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KHRween 2021: Zombie
It's funny, being something ageless and many in a tiny little body that almost can't seem to contain it all.
What's almost as funny is how quickly the change overcomes him. One day, he is just one more little body out of many, helpless to the misery and pain that has been bound around them all so neatly. Then, after what feels like weeks of being nothing, of being everything, and yet what is only but a few hours that leaves him with an eye socket surrounded by stitches and skin so swollen that it feels as if his face is nothing but sore flesh...
Well, after that, he's a lot of things. He's too big to stay contained in his body and, if he's too big to stay contained in his body, then he's certainly too big to stay trapped away in some scum lab run by nothing but utter human filth. And with him, he takes what were left behind - the last two little bodies that managed to somehow survive against all odds along with him, although they fit in their bodies just fine.
Some of his time is spent recuperating, after they abandon the place that once trapped them. There's so much in his head, so much he has to put in line so that his body and his self are not at odds with one another.
Of course, recuperation is different for every body. As he adjusts to his true self, this more powerful being he's become, he takes out the occasional bit of garbage. It's no one too important, and nothing that can't be blamed on a rival Family with some minor effort. With every illusion he crafts, with every animal he calls, with every body he takes over... Things begin to slot into place more neatly.
With such ability, it would be child's play for them to simply stay in whatever home they liked, him and those two other small bodies. It would only take a simple illusion, perhaps controlling some body or another.
And yet, where would that get him? How would that further his goals of washing clean this wretched little world? No. He needs to do something else. He needs to take control, needs to nestle himself somewhere and find the proper tool that will weather all blows for him. The only real question is who.
It's easier than one would think to slip into a mafia Family. Then again, maybe someone would think it much harder, if they were a child, a teenager, even a normal human adult. But he is none of those things, not really. He is something folded many times into himself, honed into a razor sharp blade that will dig into the rotting flesh of the world. It's child's play, for him, and he settles in quite well with the boss not realizing a single thing, nor any of his many Family.
Honestly, most of them are trash masquerading as people, pretending that they're doing any sort of favor for the town that they have built their putrid nest in. He wouldn't blink twice at slitting their throats in their sleep, if he didn't need them for just a little while longer.
But, as with most things, there is one exception, and his name is Lancia.
He likes Lancia from the get-go, of course, for more reason than one. In fact, Lancia's presence was one of the primary reasons why he chose this family over all the others to target in the first place. Small two-bit Families are a dime a dozen in Italy, in his opinion, and they would be worthless in his hands. Even a master chef can only do so much with a butter knife, after all. Unfortunately, in his current state, it's impossible to go after the larger Families such as the Vongola, or the Cavallone. A stepping stone is required, and, with their control over a powerful individual like Lancia, this Family is the perfect first step to take.
That's what he thinks up until the don of the family guides him up to Lancia for the first time, and he finds himself looking up into those dark eyes over a scarred face.
Lancia seems to care for him from the get-go, in a way that is certainly more than what would be expected of him as a bodyguard simply being given a job by his boss. He is kind to this young boy in his custody, tells him where to be careful and what kind of places he might enjoy that are in town. The family has its own gardens and vineyards, a legal means of food production that also help keep them self-sufficient, and Lancia often picks foods there with him. If he were not human, not mafia, perhaps he would be a good man.
But that's not how it works.
Still, it is all enough to earn his favor, like a child that has decided upon their favorite toy. It all turns out quite well that Lancia is as good a tool as he is a toy. He doesn't realize anything when he manages to prick that finger of his on the lance, doesn't know that anything is amiss the night he goes to play cards with a few of the others. How could he? No one knows about the gun he hid away from Lancia and the rest long before he ever met them.
With Lancia's abilities, the pure raw strength and experience in him from killing people with his own two hands, it's a simple matter to wipe out the rest of the Family in only one night. He takes pleasure in it, of course, for more reasons than one.
In many ways, it's like a repeat of that day not that long ago, when he first wiped out the Estraneo in a heart beat. Their blood had splattered everywhere - sometimes in sharp massive bursts that left an enormous spray of blood staining that would-be white of their lab. Other times they died neatly, and the blood came after, pooling around their body like a faucet left abandoned for too long. Even in a borrowed body, the heat of that blood spray is.... exhilarating.
But that is an old memory, now, a trivial little thing in the face of what is more important: this being the first true action he has ever taken in pursuit of his goal. The first blow he can deal to this miserable and filthy world, both above and under. That alone would be enough to get his heart pounding in the thrill of it all.
