Chakra Wizard
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Alright, onto part three*_* This one’s a bit shorter, for those concerned about that - and less "swear-happy", for those concerned about that (Germanicus xd) - and it should give a bit of insight into Aito and Mao’s characters and their relationship, as well as some possible foreshadowing into later events. Anyways, please enjoy
Previous Chapter:
I spent the rest of the day cooped up in my bedroom, pointing my gun at the wall as I made soft popping noises in unison with the slight twitches of my shooting hand – childish, I know, but I was bored as hell. I hadn’t eaten at all the entire day, the hunger pains gradually getting to me as I thought about it, but I refused to catch even a glimpse of Yatsumi’s face after that shit he pulled out on the lawn. …I’d always known that he had no heart, but to truly witness it for the first time was…almost unbearable – and my heart and mind were feeling the full brunt of it. God knows what might’ve happened out there on the front steps if Mao hadn’t been there to stop me - I say that, but I did later discover the gun to be empty, after all.
“Huhhh…I guess should probably thank him for that, anyways.” I said to myself before standing up to leave the room – though not before reaching beneath my nightstand for a magazine filled with live rounds, which I quickly loaded into my gun. I now knew that I had no allies in this house and, had I sunk any lower than I had by that point, …I would’ve slaughtered every last one of them.
Mao’s room was just a short distance down the hallway, so thankfully, I didn’t have to go far to find him, nor did I have to pass anyone along the way – thank God. To my great surprise, though, upon entering his room, I found that he wasn’t alone.
“Oh! Hey, Aito.” my older brother called out to me. He was perched atop Mao’s bed with his legs crossed, having apparently been conversing with our little brother this whole time. I’ll admit, I was rather curious to find out what their topic of discussion was before I walked in the room…and no, this curiosity had nothing to do with Seishin’s limited mentality.
“Evening, Brother.” Mao greeted me – in his typical near-emotionless delivery – as he sat along the edge of his mattress. Seishin’s greeting had brought a small smile to my face, but upon seeing his, it instantly vanished. …That was another strange thing about him. I know that he was my little brother, but in all honesty, I spent no more time smiling around Mao than I did around our fatass of a father. Maybe it had to do with the frustration that came with my inability to read his expression – which, to be frank, I was rather good at when it came to most other people.
“…Hey, Seishin. What’re you two doin’?” I responded to my older brother’s greeting.
“Oh, just talking. Hey, Seishin, could you leave the room? I wanna talk with Aito alone for a minute.” Mao softly requested.
“Uhh, yeah. I’ll do that.” Seishin replied before getting up and walking out, receiving a pat on the back from me as he passed by.
“Night, bro.”
I closed the door behind him – since I knew he would neglect to do it himself – before turning back around and walking over to the bed. I sat down in the same spot Seishin had been sitting in only a few moments ago, allowing my back to fall flat against the comforter as I reached into my pocket for my cigarettes.
“What were you talkin’ to him about, anyways?” I asked Mao as I placed one in my mouth. I was about to light it before his gentle voice called out in protest.
“Please don’t do that in here, Brother.”
“Hm?”
A few seconds of awkward silence followed this request, but I eventually complied, closing the lighter and returning to my pocket – along with the cigarette that was already hanging from my mouth – before lifting my back up off the bed.
“Alright, then. …So, what were you two talking about?” I asked a second time, hoping I might get a better answer this time around.
“…Yatsumi.” Mao answered, the smile now gone from his face, as well. Right away, I was intrigued – he rarely used any of our names, with the exception of Seishin – but the muscles in my face refused to show any interest in that fat prick.
“What about him?” I responded, not looking at him as I did.
“Oh, just what we thought of him…” he said casually, as though he didn’t notice my discomfort. I tilted my head further to the right, placing him farther away from my line of sight than he was before.
“I see.”
“…and what it would be like if he wasn’t here.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised by his answer, so much so that staring at him for half a minute on end became an involuntary motion. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a 12 year-old boy that made me uneasy, though, …but the fact that I had been thinking the exact same thing for the past three hours. To this, I couldn’t help but smirk.
“Hmph, well, you should’ve came for me earlier. That conversation would’ve gone on for ****in’ days.”
“Brother.” Mao pleaded with me. He acted so innocent, it was hard to believe that we shared the same father – it was a little sickening, honestly.
“…Sorry.”
I stood up from the bed and walked over to the wall, pressing my back against it as I tucked my hands into my pockets.
