Yoru closed the heavy wooden doors behind him, covering his nose. The scent of rose and cardamom was growing bitterly suffocating, and he wasn't there for this whole ordeal. The unclaimed, unsatiated omega leaned on the mountain of pillows on the luxurious old oak canopy Versailles bed, eyes sharp, mouth slightly opened, panting.
"Well, well, well," Yoru said in a muffled voice. "Look who's innocent and sweet now."
"Heh. Couldn't get past you, huh?" Yuri reached behind his pillow, jerked out the five throwing daggers he hid there, and readied his stand. Just in case.
"It's amazed me how that idiot still thinks, after all that happened, that you are nothing but a little kitten." Yoru raised his shield.
"He loves that innocent child." Yuri shrugged. "Can't help it. The child had died in that massacre." He grew sombre. "And the dream had gone."
"How much do you know?"
Released the shielding barrier, Yoru walked toward the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Something told him that Yuri von Eisenberg, the puppet heir, wasn't just a simple 'puppet' as the name suggested. The amethyst eyes grew cold in their merciless, unforgiving bliss. The pink lips painted a deadly sweet picture. Yuri was anything but the reincarnation of innocence itself.
"This and that. Why bother with trivial matters?" Yuri lowered the daggers, still holding his stand, keeping a high alert.
"Seems like it isn't the first time you've tried to kill someone. Assassin? One among the Creed?" Yoru crossed his legs, patting the boy's healed stab wound on his thigh.
"Yes to the assassin. No to 'among the Creed.'" Yuri leaned back further, losing his strength gradually against his will. "I am the only."
Yoru startled. He turned back so fast he thought his neck was snapping in two. "The only? What do you mean?"
Yuri savored the surprise and pained look on the frail, agonizingly pale face of the deity. Fearless, fierce, flaming at the core, he uttered the words Yoru never wanted to hear: "I killed them all. Every last one."
"They said Zephariel ordered them –?" Yoru was confused for a second, then he demanded with fury. "Don't tell me he forced you –?"
"No one forced anything on me. I did it myself. On no one's order." Yuri snorted. His laugh came out ragged and difficult. "They trained me to kill people. They should've been prepared for the day it came to bite them to dust."
"Then why –?"
"Because he saved me." Yuri moaned in discomfort and pain. "Zephariel saved me when no one else could. If he wanted me to be innocent and sweet, that would be what he has."
Yoru could hear the silence shrouding the room like a grieving orphan's cries for the embrace of the love he suddenly lost. He wanted to ask, but no question came to mind. Coming here, he'd expected bad things. But he'd never thought it'd be worse. Much worse that what he'd prepared his heart for. The Supreme Deity he gave birth to, out of vengeance, out of despair, hoping that child would learn the meaning of love, was here. But his learning had been twisted so far from the purity and the benevolence Yoru wishes for, and the devastating reality told him that there was no salvation left.
A sacrifice of the last remnant of innocence so that a God could be happy. A bloodied ritual to satiate the sadness of a Supreme Deity.
Yoru laughed bitterly at his own pathetic and stupidity. Of course, they were destined to be for each other. Like a fucked-up blessing.
"Does Zephariel know you killed them? The Creed?" He asked, his hands were shaking, trying to keep his body from falling apart,
"Why should he? And why would he? Dead men tell no tales." Yuri replied, reaching for the nightstand with his tremulous hand. "Cigarette. Give me one."
"You smoke?"
"And drink. Living for a hundred years, shouldn't I be allowed to appease my boredom?"
"He didn't know about this, either?" Yoru gave the boy a cigarette and helped him light it up. The smoke quickly rose in the air, building an impenetrable wall between them.
"He knows what he wants to know." Yuri replies curtly. "And I don't know what's happening to me, but this stupid fever – this pain – will it go away soon? You should've known about this, right? That's why you're here. It's also why you tried to push him away. Because this thing isn't supposed to happen. At least, not now. Am I right, mister?" He smirked, gesturing the cigarette around Yoru's pained face.
"Ha. So you knew that much."
"I know what I want to know." The boy groans, feeling a wet, sticky trail of slick run down his thigh. He didn't complain. Not a word.
"Zephariel. No. The whole lot of them. They are idiots, aren't they?"
"Tell me if it ain't so." Yuri puffed on his cigarette. "It made things easier for us omegas, though. The easier they are to fool, the less we have to worry about breaking them."
"You don't think he'll hate you, then? When he knows who you truly are. The real person beneath all the smile and cute behavior."
"It depends." Yuri smiled sweetly, a sharp dagger nicked Yoru's thin neck, right at his artery. "Will anyone tell him?"
"I won't." Yoru shook his head, sighing in a quiet defeat. Somehow, he felt calm and peaceful at the way Yuriel turned out.
"Then it's all right. Now, I suppose you can make this fever stop?"
"Yeah. I'm here to stop it after all. You're right, this is called a heat. Omegas all go through it. I suppose you didn't learn about these things, am I right?" Yoru drew a magic pentagram on Yuri's chest, preparing for the Genesis seal.
"I ditched all those boring lessons," Yuri exhaled wearily, "So many people to kill. So little time."
"Yuri." Yoru got serious, stopping his chanting midway. "There is one thing you need to know. I don't know if I should say it but –"
"If you don't know, then don't say it." The boy murmured sleepily. Yoru determinedly ignored the brass manner.
"Zephariel is an enigma. You won't learn about him in any textbook on earth. He will be the next ruler to ascend the throne. And you will be there to help him. That's why, Yuri, no matter what –"
But the boy had already fallen asleep from the comfortable feeling seeping from the seal. Yoru muttered in desperation, almost a plea, a prayer to no God, no human at all: "No matter what, don't fall in love. Don't be his mate."