There is only one other thing that is so pleasurable: the sight he gleams from the crack in a door of the powerful Lancia falling down to his knees, overcome with despair, fingers digging into his hair and his voice spilling out in pain. Someone so powerful, someone the Varia keeps an eye on, brought down to his knees. He has no one, now, this Lancia, and he never will have anyone because who could deny the fact that his Family was killed with his own hands?
For what he wants to accomplish, there is only so much minor selfishness that he can indulge in, especially because living it up in some elaborate hotel would just soften him. But he can't deny, either, that he is pleased that there is nothing that can stop him now from keeping this kind and powerful Lancia around for his own use and nothing else.
This powerful tool. This devastating mafioso. This pathetic man who might have thought himself kind as he patted the head of what he thought was a child.
Not many people can stand up against to such a strength, as it turns out, but he takes care not to use his new weapon too recklessly by going up against foes that are just a little too powerful for him That sort of strategy is good for small fry, of course, because they don't deserve even that much, but for the prey he truly seeks... He has to be a little more careful in how he slides the dagger into their backs. That is a plan for something that will have to be spread out carefully for the future he wants to force into existence.
For now... Well, for now, he does very much the same what he was doing before, with those two small bodies that stick to him so closely and are capable of so much themselves. While Lancia's own strength is an impressive thing, his two companions refuse to stay weak either.
That's good. Nothing weak can stay by his side. It's better this way, and there is a satisfaction, too, in seeing them down their own Goliaths - the blond digging his teeth and fangs into the fragile arteries of men who would have kicked a dog as soon as looked at it, his darker haired partner constructing tools and poisons that down men who've blazed down many a human being with pure firepower. It is important to have more than one tool on hand. For the time being, no one has yet to realize there is a connection between Lancia the murder, and the various poisonings and "animal" attacks that various mafioso have been subject to.
That stays true for a very long time, as it turns out, all up until of course they manage to get found out just a little bit. Not enough for his existence to be known to the underworld, but enough or some people to know that the murderous Lancia has a feral blond blur that tears out people's throats with his teeth.
Well, it was probably always going to be him who let it slip. Due to the nature of his own methods and own personality, that black haired partner of his is a lot harder for people to ever pick up on.
They live like this for a long while, carving a bloody path through the underworld while occasionally ducking out of sight again. And it is during that period of his life... That their small bodies change. They become teenagers, and puberty takes its hold.
Of course, it's his two partners that obviously experience it first, and he watches it with some amusement as they become restless, aggravated, and fidget so much. It doesn't escape him that the black-haired one does this around the blond, and the blond does this around everyone. And, for the most part, everyone is just them.
Why would it affect him? That's what he thinks at first, so much more than two children becoming teenagers. Such paltry changes of the body are distant things, meaningless things.
He doesn't realize immediately that he's taken to watching their valuable tool, their first line of defense, much more than he ever did before. A lot has changed since that one bloody day, where Lancia was left on his knees and covered in the blood of those he had sworn to protect... But, in many ways, not much has changed at all. Certainly not on the physical level, at least. His shoulders are still broad, and those old scars still stretch across one side of his jaw, darkened with ink.
Lancia is still incredibly handsome - something he always knew as something of an objective fact, of course. Yet whenever he takes a glance over to him, his eyes inevitably drift downwards to the expanse of his throat, or the curves of muscles that are still incredibly well defined. Of course they are. While it would be easy to starve away into nothing, all of them hiding away and on the run as they are, he's no fool. Plenty of the dead have money that they'll no longer need, and he uses it to keep his tools fed. Certainly if he had a say in it, he's positive that Lancia would starve himself to death of guilt and revulsion towards his own self.
"But you aren't allowed to do that," he makes sure to tell Lancia one day, like it's just a casual aside. Sometimes, tools need to be reminded of their purpose, and he feels that's especially true now, on a day like today where Lancia is staring dully at the food that was procured for him. "You still have a use for me, and so you'll eat even if I have to force you." He smiles. "It wouldn't be hard to do that at all." And they both know it.
It wouldn't be hard to do a lot of things with Lancia's body, honestly, because it's his body, too, and Lancia himself is nothing but a tool that occasionally pilots that body. He knows this from using it so often himself, putting that brutal power to good use. However, it's a waste to use his body for only that, and Mukuro has experimented, occasionally.
Nothing special. Just stretching his arms out, seeing the world from a completely different point of view. In all the times before, it's been thrilling enough for just that, and feeling the difference between his still growing body and Lancia's defined one.
