Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His father was dead. Vampire. The news was delivered in the morning with an utter display of nonchalance by the abbess. A short and merciful death– her words. Yuuji did not think anything to do with the beasts deserved to be anchored down with such pithy words like “merciful”. Nothing about those things was merciful by any account.

 A sudden flash of fresh memories rapidly passes him by, piled up bodies and a stench like no other. 

Things that go bump in the night. Lights out for his poor father. 

And still Yuuji stays – loyal as a starved dog to the bone. The clergy barked out orders left and right. Compliance and virtue, his face wrapped in white cloth made of linen, and the tunic a hard cotton type from the weaker lands that never stood a chance against the horde. Yuuji with his hands folded and knees bruised from prayer, lording over dying children, watching the horror leak out of them while their mothers wailed in steady crescendo— and all Yuuji was good for was nodding along patiently. 

They wouldn’t make it to next year if this kept up – or if something didn’t let up. 

Still, Yuuji stays. Staring into open flame at night while something scratches at his windows begging to be let in. He knows evil when he sees it – in fact he is starting to believe he can smell it. His old caretaker had woven horror stories of young girls raped by the beasts, then giving birth to hybrids that defied God’s laws, that were so torturous to look upon – it could turn a living man to stone.

 He thinks nothing of it. He was perfectly bred to rotate prayer beads and nothing else. 

Yuuji thinks he’ll feel better in the morning. Less sick. He can feel every breath that inches out of him, feel how it vibrates through his all too aware body. Steady, he thinks. Just fucking relax.  

“Have you ever…seen the devil?” Nobara asks, her voice hushed like they were lined up in the church corridor Yuuji’s rushed through all his life. Yuuji thinks of hasty baptisms, dunking of the head. He thinks of hawks and how they follow their prey, he thinks of the greatest country on earth and imagines it on fire. 

“I hope you have a lighter,” ignoring her prying words guised as a harmless question. 

Of course he’d seen the devil — it lived inside his bones like an insidious parasite. There was something deeply wrong with him, and only God could save him. That’s what his mother used to say anyway, not that it counted for anything now. 

He can sense Nobara rummaging around her tunic. Yuuji ponders if the end is near. Maybe just for him alone. 

“Now–” Nobara starts, cigarette clenched between her teeth causing her voice to come out all muffled. 

“-- Shit, got it!” She pulls out the elusive lighter triumphantly. 

Yuuji hears the click, can feel the warmth of the flame in the autumn chill. His face sours slightly, not a fan of such obvious displays of sin. 

He tunes her out, taking in the ever changing leaves of the old oaks that line the grounds.

Nobara puffs out smoke, it coils like ouroboros. “That girl, the new one–”

Yuuji shifts his eyes lazily to the side. “Mary?” he supplies. 

“How many do you think that makes?” Nobara continues. 

Yuuji shrugs. 

 She was the pastor’s daughter. Blonde hair growing out in tufts and then into curls, sweet and pretty. She’d gone to town with some boys and never returned, her body found – mangled and spat out as if the taste of her hadn’t suited them– floating down the ravine. 

Nobara tsks. “What a terrible way to go.” 

Yuuji touches his face, fingers gone numb in the cold. An eerily familiar sense of dread hits him then. He looks over at Nobara, who meets his gaze. 

“The pastor..he’s–” Yuuji’s not sure how to continue. The man was a mess. Who wouldn’t be after seeing… Yuuji bites his lip, bile churning up his throat. 

Nobara shakes her head. “Already packed.” 

Yuuji wonders what emotion he’s feeling. Shock, Denial, Horror are on a constant rotation like a three person act. Numbness satiates in between. 

“That’s the sixteenth one.” Yuuji wraps his arms around his knees, squeezing into himself. Maybe he can disappear this way. 

Nobara snorts. “Yeah, no one’s too keen to come here.” 

Yuuji’s throat burns. “Meat on fucking spits.” His voice is muffled. 

Nobara throws her head back and laughs. 

He looks like David, perfect and porcelain. Yuuji wonders if he bleeds or comes apart in shards of ivory. 

The new pastor. Brand new like a wind up toy. So squeaky and clean. His handsome face does little for Yuuji, the smile decorating it– even less so. They should deliver the pastors in parcels, they should put stickers with discounts displayed. Wrap them up with a pretty bow like the slab of meat they were bound to become.  

