Lucien regressed.
Back to the time his sister left him in the dark womb filled with eruptions. The desolation didn't affect him longer, as he got brought out to a bigger hell. With no one to care for him, the only thing that entertained Lucy was his birthmark.
As he was about to turn four, things changed. His mother who spent most of her time in prayer, crying about why she bought an abomination on the face Earth, started looking after him. Although poverty was their way of life, love made up for that.
Furthermore, Akane began teaching him how to read, but thanks to his mystic eyes (1) that zoomed everything when he concentrated, Lucien couldn't. That said, Lucy made up for that with his memory that never forgets, and learned everything Akane had to teach him, including the mysteries of Heaven and Earth.
As time passed like a rolling wheel, Lucien's dark days returned. The kyuketsuki his father left started devouring Akane's soul to take over her body. However, Lucy didn't give up on his mother doing everything he could to save her.
Still, Akane died, by his hands, no less.
Lucien's mind went back to the past again, but memories could never amount to that gentle feeling his mother gave him. Also, no memory can amount to that warm smile Akane gave him, when she caressed his head, calling him, 'son.' Moreover, no memory could bring that frown his mother had, when he did something out of line.
"Ma...ma."
Lucien struggled to produce a single word from his mouth. Although Akane isn't his most favorite person, in that deep space in his heart, she means more than anyone ever could.
'If I waited for my research to complete, I would have saved you!'
Now, with her head a smashed pumpkin with bone particles as pulp, what could that achieve?
Nothing...
Hugging the bleeding object, Lucy's mouth wide opens, crying without producing a sound. It's pointless to mourn for the dead to begin with —they won't come back. However, the impact they had in our hearts can never be replaced.
'Why did my father do this to you? Didn't he torture you to manufacture me and my sister?'
According to his mother, Lucien was a project —more like a parasite— that was raised in Akane's belly for 12 months in the 13-month calendar. If that wasn't enough, the (son of a bitch) man had to leave the kyuketsuki in her.
'Why father? Why did you make our lives' hell?'
Lucien grates his teeth. It's useless to question himself about things only his father know the answer to. However, he won't be getting answers alone from the scumbag.
'I'll make you pay for everything I endured, and what you did to Mama!'
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a whip cracks the air, lashing Lucien's tender back. Lucy's body was transported to a world pain, but that didn't compare to the burning, spiked wrecking ball moving on his chest.
"Normally, as a Tama-Artist, I should give you a round of applause for killing that horrible witch, but a whipping should do it, after all, you're its son."
Lucien clenches his fist, his countenance turning cold. However, he knew better than to let his emotions get the hang of him. Wiping his tears, he lets go of his mother to look at the culprit.
The man, stout, ridding a brown horse, clad in traditional Japanese armor, armed with a tachi on his waist, and whip in hand. Although 24 and bold-headed, he had hair growing on the visible parts of his body. In a Murim manhwa, he would be a mountain bandit.
Behind him, a group of mostly malnourished teens —mortals like Lucy— stood in their everyday clothing with whip marks printed on their bodies.
'It's today...'
Lucien was placid. Although the timing couldn't be any worse, Lucy has been expecting this day since he decided to focus on his research instead of being a Tama-Artist. Not bothering to ask questions, the red-hair places the silver hammer into his samue, looking at his mother's body with the corner of the eye.
'Mama, I promise to give you a proper burial when I return. Your boy will be a Tama-Artist as he promised in the past.'
Meanwhile, the Tama-Artist raises his brows, slightly shocked by Lucien's stoicism. He expected Lucy to offer a little impediment like the rest, so that, he would give him a baptism with his whip. Forming tree barks on his head, he looks at the son and his dead mother.
"What's your name?"
"Lucien Derniere Etoile"
"Eh..?"
'Is that Kanji? No, why did he answer rudely?!'
The Tama-Artist increases his grip on the whip, ready to lash Lucy. However, his gaze lands on Akane again. Smiling, he licks his lips.
