Author's Preface
There was a box. A black box.
It wasn’t very big, at least by most people’s standards. A twin sized bed sat atop an old, rusted frame, with cracked tiles strewn across the floor. Mold lingered at the corners of the dank room. They were black. The resident didn’t know what it meant, nor did he particularly care. A roof over his head was enough.
Today he came back to this box he called a home, exhausted and drenched with sweat.
“They just don’t end…”
He collapsed on the floor, curled up in a fetal position. A bed was far too much work. A nice floor would do. A floor with no one else but himself. Him. Alone.
“Huh…?”
And then, an intruder approached. A small cockroach, barely a pinky toe big, scurried across the floor, its antennas moving too and fro.
“The fuck’re you lookin at?”
The man met the bug with anger. A fierce glare. And yet, the roach did not back down. It approached him further, close enough to nearly touch him.
“You…lookin’ down on me?”
Summoning all the might left in his body, he raised his hand, snatching the roach from the floor, and hanging it over his head. There it was. A roach. An insect. Utterly powerless, weak, and pitiful beyond comparison.
No one would care if he crushed it in his hands, burned it over an open flame, and swallowed the creature whole. He had power.
“...”
He looked into its beady eyes, staring at his own reflection. Did he see fear in the beast’s eyes, or perhaps a painful resignation? The longer he met its gaze, the more disoriented he felt, like diving into a whirling abyss.
“Tch.”
With the sucking of teeth, he tossed the roach aside. It scurried back to the darkness, afraid and alone.
Today had already irritated him enough. Killing shura all day wasn’t exactly fun. Well, it was fun , in the moment at least, but not all that fulfilling. Rending flesh. Crushing bone. Maybe someone more sadistic, more depraved than he, could find some sort of joy in this life. But that wasn’t who he was.
Jiro of the Second Seat was a lonely man.
He shut his eyes, welcoming the cold embrace of the dark. It was convenient, really. Skipping time like this. Dreams were the closest thing people had to death. You could see the things you wanted to see. Do the things you wanted to do. It was a nice thing. A kind thing.
With this, at least, he could endure.
This dream was a familiar dream. The same dream. Over and over and over. He had returned to this place every night for the past 15 years. A small, rustic place, similar to his box. The sky was a dull bronze, smoke from the industrial complex permanently changing its color. Breathing was hard back then, yeah, but at least he felt at home.
There were five people in his dream. Four children, his siblings, tinkered away at gadgets or planning another theft, while an older woman, a woman of unknown affiliation, instructed the children around her.
Sometimes she’d reprimand them with a chop on the head, other times she’d embrace them in her bosom. He eventually came to recognize the woman as his mother, though the truth of her identity hardly mattered to him.
Perhaps if he was younger, he would run into her arms, embrace her warmth, and live out the rest of his dream in peace, but he had come to this place too many times to embrace the delusion anymore. It wasn’t real, and he knew it. Better to remain an isolated third-party than be swept up in the nightmare.
The next moments came in a flash. Fire. Great fire. Tendrils. Monsters of the deep. Before him sat a head. A head sat atop countless corpses. It had long, wavy hair with eyes round and bright like the sun.
And then, the light returned to his eyes, bringing him back to his dull reality.
Well, more precisely, it was an incessant BANG that woke him up. He didn’t know it, but it had been 10 minutes since the man approached his black box.
“Shut the fuck up!” He snarled. “Not interested in visitors!”
“Not even for a friend?”
“Don’t know a friend.”
“How about a certain General?”
“Blow the king’s dick for all I care. Knock on someone else’s door.”
“But I’m most interested in you , Jiro. Won’t you let an old priest in?”
“...”
“I’ll take that silence as a yes.”
The unsolicited visitor carefully opened the door. Much to Jiro’s annoyance, he was attractive, strikingly so, with short white hair and smooth, fair skin. The priest’s youthful appearance seemed to contradict his priestly disposition. Or perhaps it enhanced it, similar to how a child’s innocence is associated with divinity. Well, it all depended on one’s point of view.
Jiro’s point of view, for instance, was thus:
“I don’t fucking like you, Aevus. Why do you keep coming here?”
“Because you keep letting me in.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to install some mortise locks just to keep you out.”
“Hehe, you always tell such crafty jokes.”