How much money did the heads have to fork up this time to get ‘the fallen angel’ to come to the dust bowl of the country.  Come all this way, past the dried up uncharitable fruitless land, deep chasms cracking the surface into tiny bits that will never again be conjoined. Past the dirty faces of the poor and preyed upon, their eyes glazed over with want. If the vampires didn’t get him first, the congregation would rip him to pieces give or take a few days. Rip off his finely pressed clothes, steal the engine of his motor powered car that had Yuuji’s eyes bugging out.

 Nobara was right – the king had left them for dead. 

He imagined the man lathered in jewels while his subjects were gnawed upon like yesterday’s leftovers. 

Yuuji’s lined up with the rest of the nuns, with the younger ones in front of the pews. He can feel the whispers passing between them like a chain reaction. Someone giggles, and an elder hushes them, her face severe with threat. The candles are lit but do nothing to deter the ever present chill. Yuuji doesn’t let his face betray him, hands folded neatly. 

The man whistles through his teeth in one long exhale.

Yuuji snaps his gaze up to take him in. The new pastor is tall, terrifyingly so, he’ll have to bend slightly to enter each and every room. Handsome and chiseled, he has otherworldly eyes Yuuji had caught a flash of past the blacked out glasses he wears. There is something sinister and alien to him. Yuuji can’t place the sensation. 

The new pastor smiles, all pointed canines- too many teeth to it. Yuuji can’t help the inking desire to run, even if the others smile abashedly back.

He thinks of the dark woods that line the entire property, the only road that leads to the bell tower. He thinks of wolves and beasts. Of skin crawlers who take over your very flesh.

Yuuji cannot see the pastor’s eyes but he wonders what he’s thinking too, looking upon the meek mass of nuns. The only other man not capable of being bred like cattle to be found in the old guardsman up in the lighthouse, far far away. 

His voice is as deep as the ravine they found Mary in. It echoes around the nave. “Blessed be thou Father, who giveth thy blood upon us.”  He can hear Nobara muttering something nonsensical two girls down. Again, Yuuji can’t shake the trepidation that grips him. The pastor looks his way, and smiles. Just as quickly his eyes skirt past him. 

The pastor pauses. A lull overtakes the gaggle, hypnotically so. Yuuji can feel something thrumming at his skull, trying to weasel its way in. He shakes off the feeling, drawing a mental image of expunging something from entry.

The pastor puts his eyes on him again. Don’t look at me, Yuuji thinks, clamping his teeth. His eyes skit nervously away. You’ll be dead anyway. He knows the thought shouldn’t comfort him but it does. 

The priest laughs. “Ah, yes.” He starts in that deep voice of his. 

“The name’s Satoru Gojo.” Yuuji keeps his eyes trained to the stone of the floor, inching ever so slightly away. He glances up when the head nun begins the sermon. Ordination of the newcomer. All the good that will serve, he can’t help think bitterly. 

His gaze is involuntarily pulled to the pastor – Satoru. Father to Yuuji. 

The man is all slight smiles and steadfast resolve. He reminds Yuuji of those unreadable scripts written in long forgotten languages. He has a good face, no – it’s beautiful. Yuuji can tell without needing to see the eyes again. The demons have similar faces. Very beautiful. Alluring like a siren’s call. Then they rip you open leaving nothing but shiny ribs licked clean of meat. 

Yuuji shuts down the jolt of fear before it can overpower him. It’s a constant wrestling match. Hush, shut it. He tells it. Fear isn’t for a dead person walking like him, who no one truly cares for. It’s not for any of the nuns. They’ll die clinging to their flag posts. They’ll die nobly once the townspeople get angry enough to burn them all alive. They’ll be raped but saved in heaven. They’ll be baptizing the masses with their kind pacifism while the wolves or the villagers have a go at them.

Imagine if their Lord turns them away for smoking a cigarette or for staring too lustfully at the priest. The thought dissuades him from taking the slightest pleasures in such carnal desires. He closes his eyes, letting the sermon wash over him. Forgive me, Father. Forgive me. He thinks, rotating the thought around. His mind whines to a stop when it betrays him by conjuring up an image of the new priest. 

Oh dear God. Yuuji snaps his eyes open. Already praying for forgiveness. He blames it on the day he’s been having, as his stomach churns along with the stale oatmeal he’d had this morning.