'If I report that I'm the one who killed her, I might be given enough money to bride the examiner to get a good result on my retest.'
He turns his gaze to the boy with chest length red-hair, "What did you use to kill the bitch?"
—That will help me in making my statement true.
"A silver hammer."
"Tch."
Katsura clicked his tongue. Lucien was giving him cold replies, as if, he is the Tama-Artist here. Shrugging, he turns away his horse.
"If anyone ask, I'm the one who killed her."
"Why would they ask me?"
"Fucker!"
His head turning purple, Katsura cracks the air with his whip again, hitting Lucy on the chest. The question was reasonable, but the way it was presented was too...
"Arrogant! You act cocky in front of your bitch ass mother, not in front of me! Do that again, and see if I don't chop your head!"
Lucien nods.
Katsura rides his horse toward the street.
"Join the others."
***
As the wind brought upon razor blades laced with coldness, the mortals had their lifeless eyes fixed on the winsome scenery of ancient Japanese buildings of wood and bamboo that walked past them. Some wept; they might never see such beauty again. And, it is true... their names are already registered in hell.
After a lifetime of minutes, the group reached the western peripheries of Kurenai Village where a huge, run-down, old fashioned, wooden thatched restaurant covered in moss stood, echoing the sounds of the dead. Making whatever small prayer they had, the group entered into the dim lit place filled with other mortals and 9 more Tama-Artists with swords on their waists.
As katsura separates from the mortals, Lucien narrows his brows, looking at the columns of chairs and tables filled mortals.
'This place stinks more than the blooded alley.'
Lucien dropped his thoughts, turning his head away from his friends calling him to join them at the back —at such a point, they would ask things he isn't comfortable with. Taking a few steps, he sits at an empty table in the front, close to the savage Tama-Artists.
In the next second, the table for two behind was occupied by brothers in bright hakamas with haories on top. The young one —18— had a Mohawk: coupled with his tattooed athletic built, he looked like a punk. The other —20— was a maize stalk which could be blown by the wind any time; around his eye sockets were black spots, indicating his need for sleep.
Bothered by the silence, the Mohawk mutters:
"With that witch gone, I'm not worried about my wife and daughter."
The elder shakes his head, looking at the table in pity.
"Lucky you, that witch ate my family right before my eyes."
The younger sneers:
"Stop lying. I saw your wife a week ago. Also, the witch would've killed you too, if that were the case."
The elder raises his voice slightly, his face twisting in pain.
"Her son came to stop her when she gripped my neck."
The younger brother looks at the marks on his brother's neck with constricted eyes. 'Because his chimpanzee is dead, he stops bathing. No wonder why he stinks of urine.' Keeping his scoff, he nods, asking:
"Her son? The pushover who does odd jobs for free?"
The elder looks at Lucy behind his brother, grumbling in a mocking tone:
"What do you mean pushover? He wanted us to look at his mother in a different light."
The Mohawk clicks his tongue, annoyed by the direction of the conversation.
"Whatever, a human eater is a human eater." He pats his brother's shoulder, "Now cheer up, the pushover killed the witch."
The stalk pressed his index finger on his brother's lips, speaking at heartbeat sound.
"It's the Lord Tama-Artist who killed the bitch, witch, I mean."
'She never wanted to hurt anyone.'
Lucy shrugged, his amber eyes fixed on his clenched fist that had became silver. Turning his gaze to his chest, he saw the whip mark healing at a low speed that wouldn't raise suspicion. However, instead of being happy, his face had a weeping weave.
'Why now? If this power awakened a day earlier, I would've saved her.'
—Haa, there is nothing to do about it.
Sighing, Lucien crosses his arms, his face turning indifferent.
'I'll use this power to kill my father, but I've to be immortal first.'
____
1 — mystic eyes: he is the only one with such eyes, and he had to give them a name since they're weird.