AGG: Devil Side Stories

Valerie 2

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Commissioned by BFldyq

Word Count: 2522

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“You need a fucking therapist, Creighton.” Miyakuro, as always, never announced himself. I turn to him, looking up from my work, and he looks as he always does. “Yeah, of course. What kind of asshole tells everyone they’ve arrived?”

The Reincarnation of Odin has never failed to be paradox. Everything he did was for himself, but typically benefited others. He struck with precision and without mercy, but never without justifiable cause. In terms of alliances, his only master was himself, yet he followed Li Song without hesitation.

“Mentally fellating me isn’t going to distract me, Creighton. I’ll have you know there’s certain benefits to restarting a decades-old relationship.” Miyakuro takes a seat before me, laying Gungir across his lap, before gesturing to himself with an open hand. “So, here you are and here I am, but this time it’s going to be pontificating about how life’s worth protecting, isn’t it?”

You remember, very clearly, your first meeting with Miyakuro. He has remained the same since. He still wears the same college-uniform, though he doesn’t attend one, and he speaks as he always does. Though he calls himself Odin, he is most certainly not. If you had to guess, he is a combination of the boy that was and the god who died. Miyakuro. 

“Alright, let’s take a look see instead of just glancing at you.” Miyakuro utilizes his Eye of Wisdom as easily as one would use a regular eye. No small amount of fear rests in my heart that the thought of all my thoughts and secrets laid bare, but I hold fast. He knows all that CORE knows, therefore there is nothing within me that I ought to fret about him seeing. “Well, congratulations, you’re having your very first existential crisis, Creighton. Well done.”

How is that something to be complimented about?

“Well, first, you’re finally showing off some of your Human half, instead of just your Devil-side with a heaping helping of Dragon.” Miyakuro is unlike all other therapists. He is unkind, dispassionate, and uncaring. Our relations are completely and utterly neutral in nature. He didn’t care enough to lie about my mistakes. He didn’t hate me enough to see me fall. He was reliable. “Congratulations, you’re going through what most humans go through on a daily basis before they go to sleep and/or whenever they’re inconvenienced with decisions they’re unprepared for.”

Miyakuro’s disgust is palpable, but it doesn’t inspire any anger from me. I know that it should, that I should care about all the hateful insinuations he’d just hurled my way, but I all I could do is accept them. 

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say, For fuck’s sake, I was a Norse god. Every emotion I had led to me heading into battle and wrecking faces.” Miyakuro scoffs and crosses his single arm over his chest. There a rictus scowl upon his lips and his brow is narrowed. I listen, I look, but I do not know what to say or do. “You’re better off talking at a fish than me for things like this.”

But, he’s the only one you can think about talking to it about, who wouldn’t try to convince you otherwise or to do.

“Centuries of staying Neutral between Heaven, the Fallen, and Hell doesn’t mean I’m a mediator, you bitch.” Miyakuro snarls, but there’s a tiredness to his voice. The Reincarnation of Odin is a combination of a young man and a god. He is both at once. Therefore, regardless of his words, he has immense amounts of experience that you can heed. “I have experience with dealing with one Aspect who was practically dying and busy with his pet projects ninety percent of the time, and you’re muddling between two who want you to support the both of them. For fuck’s sake, can’t you be a little demanding, Creighton?”

Creighton. That is the second time he’s ever called you by that name. He’d utilized many other titles before. Dragon. White Drake. Divine Dividing. However, during this meeting, you realize he’s addressed you as Creighton twice, bitch once, and never those other names. He’s addressing you as a human, not as some being deserving of fear, or through an acknowledgement of your power. 

Miyakuro snaps his fingers, producing a sharp noise that drowns out your thoughts.

“Yeah, you were a badass before all this shit piled up, and now you’re not. I call things as I see it. Since you’re practically worthless now, you’re Creighton. Just Creighton.” Miyakuro stands, huffs, and walks to your cabinet. Tucking Gungir between his prosthetic and his torso, he takes one of the bottles, uncorks it, and takes a swig. “And, before you ask, no. I’m not giving someone who’s considering suicide a swig of a depressant. This fifty-year old vintage bourbon? It’s mine now. Consider it a payment for services rendered.”