He still feels a long pointed stare on him. It pins him, freezing him in place as if he’d been caught doing something bad. Priests can’t read minds, heart going haywire like a jackrabbit. 

He waits his turn for the offering, hands clammy. Yuuji straightens his posture slightly, icy chills overlapping the ever escaping warmth. His eyes stay trained down as he kneels before the strange new addition. 

He sticks out his tongue slightly. The offering is sweet. Round disk melting into sugar on his tongue. He peers up at the priest, the latter having rid himself of the glasses. Cold blue eyes gaze down upon him. He can see the mirth swimming in them. Yuuji feels small, reduced to an oddity under the penetrative gaze. 

“Blessed be the Father, and the kingdom from which he rules.” The words sound like imitation from the priest’s mouth, like mockery. Floorboards creak under him as Yuuji pushes himself up. He smells the rich scent of tobacco and something odd as he passes the priest by. Confused and puzzled at this quandary. Did he smoke? Nobara had gone before him maybe… Yuuji shakes his head, trying to be rid of the thoughts plaguing him. 

There was something wrong. But what exactly? He couldn’t place it. He melts back into the lineup.  Thoughts settling around his throat like a noose.

Standing there, Yuuji feels the phantom touch of an arm snaking around him. He whirls, heart pounding. The empty pews greet him.

Yuuji awakens again; gasping, heart hammering. It’s pitch black in the quaint and frankly decrepit room. He blinks, little white dots floating across his vision like fairies from the stories his father would tell. The tapping is there again, it had woken him before, he doesn’t dare look over at the only window to his room, too dark to make out much. He rubs at his eyes groggily; common sense chasing off the remnants of the nightmare that had plagued him just seconds ago. The tapping increases in its ferocity. The thing must be desperate; hungry even. 

Yuuji shivers, pulling the thin blanket closer. He raises his eyes upward where he knows the insignia of his Lord hangs. Under his breath he starts to whisper the canticle of protection. 

“Sweet Divine, let your spirit defend.” The tapping crescendos, Yuuji finds his voice wavering. 

“Guide us through fields of dark, be our Fortress oh Lord—.” A hard banging from outside has him reeling to a stop. He pauses, then continues. “In the name of your merciful light, we are saved, protected…” He stops again, ears perking to hear any slight disturbance– all is quiet, still. A sigh of relief works its way past his lips. 

“Through your might, carry us past this bleak night.” 

It’s only in the morning Yuuji finds it safe enough to open the curtains. 

He dusts the small old stone windowsill, before perching himself on it. He tucks a loose strand in his apostolnik, shifting his covering frontward. The ever perfect picture of chastity.

 Yuuji observes the grounds, covered in fog, a deep and tortuous fog that made everything indiscernible. It had made itself home in the monastery, descending into the woods, then plunging its wicked hold over the town and the next one over. Yuuji’s mind pulls him into a darker place, imagining what ungodly things could happen to a person in the midst of it, when one cannot make feet from hand. 

He shakes his head as if to be rid of his thoughts. He wonders where the boy had gone, when he had first arrived here, a young thing that wished for change; living in idealism. Now he finds himself wishing for an end to all of this, whatever this might be. 

Yuuji makes his way to the door, passing down the corridor, heading towards the mess hall where he’s sure he’ll find Nobara. They were on errand duty today, and would be going into town to gather supplies before Sunday’s congregation gathers. One of the nuns had whispered in passing, a couple of towns and villages were coming to see the new priest. Talks of his beauty and preaching had spread like wildfire – allegedly. A sardonic laugh bubbles its way free, and a passing sister glances his way as if he’s lost it. Yuuji nods her way. 

The pastor was a welcome distraction. Nobara and Yuuji had found much pleasure in picking apart his eccentric ways, all while the rest leaned in to listen to his every word as if they were planets in orbit, and the pastor was the sun. 

As of recent, Yuuji found himself taking the long way, trying to avoid any interaction with the man, but mysteriously he’d find himself bumping into him here and there. ‘Father’ he’d mutter, the pastor would smile that smile of his, and Yuuji would blink blankly back before making his way wherever he was needed. Still unable to shake the sense of unease that had him wanting to run past the trees, to the bell tower, and pull the rope until the Magister sent for the militia. From the little word they received all the way up here, they were losing rapidly. He wonders who would come, or if they were destined to all die alone and abandoned by the powers that be. 