“So, what did you want to talk to me for?” I inquired, realizing he never did answer that question. He paused a brief moment before responding.
“You hate Father, …right, Brother?” he asked, the rhetorical nature of the question infuriating me almost as much as the thought of the man it revolved around.
“…More than you’ll ever know.”
He acknowledged my reply with a firm nod, again hesitating to go further. And, to be honest, the longer he did it, the more I began to think that he was doing so on purpose.
“Mao, if you wanna ask me something, say it. I’m getting a little ticked off here.” I told him, slowly beginning to regret ever having come to talk to him. …What he said next would seal the deal on that for sure.
Alright, then. …Father needs to die.”
“Hmph, tell me something I don’t know.”
“…Soon.”
My eyes widened, though I didn’t realize it at the time it happened. I said nothing to him – but then again, what could I say? I knew full well what direction this conversation of ours was heading in, and all I could do at that point was control my heart rate as I reached for my cigarettes. He opened his mouth to stop me as I pulled out my lighter, only to be stopped halfway by my outstretched palm.
“It’s happening, Mao. …Don’t you dare try to protest this time.” I told him, waiting until he had closed his mouth again before lighting my cigarette. I spent about thirty seconds inhaling its fumes in silence, waiting until all the tension built up in my body had ceased before speaking again.
“So, that’s what you wanted, huh?”
“…Yes.” he replied, no change in expression whatsoever. I contemplated my response as I continued to puff on my cigarette, trying to think of an ideal way to sum up everything I was feeling at that moment without seeming too out of character. I waited until my most recent exhalation of smoke dispersed before giving the answer I eventually came up with.
“Alright, …well, ask me out loud, anyways. …I’ve always wanted to hear a ****in’ 12 year-old ask his older brother to kill their father.” I said. I meant it to be sarcastic, but at the same time, I had to make absolute certain that this was what he was asking from me. Again, no change in his expression was made as he gave his reply. He didn’t even seem fazed by my use of profanity anymore, …though in this house, it was understandable.
“Okay, then. …I want you to kill Father.”
Even now, I couldn’t say exactly how many emotions ran through my mind as I received this confirmation, but for some ungodly reason, joy was not one of them. Maybe it was the fact that I would be the one making it happen, but the idea of that fat bastard as a corpse brought me no delight whatsoever, no matter how desperately I had wished for it in the past. I spent another minute or so pondering it between breaths of tobacco smoke before finally turning to Mao, my usual look of indifference restored.
“And if I refuse to do it?” I asked, curious to see just how devoted to this morbid goal he truly was. He replied by holding out his hand, as if to ask for something to be placed in it.
“Let me see your gun.”
Silence. …I swear, that mysterious aura of his tended to piss me off more than our father’s aggression ever did. It was probably just because it was something I had a harder time understanding – who doesn’t get pissed off by that, honestly?
“…Excuse me?”
“Brother, please.”
I don’t know why the hell I complied with his request – so don’t ****in’ ask – but in the next five seconds, I was pulling my gun out and tossing it to him – the safety on, of course – and in the five seconds following that, he was disabling said safety and pointing it at the floor. I didn’t even realize what was going on until he squeezed off a round, the ensuing surprise almost causing me to choke on the fumes from my cigarette.
“Whoa! Mao, what the **** are you doin’!?” I cried out, praying to God that the sound of the gunshot didn’t echo throughout the entire house. He didn’t even look up at me afterwards, but rather, he held the gun up in front of his face, as though he were examining its exterior.
“…So you really did load it.” he finally said aloud, using a tone that suggested he had expected this to be the case. Immediately, my mind traveled back to that moment on the front steps, when all the anguish that had been collecting inside me for the two years since Mom’s death finally tempted me to stick the gun in my mouth. Following this thought, I automatically assumed that he was insinuating I owed him a favor for saving my life, causing me to grit my teeth as I moved to purge him of such beliefs.
“I just put those bullets in there a minute ago, Mao-”
“Exactly.”
Silence once again. …How the **** does he keep doing that, I thought.
“What’re you talkin’ about?” I finally asked him, now confused beyond my own comprehension. He tossed the gun back to me before responding, reengaging the safety before doing so.
“You’ve hit rock bottom, Brother. …I’m sorry, but we both know it’s the truth.” he said. My grip on the gun handle tightened as the words left his lips, but at the same time, I just couldn’t shake the fact that he was absolutely right.
“…And we both know who’s to blame for it.”
Right on two counts. …Still, though, no matter how much better Yatsumi’s death would’ve made my life, there was only one right answer to what Mao asked of me – and I didn’t hesitate to give it as I returned my gun to the back of my jeans.
