Reverie and Nightmares

Prologue

A little more, and Morioka would've been knocked out for the morning, but he wasn't going to risk another beating. Every day and out, he'd take another punch or a kick to the face, and the hits to the groin were the worst, and neither of his shouts would ever get the attention of those around him.

Crying his ass off as he'd crawl himself back home, he only shrugged it off because it meant he'd eat the next day. The food was far from great, but he wasn't permitting this because his parents couldn't serve him something he liked, but because they were not alive. Deleted from the world, gone. Those who made him bleed were more family than what he was born with, and it wasn't as if his aunt, who was his present caretaker, cared enough to check.

"You're on your own, Adachi." She told him the day she took him in. "I never liked my sister; you remind me too much of her. I'd send you to fucking hell if you even learn to piss me off, so learn to take care of yourself."

It was difficult at first, and he'd even stolen on a few instances, stopping when a merchant threatened to cut all the fingers on his left off, telling him that that was just how justice was served when he was his age. But he'd found an outlet, and although it wasn't something he found prideful in, it paid the hunger and pang.

But even then, the pain was unbearable.

The homework was simple enough, and having chosen Yoshitsune Academy, he knew he was going to pass with grades remarkable sufficient to punch his aunt's damn throat, but he couldn't deny that the pain was getting the better of him then—everyone in the world.

And he'd lost control one day, grabbing one of the boys by the throat, the demon protruding from his back. His face was detached first, and then it was his right arm—the one he'd punch around like a doll off like a dog. The blood flew like a beautiful fountain, and once his next victim ran away, camera in hand, he knew he couldn't let him get away.

"Step aside..." Morioka grumbled. He'd only given him six seconds, not even enough time to bolt outside to the hallway until the arm of the demon reached out, holding his attacker's arm as firm as a gorilla. "I think I warned you... Warned you... You'll be my food this time, Daki."

Daki couldn't feel his arm anymore, not even to pull it back. He'd known that the nerves to that arm had gone dry, and there was no way he was going to leave altogether, but he hadn't ever been expecting the mouth of the pumpkin to open with such fierce, bringing him ever so closely.

"Get the fuck away! We fed you... Fed you! We were your friends! We helped you get through everything—"

"No, you weren't my friend. Neither of you were. And Daki, even after fucking me up the way you did. Even then, you didn't feed enough... I'm a little hungrier." Morioka's face alternated between the pumpkin head and his usual look, this time bleeding from inside the eyes. "You know, I was always tired of you guys dropping this offer to feed me out of some... Urge to hurt me... I don't think you understand, Daki... But you're already dead."

"You're! You're a monster! Most—"

And he'd stopped, the lower half of his body deep into his mouth, the torso and head dropping to the floor. He'd dropped the bag of food, and it was even Morioka's favorite—onigiri—and he'd stared at it for the last few seconds of his life, the rest of his body fading away as Morioka, no, devil ate its meal, like a wolf who hadn't eaten in weeks.

He would never go hungry again, not after such power.