Tears pooled in his eyes like a curtain. There was a gripping fear in his heart. His breath hitched at the thought of pain, but he no longer wanted to live like this…not anymore. He was tired of enduring.
"...make it stop."
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|DxD|- Chapter 11.5- I'm Here 2
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The last major war began as early as 1930 and ended twenty years later. Two decades of war had decimated the supernatural world to the extent that the effects were still felt even today. To call it a war was giving it too much honour. There was no cohesion between the factions. It was nothing more than a greedy scramble disguised as a battle of honour and balance.
The details were not clear to Shuri, but it involved a mystical artifact secretly created by the Ariyans, a reclusive clan of humans said to have very long lifespans.
When the news was leaked, it created a massive shockwave that involved all races and even gods. There were many rumours on what artifact could make races known to be neutral stake their hands in the war.
Some guessed this artifact was the reason the descendants of Ariya could live for so long. Others presumed this artifact contained the secrets to creating a secluded dimension independent of Earth. Whatever the case may be, those rumours plunged the supernatural world into decades of chaos.
The casualties were unworldly. Official reports stopped after seven figures. Too many were dying at too numerous a rate. The Ariyans were not passive. They were bold enough to attack gods. Some were killed. Most were sealed. Pantheons were crippled and some…went extinct.
The war grew big enough for humanity to notice. Gods never went quietly. Realms did not fizzle out of existence. When powerful gods were sealed and pantheons were erased, the world would be fraught in natural disasters.
Twenty years of chaos and the world, both mundane and supernatural, felt the consequences…and it was all for nothing. The Ariyan dimension was stormed and all of them were massacred to the last. Man, woman, child, and infant were not spared. All survivors were hunted down for the artifact.
Once the last Ariyan was publicly executed and no artifact was found, the world did not recover. Factions did not return to lick their wounds. For the next thirty years, their blades turned on each other. Debts and betrayals forged during the Scramble were repaid in blood. Factions saw the opportunity for expansion and took advantage of weakened allies.
More millions died and no one cared to document the number of lives lost because they were just that—numbers. Twenty years of never-ending war revealed it wasn't just mortals who were beasts, but gods as well.
It wasn't just factions who were possessed by greed. Pantheons warred against other pantheons. Gods combated other gods. Mortals paid the ultimate price for their bloody battles. Clashes between gods happened in separate realms, but the aftershocks would be felt on Earth.
Conflicts were incited and it was feared the world truly would end. These thirty years of war were called the Skirmishes. It was truly a period where every faction and pantheon fought their own battles. There was no unified effort. There were no external threats. It was just fighting after fighting and corpses piling as high as the skies. It was only when the leaders of pantheons got together did the era of war gradually come to an end. Skirmishes slowly faded and the world finally had the time to recover.
Shuri grew up during the skirmishes, a time where resources were scarce and plundering was encouraged. It was a time when small wars broke out not due to politics, but necessity. The energy of the world had become so tainted that many practitioners of senjutsu became demented and murderous. Regions became desolate deserts and numerous malevolent spirits were birthed in the sea of blood.
She was trained as a healer from a very early age. Her earliest memories were of the healing temple in the clan estate. For years she had seen sights she never wished to witness again, sights she was forced to adapt to. She had grown numb to the gore. It was a miracle if a week passed without having a patient with missing limbs.
As she grew into her late teens, she had become skilled enough to reattach missing limbs and heal stomachs slashed open. What she could not heal however, were minds devastated by the never-ending fighting.
The era of war went on for half-a-century. Entire generations were born during this period. Some were born during the early parts. Some lived through the Scramble and the Skirmishes, even fought in both.
The weariness they experienced was not something healing arts could aid. When she was promoted and sent to another temple, she was exposed to new sights that would change her forever.
'Just give me something for the pain and leave me be, woman.'
Those were the first words said to her by her patient. He was an elderly man with a head full of white and covered in war wounds. He'd lost his arm in the Scramble, now he'd lost both his legs in the Skirmish.
