Chapter Text
Breaking news: Scaramouche was not in a good mood.
Over a millenia. That's how long he had spent confined away from the world, sealed away into a goddamn feather where there wasn't even anything to punch for emotional release.
But that was fine . Really, that was nothing . Demons like him had to deal with that on the daily, and it would have been fucking bearable if it wasn't for the fact that now that he had finally found a way into the realm of mortals, ready to bring chaos and disgrace upon whomever may cross his path, he found himself standing in four tiny paws, with a cotton soft fur, and a set of ridiculous, utterly disgraceful whiskers adorning his cheeks.
"I-Is there something bothering you, My Lord?" Haypasia, the woman kneeling before him, asked in a tremulous tone.
Well, you fucking tell me!
"What on earth made you think that a cat was the adequate form for your future God!" He snarled, furiously glaring at the girl as he pulled out the claws in his fluffy, little paw.
"I— I beg your forgiveness, My Lord! We did everything we could! B-but in the end, we couldn't harness enough power to summon you in a proper, human form! We just thought—"
"Silence!" He roared.
Seriously, they didn't make cultists like they used to. Did the title “Destroyer of Countries” mean nothing to humanity anymore?
"I don't need your excuses. Just… find a way to fix this."
"Y-yes, my Lord!" Haypasia hurried to respond, shaking pathetically on her spot.
Good, you are correct in fearing me, human.
"Now tell me, the exorcist that sealed me away… Niwa Hisahide… What became of him?" He asked, making a conscious effort to remain firm and cold before her servant, pacing around his altar in a pensive expression.
"He died, My Lord."
He stopped walking.
"How?"
"Old age, My Lord. Centuries ago."
Scaramouche held back a hiss. Not good. He wanted that man to suffer , he would have wanted that man to spend his last hours dying slowly and in utter agony, regretting ever daring to cross Scaramouche's path.
But then again, if someone else had taken his life, he would have loathed the theft of his revenge for an eternity. Only he had the privilege of spilling that damned man’s blood.
"What about his people? His clan, weren't they all exorcists?"
"They perished," Haypasia explained, shrinking further on the spot at the glare she got from the kitt— the demon. "T-the clan did not survive your wrath, My Lord. Niwa was the only survivor…"
"So the human left no offsprings?" Scaramouche asked.
"No, My Lord."
Scara's tail wavered. Dare he not say it out loud, but he was… conflicted. He should have taken great pleasure in knowing he had striped his enemy from everything he ever loved, but he didn't. Perhaps because he did not get to see the look of misery in his face as he realized everything was lost… Yes, that must have been it, the desire to experience the torture of this man first-hand.
"T-there's… still a survivor of his lineage, though, sir." Haypasia continued.
Scaramouche glanced towards her once more, the statement picking his interest.
"K-Kaedehara Kazuha," She hurried to explain. "The Niwa clan was but a branch of the Kaedeharas. They, too, were exorcists, adept in the art of the sword and…"
"So this guy's an exorcist as well?" Scaramouche asked.
"Not exactly, My Lord. Kaedehara is a poet."
He squinted.
"A poet? The last heir of the most powerful exorcist clan is a poet ?"
Haypasia gulped.
"Y-yes, My Lord. Even after sealing you, the clan was left in shambles. The Niwa clan was the first to fall, but the main branch, the Kaedeharas, followed, losing their credibility as exorcists after all the destruction you brought upon Inazuman lands."
This left a bitter taste in his mouth. He should have rejoiced in these people's misery, but losing their credibility?! They sealed away the most powerful demon to ever lay a foot on the land of thunder, and they lost credibility because of some meek masacre?! It was impressive enough they had managed to defeat him in the first place!
Pfft , as if anyone else could possibly have exorcized him.
"Alright, then. What happened to the Kaedeharas afterwards?"
"They lost their renown as exorcists and turned to blacksmithing in return. They raised a few capable samurai too, as far as I'm aware. However… None of those are very profitable businesses nowadays."
Scaramouche tilted his head, ears flickering.
"Do humans no longer need capable fighters to serve them for protection?" He asked, confused by the prospect.
"Well… They do… Kind of. It's just… swordfighting is hardly the most efficient form of defense nowadays."
Scaramouche frowned.
"What? Do they expect to fight without weapons? Humans are frail little creatures, they need their armors and trinkets to even stand a chance of lasting in battle."
"Ah, there's still weapons, My Lord, although I'm afraid technology has come a long way since swords were invented. If you wish, I could explain to you…"
"No need," He interrupted. "I doubt humans' pathetic inventions could be of any interest to my plans." He laid down, paws and tail arranged neatly under his body —he found it was a great way to keep them warm. He looked at Haypasia, eyes cunning and menacing. "Now, tell me all about this Kaedehara guy."
It took less than a minute of observation for Scaramouche to decide that Kaedehara Kazuha had to die —of course, he had made that decision long before he even met him, but now that he was in his presence, staring at the human's inconceivably sweet smile, his guts churned, and his blood boiled, and every inch of his devilish body screamed for murder .
"Hey there, little one, are you lost?"
Kaedehara, a mere, pathetic human, had knelt down to his height and dared look at him in sympathy!
He hissed, making no effort in hiding his hostility towards him.
But Kazuha just blinked.
"Don't be afraid… I'm a friend, I promise!"