“I don’t know what convinced you that this was the right thing to do, Mao, …but he’s still our father, no matter how evil he is.”
His expression changed no more than it had since this conversation began, but I could tell that he wasn’t completely convinced. A little irritated that he seemed to think he knew my thoughts inside and out, I carried on with my refusal.
“He’s a devil, Mao. I know this better than either you or Seishin, …but he’s not THE devil…and I refuse to sell my soul to one in order to get rid of the other.”
His response was delayed – evidence that he no longer questioned my resolve – but before he could give it, one of Yatsumi’s thugs emerged with an alarmed expression on his face, almost kicking the door down as he barged in. …Dumbasses, all of them.
“Hey! What the **** was that gunshot just now!?” he shrieked, removing any hopes I had that those earlier prayers of mine made it through. Returning to my usual demeanor, I took another puff on my cigarette before shrugging him off.
“Don’t shoot in your pants, small-timer. The thing’s loaded with blanks.” I said, briefly locking eyes with Mao before continuing.
“Wasn’t pointing it at anyone, anyways.”
He didn’t stick around long after hearing my answer, to which I was very grateful. And neither did I, informing Mao of these intentions first before acting on them.
“We’ll continue this later, Mao. …And for the record, I hit rock bottom a long time ago…or did you forget about the time when I overdosed?” I asked him. Of course, I wasn’t necessarily looking for an answer and left the room without any further delay. …Or rather, I was about to.
“Oh, and to answer your previous question, Aito.” he called out just before I stepped out of the room, prompting me to turn back to him with a look of bewilderment on my face. …It wasn’t every day that Mao called me by my first name.
“As the old adage goes, if you don’t do it, …somebody else will.”
His lips curved upwards into a devious smile as the statement rolled off his tongue, his first change in expression since Seishin left the room fifteen minutes ago. He clearly didn’t understand what an “adage” was at this point in his life, but Mao had gotten his point across nonetheless, as evidenced by both the slight descent of my jaw and enlargement of my eyes. The puff on my cigarette that followed was much longer than those that preceded it, and quite honestly, I needed that extra nicotine just to keep myself from spazing out then and there. …I had spent almost my entire life believing that my father was the Devil, but for a brief moment, …I could’ve sworn that he was sitting right in front of me.
To Be Continued…
Previous Chapter:
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- Devils in Disguise -
I spent the rest of the day cooped up in my bedroom, pointing my gun at the wall as I made soft popping noises in unison with the slight twitches of my shooting hand – childish, I know, but I was bored as hell. I hadn’t eaten at all the entire day, the hunger pains gradually getting to me as I thought about it, but I refused to catch even a glimpse of Yatsumi’s face after that shit he pulled out on the lawn. …I’d always known that he had no heart, but to truly witness it for the first time was…almost unbearable – and my heart and mind were feeling the full brunt of it. God knows what might’ve happened out there on the front steps if Mao hadn’t been there to stop me - I say that, but I did later discover the gun to be empty, after all.
“Huhhh…I guess should probably thank him for that, anyways.” I said to myself before standing up to leave the room – though not before reaching beneath my nightstand for a magazine filled with live rounds, which I quickly loaded into my gun. I now knew that I had no allies in this house and, had I sunk any lower than I had by that point, …I would’ve slaughtered every last one of them.
Mao’s room was just a short distance down the hallway, so thankfully, I didn’t have to go far to find him, nor did I have to pass anyone along the way – thank God. To my great surprise, though, upon entering his room, I found that he wasn’t alone.
“Oh! Hey, Aito.” my older brother called out to me. He was perched atop Mao’s bed with his legs crossed, having apparently been conversing with our little brother this whole time. I’ll admit, I was rather curious to find out what their topic of discussion was before I walked in the room…and no, this curiosity had nothing to do with Seishin’s limited mentality.
“Evening, Brother.” Mao greeted me – in his typical near-emotionless delivery – as he sat along the edge of his mattress. Seishin’s greeting had brought a small smile to my face, but upon seeing his, it instantly vanished. …That was another strange thing about him. I know that he was my little brother, but in all honesty, I spent no more time smiling around Mao than I did around our fatass of a father. Maybe it had to do with the frustration that came with my inability to read his expression – which, to be frank, I was rather good at when it came to most other people.
“…Hey, Seishin. What’re you two doin’?” I responded to my older brother’s greeting.