For a few moments, you simply stare at his back while he takes sips from the bottle. Sips. He’s merely loosening his tongue and removing inhibitions. For a moment, despite the malaise that’s gathered about you and made you numb, you feel a bolt of apprehension strike your spine. 

Miyakuro completely lacking in control over his tongue frightens you.

“Look, first thing’s first, Coda and Song are two Aspects. They’re concepts given form. They oppose one another. It’s fucking natural that people are going to be split about who they like better.” Miyakuro retakes his seat, with the bottle balanced on his knee and a crystal glass frosted with ice in his hand. “So, what happened to you is, despite being raised to be an asskicker all your life, you’re into peace, eternal rest, and the End, instead of blood-pumping, righteousness of Conflict.”

He puts it so simply, but that’s the farthest from the case. 

“Fuck no. It really is that simple. You’re just convincing yourself it isn’t. It’s the same as liking men or women. You’re just fucked in the head for one or the other at the start of your meaningless existence.” Miyakuro’s tolerance for alcohol is somewhat low. You should’ve expected it, because the young man can be more than 120 pounds given his two missing limbs. “And, you were basically raised in close proximity to lesbians, so you’re doubly weak against concepts that look like cute young women, instead of the ones that involve dicks.”

For some reason, despite the malaise suffusing your consciousness, you can’t help but focus entirely on Miyakuro. He speaks simply, freely, and without an ounce of worry. He is truly speaking his mind to you from a basis of complete neutrality.

“Look, I don’t get the killing yourself thing, Creighton. I’m a Norse god. We kill, get killed, and share drinks with everyone whose fought after we get fucked. Song’s way of doing things makes perfect sense for me.” Miyakuro brings the frosted crystal to his lips and barely manages to imbibe the alcohol. With a gesture, before he accidentally poisons himself, you route the bottle’s contents into subspace. “I’m fucked in the head way too fucking much to give a kid any fucking advice about the fucking afterlife.” A slur develops in his voice. “I mean, I watched all my kids die in front of me. I know that they were reborn just like me. But, I won’t look for them. They’re better off without me.” 

How does he know that? How could he say something like that without even trying? You… you’ve done so much, and you’ve only felt this way because you’ve failed.

“Failed? Let me talk to you about failing. It’s destroying the Celts because they had the balls to pick a side, instead of just shoving their thumbs up their asses.” Miyakuro stands abruptly, lurches forward, and nearly falls. He just barely manages to take a hold of the edge of your desk. You find yourself standing, but retaking your seat, when he pulls himself up and leans at you. “It’s sending your son to word off an Aspect that killed Zeus and Vishnu like they were bugs. It’s deciding to fuck any chance of having a normal life by tearing off your left arm, cutting off your right leg, and gouging out your left eye with your own hands.”

You cannot meet the single eye that searches for your own gaze.

Not because of its power, but because of shame curdling deep within your chest.

You already know what he’s going to say next.

“That’s fucking right, Creighton. I fucked up ten times more than you ever have, but I’m going to fucking fight. I’m going to live.” There is a fire in Miyakuro’s gaze that you find yourself unable to look upon. His ideals, his words, could easily come from your own family. There is also the scent of ozone in the air, and you can’t help but take note of sheer power roiling off the reincarnated god before you. The lights are flickering, wood crisping, and electronics dying, simply because of the eddies of power he’s incapable of completely locking away. “Nothing’s going to stop me from making this shithole of a reality better for me and mine.”

Miyakuro turns to you before you can even muster a thought.

“I don’t get you. You barely into your third decade, you can fight off fucking gods with one hand tied behind your back, and you can probably kill me… but one fuck up has you deciding that you want to be held and asleep for the rest of your fucking existence.” Miyakuro paces, leaving behind an imprint of the bottom of his fist on your table. No, it isn’t just alcohol. You’re sure that that there’s true anger and frustration in his tone. “You could be great, a legend amongst legends, but you won’t be cause you’re a damned coward who can’t bear the weight your parents already have on their shoulders.”

That… that wasn’t true.