At least they don’t have to bury any bodies from the monastery today, he prays there are no bodies to be hauled and burned in the town below. Due to fear of plague, all bodies left by the undead were tossed to fire, not worthy of a proper burial. He knew to be exhumed this way was to deny the soul entry to heaven. Yuuji wishes his death will be kind, merciful enough so he may be with his Lord. 

He climbs the narrow staircase towards the hall, rosary clutched like fine pearls in his hand. He senses him before he sees him. He tastes the smoke of his scent, feels the earth shift between his feet. Yuuji comes to a stop, as the shiny black boots descend towards him. The priest is as handsome as ever, he smiles politely at Yuuji, cheeks dimpling. Hands folded behind his back, his tall stature consumes the entire staircase, Yuuji finds it hard to breathe. 

The cassock is tight around the priest’s gargantuan frame, the cape highlights the breadth of his shoulders. Yuuji’s face heats involuntarily, he blames it on biology. 

“Sister.” The priest slurs out. He makes the word sound dirty; foul, like the men who leer at him in the market, telling him his skills are wasted all wrapped up in cloth. They ask him what he looks like naked and writhing. Yuuji grows warm, mouth suddenly dry. He shouldn’t be thinking of such things. Blasphemy. If anyone knew, he’d be hung tomorrow. 

He catches the predatory gleam in the priest’s eyes and looks away. “Father.” He mutters in response, nodding slightly. The priest walks past him, their shoulders brush and Yuuji shivers. He never thought of himself as the type to be tempted, but the Devil was a sly creature. He begins to pray in his head, trying desperately to forget. 

Yuuji is the first to notice. He always is. His mother had called it preomination, saying it was all Yuuji had going for him. It was the Devil’s mark. A bad omen. He knew his mother was dead before she went and fell into that well. He had a dream of his father wandering off into the starless woods, and then he was gone too. 

It’s when the pastor spoke, when they were well into his fourth week of being here, when there was no incident or death within those four weeks – that Yuuji knew something was very very wrong. 

His heart’s in his throat like a flightless bird. Ba-dum, ba-dum. His dreams piling up; telling him to run while he can. No, begging him. But what was Yuuji supposed to say? He needed to go away because of what he felt? While the nation died and was consumed for sustenance?

He sits silently in the pews. Looking thinner, hands clutching at his knees. Nobara had stopped smoking by the third week. Somehow. 

Yuuji glances over at her now. Takes in her glossy eyes, the pastor’s steady words washing over them like a stream. Like the ravine— . Yuuji forgets the thought as quickly as he had conjured it. Suddenly confused as to why he was staring at Nobara to begin with. He blinks, directing his gaze back to the pastor. He watches Satoru’s mouth move, eyes growing foggy. Yuuji scrunches his brow, gulping, looking down at his lap, trying to steady his breathing. 

The archbishop is here, a rotund man, all fleshy, tonsured head shining with sweat. Why is he here? Yuuji blinks his way, mind clearing slightly.

Once he starts noticing the finer details, nothing makes sense. He glances at the rounded windows decorating the chancel. It’s a fleeting thought…but it grip him.

  Why was it dark outside?

He whirls his head, taking in the slack jawed faces of the gathered mass. His mind reels, trying to remember how he came to be in this room, brows furrowed – he barely recounts getting dressed, the rest a mysterious blur. It was so still, so quiet. He couldn’t hear Nobara breathing next to him, all that was heard was the pastor’s words. Yuuji turns slowly to glance up at him. The pastor has his hands splayed open, standing at the altar. He talks animatedly in that all too intimate voice of his. What was perplexing was exactly what he was saying. It did not sound like any language Yuuji was familiar with, in fact it barely sounded of this earth. A chill snakes its way up his spine. An innate desire to run grips him. His body trembles, something new takes the place of the tranquility he was feeling earlier. 

Terror. 

Yuuji tries to remember the prayer he is supposed to say to dispel fear, but he cannot recall, it disappears into the mind numbing fog that makes him placid. Like prey. In his fear he imagines the beginning of a hunt. He thinks of finding a spot in the dozen or so buildings littering the property and hiding forever. So palpable was the sense of dread. 