“Oh, just talking. Hey, Seishin, could you leave the room? I wanna talk with Aito alone for a minute.” Mao softly requested.
“Uhh, yeah. I’ll do that.” Seishin replied before getting up and walking out, receiving a pat on the back from me as he passed by.
“Night, bro.”
I closed the door behind him – since I knew he would neglect to do it himself – before turning back around and walking over to the bed. I sat down in the same spot Seishin had been sitting in only a few moments ago, allowing my back to fall flat against the comforter as I reached into my pocket for my cigarettes.
“What were you talkin’ to him about, anyways?” I asked Mao as I placed one in my mouth. I was about to light it before his gentle voice called out in protest.
“Please don’t do that in here, Brother.”
“Hm?”
A few seconds of awkward silence followed this request, but I eventually complied, closing the lighter and returning to my pocket – along with the cigarette that was already hanging from my mouth – before lifting my back up off the bed.
“Alright, then. …So, what were you two talking about?” I asked a second time, hoping I might get a better answer this time around.
“…Yatsumi.” Mao answered, the smile now gone from his face, as well. Right away, I was intrigued – he rarely used any of our names, with the exception of Seishin – but the muscles in my face refused to show any interest in that fat prick.
“What about him?” I responded, not looking at him as I did.
“Oh, just what we thought of him…” he said casually, as though he didn’t notice my discomfort. I tilted my head further to the right, placing him farther away from my line of sight than he was before.
“I see.”
“…and what it would be like if he wasn’t here.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised by his answer, so much so that staring at him for half a minute on end became an involuntary motion. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a 12 year-old boy that made me uneasy, though, …but the fact that I had been thinking the exact same thing for the past three hours. To this, I couldn’t help but smirk.
“Hmph, well, you should’ve came for me earlier. That conversation would’ve gone on for ****in’ days.”
“Brother.” Mao pleaded with me. He acted so innocent, it was hard to believe that we shared the same father – it was a little sickening, honestly.
“…Sorry.”
I stood up from the bed and walked over to the wall, pressing my back against it as I tucked my hands into my pockets.
“So, what did you want to talk to me for?” I inquired, realizing he never did answer that question. He paused a brief moment before responding.
“You hate Father, …right, Brother?” he asked, the rhetorical nature of the question infuriating me almost as much as the thought of the man it revolved around.
“…More than you’ll ever know.”
He acknowledged my reply with a firm nod, again hesitating to go further. And, to be honest, the longer he did it, the more I began to think that he was doing so on purpose.
“Mao, if you wanna ask me something, say it. I’m getting a little ticked off here.” I told him, slowly beginning to regret ever having come to talk to him. …What he said next would seal the deal on that for sure.
Alright, then. …Father needs to die.”
“Hmph, tell me something I don’t know.”
“…Soon.”
My eyes widened, though I didn’t realize it at the time it happened. I said nothing to him – but then again, what could I say? I knew full well what direction this conversation of ours was heading in, and all I could do at that point was control my heart rate as I reached for my cigarettes. He opened his mouth to stop me as I pulled out my lighter, only to be stopped halfway by my outstretched palm.
“It’s happening, Mao. …Don’t you dare try to protest this time.” I told him, waiting until he had closed his mouth again before lighting my cigarette. I spent about thirty seconds inhaling its fumes in silence, waiting until all the tension built up in my body had ceased before speaking again.
“So, that’s what you wanted, huh?”
“…Yes.” he replied, no change in expression whatsoever. I contemplated my response as I continued to puff on my cigarette, trying to think of an ideal way to sum up everything I was feeling at that moment without seeming too out of character. I waited until my most recent exhalation of smoke dispersed before giving the answer I eventually came up with.
“Alright, …well, ask me out loud, anyways. …I’ve always wanted to hear a ****in’ 12 year-old ask his older brother to kill their father.” I said. I meant it to be sarcastic, but at the same time, I had to make absolute certain that this was what he was asking from me. Again, no change in his expression was made as he gave his reply. He didn’t even seem fazed by my use of profanity anymore, …though in this house, it was understandable.
“Okay, then. …I want you to kill Father.”
Even now, I couldn’t say exactly how many emotions ran through my mind as I received this confirmation, but for some ungodly reason, joy was not one of them. Maybe it was the fact that I would be the one making it happen, but the idea of that fat bastard as a corpse brought me no delight whatsoever, no matter how desperately I had wished for it in the past. I spent another minute or so pondering it between breaths of tobacco smoke before finally turning to Mao, my usual look of indifference restored.
