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Nails like talons dug into the warehouse’s floorboards as Shallan pulled the crucifix out, observing it. Nezuko’s lips snarled beneath the bamboo gag the Carnivale workers had placed in her mouth, part of their efforts to stave off her more… supernatural talents. She stumbled backwards, clambering up the wall and out an already broken window, when the thunder struck.
She tried to duck for cover from her perch on the windowsill, but her sandals missed their mark. White light streaked through the sky, brighter than any lightning she’d ever seen. As her hands lifted up to cover her eyes, she slipped, tumbling down a small, muddy incline just outside the warehouse and into a manhole just large enough to fit her diminutive form. Monstrous as she was and with whatever strength she had left after the Carnivale’s shenanigans, she remained a petite-framed monster, and she quickly disappeared into the shadow and far away from her wouldbe compatriots, leaving behind any hope of a quick alliance to keep herself safe early on in this –
– well, she couldn’t really wrap her head around what this was. She’d gone from being trapped in a room, chained up by the bad humans, to lurking in the corner of some sparsely decorated sitting room area, to being shoved into a helicopter, to waking up in some dilapidated warehouse surrounded by three people she didn’t recognize whatsoever from any of the previous events. Nezuko’s feral brain was relatively aware that quick turns of events would be… well, difficult for her to process, to say the very least, but this was getting wild on another level.
And that made no mention of the predicament she’d now literally stumbled into.
She banged and clanged against the sides of the metallic tunnel, somersaulting her way through the underground of wherever this place was, until finally she tumbled out with a resounding thud. She crashed into a nearby wall, saved from full impact by the bamboo gag in her mouth, which connected with the rock face first. Some of her teeth cracked as the force from the rock traveled through the wood into her fangs, and she let out a light screech as the pain radiated through the rest of her skull.
Her eyes snapped open as a shuffling sound near her yanked her back to her senses. She cowered instinctively as the silhouette figures of, well… she couldn’t really count anymore, since Kibutsuji had turned her, but a lot of – sniff – humans came into view. They practically filled the cavern, outnumbering her by a significant margin. She scrambled closer to the wall, trying her best to run away from them but finding nowhere sufficient to run. They all seemed to be in various poses of prayer, some kneeling, some standing fully on their two feet. Their dress was just as myriad, ranging from suits to nothing at all, though they all had one thing in common: the nondescript black bags covering their faces.
Nezuko’s eyebrow quirked. She’d never encountered humans that seemed to be simultaneously so fervent in their worship and also… ashamed of it?
Was that what the human word was? Ashamed? Guilty?
Or perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps there was some other reason they hid. Memories of her human life were fleeting, but she couldn’t think why they might hide their faces like this, unless they were ashamed. Or maybe scared?
She tilted her head. What could such a number of them be so scared of? What could they fear facing that they couldn’t simply overwhelm in a pack such as this? Certainly they’d overwhelm her, if she tried to make a move against them. Not that she was thinking of doing that at all, no – she was hardly capable of the bandwidth necessary to formulate an attack plan, and had instead begun to focus on trying her best to sniff out an escape route. So many scents were floating in the air, though – incense, body odor, blood – that between that and the storm outside washing things away, sniffing out a path to the great outdoors seemed unlikely.
The human who’d made the shuffling sound before shuffled closer.
Nezuko, alarmed, almost jumped out of her pale skin again. She refocused her gaze on this person, this… smaller person, who seemed to be the only person who noticed her. The rest had busied themselves far too much with their worship of whoever the tall, suited, weird god was that they’d crafted an effigy of. The tiny cultist, also sharply dressed and with a bag over his head, slowly took a step towards her, then tilted his head down and fixed his eyes on something between them.
The demon girl’s eyes flitted down to follow the cultist boy’s. Sitting between them was a crude, metallic weapon Nezuko couldn’t name, but one that recognized as the same she’d been lugging around on her back when she was briefly aware and conscious in the warehouse.
The boy chuckled. “Is that your shotgun?”
Nezuko’s head quirked the other way like a curious puppy dog. Shot… gun… ?
