Kazuma brings her to the grotto right away, where the hot spring bubbles with clear, clean water capable of purging the blight from her body. He wades in with her and her face twists with discomfort as the warm water stings the cuts littering her skin, but she does not wake. Carefully, he settles her form on the underwater stone bench that had been carved along the border of the spring. Her head pillows against shoulder as he wraps an arm around her waist, holding on so she does not slip under the water's surface accidentally.
"Bishamon-sama," he murmurs sadly as he washes away the tear tracks on her face with a gentle hand. The bruise-like marks from the blight stand out starkly against her pale features.
He scoops up water and lets it trickle over her face and neck, over and over again until the angry marks begin to fade. As the hours pass by, her feverish, panting breaths even out into a deeper rhythm, and the pain tensing her brow eases. It is only then that Kazuma wonders what to do with the blood and gore still caking her hair. Trying to wash her incredibly long hair while holding onto her limp body is awkward and inevitably he fumbles, almost dunking her into the water. Still, he marvels at how her blonde locks are like heavy folds of silk in his hands, smooth and shining as he combs it out with his fingers. He scrubs away the blood under her fingernails too, but when it comes to the rest of her body, he only dares to quickly check for injuries.
His deal with Yato weighs heavily on his conscience. He has no right to be by her side, much less to be caring for her when she is in such a vulnerable state. Yet... the relief that suffuses him when he looks upon her face makes him feel light; lighter than he has been in all the months since she had fallen sick. He still feels the anxiety from those days crawling under his skin, like the tremor of a strained muscle.
His feelings for her are a box of ill-fitting puzzle pieces, jumbled and full of dead-ends and paradoxes. He is almost afraid of looking to closely at himself. What is done is done.
Lifting her out of the spring, he lays her on the smooth stone ledge and hurries to the small storage space carved into the surrounding wall of rock. Worrying all the while about the chill in the air, he collects a towel and a yukata with haste and sets them beside Bishamon.
Kazuma's face is burning by the time he finishes untangling her from the remains of her gown and dressing her in the yukata. Only her female shinkis had helped Bishamon bathe and dress, but it would have been even more remiss of him to leave her in her bloody, battered state. Kazuma pushes away the feeling that he has done something terribly improper - "necessity," he tells himself - before he can sting her with his increasingly unsteady emotions. It is rapidly becoming a familiar exercise.
Wrapping her in another towel to prevent the dampness of his own clothes from soaking her yukata, he hefts her into his arms again and heads out of the grotto. He turns his mind to the present, frowning as he concentrates on each step. The stone path has been worn down into slippery plains by the passing of centuries and with Bishamon's weight in his arms, he is off-balance in more than one way.
The veil of overhanging vines that hides the grotto's entrance parts about his shoulders as he ducks through, and suddenly, the ruins of the estate confront him yet again. Night has fallen. The moon casts a silver glow over the land's miamed visage, highlighting each jagged surface in monochrome contrasts. A lump catches in his throat at the sight of the crumbled walls and torn roofs, some houses crushed whole and others levelled from the ground. The mansion is completely gone. Caught in the centre of destruction as it was, only cracked marble flooring and shattered pieces of stone and plaster survive, together with the various furniture and belongings.
The bloody pieces of flesh that had covered the ground have dissolved into piles of fine, grey ashes. Soon, even these will disappear. For now they rise up in soft plumes, clinging onto Kazuma's feet as he picks his way through the rubble-littered streets.
He brings Bishamon to the only place he can think of — the house that he lives in with several of the other new shinki. No, the house that he had lived in with the others. Biting his lip at the thought of all the faces he would never see again, Kazuma lowers his gaze to Bishamon and reminds himself what was at stake. She is worth everything, even those precious lives he had no right to give.
The outer districts are too far away to have suffered much damage. When he pushes open the shouji door of his house with a nudge of his heel, Kazuma is relieved to see everything still relatively neat and whole. Only a few items have been knocked off the shelves.
A small whimper escapes her as he lays her on a futon, and his heart breaks all over again at the tense lines of distress under the flutter of her lashes. Her skin is still clammy and her lips pale, but he is no doctor. There is nothing else he can do for her but wait. He has to blink back tears as he pulls the thick blanket up to her chin, tucking it around her and arranging her hair so that it does not pool on the floor.
She is the war god Bishamon. She won't succumb so easily.
He leaves her side only to bathe and change out of his soaked clothes, feeling unease gnaw at his bones every second he is away. When he returns to find her peacefully sleeping still, it is as if part of his very self settles back into his skin. Sitting down by her bedside to keep vigil, Kazuma sighs on a silent exhale as he gazes at her face. He longs to take her delicate hand in his, to draw comfort from the press of her flute-like bones against his palm and warm her in return, but he quells the urge with brutal swiftness.
When she wakes and realises what he has done, she will surely excommunicate him. She would want no kind gesture from him.