The guy dug his hand into his pocket, bringing out a small treat that exuded a dangerously alluring aroma, and reaching it out for him to eat.
What was it? An offering? Did this disgusting human think it would be so simple to quell his wrath?
Or was it perhaps a trap? A trick to gain his trust and seal him again? Haypasia had said that this man was nothing but a poet, but after releasing him from the exorcist’s bidding in the form of a goddamn cat, he had started doubting his subordinate's competence.
Maybe Kazuha knew exactly what was going on, and was taking him for a fool. Was this treat poisoned? Was it a bait? Whatever it was, Scara decided to prove that no matter what kind of stunt he was pulling, he was mighty enough to deal with it unscathed.
He approached and dug his teeth into the snack, eyes still fixed on Kazuha's, weary of his every movement.
He really wished the snack wasn't so damn tasty.
"You like it?" He asked, voice gentle and soft as if he was some sort of vulnerable little thing . "I got these for another kitten, but I guessed you could use one. A friend of mine makes them, cats like you usually love it."
First of all , Scara wanted to say, I'm not a kitten. Second of all, fuck you, I didn't ask.
But of course, Scaramouche did not utter a word. This was a reconnaissance mission, and he needed to remain undercover. As much as he hated this stupid feline body of his, it did prove quite useful in order to remain incognito.
He could perfectly kill Kazuha right then and there, summon thundering blades to rain upon his flesh and tear him apart until he was nothing but a pile blood and guts spilled over the ground; but he had decided that Kazuha deserved worse —not only was he the last descent of his biggest enemy, but now, Scara had learned that he was also annoying.
Thus, Scara would spare him a few days more, while he learned all about his life; the things he loved, those he was attached to, only so that his pretty red eyes could watch as the world crumbled beneath him before the arrival of his unavoidable death.
(Mental note to self: never describe Kaedehara Kazuha's eyes as "pretty" while plotting for revenge).
"Do you have an owner, little one? Are you lost?"
Scara hissed once again at the mere mention of an owner. Preposterous! Who did this Kazuha think he was?! He was no pet! He was a demon! A lord of darkness! The Destroyer of fucking Countries! He was…!
"Here, take another one. I wouldn't want you to starve." Kazuha interrupted his internal monologue with yet another treat, which Scara welcomed —only because he was not scared of whatever schemes the guy might have.
Kazuha then paused, smiling widely once again, in a way it made his cheekbones rise and his eyes close, and honestly, fuck him . Scara had no particular reason to curse him this time around, but his sole existence was enough for him to sing an eternal symphony of curse words inside his head.
"You know? You can always come with me if you have nowhere to go."
Come with—Ah?! So that's how it is! Spare a couple treats and a stupid, stupid grin and he assumed he tamed him?! Ha! He wished! That foolish display of kindness only added to his neverending list of reasons to loathe him! He let out a deep growl, leering as if to prove that they were not friends and that Kazuha should not be acting like he was in control of the situation.
But instead of squirming and shaking in fear as Scaramouche would have liked, the guy just sighed —Haypasia was to blame. If she had actually known how to run a cult, they would have brought him back to life in a much more imposing form than that of a kitty.
Kazuha stood back up, giving him a last, sickening stare, before waving his hand at him.
"Well, then I won't bother you anymore. I hope you make it safely to your home." He decided, and then he walked away.
Now, one might have thought that getting Kazuha out of his sight was a relief for Scara, but it wasn't . He wanted to see him try to run and beg for mercy, not walk off with a shiny smile on his face! So he followed after him, not in a I-accept-your-invitation kind of way, but in a I'll-find-out-where-you-live-and-kill-you one.
He was stealthy on his steps, a phantom lurking in the shadows, discrete as a ninja, swift as—
"I'll leave the door open in case you want to come in." Kazuha said once he arrived at what was presumably his house, beaming his way, and Scara froze, wishing he had been resurrected as a dog instead so that he could dig himself a hole under the ground.
And the bastard did indeed leave the door open! Did he have no sense of self-preservation?! Even if there was no blood-lust demon chasing after his trail, wasn't he afraid another human being might barge in and attack him?!
This just made things harder! Now on top of planning his own revenge, he'd have to keep an eye out for Kazuha's safety, lest someone else might end his life before him!
He ended up entering the house with a bitter mindset. At the very least, this would help him gather some useful information on his target's lifestyle.
Upon landing his first steps inside, his first impressions were that the place was plain and boring; poorly decorated, with furniture that was clearly cheap and unstylish. The mere sight of it made Scaramouche so bored he could have fallen asleep on the spot.
Or he would have if it wasn’t for the sudden notice that there was someone else inside the house, someone that was definitely not Kazuha.
This presence was cautious, stealthy, and predatory. It had knowing eyes and moved with a precision impossible for a mere human. A specter, perhaps? A youkai? A fellow demon? Scara’s fur bristled as his eyes ran from side to side, scouting the perimeter, bracing himself for a potential attack…
And said attack did come, in the form of a horrifyingly quick creature jumping up from behind him before Scaramouche could tell, joined by a horrifying yowl and claws digging into his skin. Scara jumped, yowling and hissing back as he too raised his paws ready to administer punishment on the foul spawn—
“Tama! Quit it!” Kazuha interfered, grabbing Scara’s attacker with his own bare hands.
It wasn’t until then that the demon got a proper look at it.