“Of course it is! You have everything and more than your father ever did, but you’re ready to give up the moment a challenge presents itself? How can you call yourself anything besides a fucking coward!?” Miyakuro ceases his pacing and once more gazes at you. Once more, you turn away and focus upon your table. Why… why can’t you refute his words? “Because you know it’s true, Creighton. You were spoiled. You were perfect. You always reached for the best solution, because that’s the only solution worth working for.”

So…what does he want you to do? What’s the point? What if you’re a coward? What can you do if everything he tells you is true? 

“Stop trying to be a god, and be a person, Creighton.” Miyakuro’s statement is heady and cognizant, despite the haze that’s befallen him. He sinks into his chair with a groan, with an empty glass in his hands, which he presses against his forehead. “No one can control everything. Nobody’s capable of being perfect their whole life. Everyone makes mistakes.” With a gesture, he sends the tumbler back to where he’d found it. “Accept the fact that you can be beaten, plan for it, and come back better the next time the problem rears its head, again.”

Miyakuro wants you to fight, to keep fighting, no matter what.

“You’re a spoiled brat if you think life’s something besides that, Creighton.” Miyakuro sighs in his seat. The thought of peace, of paradise, doesn’t seem to cross his mind for an instant. “What Coda’s offering you, what you want so much, is nothing.” He didn’t even glance at you to answer your thoughts. “You will amount to nothing, everything that you’ve been given will be nothing, and all you care about will be nothing. Every moment of joy gone in exchange for every moment of pain.” 

He rears his head and meets your gaze.

You cannot look away.

“I’ve seen paradise, Creighton. That place where everyone can be happy forever. It’s real. All we have to do is live until we’re worthy of it.” Miyakuro, for a moment, seems to be a man well beyond your age as he speaks. “Everything  that’s in the way of Paradise just needs to be told to fuck off.”

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Once more, you’re alone in your room. Ioseva fetched Miyakuro moments after you’d called for her. The Reincarnation of Michael had merely given you a glance and a nod, before parting. Still, somehow, that silent acknowledgement of your need for Miyakuro’s advice made your conversation all the more unforgettable. 

For a moment, you hesitate, but you open a drawer and pull out a photograph.

Evelyn, Kazumi, Everett, Makoto, Chie, and Elise stare back at you. It’s a nearly half-a-decade old, and it had been taken the last time all of you were gathered together. Though they were your brothers and sisters, having been raised alongside them, you’ve never felt as though you were one of them.

They were either Elena Heart’s or Tomoko Yori’s children, while you were always Sheridan Creighton’s daughter. 

Or, so you’d believed.

No, that wasn’t the case. 

Miyakuro’s words had brought to the forefront something you’d never considered, but fits perfectly with your relations with your siblings. They would never stop fighting, no matter how harsh the challenge or how grievous their failures, they’d fight for their paradise. Meanwhile, you cannot even consider failure.

Miyakuro’s words ring through your ears.

You are indeed a spoiled child. Everything has been given to you. Training, equipment, talent, and skill are all products of your birth, circumstances, and ability. Of your siblings, you are the best in every field, yet you know that they wouldn’t even consider the End. 

Miyakuro was right.

You’re unused to failure, compromise, and defeat. In spars, you’ve been beaten, but not in combat. Sure, you’ve tested lower than others, but in application in you’ve never faltered. During debates, you’d lost, but you’ve never failed to convince others to align their views with your own.

Looking at yourself, from another’s perspective, you can only see Miyakuro’s words come to life.

You fear failure.

You abhor loss.

You need victory.

Thus, having been forced into a coma, and being told you’re wrong, you wish for everything to End.

The logic is cool, rational, and understandable.

Yet, nonetheless, you’re incapable of convincing yourself to believe it completely and utterly.

You want to listen, to believe, and to change. However, wanting is different from doing, and so you find yourself at a loss. 

You do not want to fight forever, yet you do.

You yearn for life, yet you want to rest eternally.

Life will always have challenges to confront, but those who surmount those challenges will be given Paradise. However, is the punishment and suffering worth the peace that follows?

You want to say yes, no, and every option in between.

Both paths are equally unacceptable and acceptable. 

The choice of which to take is entirely yours to make.

Meanwhile, all of Reality is in danger, and the ones who can stop it wants you to follow one or the other.

Sitting alone in your office, you, Valerie Creighton, are hopelessly and utterly lost.

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