“Mine now,” he laughed, darting forward and snatching up the double-barreled weapon in his tiny, pale hands. “Mommy, look! A shotgun!”
The child cultist spun around and sprinted back toward a set of more mature-looking suited folks, showing off the weapon to an older woman who seemed clearly uninterested. Or, well, Nezuko supposed she couldn’t really tell what the woman was thinking, given the black bag covering her face, but her body language signaled that she didn’t care whatsoever about her son’s pestering. The worship, it seemed, had too great a hold.
The boy glanced back at her, shoulders sinking in disappointment as no one found his discovery to be much of a grand thing. He looked back up at his mother and seemed to request something else. She, impatiently, shoved a small black tome into his hand. Upon closer inspection, Nezuko could see that the book was inscribed with the same circle-and-x symbol that some of the cultists seemed to be carving into their own skin. For just a moment, the girl wondered if they all had some… collective Blood Demon Art they were activating. She thought about slicing her own palm, seeing if she could summon some demonic flames to distract the cultists and get herself out of here, but something about the way her body… felt told her that wasn’t going to be an option.
Besides, the boy was returning.
He stopped just short of Nezuko’s reach, not altogether seeming fearful but not stupid, either. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and held out a hand.
“I’m Geoffery,” he introduced himself, and even though she couldn’t see his face, Nezuko could hear in his voice that he was smiling. Happy to see someone who looked like his contemporary, maybe? A quick, furtive glance seemed to indicate there weren’t many other children here, if any.
Nezuko whirred a bit in response, nonthreateningly, and didn’t take the boy’s hand. Why was he sticking it out for her, anyway?
He didn’t seem perturbed, and pulled his hand back. “No talking, huh?” he surmised. “I’m guessing you don’t read, then, either!”
This seemed to bring him a curious amount of joy. Nezuko’s memories of her past life weren’t altogether whole, but she couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever encountered someone being so… cheerful about someone not being able to read. On the contrary, though, this boy seemed to be almost excited by the prospect of his mute, illiterate discovery.
“Well, it’s a bit early for a bedtime story, I suppose,” he chirped, “but how about I read you one, nonetheless? This one’s called The Collective Knowledge, and I think you’ll agree that it’s quite the page turner, new friend…”
She tried to duck for cover from her perch on the windowsill, but her sandals missed their mark. White light streaked through the sky, brighter than any lightning she’d ever seen. As her hands lifted up to cover her eyes, she slipped, tumbling down a small, muddy incline just outside the warehouse and into a manhole just large enough to fit her diminutive form. Monstrous as she was and with whatever strength she had left after the Carnivale’s shenanigans, she remained a petite-framed monster, and she quickly disappeared into the shadow and far away from her wouldbe compatriots, leaving behind any hope of a quick alliance to keep herself safe early on in this –
– well, she couldn’t really wrap her head around what this was. She’d gone from being trapped in a room, chained up by the bad humans, to lurking in the corner of some sparsely decorated sitting room area, to being shoved into a helicopter, to waking up in some dilapidated warehouse surrounded by three people she didn’t recognize whatsoever from any of the previous events. Nezuko’s feral brain was relatively aware that quick turns of events would be… well, difficult for her to process, to say the very least, but this was getting wild on another level.
And that made no mention of the predicament she’d now literally stumbled into.
She banged and clanged against the sides of the metallic tunnel, somersaulting her way through the underground of wherever this place was, until finally she tumbled out with a resounding thud. She crashed into a nearby wall, saved from full impact by the bamboo gag in her mouth, which connected with the rock face first. Some of her teeth cracked as the force from the rock traveled through the wood into her fangs, and she let out a light screech as the pain radiated through the rest of her skull.
Her eyes snapped open as a shuffling sound near her yanked her back to her senses. She cowered instinctively as the silhouette figures of, well… she couldn’t really count anymore, since Kibutsuji had turned her, but a lot of – sniff – humans came into view. They practically filled the cavern, outnumbering her by a significant margin. She scrambled closer to the wall, trying her best to run away from them but finding nowhere sufficient to run. They all seemed to be in various poses of prayer, some kneeling, some standing fully on their two feet. Their dress was just as myriad, ranging from suits to nothing at all, though they all had one thing in common: the nondescript black bags covering their faces.