A cat. Scaramouche had been ambushed by a goddamn cat .
Just wait until the day of my revenge arrives you hideous creature, you’ll regret ever having laid a paw on the Destroyer of Countries!
“That’s not how we greet visitors!” Kazuha reprimanded, and Scaramouche nodded to himself as he agreed that it was the first sensate thing that had left the guy’s mouth. “I am sorry, little friend, are you hurt?”
Scaramouche decided to ignore Kazuha’s question and instead keep his threatening glare on “Tama”, who seemed to want nothing but to leave the human’s hold to pounce right back onto him.
“I guess Tama’s not used to having other cats around… Well, I did bring you over without asking her for permission. No one likes intruders in their own home.”
Kazuha had most definitely not “brought him over”, Scara had invaded that house on his own accord. The unwitty human remained blissfully unaware that the furry aberration was right in perceiving him as a threat.
Still, he decided he would give the human the right to believe in his own righteousness for a little while longer. After all, his assistance in handling the pest that was Tama had proven quite useful.
“I’m sorry, I’ll put you in your room for a bit, alright?” Kazuha said to ‘Tama’, his voice so sickeningly gentle it made Scaramouche’s guts churn. “That way you won’t be disturbed.”
Feeling himself victorious, Scara brought out his tongue, mocking the cat from the distance.
Within less than a minute, Tama was taken inside a separate room and left with a closed door, like a kid on timeout. Ha! That’s right! Bow before me, worm! Scara thought, Not even the human remains by your side to protect you!
“You must have been roaming the streets for a while now, right?” Kazuha asked once the hindrance had been dealt with, returning his attention to Scaramouche. Does he always talk to cats as if they could possibly hold a conversation with him? —Scara could, of course, but he was not about to give him that pleasure.
Instead, he followed closely after the human’s steps, trailing after him into the kitchen as he watched him pour some sort of white liquid into a plate.
“Here, you must be thirsty, and hungry.” He commented as he crouched to the ceramic floor. “Perhaps some milk will do you good.”
And yet another offering was brought upon him by the Kaedehara. What was he hoping to achieve? Gaining his favor? As if! He was doomed to be the object of his wrath from the moment he laid a foot into this world.
But he did indulge in his foolish act of service and took a sip from the milk, wrinkling his nose almost immediately as he recoiled.
That texture! That taste! He must surely be trying to poison me!
He hissed at Kazuha, who only winced his eyes and blinked in surprise and confusion.
“Huh? Did you not like it? Weird. Tama loves it when I give her milk…”
Well Tama is a tasteless beast. Scaramouche thought to himself.
Deciding it was a waste of time to stay by the abhorrent substance any longer, Scaramouche proceeded to scout for a more strategically favorable position. Eventually he found it atop of a shelf, the highest spot in the living room, where he could easily keep track of each and every one of Kazuha’s movements.
The human just turned to him with yet another of his nerve-wrecking smiles, holding a cup of steamy liquid, and sat by the table with some sort of… foldable device. Now what may that be? Scara wondered, staring with caution and curiosity. Kazuha had laid his hands on the now open object, running its fingers rapidly over its surface as he tapped on the numerous keys that covered it. Whatever this activity was, it seemed to demand a fair deal of Kazuha's attention.
From time to time, his gaze would shift from the device onto a notepad, and then he would resume the continuous tapping.
Scara just stared, as if waiting for something to happen, perhaps thinking Kazuha had a greater plan when he started doing… whatever that was. However, upon seeing nothing was happening, he eventually got bored.
He stood up, jumping off the cabinet and back onto the floor, walking over towards the exit.
Kazuha’s eyes fixed on him once again.
“Oh, you’re leaving?” He asked.
Scara felt disgusted by the trace of sadness in his gaze.
“You could stay if you want to, you know?”
Scaramouche just leered. Stay? Ha! As if he’d want to play pet for a meek human such as him. He turned his back to him, clearly delivering the message that he was most definitely not interested. Then, he walked away.
“He’s pitiful,” Scaramouche announced, once again sitting on his throne as he looked down on Haypasia. “The Kaedehara, he’s a naïve and defenseless insect! He doesn’t hold a candle to the worthy opponent that Niwa once was.”
“The times have changed, My Lord.” The woman replied.
“Well, he is pathetic.” Scara scoffed, rolling his eyes as he laid down.
Just thinking about him was deeply infuriating. The way he smiled so trustingly, his unneeded care and compassion, the obnoxious sweetness of his gaze! The more he thought about it, the more irritating it all became.
“Does this mean you no longer wish to kill him?” Haypasia then asked.
“No. I will kill him.” Scaramouche replied. “I will subject him to the most unbearable of agonies, feast on his every tear, and once he’s known every sort of pain mankind can experience, only then I’ll take his life.”
He smiled to himself, satisfied by the sadism of his words. Yes , he was a demon, one whose only purpose was to bring misery to people’s lives, and soon, he’d have reminded the whole world that they should fear him.
“Now, I am afraid that there are still many things about this world I don’t know about. I’ll need you to enlighten me, what kind of toxin is this substance humans call ‘ milk ’?”
Scara started to return to Kazuha’s place on a daily basis. The human was foolish and careless, willingly opening the window for him to walk in everytime he appeared —seriously, the chances to kill him were so numerous the demon found himself surprised he had been able to hold himself back for so long.