Time drags its feet as his eyes meet the pastor’s. Satoru smiles, canines flashing. Yuuji stands up, turning on his heel, ready to run. He remembers then, his father when he had first dropped him off at the monastery, telling him to never contradict the teachings of his elders, of the clergy. And here he is, planning to hightail his way to the hills to be away from it all. He’d rather take his chances with the hillmen than stay a moment longer.

His last thought is to grab Nobara as well, before the entirety of him goes rigid, mouth opening – not sure if he wants to shout or scream. Yuuji balks, as his body turns on its own, like a phantom limb with an impossible itch.

He has the all so sudden desire to vomit, his eyes drawn to the priest again. He catches the pastor’s eyes, somehow knowing the man sees right through him. He fears the pastor can see his high mounted ideals were just a smoke and mirror show, that he didn’t sleep on the left side of the bed because it invited ghosts, knew Yuuji’s desperation, knew the cold creeping into his bones had him frozen solid into place.

The pastor smiles all too wide, it never reaches his eyes, which remain just as cold as the first day they met Yuuji’s. 

Satoru opens his mouth, Yuuji imagines those sharp teeth impaling him, the sensation and sound of his skin coming apart. Tears prickle his vision. His body screams for him to move, but he simply can’t; a marionette on a string. 

“Not very polite of you.” The pastor’s voice lilts, Yuuji barely registers he is being spoken to, the fog descending over him like a blanket. He feels his mind swirling, on the precipice of an untimely realization that escapes his grasp over and over again. 

Satoru’s smile only seems to widen, glee making his eyes crinkle. In this light, with the planes of his face giving away to shadow, he looks like the Devil, beautiful and alluring. Yuuji feels himself sucked up into orbit, feels dizzy – confused again as to why he’s standing, why he’s in this very room. The questions disappear one by one until all that remains is sweet stillness. 

Yuuji's faint and one second away from passing out, as he takes his seat in the pew. Nobara hasn’t moved, in fact he suspects she hasn’t blinked either. No one moves now. 

“Heh.” Satoru snickers, blue eyes aglow. His amusement is betrayed in his smile as he continues in tongues Yuuji cannot grasp. The words goad Yuuji into an hypnotic trance. He watches the pastor’s lips move with rapt interest, blinking blearily. He feels himself being dragged further and further into this dream-like state, the sharp edges of the room blurring. Time slows, everything becomes softer, calmer. He feels the tension leaking out of his body. The words wash over him again– the voice is not unwelcome this time. A loopy smile overtakes his features.

Yuuji just feels..so… so happy. 

Getou sips the wine offering, grimacing at the sour aftertaste. 

“Shit tastes stale.” He comments. 

Satoru shifts his eyes lazily his way. “Fuck right off then.” Lips set into a frown. He’s annoyed, the rest keep their distance, instead focusing on combing the pews for their next victim. Satoru doesn’t have the same desire to feed, he can go without. He’s more of a fan of the hunt itself. His eyes examine the front row until they land on the nun with rich brown eyes. He smiles –like a white bellied shark. Titling his head to examine the boy. Yuuji’s giggling to himself, fingers covering his mouth do little to conceal the ever growing grin. Little fucks lost it. 

Getou creeps up next to him. “Sukuna’s having a ball.” Satoru’s fingers work to loosen the tab in his collar. He glances over at the four armed beast, some poor fucker had the honour of having his limbs pulled off one by one. When they’re being killed – they scream. Nothing much Satoru can do about that. He pouts while Getou shrugs, pouring the wine down his throat in one go. The latter tosses the chalice over his shoulder, it clinks against the worn stone. 

The wet squelch of flesh being torn from bone rings in the air, it crescendos along with the screams that turn into wails, then whimpers, then nothing. Sukuna and the likes of him enjoyed the mess, enjoyed the fizzling out of life, like a yolk being poured out. It was barbaric, but it was nothing compared to what his kind was capable of. 

Getou descends the steps towards the pews, slow and ominous. Lethal and calculating as his hand traces over the aged wood of the seats. He picks a girl, another nun. Satoru barely recalls her name. The raven haired man has her throat in his cold grip before Satoru can remember. Something starting with an S? It snaps like a twig– all too easy. Her head lolls at an unnatural angle, skin stretching, broken bone poking through. Getou gorges her open with one sweep of his hand, blood pooling and coming out in fits. It sprays and paints his face red, Getou grins, diving into eat, his body concealing the scene from view.

Satoru yawns, rolling his head back, counting down the minutes until it's over. 

