Chapter Text
The meek man with wiry limbs bowed down low. He waited patiently, seated in the middle of the dark and cold floor. The room was silent, save his nervous breathing. With his hands folded in front of him to show he was unarmed, the man shivered but still made no move to stand until his proposal was accepted.
Voldemort sighed, though no one in the room could tell. The man, Clive Hodgson, had come to him a few days ago, wanting to join the ranks of his Inner Circle. Hodgson had been a Death Eater before, but the last he remembered of the man, he had gone to chase a myth about demons in Japan. He had assumed Hodgson had run away, tail between his legs. Voldemort had planned on taking care of such traitors later, but the man had decided to come back after all those years. With him, he had brought a book of old Japanese spells, possibly from the era of the Onmyoji, as a peace offering.
Most words in the book were indecipherable, with half-complete spells and worn, ripped-out pages. But Hodgson had been enthusiastic, claiming that he would be able to summon the famed army of demons with the information contained in the book. He had flipped through the pages with mild interest, only half-listening to the man's rambling. The hundred-night parade, Hyakki Yakō it was called, under his direct control. Hodgson had assured him that as long as they secured the leader of the parade, so long as the leader submitted to him, the rest would follow.
Voldemort had his doubts that any demon would follow a weak leader. He had been surprised such creatures followed someone at all. Why would demons, who were said to have far more power than humans, follow a leader who had been bested by one? But if it was as the man had said, the spell worked not so much that the parade would be forced to follow the leader, but more along the lines that the parade was part of the leader. Hodgson was also quick to assure that the page containing the spells to subdue the leader remained intact, as well as the ritual to summon it.
He mulled over the proposal, his Inner Circle silent around him. Though many seemed dubious at the new development, they knew better than to interrupt him. Many watched in anticipation of his final decision on the matter.
Stroking Nagini, he thought about the possible complications this could cause. The spell could accidentally summon an army of uncontrollable demons. It had the potential to backfire and kill all of them on the spot. Old magic like this was unstable at best, especially the eastern ones. The magic they manipulated worked differently from the west, making using it all the more complicated. The attempt might not even work at all. And on the off chance that the ritual did work, Hodgson had said that the leader had to submit to him willingly. He had no doubt he could subdue the leader, a demon or not. He was Lord Voldemort, after all. But he could imagine that it wouldn't be easy. The pack leader of a demon army, he had no doubts it would pose some challenge to control. Was it even worth the time and effort?
But the benefits of this plan were tempting. The power of the ancient lore at his fingers? The potential power to wipe out the muggles and those who oppose him easily. He could even use the muggles as a reward; the demons feasted on human flesh, no? And to increase their numbers was a good idea. He had only recently regained a body. His ranks have mostly thinned to those in his inner circle, and even then, he doubted he could trust some of them. He was sure people would join his side once he showed them the power they held, their purpose. But to have his word backed with the power unknown to the magical world...
Yes, he concluded. It could be worth his time and effort.
He felt his mouth pull back into a grin.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"Suguru!!!"
Satoru's voice rang out, the alarmed tone so unlike him. But his outstretched hand never reached him in time.
They had been assigned on a mission together, a rare thing nowadays. The curse was reasonably strong but not enough to cause two special grades any real trouble. After Suguru swallowed what tasted like a dirty rag used to wipe up vomit, all they had left was to leave.
He had trudged along after Satoru, trying to hold back the bile that threatened to climb up his throat. It had been getting worse recently, with the mission after mission he was being sent on; curses after curses he had to shove into himself. He found that he would throw up every time he swallowed a curse these days, sometimes on the spot even. And he would be unable to eat anything else later; anything he put in his mouth would taste like a curse. Thankfully, he had been able to keep it a secret from both Satoru and Shoko. They didn't need to know about the black sludge he would throw up in the shower from time to time. They had better things to worry about.
Later, he would attribute it to the scorching yet sticky summer heat. He would say he was tired from the marathon called shamanism. On everyday missions in the boiling heat, seeing the self-centered, vicious, and ugly nature of the people he saved. On how he felt his moral code start shaking in its foundations.
Yuki Tsukumo had told him that curses aren't born from sorcerers. So why was it that they continue to protect the non-sorcerers who keep producing more and more? The people who suffer the consequences of what they brought onto themselves. Was there a reason for sorcerers to put their lives on the line for them? ... Would Haibara have lived if there were no curses in this world? Would Riko...
Stop. Breath. Not now.
To make matters worse, today was one of the rare missions where he was paired with Satoru. His best friend, his other half that became the strongest without him. Having the reality of his strength shoved into his face, Suguru felt something break inside him. It wasn't Satoru's fault; he did nothing wrong. But his friend walked the path of being the strongest without him. His other half, the best friend, who kept repeating that they were the strongest together like its own form of a curse, almost akin to a vow. He couldn't help but feel abandoned.
『Can't we just leave everything to him from now on?』
The words of his Kohai rang loudly in his mind.
So distracted with his thoughts, he never noticed he was lagging behind. Suguru didn't realize that he had come to a stop, trying to keep his stomach controlled. He felt sick with all his negative thoughts, the sludge rolling in his stomach. He didn't see the ink-like words that had started forming on the ground under him. Not until Satoru paused midsentence and turned around to check on his friend, finally noticing that he wasn't at his side anymore.
By the time Suguru heard Satoru's alarmed yell, he was too late to move out of the circle of inky words completely formed underneath him. The dark lines seemed to shoot out of the ground in inky ropes, painfully binding him and tearing a hole into the air. He could feel the binding pulling taunt to drag him into the void, his own panic and alarm at the predicament far, far too late. The dark void closed over him just before Satoru's hand came within reach.
He was falling. Falling, falling, and then...
Darkness.