Tama had begrudgingly made a truce with his presence. He could tell she didn’t like him, and would hiss and growl whenever he got too close to her perimeter, but she would no longer attack. Scaramouche liked to think that she had realized she had no chance of winning a fight against him.
There were a few perks that came with visiting the Kaedehara, though, and the main one was this refined substance Kazuha often referred to as “tea”. Scaramouche had first tried it one morning when Kaedehara left his seat to venture into the bathroom —it had not taken long for Scaramouche to learn he did not wish to be witness to what happened in there. So, instead of following him, he had sneakily approached the odd tapping device Kazuha often spent his time by (Haypasia called it “laptop”); there, he found a mug with a steaming substance resting by its side on the table.
For research purposes, he took a quick sip from it.
He had been instantly marveled.
An intricate herbal taste, leaving a magnificent bitterness lingering in his mouth right after he swallowed. The demon couldn’t help but indulge in another sip, and then another, until Kazuha had returned from the bathroom, staring wide-eyed at the scene of his new cat rejoicing on his cup of tea. For an instant Scaramouche almost forgot his oath to remain incognito, and opened his mouth to demand the name of his delicacy. However, having caught himself in time, he just leered menacingly at Kazuha, trying to convey the same message.
“Ah… do you perhaps… like drinking tea?” He asked, walking over towards him to pat the top of his head, a gesture Scaramouche did no longer hiss at.
Starting that day on, the human began serving him warm tea on his plate instead of the foul milk he had offered the first day; Scaramouche thought that, despite it being insufficient to quell his anger, it still was the best offering Kaedehara had made to him thus far.
Sometimes Kazuha would leave the house to run errands, and since Scaramouche had no interest in staying home holding stare contests with Tama, he usually followed.
Kaedehara seemed to be a popular individual. People smiled and greeted him eagerly wherever he went, holding obnoxiously long conversations on topics that Scaramouche considered to be utterly unimportant. Kazuha, however, appeared to light up as he indulged in the chatting and beamed brightly at whatever he was told, as if he held it in high relevance.
Yoimiya was one of the people Kazuha visited most often. The girl sold fireworks—Scaramouche had seen fireworks before, they were a bashful display of color and light that lasted only for a second, and were not worth withstanding the horrendous sound they made. This girl, however, spoke of fireworks as if they were the most fascinating thing on the planet, and Kazuha was there to listen to every word of it.
Uninterested in the topic of the conversation, Scaramouche paced around the place, trying to find anything that could serve as entertainment while he waited for Kazuha to be done. The decoration was even more tasteless than Kazuha’s home, and also far messier. Scaramouche had a hard time navigating through it without knocking something down —Which then again, maybe he shouldn’t have bothered, because he would have liked to see Yoimiya’s smile wash off her face even if just for a second.
It was throughout this process that he stumbled upon a strange, square screen standing on a clearer area of her place. It was shining, displaying multiple images that moved as if they were happening right before his eyes, sounds coming out of it as if matching the scenes. There were people running and screaming, in evident fear, while a man in a black suit ran in the opposite direction of the crowd and into a building, determination written all over his face. Even though Scaramouche did not fully understand why the screen would show such images, he kept his eyes on it, now interested in the phenomenon.
Then, a weird turn of events caused the man-in-the-screen’s face to grow even more distressed, his expression shifting into that of someone that took notice of a very grave mistake.
And then, an explosion.
There was a very bright light, and then the building crumbling into pieces, clouds of smoke covering the view inside the screen as Scaramouche watched in utter fascination.
“BOOM!” A high pitched voice spoke from behind him, and the demon grew alarmed as soon as he noticed that he hadn’t noticed there had been someone on his back all along, and he feared Kazuha’s stupidity might have been contagious. “I love watching movies where things explode!”
The one behind him was a girl, much smaller than Yoimiya, which made Scaramouche guess that this must have been a newer-born human. She stared at him with wide eyes and a horrifying smile.
“Do you like explosions too?” The kid continued, grabbing him with her dirty hands and pulling him up without even bothering to ask. “The explosion in the movie comes from a demolition bomb! They’re super strong and can destroy entire buildings! My brother says you can make one by mixing TNT, RDX and amomo nitreat. He says I’m too young to learn how to make one, though…”
If it wasn’t because this kid was providing what could be extremely useful information to his schemes, Scaramouche would have scratched her all over her face by now.
“When I’m older I want to be a demolisher. I’ll make lots and lots of things explode! One day, I will also destroy an entire building with a bomb!”
Scaramouche was not sure whether he liked this kid. She was too energetic and lacked any sense of personal space. Still, she seemed like a knowledgeable human, and a greatly ambitious one too. Perhaps he should mention her to Haypasia; her knowledge on bombs did sound like something that could be of interest to him in the future.
He growled, a warning that she had to let go of him right now or else—
“Ah, I’m sorry Klee, but I’m afraid the cat doesn’t really like being touched.”
Two larger hands grabbed him from his back, pulling him away from Klee’s hold. For nothing more than seconds, he found himself wrapped between Kazuha’s warm hands, and the growling subsided instantly, as he found himself being pleasantly surprised…
He would scold himself for even thinking that as soon as his four paws were back on the ground.