By the time they are close to finished, there’s brain matter dripping off the ceiling Satoru knows will be a complete pain to clean. He has some of the congregation mopping up the blood, with each wet swipe it spreads further and further, staining the cobbled stone with crimson and gore.

He’s beyond annoyed, cursing out Sukuna specifically. He has the nuns, who he finds to be a new breed of incompetent, drag in pails of water to clean the mess; eyes specifically trained on the brown eyed one. The poor thing is shaking, body betraying his weakness. He found this one’s particular caution around him to be quite amusing.

Satoru wonders about the taste, then the body.

The body of a male who was not quite male, not quite anything. A tempting minx. He could have him now, he supposes, on his back and panting. But that was Sukuna’s lowbrow way of doing things. Contrarily, Satoru was a fan of games. 

Yuuji wakes the next morning with a dry rasp, blinking and writhing. Sweat clings to his brow, as he moves, his entire body aches with such ferocity – it has him mewling for his mother.

Fighting back a sob, he sits upright, bones cracking into place. Dear God, what had happened last night to cause this? He can barely remember. There was congregation, he sat there, the pastor spoke, and then he went back to his room with the rest. Everything else escapes him.

He gets dressed, nursing his sore arms. He glances outside, squinting up at the sun, somehow knowing he must be late. He rushes past the hall and up the stairs. The nuns are all there, eating silently.

He passes the long wooden table flanked with equally long benches. He’s looking for someone but cannot remember who. The name is there, on the tip of his tongue. 

He forgets about it by the time it comes to run errands.

They take the horse drawn carriage to town. He asks the other nun sent with him for her name, she looks at him, brows furrowed, struggling to respond. By the next bend of the road, Yuuji forgets he asked anything in the first place. 

In the market the tomatoes are all rotten, the potatoes too small to be eaten. The corn has been eaten by bugs, and there are mites in the flour. But Yuuji buys it all.

The blacksmith asks of the priest, eyes desperate – "when will he come, Sister."  One beringed hand coming to cling onto his tunic. Yuuji smiles, blinking up at him. “All will be well soon.” He replies as if on cue, not knowing where the words came from. Replete, Yuuji swings away.

In the next stall, the seamstress grabs him, twirling him around on his heel, causing Yuuji’s veil to slip slightly. “The pastor, ..take me to the pastor.” She wails, face a splotchy red from crying, she has the same crazed eyes of lunatics who claim to witness oracles. Yuuji smiles prettily at her. “All will be well soon.” His voice ten octaves too high. He weasels out of her vice grip. But, he finds his feet slipping in the mud as more and more townspeople gather around him, their faces twisted in agony. They scream as they claw at him, ripping his tunic off of him, until he’s reduced to just his habit. Yuuji laughs. Someone slaps him, cheek stinging on impact. Still Yuuji laughs. He has never felt more ecstatic. A hand fondles at his private, and he shivers, rough hands traversing his body. 

He pushes against the mob, who grab at whatever they can hold, his hair is yanked back, but Yuuji barely registers the sting. The veil slips and is trampled into the mud. He feels exalted, as if going through a trial from the Lord himself. So merciful, Yuuji thinks gleefully. A hand smothers his mouth, dragging him down. So merciful, tears fall in rivets down his face. 

It’s the carriage driver who pulls him out of the horde. He’s lost all the vegetables, and has barely two scraps of cloth left on him. His legs are streaked with mud and animal shit, face swelling like a giant bruise.

But still he cannot stop smiling. 

The abbess tells him to rest, her eyes equally as glazed. The words sound so far away to Yuuji, like someone was yelling them from a great divide. 

He goes to sleep, battered and bruised – dreaming of eyes that glow in the dark. There’s a scratching at his window, Yuuji has half a mind to let it in. 

In the morning he wakes, refreshed and with not a single scratch – like he’d imagined it all, he wonders if he has. 

He forgets the girl. Because there was a girl. Maybe he’s passed her by and simply not recognized her. Maybe she’s gone to a far off place like his father. 

There’s Sunday mass again, it’s so dark outside, Yuuji feels scared. But the fear melts when he sees the pastor. He clings to each word. Nothing makes much sense. But it makes Yuuji’s insides bloom, each word rings endearingly, and seemingly only for his ears alone. 