'I fought for my motherland. Now I can no longer do so. Let me die so I may see my daughter.'
She believed he was a unique case and under his behest, stopped administering treatment. However, she learned a grim truth. There were no shortage of people who had long since lost the light in their eyes.
'I do not wish to see tomorrow. Do what you must to make sure that happens.'
'Do not pity me. I have fought valiantly. Now let me rest.'
'It hurts to continue.'
'Please…let me die.'
There were some she healed. Most were angered. Some were thankful. Few responded with grim silence.
'I will come back here.'
'Whatever happens, know it was my choice. Do not feel any guilt.'
'You have done your job, little lass. Now I will do mine.'
'Don't come tomorrow.'
Slit arteries, broken necks, poison, punctured hearts, seppuku—whether it was the next day or the week after, the very patients she healed would return as corpses. Suicide—a release for those who believed they had served their purpose.
She spent the last years of the skirmishes learning spiritual healing so she would never have to hear those words again, to never see someone she helped walk out of the temple doors be suspended on a noose the next day. The Skirmishes drew to a close while she still studied, but she never stopped. The promise she made to herself on that day was something she would keep forever.
She believed as peace dawned and a new page on history was turned, she would never come to hear those words ever again in her lifetime.
"Please…"
How wrong she was.
"...make it stop."
She had followed him, believing he was fleeing from their home. But through following him, she understood he was searching for something. It would've been far better for him to have a fruitful search than…this.
"Igor…"
She didn't know when she stopped hiding. By the time she realised it, Igor was looking at her with pleading eyes. He was not asking for comfort. He was not asking for nourishment. He was asking for…for…
She could not complete the thought. In Igor, she saw the faces of all those she could not save, heard their voices of resignation and acceptance. They were all old figures, men at the end of their prime who had lost friends and family. Their lives ended for they believed they had outlived their usefulness.
But Igor was young! He was a child. A child should never say such words! By the time she tasted her tears, she had sprinted forward and pulled him into her embrace. She hurriedly held him close to her chest, her chin nuzzling on his head.
"You're not alone, okay? You're not alone. You'll never be alone."
Her words were rushed. Tears were pouring out of her. There was relief that she followed him when she did. But there was also fear, fear that he would try to take his own life. The thought alone pierced her heart. That day must never come.
"I will always be here, Igor. I will always be here for you."
Her nervousness leaked through her words. She waited for him to say or do anything. ANYTHING to show he heard her. She almost pulled away, but his small hands gripped her gown. Words failed to describe her relief.
It began as silent restrained sobs. She brushed his hair and amidst her teary eyes, she kissed the top of his head.
"I will love you. Okay?"
She kissed him again. She poured her feelings into him, to let him know she was there. She wanted him, needed him to know he would never ever be alone. Because in truth, she had become scared of losing him.
"I will protect you. Always."
There was silence…and then he wept. His mournful wail triggered her own quiet sobs. Shuri rubbed his back whilst he poured his sorrows.
"They left me!"
His scream of pain was muffled by her clothes, but she could feel the intensity of his pain vibrating through her.
"They left me!"
It was not a howl of anger. It was a cry of misery and acceptance. Shuri tried to blink away her tears, but his anguish cut her deeply. She closed her eyes and deepened her hug.
She did not know his story. If his family abandoned him, she would replace them. If they were gone from this world, she would become his family. She made a vow to herself to always care for him, to be the person he could always rely on in this life.
"I'm here. I'll always be here…Igor."
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AN: I'll be honest. I love and admire Shuri very much. She has gone far beyond her obligations as a healer. Most people would not care much for a nuisance child beyond exploiting them.
Chapter 12 is on my p@treon page. It's free to read. I'll go ahead and unlock chapter 13 too. That's where we really start to see the world of DxD beyond the tits and panty-flashes.
Otherwise, until the next chapters and thanks for reading. I'll be back on Monday…hopefully.
Chapter 11.5
END