Swallowing heavily at the thought of what is to come, Kazuma traces the precious name on his hand, over and over.
He finds a mirror amongst the rubble on one of his searches for Bishamonten's scattered belongings. She has been unconscious for so long Kazuma half-suspects that she doesn't want to wake up at all, despite having healed from her injuries.
Shifting the bundle of her clothes under his arm more securely, he crouches down in corner the half-demolished room. The polished bronze disc sits amongst the splintered remains of a dressing table, its delicate metalwork glinting in the sunlight that filters through the punctured roof. Picking it up gingerly, he turns its reflective side towards himself. On its cloudy surface, his pine-green eyes stare back at him with weary sobriety.
The other gods in Takamagahara came visiting the past week. They were all invariably surprised that she has not reincarnated. As he thanked them with thin smiles, Kazuma hid his hand behind his back. Most carelessly believed the mark on his cheek was Bishamon's and Kazuma didn't correct them.
But eventually, a few realised something was wrong. His mark didn't match the name he gave them but he couldn't bear to call himself anything other than "Kazuma".
He was forced to confess. Once, twice, thrice... with the spell Resound, even though he would have answered willingly if only to stay by Bishamon's side for a little while more. It was a humiliation and everything in him rebelled against it, but he tortured himself with the knowledge that he deserved it all. Word spread like wildfire. It was scandalous and incredible that Bishamon had lost all her shinki save the one who betrayed her, and Takamagahara was aflutter with the news.
Kazuma was resigned when the inevitable attempt at an ablution came. When there was nothing to purify, he bore their shocked looks with as much dignity as he could.
The gods and their shinki left them alone after that.
Tilting the mirror slightly, Kazuma considers the red mark on his left cheek critically.
Despite all the trouble he has suffered, he doesn't hate it. He can't. Aside from the possibility of stinging Yato for such ungratefulness, this is a decision Kazuma has made and the price he has chosen to pay. He has no grounds to complain, and Yato is a benefactor deserving of Kazuma's loyalty.
Objectively speaking, the new name bestowed upon him by his second master is not something devoid of beauty. The character's form has a balance to it, making it pleasing to the eye. The pronunciation is not prone to misunderstanding or innuendo, and its meaning, while strange and obscure, is acceptable. The deep red is the same shade as Bishamon's name for him, but the lines flow in subtly different ways. This is Yato's handwriting.
The unrelenting whispers of accusation at the back of his mind don't stop, though.
"A useless nail in her flesh to the end," they hiss, "and now an unfaithful one as well."
"You should be executed."
"Imprison!" The memory of bright boundary lines flash behind his closed eyelids. "Be cleansed!"
He hunches onto himself, wondering miserably whether it would have been better if Bishamon had never named him at all. A bad omen, the Exemplar had called him. She was right.
He sets the mirror on its edge and flicks his wrist, watching it hollowly as it rolls away and falls onto its side with a dull, metallic clanging.
Bishamon's unfocused eyes flutter open but Kazuma is too distracted to notice. He has her in his arms, trying to get her to sip from a glass of water as he massages her throat to help her swallow. It's not really working.
"Ka—" The water goes down the wrong way when she tries to speak and she starts coughing. Startled, Kazuma jerks the glass away from her parched lips and sets it behind him, his hand quickly wiping away the droplet of water that escaped down her chin.
"Bishamon-sama!" he says in a hushed whisper. His voice sounds trembling and relieved to his own ears as he brushes back the loose strands of her hair from her face.
She clutches at him with both hands as her coughs subside and he turns his face to the side, suddenly fearing her reaction to the new name on his face.
"Kazuma," she croaks, her deep purple eyes tear-bright and glistening as she looks up at him. Her lips move wordlessly as her expression flickers through too many emotions to track. It finally settles on pure joy as she pulls him closer. "Kazuma, you survived!"
She's so happy she doesn't realise he is avoiding her gaze. Fumbling for his hand, she looks at the name on the back of his hand and begins to weep. "Kazuma," she sobs, pressing her cheek and then her lips to his name. "You're here..."
Collapsing into his arms, her tears seep into his shoulder as she clings onto him like a child. She cries brokenly, her slender frame wracked by shudders of grief that seem to big for her to contain. Kazuma has never seen her so completely undone. His gut wrenches. Gathering her close, he crushes her against him and strokes her hair tenderly, murmuring reassurances to her until her low keens turn into exhausted hiccups.
"I need you... don't leave me," she murmurs against his chest, and he hates himself for loving the weight of her arms around his waist.
"Bishamon-sama..." His own tears dampen her hair.
She shifts away from him slightly and he lets her go reluctantly. His eyes shut tight.
Her fingers are impossible light when they brush across his cheek but he barely suppresses a flinch.