There’s blood on the walls again. He cleans everything. Getting on his hands and knees to lick the carmine fluid from the cracks, it tastes like ambrosia. Better than the wine. Better than the sugar offering. He licks until his tongue splits and his blood mixes in with the rest. 

He’s in his room, curled up to his side. Flies crawl over him. They’re hungry too. He can’t remember his name. He can’t remember where he is. His fingers are cold, and each breath comes out with great labor.

He goes to the hall, it’s where they get food. The bread is stale and hard, he bites into it, using his spit to render it edible. There’s only a few of them left. He thinks the priest doesn’t like their cleaning much, so he sent some of them away. Maybe into that place where you can’t come back from. He giggles. He’s snorting with laughter by the time the priest walks up to him. The man rests a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to look at him. 

“Yuuji.” The priest starts. 

That was his name. Yuuji. He grabs for his rosary. Committing the word to memory. Repeating it like a mantra. Yuuji, Yuuji. Yuu-ji. 

His fingers find his soaked slit, he plunges one in, the shock of it making him arch his back. He gasps. Prodding further. He slips in a second, foot slipping from the edge of his bed. He steadies his legs again, moving his fingers in and out slowly. The sensation is new, guilt gnaws at his heels, but he can’t stop. His brain melts. He imagines the pastor on him. Thinks of those blue eyes.

“I love you, Yuuji.” He conjures up an image, the priest making love to him. Because he loved him. He groans. 

His fingers get faster, he adds a third, sweat traveling down his back. He wants something, something real. He wants to be eaten like those people on Sunday, but from the inside out. His desire spills over, little pants and gasps the only sound in the room. Drawing his fingers out with a pop, they shine in the dark – a translucent liquid. Yuuji’s curious, he brings his fingers to his nose, sniffing. He wraps his mouth around them, slowly sucking. The taste is salty and unpleasant. He imagines it’s the pastor's, scent spilling out in want. 

Yuuji stumbles down the dark corridor, past the gates leading to the shriveled garden. The land is frostbitten and covered in troves of white. He smiles giddily, vision coming in and out of focus. He uses the curved stones embedded within the walls to guide him. 

By the time he gets there, the priest is already feasting. Canines buried deep into the neck of a girl. Some stupid whore. Yuuji thinks bitterly. He pushes the door open, legs suddenly giving out - he falls into an ungraceful heap. The fireplace is lit and casts shadows over the pastor’s quarters. Satoru glances his way, his meal already drained and discarded. He wipes at his mouth, hair brushing against his forehead as he tilts his head to take in the view. 

Yuuji’s face heats, watching the dimples form on the sensuous face that has plagued his dreams thus far. He crawls on all fours, knees stinging from cleaning all day. The ground is cool underneath his hot palm. His chemise does little to keep him warm, but his body feels hot and clammy on its own. By the time he’s reached Satoru, he’s a sobbing, sniveling mess. 

“What’s the matter?” The pastor’s voice is gentle, almost consoling. Yuuji mewls, burying his face into the latter’s pants, snot congesting his already stuffy nose.

A small smile plays at Satoru’s lips. “There, there.” He says, the mocking tone is lost on Yuuji. 

Yuuji sobs harder. There are no desires, no thoughts – nothing in that head of his. 

Yuuji feels the long pang of desire, feels the wetness leak out of him. He writhes in place, thighs rubbing against one another. He humps the ground, begging for any kind of release. 

A cold hand yanks his face upward. Yuuji blinks through the mess of tears, old ones already making his eyelashes stick to one another, making the already difficult task of keeping his eyes open almost impossible.

Satoru digs his fingers into his cheeks enough to bruise. Yuuji moans pathetically. Eyes rolling back from touch alone. Just as quickly, Satoru releases his hold. Yuuji sits there, legs folded beneath him – waiting with as much patience as he can muster. 

“Who knew the most virtuous was such a dirty slut?” The pastor laughs, voice gravelly to Yuuji’s ears, a fresh gush of wetness leaks out of him. He hesitates – then nods, dazed and stupidly numb. Satoru laughs for real this time. 

“I did a number on you didn’t I.” His eyes crease, smiling. Yuuji smiles back, tears and snot tasting salty on his tongue. 

Yuuji rides the curve of his heel, pussy sticky and clenching around nothing in the open air. Satoru tuts, blood still decorating his teeth, still splattered across his face. Yuuji thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. 