“Oh god! I’m sorry! I hadn’t realized she was bothering your cat!” Yoimiya walked in, “I must have gotten distracted…”
“It’s no big deal, really,” Kazuha brushed off with a smile. “I’m just glad he didn’t scratch her while we weren’t looking…”
The conversation between Kazuha and Yoimiya continued for another couple minutes, until Kazuha finally decided it was finally time to go.
It did not take long for Scaramouche to realize that Kazuha liked petting. He had seen him doing so to Tama, whenever she walked over to his feet and rubbed her head against his legs. Then, the guy would kneel, getting closer to her height before scratching the back of her ears with his fingers. Tama would pur in delight, and Scara would just watch, wondering if that cat even had the slightest bit of predatory pride left in her after being tamed into such a level of submission by a human.
But Kazuha did not do the same to him. Perhaps, he was smarter than Scara gave him credit for, and knew not to cross boundaries with a dignified demon of his caliber.
One of those days, however, upon having caught Scara staring at the interaction, Kazuha smiled at him and approached.
“Oh, would you like some too?”
His ears tickled in anticipation as he watched the human’s hand hover over his head, his heartbeat’s speed increasing. His imagination ran as it wondered how that touch would feel against his fur, and suddenly, he felt panic.
And still, he couldn’t help but remain perfectly still as Kazuha’s fingertips gently rubbed behind his ears, delicately and carefully, as if trying not to scare him.
It took Scara a few seconds to react, finding that his touch felt oddly pleasant. Driven by a foreign instinct, he found himself pushing his head closer to his hand, eyes fluttering closed as he gave in to the calming sensation…
And then, he froze again, eyes widening as he found himself purring.
He hissed, pulling away, not knowing which terrified him more; if it was Kazuha’s touch or his own reaction. Kazuha, on the other hand, just blinked, staring at him in confusion before darting him one tender smile.
“Ah, I see. I’m sorry.” That was all he said before walking away.
That day Scaramouche left Kazuha’s home early.
On a different day, Kazuha got a visitor. It was a boy this time around; slim, short, red headed. Scaramouche did not like the ease with which Kazuha allowed him into his home, so trustingly. He didn’t like the way the guy carried himself either; he smiled a bit too much, dropped one too many casual jokes, and had an unnerving sassy speech.
“Heizou!” Kazuha greeted, excitedly pulling him into a hug.
Scaramouche repressed a hiss. This ‘Heizou’ struck him as the kind of guy who put up a facade, a trickster, and he did not know whether he posed a threat to Kazuha. He found himself unnerved as his slender fingers landed on Kazuha’s shoulders in an unprompted proximity.
The demon leered, his eyes fixed on the stranger, compelling one single message: don’t you dare try anything while I’m here.
He was pleased to find that this guy did indeed seem agitated by his presence.
“You… got a new cat?” Heizou asked, a nervous smile on his face.
“Oh, yeah. Cute, isn’t he? He followed me home one day after I found him on the streets. It’s like he chose me.”
The guy made an expression that perhaps was meant to be a grin.
“Well, I don’t think he likes me.”
“He doesn’t seem to like too many people.” Kazuha continued, “But don’t worry, when I first met him, he wasn’t too friendly with me either. Now he won’t leave my side.”
Because I’ll kill you! Scaramouche argued in his head, briefly returning his attention to Kazuha.
“I see…” Heizou proceeded, not seeming all too convinced. “What’s his name?”
Kazuha blinked. “Huh?”
“His name, you know? What do you call him?” He repeated.
But Kazuha did not seem to find an answer, as if he had just realized that his newfound companion was yet to receive a name.
“I… haven’t really named him,” He finally admits.
Heizou tilts his head, seemingly puzzled by this response.
“Really? That’s unlike you. I could have sworn you’d spit one with the longest poetic meaning anytime now.”
Kazuha smirked softly. In hindsight, that did sound like him, Scaramouche thought, and now he could not help but wonder why it was that he had not gotten a name from him yet. Was his presence less valuable than Tama’s? Had Kazuha not deemed him relevant enough to name him? Had he thought of him as expendable? An obnoxious sensation had begun to grow inside his chest.
“I guess… no name has come to me yet.”
Heizou sighed.
“See? That’s the thing with you. You think things too much, try to find a greater meaning in everything. If choosing Tama’s name had come to you, I wonder just how long it would have taken you to find one.”
Kazuha left a soft huff, perhaps a muted form of a scoff.
“You are right. I guess this might be a curse of mine.”
The focus of the conversation shifted after that, but the matter of the name remained in Scara’s mind for the rest of that afternoon.
Ever since the conversation Kazuha had with Heizou the day before, Scaramouche had felt troubled. He started noticing things, things he had not paid attention to before. Because he, a nameless cat, would roam around the living room and the kitchen, and that was his lane. Tama, too, would pace around these places, rejoicing under Kazuha’s affection whenever he knelt by her side to run his fingers through her head—and she would welcome his caress so shamelessly, as if she was entitled to it, as if it was so natural.
Tama . A cat with a name, name which Kazuha called every morning as he served her his food, or whenever he turned towards her to converse as if she could possibly reply.
But whenever Kazuha spoke to Scaramouche, there was no name for his lips to call, and that fact had started to haunt him.
No, the name is not important , he’d remind himself. He’d had one too many, and none of them had mattered. They were nothing but foolish words humans have come up with in order to curse him, to fear him, to dread him. They were brief and futile, always replaced by a new one, and whichever name Kazuha chose, no matter how well-though it might have been, would have been no different.