"What's this?" she asks in a strangled tone. Her thumb presses slightly harder against his skin, running over the mark as if she could wipe it away. "This isn't your name..."
Her voice breaks and he can feel the tremor of her hand against his face. He can't look up for fear of seeing the tenderness in her eyes change to disgust and anger, but he steels himself to tell the truth. Quite apart from what he has promised Yato, she deserves to know what had happened. Everyone else already does.
Still, his voice is an unsteady, thready whisper when he finally works up the courage to speak. "You were dying, Bishamon-sama. The Ma clan was blighting you to death. I begged Yatogami to kill the clan. I... I allowed him to name me in return."
There's a beat of silence.
"It can't be..." Bishamon chokes out. "You..." Her hair whips about her as she shakes her head, eyes wide. "No! Kazuma, look at me." Taking his face with both hands, she tilts his face towards her. The first thing he sees is the deep lavender of her irises, dark with emotion and glittering with moisture. "He forced you didn't he? You don't have to lie for him, I'll kill him!" Her limbs are trembling, her body exhausted but her spirit full of fervour. And Kazuma knows, oh, he knows. If he even says a word, she'll chase Yato down to the ends of the earth.
Her voice lowers and suddenly she's gentle, pleading. "Kazuma, you don't have to be afraid. Tell me the truth." Tears tumble from her eyes like droplets of glass even as she smooths his hair away from his wet cheek.
The guilt is breaking him apart, turning him inside out and slicing his insides to shreds. His head aches and his breath comes shallow. For a split second, he loses his tenuous control over his emotions.
She startles when he stings her.
"I'm sorry, Bishamon-sama." He struggles hard to reign his emotions in.
She must have seen the truth in his eyes because she shoves away from him, her expression falling into blank numbness before crumpling into despair. "W-why? They were your brothers and sisters... You're all precious to me..."
Kazuma stares dully at the floor. "They were killing you."
Doubling over, she presses forehead against the futon and clutches at her hair, a low moan of denial tearing from her.
Her pain is unbearable to him. His body moves by itself and he reaches out to comfort her even though he knows he isn't wanted. The sharp crack of her palm against his face snaps his mind back into clarity and he almost laughs at his foolishness.
"She hates me."
He hardly has time to finish the thought before her hands are fisted into the front of his shirt and he's being pushed backwards with shocking strength. His head bounces against the hard flooring and pain shoots through him, throwing white sparks across his vision. Through tear-blurred eyes, he sees the way her purple eyes glow, her cat-like pupils piercing and unearthly as she glares down at him. The weight of her knee presses down on his chest, making his ribs creak alarmingly as his breath is stifled.
He loves her no less even now.
"I'm sorry," he wheezes, ready to die by her hand.
Salty warmth splashes on his face and slips off his cheekbone. "Kazuma," she snarls.
Then he feels it — the power gathering around her as she raises her two fingers, her teeth bared in a snarl as she prepares to cut him away from her forever. Closing his eyes, Kazuma steels himself for the inevitable even as his heart beats wildly in protest, hammering hard against the cage of his ribs.
"I relea—"
A shaky inhale.
"I..."
His eyes snap open as the curl of Bishamon's power falls away to nothing, along with the pressure on his sternum. "B-Bishamon-sama?" Lifting his hand, he can hardly believe his eyes. His name is still there, as clear as ever.
"Leave." She has her back turned, her shoulders hunched and her hair a sweeping curtain of gold between them. "Don't let me see you again."
"Bishamon-sama...?" His head spins. "Why had she not...?"
Whipping around, she pins him with a pain-filled glare more cutting than any sword. The aura of her anger presses down on him like the physical weight of her body, and suddenly he sees none of her fragility, only the sure stance of her feet and the barely restrained violence in her white-knuckled fists. Hurt flushes her face as she shouts "LEAVE!", her whole body lunging forward at that one word and her bared teeth glinting.
He flinches hard.
Picking himself up on watery limbs, Kazuma stumbles through a hasty bow before he is running, his feet flying across dirt and grass until his home fades away into a distant blur behind him. He can still feel her fury, raw like a burn wound in his soul. With every step, the air in his lungs seems to get thinner and thinner, until he finally stops in the middle of nowhere, unable to take another step. Clutching helplessly at the sharp ache in his chest, he weeps like he has never wept before.
A/N: I assume you all are caught up until season 2 of the anime? I'll try my best to provide spoiler warnings for the stuff after that, but I might get mixed up sometimes.
If you're not caught up with the latest chapters yet, Resound is a spell used by shinki to force other shinki to speak. These spells usually don't work on strays since they have more than one name, as demonstrated by Kugaha. But it's my headcanon that for someone like Kazuma, who holds onto one name very tightly, Resound will work.
I haven't written it in, but the more they used Resound on him and the more they called him a stray, the more immune he became to the spell.
Well, hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I always love to hear from you all. Until next time~