Dazatsu one shots~

It's Fate

There will be cussing in this story so just a heads up.
And also gore and bloooood
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This is a world where your wrist is engraved with two names.

The top is the name of your soulmate; if you're so fortunate.

The bottom: the name of your killer. Many try to change that; no one comes out on top.

Atsushi wouldn't need to, for he would never have a soulmate; at least, that's what he's been told.

.

Although he was locked away in a writhing cell that had cracks along its walls, spider webs strewn on every nook — Atsushi has no other choice than to stay frozen in his spot of bleak darkness.

Each word marks their tally in his mind, forever etched into his brain until the end of time. All, however, were for the same topic: he would never have a soulmate.

If — unfortunately for them — he ever did, it wouldn't be long before he's abandoned yet again.

In that mindset, he took it upon himself to cover his wrist, never taking the privilege of reading names he knows won't be there. Taking an oath to never once peek at the names stitched into his skin, never giving into to the hope or dreams of discovering a miracle.

As fate would have it, the large expanse of orphanage staff had his own name marked on their wrists.

Except, bolded on the bottom.

That only resulted in being locked in this isolated basement they calls his "room". Where he had no choice but to endure endless sessions of brutal torture and the scratching of his throat caused by animalistic screams of pain. They'd offer him food and water in specific amounts, making sure his hatred is deduced to a minimum.

It was only — how many years? His foggy mind could barely remember a scrap of childhood — when a certain man seared his brain with waves of electricity did he ever do something. Some form of power surged through his veins, luring him to the deepest parts of his mind where he later had no recall of his actions.

A figure that lurks the black dark of his mind, had come forth, eliciting raged filled roars that sent trembles throughout his body. Atsushi had stepped aside, allowing the creature to take full control of his movements. He had been silenced, not permitted to make any sort of sound of anything as he watches past two slated eyes.

Claws erupt from his nails, elongating until they reach a sharp point. Tearing through tough flesh that withers beneath their strength. Blood spilling in puddles from punctured holes, bones crunching under heavy weight. Eyes bulging from their sockets as jaws crush junctures and muscle.

He opened his eyes to the matted mess of limbs and organs embedding the linen floor with crimson stains.

His hands were coated in blood. Their blood.

All that stole his attention from anything else was a ripped out wrist that sat limply in front of him, showcasing the one name that gradually fades into ashy coloration of skin.

Nakajima Atsushi

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Only violence greeted him in that dank basement, receiving punishment after punishment for being alive.

The rickety gates of the orphanage shut forcibly in his face, leaving the forest and he alone.

Alone with words that wrap around his brain, holding tight and constructing his mindset.