Plus, he did not need to be named by Kazuha, of all people. He was no pet. He was the Destroyer of Countries. He was meant to be looked at with fear, and not with love. And yet, Kazuha failed to understand that, from the very start he had looked at him with fondness, and it had gotten worse with every day gone by.
But such kindness was deceiving, because in the end, Scaramouche did not belong to him anyways. And one of those days, he would most definitely kill him.
Either way, it's not like he wanted to be treated the way Tama did, but she appeared to be in an entirely different position. She was pampered and babied and effortlessly entitled to everything around. She would jump onto Kazuha’s bed and nap on his pillow without a single care, and she left her scent all over his sheets, so that the single time Scaramouche tried to do that, he felt so out of place he jumped down and never tried to get on his bed again.
And as if that was not enough, Tama had her own room.
Why a cat would need a room of its own was beyond Scara’s understanding, but there was no denying that the door by Kazuha’s bedroom led to a room that belonged in its entirety to Tama. The door to it was always closed, only ever opened upon Tama’s meowing requests, for her to enter and do her bidding until she meowed again to be let out. Not even Kazuha walked in, as if for some reason he had decided to apply a privacy code to it.
But she was a cat , why on earth would she need such privacy?
That day, the difference in treatment had been particularly bothersome to him. And that had been precisely the day Kazuha had opened the door to Tama’s room. It was the very first time Scaramouche had seen him walk into it.
He brought in a broom and other cleaning equipment, and Tama was quick to follow after him, finding herself a spot on the brink of the window. Scara, on the other hand, remained outside, staring from the other side of the door as if trying to decipher what was so special about that chamber.
However, in his eyes, it was nothing but a normal room.
It took a few minutes for Kazuha to turn his face towards him, staring at him in mild silence at first, then to shoot a gentle smile his way.
“Hey, don’t you want to come in?” He offered, kindly. And as if her opinion even mattered, Scaramouche gave Tama a questioning look.
She did not hiss in response, and thus, he walked in.
It was, indeed, just an average bedroom; there was a single bed, and a desk. A few posters adorned the walls, and a few trinkets were scattered around. The scent inside, however, wasn’t all that much like Kazuha’s.
Scaramouche darted a quick glance towards Kazuha, then to Tama, and finally jumped onto the desk.
He paced around, trying to make sense of the things laying on top of it. There were a few notebooks, a few souvenirs from different cities, and then, there were pictures; those had captured Scara’s attention the most. Some pictures displayed an ashy blonde guy smiling for the camera, a couple of them displayed the same guy holding Tama…
He stopped by the picture where the same man wrapped his arms around Kazuha’s shoulders. He grinned mischievously as he pressed his nose against his ear, and a faint dust of pink adorned Kazuha’s cheeks.
An uncomfortable feeling surged on the pit of his stomach at the sight of it, as he turned his face towards Kazuha with an accusatory look he could not hold back.
“Oh, that.” Kazuha answered, smiling, although the curve on his lips withered under the pained light of his red eyes. “He’s… an old friend of mine…” he admitted, although darting his eyes away, as if embarrassed.
Scaramouche just squinted. Why he felt so bothered was beyond him, but he did not like the way Kazuha shied away at the mention of this person, nor the way the guy came so close to his face in that picture.
He wanted to scratch the pink away from Kazuha’s cheeks, and then dig his claws onto the stranger’s face and draw blood until it was beyond recognition.
He felt his fur spike on his back.
“Would you like to meet him?” Kazuha then offered, smiling sweetly at him once again.
Scara perked up.
Yes . He’d meet that guy. If he was this important to Kazuha, he’d meet him, see just how repulsive of a person he was, and then, once the mere sight of him got unbearable, he’d kill him; the very first step of his revenge to Kazuha and his clan, taking the life of that “old friend” of his, right before his eyes, just to see how this newfound flustered attitude of his faded into hurt, despair and agony.
“And… here we are.”
Scaramouche had been expecting to meet an obnoxiously gleeful individual. However, what he met instead, was a tomb.
Sugiyama Tomo
“There will always be those who dare to brave the lightning’s glow.”
Scara turned his gaze towards Kazuha, perhaps expecting to receive some form of explanation. This time, though, the guy’s eyes remained fixed on the grave before him, as he knelt down to the ground with a saddened smile and spoke:
“Hey there, old friend. I’m sorry it took me so long to pay you a visit.”
He held a bouquet of flowers in hand, carefully arranging them before placing them in front of the plate. His expression was as serene as ever, but his eyes seemed tormented, weighed down as they stared forward, not daring part ways with the grave as if someone could possibly be looking back at him from within it.
It was grief, Scaramouche recognized. This old friend of Kazuha was dead, and now, he was grieving.
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing a little visitor,” he proceeded, his gaze turning to Scara once again, in an expression that caused his feline body to freeze. “I found him a couple weeks ago, so he’s been keeping Tama company. Or well, so would I like to say, but they don’t really seem too fond of each other.”
He let out a chuckle. It was brief, weak, and not all too laugh-like. Scaramouche could not help but feel like it was released just in order to occupy silence.