It's simply that... Not long after he finds himself staring at such a body, not long after he goes out of his way to remind Lancia who he belongs to, Mukuro takes over that body neatly and does more than just admire the differences between them. Instead, he admires the body itself after he's done what he's needed to, standing in front of a bathroom mirror with an uncharacteristic smirk on his face that Lancia would never have worn even long before he woke up surrounded by his dead Family.
Hm. He runs Lancia's hand across his face, tries to set the expression to something more neutral. It has to be Lancia, not just him wearing the man's face. At least it looks a little more honest, when his lips aren't curved into a smirk, when the dark circles under his eyes stand out so much starkly that way.
His hand, Lancia's hand, drifts downwards along his chest. Due to the work he keeps doing, the shirts Lancia is given often tear, or lose their buttons, and leave his bare chest exposed. That, too, has been something that has not gotten past him over the many years he'd kept his tool close at hand. But it's been especially tempting lately, seeing the hard build of his torso, the way they'd tense whenever he spoke or they were all preparing for just one more fight or assault against his enemies.
It's different to feel it, how soft muscle truly is when not preparing for action. It squishes underneath one fingertip easily enough, and there is even a stomach over the strength of his abs. And, more than that...
Lancia's body is that of an experienced adult, of a man who is not wanting for many physical desires, and does not react very much at all to such poking and prodding. Yet, in that distantly connected way that he has grown so familiar with, he can feel his own body shifting and stirring from where he's left it. When he thinks of everything that he could do, all that which would be so easy.... It's tempting.
And so what stops him? That is the question in the end, and one which, maybe, he might know the answer to. Yet he doesn't bother to give those thoughts such a voice.
All he does is lean forward, until Lancia's forehead is pressing up against the mirror, and he closes the man's eyes. In his actual body, he can still see, can still hear, but he's too far away for that to be relevant here. Of course, when he speaks, it doesn't sound exactly right hearing Lancia's voice with Lancia's ears, but... It will do, for now.
"You are mine," he says, and feels a sense of satisfaction roll throughout him. It's diluted, not as good as it could be... Still. He'll take it. "You are mine, and I'll only discard you when I care to. And that's how it will always be."
He says it to Lancia, forced dormant deep inside this body, and he says it for himself.
It will do, for now.
What's almost as funny is how quickly the change overcomes him. One day, he is just one more little body out of many, helpless to the misery and pain that has been bound around them all so neatly. Then, after what feels like weeks of being nothing, of being everything, and yet what is only but a few hours that leaves him with an eye socket surrounded by stitches and skin so swollen that it feels as if his face is nothing but sore flesh...
Well, after that, he's a lot of things. He's too big to stay contained in his body and, if he's too big to stay contained in his body, then he's certainly too big to stay trapped away in some scum lab run by nothing but utter human filth. And with him, he takes what were left behind - the last two little bodies that managed to somehow survive against all odds along with him, although they fit in their bodies just fine.
Some of his time is spent recuperating, after they abandon the place that once trapped them. There's so much in his head, so much he has to put in line so that his body and his self are not at odds with one another.
Of course, recuperation is different for every body. As he adjusts to his true self, this more powerful being he's become, he takes out the occasional bit of garbage. It's no one too important, and nothing that can't be blamed on a rival Family with some minor effort. With every illusion he crafts, with every animal he calls, with every body he takes over... Things begin to slot into place more neatly.
With such ability, it would be child's play for them to simply stay in whatever home they liked, him and those two other small bodies. It would only take a simple illusion, perhaps controlling some body or another.
And yet, where would that get him? How would that further his goals of washing clean this wretched little world? No. He needs to do something else. He needs to take control, needs to nestle himself somewhere and find the proper tool that will weather all blows for him. The only real question is who.
It's easier than one would think to slip into a mafia Family. Then again, maybe someone would think it much harder, if they were a child, a teenager, even a normal human adult. But he is none of those things, not really. He is something folded many times into himself, honed into a razor sharp blade that will dig into the rotting flesh of the world. It's child's play, for him, and he settles in quite well with the boss not realizing a single thing, nor any of his many Family.
Honestly, most of them are trash masquerading as people, pretending that they're doing any sort of favor for the town that they have built their putrid nest in. He wouldn't blink twice at slitting their throats in their sleep, if he didn't need them for just a little while longer.
But, as with most things, there is one exception, and his name is Lancia.