“And if I refuse to do it?” I asked, curious to see just how devoted to this morbid goal he truly was. He replied by holding out his hand, as if to ask for something to be placed in it.
“Let me see your gun.”
Silence. …I swear, that mysterious aura of his tended to piss me off more than our father’s aggression ever did. It was probably just because it was something I had a harder time understanding – who doesn’t get pissed off by that, honestly?
“…Excuse me?”
“Brother, please.”
I don’t know why the hell I complied with his request – so don’t ****in’ ask – but in the next five seconds, I was pulling my gun out and tossing it to him – the safety on, of course – and in the five seconds following that, he was disabling said safety and pointing it at the floor. I didn’t even realize what was going on until he squeezed off a round, the ensuing surprise almost causing me to choke on the fumes from my cigarette.
“Whoa! Mao, what the **** are you doin’!?” I cried out, praying to God that the sound of the gunshot didn’t echo throughout the entire house. He didn’t even look up at me afterwards, but rather, he held the gun up in front of his face, as though he were examining its exterior.
“…So you really did load it.” he finally said aloud, using a tone that suggested he had expected this to be the case. Immediately, my mind traveled back to that moment on the front steps, when all the anguish that had been collecting inside me for the two years since Mom’s death finally tempted me to stick the gun in my mouth. Following this thought, I automatically assumed that he was insinuating I owed him a favor for saving my life, causing me to grit my teeth as I moved to purge him of such beliefs.
“I just put those bullets in there a minute ago, Mao-”
“Exactly.”
Silence once again. …How the **** does he keep doing that, I thought.
“What’re you talkin’ about?” I finally asked him, now confused beyond my own comprehension. He tossed the gun back to me before responding, reengaging the safety before doing so.
“You’ve hit rock bottom, Brother. …I’m sorry, but we both know it’s the truth.” he said. My grip on the gun handle tightened as the words left his lips, but at the same time, I just couldn’t shake the fact that he was absolutely right.
“…And we both know who’s to blame for it.”
Right on two counts. …Still, though, no matter how much better Yatsumi’s death would’ve made my life, there was only one right answer to what Mao asked of me – and I didn’t hesitate to give it as I returned my gun to the back of my jeans.
“I don’t know what convinced you that this was the right thing to do, Mao, …but he’s still our father, no matter how evil he is.”
His expression changed no more than it had since this conversation began, but I could tell that he wasn’t completely convinced. A little irritated that he seemed to think he knew my thoughts inside and out, I carried on with my refusal.
“He’s a devil, Mao. I know this better than either you or Seishin, …but he’s not THE devil…and I refuse to sell my soul to one in order to get rid of the other.”
His response was delayed – evidence that he no longer questioned my resolve – but before he could give it, one of Yatsumi’s thugs emerged with an alarmed expression on his face, almost kicking the door down as he barged in. …Dumbasses, all of them.
“Hey! What the **** was that gunshot just now!?” he shrieked, removing any hopes I had that those earlier prayers of mine made it through. Returning to my usual demeanor, I took another puff on my cigarette before shrugging him off.
“Don’t shoot in your pants, small-timer. The thing’s loaded with blanks.” I said, briefly locking eyes with Mao before continuing.
“Wasn’t pointing it at anyone, anyways.”
He didn’t stick around long after hearing my answer, to which I was very grateful. And neither did I, informing Mao of these intentions first before acting on them.
“We’ll continue this later, Mao. …And for the record, I hit rock bottom a long time ago…or did you forget about the time when I overdosed?” I asked him. Of course, I wasn’t necessarily looking for an answer and left the room without any further delay. …Or rather, I was about to.
“Oh, and to answer your previous question, Aito.” he called out just before I stepped out of the room, prompting me to turn back to him with a look of bewilderment on my face. …It wasn’t every day that Mao called me by my first name.
“As the old adage goes, if you don’t do it, …somebody else will.”
His lips curved upwards into a devious smile as the statement rolled off his tongue, his first change in expression since Seishin left the room fifteen minutes ago. He clearly didn’t understand what an “adage” was at this point in his life, but Mao had gotten his point across nonetheless, as evidenced by both the slight descent of my jaw and enlargement of my eyes. The puff on my cigarette that followed was much longer than those that preceded it, and quite honestly, I needed that extra nicotine just to keep myself from spazing out then and there. …I had spent almost my entire life believing that my father was the Devil, but for a brief moment, …I could’ve sworn that he was sitting right in front of me.
To Be Continued…
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