“He doesn’t have a name yet,” Kazuha then admitted, lowering his head as if he were ashamed, and Scaramouche couldn’t help but perk up slightly, his interest piqued. “You always claimed I was good with words, but I guess this… well, I don’t think I’m too good at it. It came effortlessly to you, though. You gave one look towards Tama and already knew her name. ‘It just matches my name,’ you said, ‘and doesn’t she look like Tama?’. And I laughed, but you were right. Tama is just Tama. The name is perfect.”
And Scaramouche just stared, suddenly realizing that Tama’s name had never been given to her by Kazuha at all.
“I wonder what you’d say if I were to ask you for help naming him. You’d probably just come up with something like… I don’t know. Kuro, for the color. Perhaps I should stop thinking so much about it and do something like that as well…”
He paused, biting his lip.
“No, that doesn’t feel right.” He concluded.
Only then did Scara notice that his lower lip was trembling.
“Tama found you. And even if I look after her now, in the end, she will always be yours. But now this cat’s found me and…”
He stopped.
Suddenly, both of his hands were on his face, and his muscles seemed to twitch as his breathing became irregular.
Then, he was sobbing.
Scaramouche found himself at loss as he watched Kazuha break down before his eyes for the very first time, surrendering to a sorrow that all this time had remained unbeknown to him.
For a moment, he considered approaching, offering his proximity, trying to provide any form of comfort his weak, feline body could offer, to return him to normality.
But instead, he remained still, staring in frustrating uselessness as Kazuha weeped his pain away.
“There is no need for me to kill him,” he resolved, sitting on the throne that was far too large for him, while Haypasia watched, on her knees.
“What?” Was all she said.
“I said there’s no need to kill him!” Scara roared. “It’s not worth the effort. He’s just a mere human, after all. I don’t see why I should give him any special attention. He’ll perish along with the others once I conquer the world.”
Haypasia opened her mouth, then closed it, like a stupid fish. Whatever she had meant to say, she was wise in keeping it to herself. Scara was in a foul mood, and he did not want to be questioned, not when his own head was questioning him enough.
Why? Killing him would be easy. Have you forgotten your revenge? Have you grown softer? Has your resolve faltered? Have you grown weak?
He hissed quietly at the echoes of his own mind.
“A-About that, my Lord…” Haypasia then said, bowing her head to the ground. “The new body you requested… The preparations have been finished. You may take your new form whenever you wish.”
Finally some good news , Scara thought, although he could not even bring himself to feel happy about that.
“Perfect, then, get everything ready by tomorrow.”
After what seemed an eternity of struggling with that pathetic kitten body, Scaramouche finally found himself in a dignified human form—he would have liked to be a few inches taller, but he decided it was still better than being a cat.
However, he was greatly displeased upon finding that this new form hardly brought him any satisfaction. He felt as grumpy and frustrated as ever, eager to unleash his wrath unto something, onto someone, and yet restraining himself for reasons he couldn’t even comprehend.
Haypasia, too, looked at him weird, and he hated it, because he knew exactly what she must have been thinking. You wanted to take over the world,right? To claim vengeance over all mortals? Why, then, have you done nothing?
Scaramouche himself truly did wish he had the answer to those questions.
He stopped seeing Kazuha. It was for the better. The human had a weird effect on him, and Scaramouche did not like it. Perhaps it was because of him that he was acting so hesitantly. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he really did have to kill him, but something within his chest clenched whenever he thought of doing so.
Luckily for him, having let go of his cat form also meant that he no longer was Kazuha’s cat— No, he had never been Kazuha’s cat to begin with. Now, however, distance was mandatory. There was no reason for this random human he now presented as to approach Kazuha, nor was there any reason for Kazuha to find him and take interest in him. Their paths had diverged, until the day for Scaramouche to administer his punishment arrived.
That being said, Scaramouche did find himself thinking about Kazuha a bit too often. He couldn’t help but wonder what he must have thought of the whole situation. One day he had Scara following him around (for murder reasons), and the next one, he was nowhere to be seen. Was he worried? Was he relieved? No, as much as Scaramouche hated to admit it, there was no way Kazuha would have been relieved. He wondered if he still left the window open in the morning for Scara to come in, or if he kept on serving tea in his bowl out of habit…
Enough , he told himself, it was pointless to duel on such matters.
Maybe he needed to get productive, get busy, or do something. Ever since he got his new body, he had not even left the cultists’ chapel. He paced around, anxiously plotting for a revenge that did not please him, begrudgingly reliving his past few weeks by Kazuha’s side, trying to make sense of the mess his own head had become.
And thus, eager to do something with his life, he one day walked over to Haypasia.
“I am going on a walk.” He announced.
“What? But whe—”
“I don’t remember having to report to you,” he interrupted, darting her a murderous glare as if daring her to speak another world.
“Right. Apologies, my Lord.” Haypasia answered, lowering her head.
And thus, Scaramouche was about to walk away when the woman called for him once more.
“My Lord, wait!” She exclaimed, sprinting after him with a nervous expression. “Please, take this with you.”
She bowed, stretching out her arms as she offered a small, black device to him.
“What is this?”
“A phone, my Lord.” Haypasia explained. “It is used by humans to communicate with each other through large distances. I… You could use it to call me if you need anything.”
Scaramouche scowled, begrudgingly grabbing a hold of the trinket. “Yeah, right, whatever.”
And thus, he walked off.