He likes Lancia from the get-go, of course, for more reason than one. In fact, Lancia's presence was one of the primary reasons why he chose this family over all the others to target in the first place. Small two-bit Families are a dime a dozen in Italy, in his opinion, and they would be worthless in his hands. Even a master chef can only do so much with a butter knife, after all. Unfortunately, in his current state, it's impossible to go after the larger Families such as the Vongola, or the Cavallone. A stepping stone is required, and, with their control over a powerful individual like Lancia, this Family is the perfect first step to take.
That's what he thinks up until the don of the family guides him up to Lancia for the first time, and he finds himself looking up into those dark eyes over a scarred face.
Lancia seems to care for him from the get-go, in a way that is certainly more than what would be expected of him as a bodyguard simply being given a job by his boss. He is kind to this young boy in his custody, tells him where to be careful and what kind of places he might enjoy that are in town. The family has its own gardens and vineyards, a legal means of food production that also help keep them self-sufficient, and Lancia often picks foods there with him. If he were not human, not mafia, perhaps he would be a good man.
But that's not how it works.
Still, it is all enough to earn his favor, like a child that has decided upon their favorite toy. It all turns out quite well that Lancia is as good a tool as he is a toy. He doesn't realize anything when he manages to prick that finger of his on the lance, doesn't know that anything is amiss the night he goes to play cards with a few of the others. How could he? No one knows about the gun he hid away from Lancia and the rest long before he ever met them.
With Lancia's abilities, the pure raw strength and experience in him from killing people with his own two hands, it's a simple matter to wipe out the rest of the Family in only one night. He takes pleasure in it, of course, for more reasons than one.
In many ways, it's like a repeat of that day not that long ago, when he first wiped out the Estraneo in a heart beat. Their blood had splattered everywhere - sometimes in sharp massive bursts that left an enormous spray of blood staining that would-be white of their lab. Other times they died neatly, and the blood came after, pooling around their body like a faucet left abandoned for too long. Even in a borrowed body, the heat of that blood spray is.... exhilarating.
But that is an old memory, now, a trivial little thing in the face of what is more important: this being the first true action he has ever taken in pursuit of his goal. The first blow he can deal to this miserable and filthy world, both above and under. That alone would be enough to get his heart pounding in the thrill of it all.
There is only one other thing that is so pleasurable: the sight he gleams from the crack in a door of the powerful Lancia falling down to his knees, overcome with despair, fingers digging into his hair and his voice spilling out in pain. Someone so powerful, someone the Varia keeps an eye on, brought down to his knees. He has no one, now, this Lancia, and he never will have anyone because who could deny the fact that his Family was killed with his own hands?
For what he wants to accomplish, there is only so much minor selfishness that he can indulge in, especially because living it up in some elaborate hotel would just soften him. But he can't deny, either, that he is pleased that there is nothing that can stop him now from keeping this kind and powerful Lancia around for his own use and nothing else.
This powerful tool. This devastating mafioso. This pathetic man who might have thought himself kind as he patted the head of what he thought was a child.
Not many people can stand up against to such a strength, as it turns out, but he takes care not to use his new weapon too recklessly by going up against foes that are just a little too powerful for him That sort of strategy is good for small fry, of course, because they don't deserve even that much, but for the prey he truly seeks... He has to be a little more careful in how he slides the dagger into their backs. That is a plan for something that will have to be spread out carefully for the future he wants to force into existence.
For now... Well, for now, he does very much the same what he was doing before, with those two small bodies that stick to him so closely and are capable of so much themselves. While Lancia's own strength is an impressive thing, his two companions refuse to stay weak either.
That's good. Nothing weak can stay by his side. It's better this way, and there is a satisfaction, too, in seeing them down their own Goliaths - the blond digging his teeth and fangs into the fragile arteries of men who would have kicked a dog as soon as looked at it, his darker haired partner constructing tools and poisons that down men who've blazed down many a human being with pure firepower. It is important to have more than one tool on hand. For the time being, no one has yet to realize there is a connection between Lancia the murder, and the various poisonings and "animal" attacks that various mafioso have been subject to.
That stays true for a very long time, as it turns out, all up until of course they manage to get found out just a little bit. Not enough for his existence to be known to the underworld, but enough or some people to know that the murderous Lancia has a feral blond blur that tears out people's throats with his teeth.
Well, it was probably always going to be him who let it slip. Due to the nature of his own methods and own personality, that black haired partner of his is a lot harder for people to ever pick up on.
