as his breathing evens itself out, & his body fills with pain -- he’s certain he can feel something odd rushing through his veins, something akin to poison, & it numbs him while the bites flare against his skin. Surely, he could have given up here & allowed this to be his fate, to allow himself to die of poison & perhaps the Medusa finding her way back to him. But that would be all for nothing, wouldn’t it? If there had been a chance to survive, he would take it -- he wouldn’t allow his perfectly constructed ruse to go to waste, even if he had been found guilty. There was a chance. He had to hold on to that.

His pace is much slower as he drags himself through the halls, trying to pinpoint Marry’s voice & where the exit to where his former home even was. He braces a hand against the wall as he feels his vision blur & haze over, shaking his head to try & keep a grip on himself as he turns corners & tries to recount every failed path, every mistake, every miscalculation. Continuing on like this proves to be what he assumes is his favor, as eventually, he sees her at the very end. The pain is forgotten then, even as he rushes towards her, her name leaving his lips in a croaked tone.

Stopping before her, he can witness firsthand through his glasses how she seems so devoid of life. Her posture is slumped, her pink eyes lost of their light & despair is clear upon her forlorn expression. Trembling hands reach out, & they radiate a warmth that the cold body of a Medusa would appreciate. She, in turn, tips her head up to him, & there’s an emotion he can’t quite read. He attempts, in some way, to offer her a smile -- one that should radiate comfort, something fatherly, that should put his own flesh & blood at ease.

Instead, only tears begin to well up in those doe eyes of hers, brimming & spilling onto her cheeks.

“Otou-san,” she hiccups again, & her body trembles violently. Her tiny hands want to reach out & wrap around him, grip onto his shirt & hide against her father, the man who should be keeping her safe, but she can’t. Her mind is torn, freshly ripped from the pool of denial that she had drowned it in, & trying to give it air -- the truth, reality -- only causes it to hurt more & more. Pain is evident, & her mouth opens, then closes a few times, as if to try & find words, but ultimately failing.

“Marry, it’s alright. We can--”

His sentence cannot be reached, as she breaks it apart before it can even start with a rasping, “No, no we -- we can’t. They won’t let you. They lied.” The agony that radiates off of that final word nearly comes off as something with double-meaning. An aching, agonized, ‘You lied.’

Confusion spreads across his features, dark brows knitted together as he tries to steady her, to move his hands around her & rub her back. “Now, calm down. If you would let me explain, I--”

His words fall once his eyes spot something in her hands. Something he hadn’t recognized before. In her grasp, weak & half-hearted, is the shotgun that Shion once held within her own. The one that had taken his life. The memory flashes, clear as can be, & he stumbles back, horrified as he had once been. He wonders, perhaps, if this was karma -- he had been tricked by his wife, tricked his daughter in death, & was he being tricked by her in return for it? Was this the world’s twisted revenge upon him? 

At the loss of contact, her gaze breaks, sadness seeping through like a flood gate. Her hold is shaking, unsure, as if she would rather die than do this. “I’m sorry, I’m s--sorry, I’m sorry for -- Everything, f--for being born, for not h--helping you a-avoid suspicion, for--” For this, is what she wants to say, & her breathing picks up its pace & tumbles over itself. Panic & refusal is boiling her blood, & she so clearly hates every second of this. “I don’t want to... I don’t want this--!” 

For a moment more, he hesitates, unsure if he should allow himself to become angry with the situation or comfort her. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, words fresh upon his tongue--

& soon to be lost. As soon as he approaches, a similar shadow to the snakes before flashes, & one of the game masters himself is behind Marry. His skin is a sickening white, & his color palette of black, yellow & grey would indicate danger. In the matter of a second, time seems to slow down & stack action upon action. His own eyes widen, & Marry tenses, then crumbles as she realizes exactly who it is behind her, while Clearing’s mouth s t r e t c h e s into a sadistic smile, showcasing fangs that rightfully belong to a snake. In a flash, his hands grip at Marry’s arms, & forcing her to hold the shotgun in the proper stance, clearly experienced with weaponry as much as he had been.

「Now now, it seems you’ve failed. Tragic, isn’t it? To be inches close of victory, & having it smashed to pieces before your very eyes. Your daughter was not your exit, thus--」 His head tilts to the side, & bones snap in a way that sees unnatural. Snakes do not belong in the bodies of humans, after all.  「--Your time is up. 」

Protest, the will to fight, the combat experience to tear the gun away -- they were all present, prevalent. But they fail to come to light, for the snake is much quicker than a mere human, his finger pulling the trigger. A single round is shot, & when the bullets pierce through Touma’s skin, his mind goes white. The world slows down once more, the burst of gunpowder & force of a shotgun sending his body backward from the velocity of it all. Before him, Marry’s expression completely shatters, her mouth open & screams surely pouring out of it as tears run down her face, a hand trying to reach out to him & her body struggling against Clearing’s grasp. The latter can only watch with delight, the sight of his pupils shrinking in his green hues & his body trembling in what Touma assumes as laughter will burn itself into his final memories, he’s sure. Each step is slow, only three taken before his body falls back, his eyes widened than ever before & only able to focus ahead. 

Some small part of his mind can recognize that, at the very least, the snake is a tremendous shot.

He had aimed for his lungs, & It’s a horrible way to go. He can feel his limbs twitch & spasm as he gasps for air, feeling the sacs fill & overflow with blood, every breath wracked through his body overwhelming painful. He can feel crimson stream to his throat, & drip down his nostrils & out of his agape mouth as his throat hiccups & chokes on his own blood. Again & again, his body flounders against the ground, convulsing & desperately trying to breathe, feeling his head become dizzy & his mind slipping away with the failure of oxygen being delivered to where it needs to go. His ears ring, & he’s unsure if he can hear anything -- everything is muted, but faintly, muffled by death coming upon him, is a voice he can only pinpoint once more as Marry’s. She had fallen to her knees long ago, gun tossed aside & her arms wrapping around him in a weak hold. She’s saying something, sputtering & screaming it out between broken sobs & hiccups, but he’s far too gone to recognize it anymore. 

The last thing Touma Kozakura sees before dying once more is his own daughter, wailing incessantly & not caring for how the stickiness of his own blood coats her arms & hands. Of all things, he would have been thankful it was her, at least -- but the self-satisfied serpent in his peripherals makes him wish he could focus on Marry’s screams of agony as he fades & withers away, taking his last, struggled breaths.

THE TRAGEDY OF CHAPTER ONE HAS ENDED.