In hindsight, Scaramouche should not have left the chapel.
He felt sick, as if his guts would betray him any minute, as he stared at the poster before him, which he wished he had not caught sight of.
MISSING CAT
If you see him please contact me at
+8154-792-5675
Followed right after was a portrait of him— cat -him, an awfully accurate one too. When had it been made? Had Kazuha made it? There was no one else that could possibly be looking for him.
Scaramouche wanted to stop looking, he ached to turn his gaze to the side and walk away. But he couldn’t . His eyes were fixed on the poster, reading through it over and over, as if there was any new information he could obtain from it. His imagination, too, had begun to wonder, imagining as Kazuha made the posters, hanging them one by one across the streets, all to look for him…
He should have killed him. He should have killed Kazuha. This was his fault. He would not be paralyzed looking at that stupid cat picture if it wasn’t for him. He would not be feeling this awful if it wasn’t for him. He would not be feeling this useless, this pathetic, this weak—
“Have you seen him, by chance?”
An horrifyingly familiar voice speaks from his left side, snapping him out of his thoughts, and forcing him to turn towards it.
Once again, Scaramouche wished he could ignore it.
Suddenly, Kazuha was right in front of him, with the same hair, the same face, the same eyes that had stared at him with so much unwanted affection. And yet, this time around, he looked different. There was no trace of the smile Scaramouche had loathed, and the usual gleam in his eyes had all but faded. His skin, too, looked grayer, and his hair was more disheveled than usual. He was a mess, he looked pathetic.
Scara hated that he wondered whether it was because of his absence.
“Who?” Scaramouche asked in return, trying to sound cold and distant, even though his hands were shaking.
“Sorry, I mean... The cat in the picture?” He asked again. His voice sounded tired and broken, but as his eyebrows arched upon the question, Scara couldn’t help but catch a trace of hope in his expression. “You’ve been… staring at it for a while.”
Scara clicked his tongue. God, how he wished he could save himself this interaction.
“No.” He answered, coldly and briefly. “I just got lost in thought.”
He tilted his face away from Kazuha, wanting nothing but to hide away from those eyes.
“Ah, I see…” Kazuha muttered in response, and Scaramouche couldn’t help but look and shatter as he saw the faint trace of hope in his face fading.
This is nothing! He scolded himself, You wanted him to suffer, right? To meet true pain? Agony? Why, then, do you coward away now that he’s sad?
“Its been over a week since he last came home, I just… I’ve been getting worried… Stray cats tend to get into fights and… and…” He stopped.
Scara caught the way his precarious calm faltered, as Kazuha bit the inside of his lip trying to keep himself from crumbling. It was an odd look on someone like Kazuha, someone as serene and composed as him. And yet, Scaramouche had seen it once before,
He just never knew someone would make such a face because of him.
“I’ll just… Stop bothering you. I’m sorry.” He said, forcing a smile.
That’s not your smile! Scaramouche wanted to snarl. That’s not what it's meant to look like!
And as Kazuha turned away to leave, Scara found his lips moving out of their own accord.
“Wait!” He called.
And he cursed himself right at the moment his eyes met Kazuha’s again. And he cursed his mouth, and his hammering heart, and the sickening feeling in his stomach.
He found himself stammering.
“I–I… Actually… I’ve seen that cat around… I think…”
What am I doing?! The stupid cat is no more! I have a human form now!
He lowered his gaze, trying to hide away his embarrassed expression. But Kazuha did not seem to catch that.
“You have?!” He asked, and his tone seemed so unexpectedly energetic that Scaramouche could not help but lift his gaze and look at him.
His eyebrows were raised, his eyes wide, his mouth just slightly agape, as if begging to hear more.
It made Scara feel small, perhaps smaller than when he was a kitten.
“Y–yeah… I… I’m not too sure… but…”
He had not thought this through in the slightest.
Kazuha took a step closer, a bit of a smile taking over his lips.
“No, no. That’s great! Even if you’re not sure, I… Please, where have you found him? Is he well? Could you let me know the next time you see him?”
Scara could not bear to look at Kazuha’s face, far too bright right now; to do so would not differ from trying to stare directly at the sun.
“S–sure… I… I could do that…”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Could I get your phone, then?” Kazuha then asked, and he was smiling, his eyes glimmering again, and Scara felt as if that gaze would melt him.
But then he focused on the question. Phone? Just what is… Oh, right!
He dug his hand into his pocket, bringing out the small device Haypasia had given him. He was quite sure this was not the use she had intended when she offered it, and not even he himself was sure if this was a good idea, but he was far too deep into whatever this exchange was now.
He reached out his hand, offering the phone to Kazuha.
“Oh, that’s not what I—Nevermind.” He grabbed a hold of the item, holding it firmly in his hand as he navigated through its screen with his fingers, then looked back at Scara with a grin. “Here, I added my contact. Please, let me know if the cat happens to show up.”
And not even sure words were a thing he was capable of coming up with anymore, Scaramouche just bobbed his head.
And he didn’t move, not even once Kazuha had turned around and bid his farewell, nor when his silhouette began becoming smaller as he disappeared into the distance.
And he held the phone close against his chest, out of breath, and out of his own mind.
He took a look at the screen, Kazuha’s name written down on it, with a small picture of an autumn leaf adorning the side of it.
And even though he’d curse himself a thousand times for it, he smiled.