The planes of the pastor’s face shift, firelight dissipating the carefully constructed facade. The malicious glint in the latter’s eyes is lost on Yuuji; along with the world of the living. 

A strong and rough hand has him by the nape, pushing him down until his nose and face are buried into the pastor’s crotch. The hand in his hair tightens painfully. 

“C’mon, show me what you’ve learned in sermons.” The heady voice drawls, almost bored by the whole ordeal. Yuuji’s ass is up in the air, and he can barely contain his excitement. Father, father bless me. He thinks. Eyes growing droopy, tongue already flicking out to lick at the clothed boner. 

The hand falls away, and Yuuji perks up. He ignores the bleeding corpse lying mere inches from him, as he hurriedly undoes Satoru’s pants.

Satoru’s fat cock is warm in his cold shaking hands, the sight of it causes his cunt to swell with another gush, he feels the sticky liquid trail down his thigh. 

“S’too big.” Yuuji slurs, fingers trembling and failing to wrap around the thing, the tip leaking with pre cum. He bends down, taking little kitten licks of the salty substance. 

He hears the pastor grunt, before the hand is back in his hair. In one fluid motion, his head is pushed down, mouth already agape and panting. His nose is buried in curly pubes, cheeks puffing and reddening rapidly. Yuuji fears his eyes are going to pop from their sockets. He mewls, jaw unlocking unnaturally. He bats his teary lashes, trying his best to breathe through his nose.  His entire body wracks with shivers, trembling in a heap as he melts into whatever the pastor wishes him to be. 

Big fat tears roll down Yuuji’s face, as he’s pulled off the thick cock with an audible pop. He reaches, gasping for air. Long strings of saliva and something else connect his puffy lips to the shaft. His jaw aches, the back of his mouth stinging from the assault. Yuuji babbles incoherently, tongue lolling out as he’s shoved down again just as quickly, the hand in his hair pressing him in further. Yuuji makes sure to not let his teeth scrape – tongue over his bottom teeth, just like he was taught. 

Satoru fucks his mouth open, making Yuuji’s head pound and pussy throb.

He wants him with such palpable desperation, it spills over in his need to please the pastor, and from his every orifice as if Satoru could smell it on him. 

Yuuji keeps his dripping pink tongue out, leaning into the pastor’s space, trying to take as much of it as he can.

“Such a pretty thing.” Satoru groans, strong hand still guiding Yuuji up and down his cock. Yuuji preens at the praise, heart fluttering. Soft hands barely holding him upright, as his mouth is plowed over and over again. 

“Just fucking take it.” Satoru grunts, teeth flashing. 

He cums deep inside Yuuji’s mouth. Yuuji shivers. He pulls himself off of Satoru, arms shaking. Cum spilling out of his mouth, face a complete fucked out mess. A sharp slap has his ears ringing before he can fully process it. Yuuji raises a slow hand to his cheek, vision blurry with tears. Semen dribbles past his lips, down his chin. 

“Swallow it.” Satoru yawns. Yuuji nods numbly, cramped fingers coming to scoop up the mess into his mouth. He swallows the salty concoction along with his spit and tears. His vision clears slightly, finally taking in the pastor’s face, the latter's mouth pulled into a frown. Yuuji’s brows furrow, a fresh bout of tears stinging his vision. Had he made him mad? 

A sob works itself free. Just as easily the tension breaks, Satoru goes back to his grinning self.

“Come here.” He coos, gesturing with his arm. Yuuji scotches closer until he’s wrapped up in the solitary embrace. 

“Father.” He rasps, a cough wracking through his entire body, causing him to convulse forward. 

Satoru laughs in response.

A hand comes to wipe the tears streaming down Yuuji’s face. 

“It’s going to be a bore watching you die.” Satoru whispers softly, as if to console. 

Yuuji’s head buzzes like a wasp’s nest. 

The pastor speaks again, this time gentler. “I wonder if I should fuck you now or when you're all dead, hm?” Yuuji knows it’s not a question, he tries to make sense of the words, they’re scrambled, and his head hurts like a fatal wound. 

He recounts something about a tower, something of ravines. The memory escapes his grasp – just barely. He wonders if he’s dreaming, wonders if this is heaven. 

He gazes up into malevolent blue. 

“Do you love me, Father?” He slurs out, mouth crusted with dry semen, hands folded politely in his lap. 

Satoru squeezes his cheeks, grinning. “Sure.”