Summary:

And just who do the gods pray to? Just who can they ask for help?

Disclaimer:

I don't own KHR! or the cover picture.

Gods are created from two paths.

They take, or they give.

Byakuran, mad, dreamy, too-many-hopes-in-too-small-of-a-heart Byakuran, chose to become a God by taking.

He took lives, yes, but more than that; he took love, took safety, took trust and peace and friendship and justice and honor.

In their places sprouted bitterness, vengeance, hatred, fear, paranoia, and stone-cold ruthlessness born of a desire to survive.

Equivalent exchange.

Everything in the universe must be balanced, must be.

One cannot say that Chaos will come otherwise, since even Chaos is just another weight to add to the scales.

Nobody knows what will happen if the balance is tipped too far off course, and nobody is going to find out, because the universe has it's own ways of dealing with rogue factors before something unfortunate has to happen.

(There are forces beyond the universe, beyond the balance and the scales, and they are the Keepers.

Of what?

Too many questions will only bring misery.)

In the end, he took too much, or rather, took too little, as every positive thing he took only incited a threefold of negative things to regrow, like some twisted cosmic hydra-head.

And he was ended by a fluffy little human scared of, among other things, his own shadow.

But Gods are created and sustained by belief.

Tsunayoshi may be a trembling nervous wreck, however, it takes a special kind of persistence and courage and belief in order to get out of bed and confront those numerous fears each day.

Byakuran is an exploding supernova, toweringly titanic, beyond brilliant, shining so fervently and furiously, forcefully impressing upon the gravity of their presence, dazzling and blinding and awe-some.

Tsunayoshi is a red dwarf, diminutive and unassuming, faintly glimpsed, dim and hazy but undeniably there, dully glowing with a warm, kindly sort of light, comfortingly unchanging.

But one lasts for an instant, relatively speaking, and the other has been around since the beginning of the universe and is still alive 'n kicking.

(Rather, alive 'n politely apologizing for accidentally kicking the person in front of them, so sorry, I thought I saw a spider or something.)

The latter will undoubtedly win, by virtue of an seemingly infinite well of patience, something the former never really quite got the hang of.

Sawada Tsunayoshi believes, not in anything in particular, but in life and goodness and greatness in general, a belief that blazes all the more brightly for it's steady, dependable, inextinguishable flame.

That is the kind of belief that can topple Gods and reforge new ones.

.

.

.

Thus, Tsunayoshi became a God by giving.

He gave mercy, gave consolation, gave sympathy and empathy and strong promises that he never backed down from, so determined was he to make things better.

Better for everyone, because everyone mattered in his eyes, not just those who could afford monetary recompense, since he never once asked or expected payment in return of doing good.

He did good because no one else seemed to be doing it.

He gave them all value, a purpose in life, telling them, "I believe in you."

With that belief, how could they bear to disappoint?

They gave back: admiration, affection, love, reverence, fondness, generosity.

Tsunayoshi is infectious in that way, spreading his optimism and quiet determination, spurring others to want to be better as well, to want to make things better as well, to have him smile at them and say, "I'm proud."

A proper God is worshiped.

Byakuran had been worshiped with fear and hatred and bone-chilling tremors.

Tsunayoshi is worshiped with love and want and soul-shaking revelations.

The Mafia of his reign would be unrecognizable to the Vongola Nono, mayherestinpeace, and his generation.

(Timoteo, a God in his own right, a weary and tired God, had lived just long enough to watch his successor take office and his adopted son come forward to reconcile with him.

Gratefully accepting the serene release of death, he died peacefully in his sleep, succumbing to the weakness of the incurable disease: age.

Presumably, he died content, if not happy and hopeful.)

It is, well, better; warmer and lighter and a little brighter, everyone a little more in touch with their humanity and their morals, the tattered edges of both being mended solely from the enormous, constant effusion of Sky Flames in their area, spread-thin but still sending out messages of safegoodpeace.

There are less cases of child abuse, drug abuse, abuse in general.

Less cases of in-fighting and extortion and assassinations for profit.

Less cases of coldly clinical experiments that would make Verde's skin crawl, of unimaginable atrocities that have nevertheless clearly been imagined in some mind somewhere, of betrayal on the sort of grand scale and deeply personal level that scars and twists and cripples a person for life 'til death.

Vongola set up a court of sorts, an informal one, separate from the official Vindice-run one.

You went there for advice, for resolvement, for closure, for confessions, or sometimes, just for a light-hearted chat over tea to make you feel better on a bad day.

There's always at least one Guardian overseeing the court, and on the days when the Decimo himself was on-shift, time-limits were instituted for the lines snaking at least 1/4 mile outside.

(Waiting patiently and calmly and non-violently, naturally, because otherwise when it was their turn, Decimo would look at them and he would know, because he always knew, and he would sigh and click his tongue and look so damn disappointed that they would do anything to make him stop looking like that and smile at them please.)

.

.

.

Tsunayoshi liked helping others, and regularly doing things like that grounded him and reminded him who he was helping, why he was fighting, how he was protecting.

Being grounded was important; a not-so-nonsensical fear of his was that if he didn't stay grounded, one day he'd just float up and away into insanity, into Byakuran, and while he could understand and pity where and how Byakuran went wrong, he would rather die than subject those around him to a second reign of terror.

(Universally Acknowledged Fact: Sawada Tsunayoshi could understand and pity a rock, and the rock would probably sob and reform and beg for forgiveness.)

He was already so high-up, so above them, despite his greatest efforts, because they persevered in worshiping in, in turning him into this God-figure.

Being a God means being on a pedestal, and it is oh-so-lonely up there by his lonesome.

They are in awe of him, 'they' being those he has helped, mostly Mafia, and they love him, yes.

But it is a blind devotion, the sort his Storm Guardian held before they had all matured, worn down and simultaneously sharpened by the acids of war on their pirits.

They love him, not as an equal, but as some higher being, stripped of his faults and idolized in a benevolent God.

He sighs, blows gently on the steam rising from his tea, and glances around the court gardens as he gathers his thoughts.

Held to an unreasonable standard, it is made all the worse by the fact that anything he does in discouragement only encourages them further.

'Humble', they say, 'as befitting the gracious Decimo.'

Not even 'Vongola Decimo,' just 'Decimo,' as everyone in the Mafia immediately thinks of him.

Perhaps it's for the best, seeing as he has been working on regulating the Underground stricter, in vague hopes of integrating the Famiglias back above ground, and if they look to him as a leader it would make policy-changes smoother.

... Even as he rather halfheartedly tries to convince himself with that reasoning, he is despondent.

He didn't want this- this- this blind devotion.

He didn't want to be a God.

He just wanted everyone to think for themselves and be better people, that's all.

He's afraid of many things, and right now, he's afraid he'll forget his fears.

He really, really doesn't want to be another Byakuran, another tyrant corrupted with power.

Once he starts thinking, "but it would be so simple and easy to ask a little favor..."

Once he starts thinking like that, it's all over.

Tsunayoshi sips his tea, a soothing constant in his settling life, and looks up towards the door with a greeting on his lips, ready for the first visitor of the day.

'Keeps me grounded,' he thinks, and repeats that until he believes it.

He has plenty of belief to spare.

.

.

.

So, one wanted to become a God, and one didn't.

Tell me, who was the superior one?

Who would you condemn to the same fate, if you could do it all over a-g-a-i-n?

#

#

This is messy and unedited and short with a lot of repetition and could probably use a better ending.

I like it.

Hope you liked it, too.

A fluffier sequel, 'Godsend,' is coming up somewhere in the future.

#

#

-Review, please.-