possedere: (angry | fifth hell)
Mukuro Rokudo ([personal profile] possedere) wrote in [community profile] badliifechoiice2 2017-04-14 05:30 am (UTC)

[Words were inherently meaningless, didn't Mukuro know that better than anyone? Promises were made just as easily as they were broken, people misread and misunderstood them either on purpose or on accident but the results were the same, and the most important things would often go unsaid. So why was it when the priest offered that small bit of caution, Mukuro felt such a keen satisfaction and warmth at it? Was it perhaps his vessel's body reacting, or worse, was it his own? It was probably for the best that Chikusa Kakimoto shut the door as quickly as he did, because the temptation to step inside had strengthened a thousand fold, to reach for him and make that blush extend further than just his face, and he wasn't quite sure his expression was as he wanted it.

For a few moments, he stood in quiet shock before shaking himself out of his stupor, laughing softly before taking his leave. Sometimes he forgot just how distracting the priest could be, how much of a temptation, and he had work to do.

Prying himself out of his vessel was as painful as it was exhilarating. It felt like ripping every nerve out of the body, followed by the rush and relief of being free. He had forgotten how confining his vessel had been, and just how powerful he was. In order to preserve his vessel, he had done his best to lock away most of it, but now, now...

It was laughably easy to find the demon who was possessing the child. It was just as easy to destroy that demon without even having to harm a hair on the child's head, but Mukuro's rage wasn't content with just that. Over the next month, he led a one demon campaign against those in his area, slaughtering any who didn't submit to his will, drunk both on anger and power.

There was a definite draw to stay in his natural form, to continue this war on indefinitely until he ruled hell again with an iron fist, but there were few challenges that had surfaced while he had been away. It grew wearisome and tiresome, and once he was satisfied that no real threats were anywhere near his precious little priest, he returned to his vessel. Re-synchronizing with his host was less tedious than the first time, but it still took time for him to get comfortable enough to contact the priest. ( Who, if he had bothered to contact him at all during his absence would be met with short, polite, but vague replies from his vessel. His apartment would similarly be empty and met with no response ).

Briefly, he wondered if he had been missed when he sent the priest a short message.
]

Did you miss me?

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