They live like this for a long while, carving a bloody path through the underworld while occasionally ducking out of sight again. And it is during that period of his life... That their small bodies change. They become teenagers, and puberty takes its hold.
Of course, it's his two partners that obviously experience it first, and he watches it with some amusement as they become restless, aggravated, and fidget so much. It doesn't escape him that the black-haired one does this around the blond, and the blond does this around everyone. And, for the most part, everyone is just them.
Why would it affect him? That's what he thinks at first, so much more than two children becoming teenagers. Such paltry changes of the body are distant things, meaningless things.
He doesn't realize immediately that he's taken to watching their valuable tool, their first line of defense, much more than he ever did before. A lot has changed since that one bloody day, where Lancia was left on his knees and covered in the blood of those he had sworn to protect... But, in many ways, not much has changed at all. Certainly not on the physical level, at least. His shoulders are still broad, and those old scars still stretch across one side of his jaw, darkened with ink.
Lancia is still incredibly handsome - something he always knew as something of an objective fact, of course. Yet whenever he takes a glance over to him, his eyes inevitably drift downwards to the expanse of his throat, or the curves of muscles that are still incredibly well defined. Of course they are. While it would be easy to starve away into nothing, all of them hiding away and on the run as they are, he's no fool. Plenty of the dead have money that they'll no longer need, and he uses it to keep his tools fed. Certainly if he had a say in it, he's positive that Lancia would starve himself to death of guilt and revulsion towards his own self.
"But you aren't allowed to do that," he makes sure to tell Lancia one day, like it's just a casual aside. Sometimes, tools need to be reminded of their purpose, and he feels that's especially true now, on a day like today where Lancia is staring dully at the food that was procured for him. "You still have a use for me, and so you'll eat even if I have to force you." He smiles. "It wouldn't be hard to do that at all." And they both know it.
It wouldn't be hard to do a lot of things with Lancia's body, honestly, because it's his body, too, and Lancia himself is nothing but a tool that occasionally pilots that body. He knows this from using it so often himself, putting that brutal power to good use. However, it's a waste to use his body for only that, and Mukuro has experimented, occasionally.
Nothing special. Just stretching his arms out, seeing the world from a completely different point of view. In all the times before, it's been thrilling enough for just that, and feeling the difference between his still growing body and Lancia's defined one.
It's simply that... Not long after he finds himself staring at such a body, not long after he goes out of his way to remind Lancia who he belongs to, Mukuro takes over that body neatly and does more than just admire the differences between them. Instead, he admires the body itself after he's done what he's needed to, standing in front of a bathroom mirror with an uncharacteristic smirk on his face that Lancia would never have worn even long before he woke up surrounded by his dead Family.
Hm. He runs Lancia's hand across his face, tries to set the expression to something more neutral. It has to be Lancia, not just him wearing the man's face. At least it looks a little more honest, when his lips aren't curved into a smirk, when the dark circles under his eyes stand out so much starkly that way.
His hand, Lancia's hand, drifts downwards along his chest. Due to the work he keeps doing, the shirts Lancia is given often tear, or lose their buttons, and leave his bare chest exposed. That, too, has been something that has not gotten past him over the many years he'd kept his tool close at hand. But it's been especially tempting lately, seeing the hard build of his torso, the way they'd tense whenever he spoke or they were all preparing for just one more fight or assault against his enemies.
It's different to feel it, how soft muscle truly is when not preparing for action. It squishes underneath one fingertip easily enough, and there is even a stomach over the strength of his abs. And, more than that...
Lancia's body is that of an experienced adult, of a man who is not wanting for many physical desires, and does not react very much at all to such poking and prodding. Yet, in that distantly connected way that he has grown so familiar with, he can feel his own body shifting and stirring from where he's left it. When he thinks of everything that he could do, all that which would be so easy.... It's tempting.
And so what stops him? That is the question in the end, and one which, maybe, he might know the answer to. Yet he doesn't bother to give those thoughts such a voice.
All he does is lean forward, until Lancia's forehead is pressing up against the mirror, and he closes the man's eyes. In his actual body, he can still see, can still hear, but he's too far away for that to be relevant here. Of course, when he speaks, it doesn't sound exactly right hearing Lancia's voice with Lancia's ears, but... It will do, for now.
"You are mine," he says, and feels a sense of satisfaction roll throughout him. It's diluted, not as good as it could be... Still. He'll take it. "You are mine, and I'll only discard you when I care to. And that's how it will always be."
He says it to Lancia, forced dormant deep inside this body, and he says it for himself.
It will do, for now.