Nezuko’s eyebrow quirked. She’d never encountered humans that seemed to be simultaneously so fervent in their worship and also… ashamed of it?
Was that what the human word was? Ashamed? Guilty?
Or perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps there was some other reason they hid. Memories of her human life were fleeting, but she couldn’t think why they might hide their faces like this, unless they were ashamed. Or maybe scared?
She tilted her head. What could such a number of them be so scared of? What could they fear facing that they couldn’t simply overwhelm in a pack such as this? Certainly they’d overwhelm her, if she tried to make a move against them. Not that she was thinking of doing that at all, no – she was hardly capable of the bandwidth necessary to formulate an attack plan, and had instead begun to focus on trying her best to sniff out an escape route. So many scents were floating in the air, though – incense, body odor, blood – that between that and the storm outside washing things away, sniffing out a path to the great outdoors seemed unlikely.
The human who’d made the shuffling sound before shuffled closer.
Nezuko, alarmed, almost jumped out of her pale skin again. She refocused her gaze on this person, this… smaller person, who seemed to be the only person who noticed her. The rest had busied themselves far too much with their worship of whoever the tall, suited, weird god was that they’d crafted an effigy of. The tiny cultist, also sharply dressed and with a bag over his head, slowly took a step towards her, then tilted his head down and fixed his eyes on something between them.
The demon girl’s eyes flitted down to follow the cultist boy’s. Sitting between them was a crude, metallic weapon Nezuko couldn’t name, but one that recognized as the same she’d been lugging around on her back when she was briefly aware and conscious in the warehouse.
The boy chuckled. “Is that your shotgun?”
Nezuko’s head quirked the other way like a curious puppy dog. Shot… gun… ?
“Mine now,” he laughed, darting forward and snatching up the double-barreled weapon in his tiny, pale hands. “Mommy, look! A shotgun!”
The child cultist spun around and sprinted back toward a set of more mature-looking suited folks, showing off the weapon to an older woman who seemed clearly uninterested. Or, well, Nezuko supposed she couldn’t really tell what the woman was thinking, given the black bag covering her face, but her body language signaled that she didn’t care whatsoever about her son’s pestering. The worship, it seemed, had too great a hold.
The boy glanced back at her, shoulders sinking in disappointment as no one found his discovery to be much of a grand thing. He looked back up at his mother and seemed to request something else. She, impatiently, shoved a small black tome into his hand. Upon closer inspection, Nezuko could see that the book was inscribed with the same circle-and-x symbol that some of the cultists seemed to be carving into their own skin. For just a moment, the girl wondered if they all had some… collective Blood Demon Art they were activating. She thought about slicing her own palm, seeing if she could summon some demonic flames to distract the cultists and get herself out of here, but something about the way her body… felt told her that wasn’t going to be an option.
Besides, the boy was returning.
He stopped just short of Nezuko’s reach, not altogether seeming fearful but not stupid, either. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and held out a hand.
“I’m Geoffery,” he introduced himself, and even though she couldn’t see his face, Nezuko could hear in his voice that he was smiling. Happy to see someone who looked like his contemporary, maybe? A quick, furtive glance seemed to indicate there weren’t many other children here, if any.
Nezuko whirred a bit in response, nonthreateningly, and didn’t take the boy’s hand. Why was he sticking it out for her, anyway?
He didn’t seem perturbed, and pulled his hand back. “No talking, huh?” he surmised. “I’m guessing you don’t read, then, either!”
This seemed to bring him a curious amount of joy. Nezuko’s memories of her past life weren’t altogether whole, but she couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever encountered someone being so… cheerful about someone not being able to read. On the contrary, though, this boy seemed to be almost excited by the prospect of his mute, illiterate discovery.
“Well, it’s a bit early for a bedtime story, I suppose,” he chirped, “but how about I read you one, nonetheless? This one’s called The Collective Knowledge, and I think you’ll agree that it’s quite the page turner, new friend…”