“...”
His previous statement wasn’t a joke, and even if it was, it wasn’t particularly clever or high-brow. To avoid further complications, Jiro dismissed the compliment as yet another of Aevus’ jests. The damnable priest took after the king, in a way. So joyful, unserious, and utterly tone deaf.
Seeing as he now had an uninvited guest, he at least found the strength to sit up and look the man in the eye.
“What do you want?”
Aevus smiled, revealing a small six-pack of beer, the cheap kind, from under his tunic. “A small drink, is all. A man like you can’t refuse such an offer, yes?”
“If you want a drinking buddy, then go to a damn pub. Is it even appropriate for a priest to drink like this? What kinda example are you settin’ for those little tikes in the church?”
The priest made a sour expression. “Let an old man live, will you?”
“Old…?”
“I’m 40 years old.”
“Ah…”
Aevus didn’t look a day over 20.
“Don’t worry about that right now. I brought some glasses. Let’s drink.”
“Fine. Whatever. Just don’t vomit on my floor.”
They cracked their cans, mildly cold as they were, and took a small sip. It was watery, a tad sweet, with a slight metallic tang. Wasn't quite as refreshing as beer served ice cold, but it was the best thing Jiro had drunk in weeks.
“So, how’ve you been?” Aevus gave a light icebreaker.
“How does it look, asshole? About the same as ever.”
“I see. Well, why don’t you slow down on missions? Your body’s definitely been in better condition.”
“It’s none of your business what I do with my free time. Whole reason I became a damn General was to do whatever the fuck I wanted.”
“So this is what you want?” Aevus gestured to the festering mold in the corner of the room.
“Don’t need anything fancy. Doesn’t suit me. I’m fine just the way things are.” Jiro downed his can in one go.
“The king is worried.”
“...” He took another can and drank.
“It’s not like you’re impoverished either. Divine Generals are some of the highest paid officials in the country. What exactly are you spending it on?”
“...” Another can down. Despite his rough, unpersonable exterior, he was poor at holding his alcohol, and even worse at impulse control. Once he started drinking, it was almost impossible to make him stop. Thankfully, he had a reliable not-so-close companion with him to share the liquor.
After an awkward silence, the tipsy Jiro replied, “What do you care? We Divine Generals aren’t exactly friends. Barely even talk to or see one another. What’s the point in coming out here for a friendly chat? With me, of all people?”
“Because we are friends.”
“Bullshit.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Who would?”
“Well, in that case, I’ll keep visiting you until you believe me.”
“I’d rather you not.”
“Hehe!” Aevus hiccuped. “Anyways, that's that, and this is this. No more fighting, you here?”
“You aren’t my father!” Though, the priest was likely old enough to be one.
“Hey, Jiro. Jiro!”
“What?!”
“Tell me a story.”
“Story…?”
“About your travels. You always go alone, and you don’t seem the type to record your grand adventures. So please, allow this humble priest to lend an ear.”
Jiro grumbled a bit. “Fine. Pick a number, 1 or 2.”
“Two,” Aevus slovenly replied.
“Alright. The Land of Fiends it is.”
“Oooooh!”
The general spent the rest of the day exchanging outrage. Falling into a large fungus monster and being covered in mucus for days. Surviving by a hair’s breadth behind enemy lines. Escorting a cat down from the top of a tree. They were both typical and extraordinary. Nonsensical and logical. However, despite their apparent meaninglessness, Jiro and Aevus cherish those memories, even if a certain someone refused to admit it.
“I’ll come by next week, okay? Try to clean up your room just a little, okay?”
“Ha! If it pisses you off that much, then fuck off!”
Aevus left his comrade’s humble abode, making his way to District 9, St.Bathery Heights . As both general and priest, the man had many duties to fulfill. To his community, to himself, and to his faith most of all.
Once more, Jiro was alone in the box. The black box. And yet, his demeanor seemed to lack his previous malaise. His body hadn’t healed, and his head certainly wouldn’t feel great after such irresponsible drinking, but he felt a certain warmth lingering within him.
He felt satisfied.
It was a feather off his shoulder. An inconsequential thing. An object of little weight. Yet no matter how insignificant the conversation seemed, it could never be considered nothing. There was life there. Somewhere, at least.