The sound of splintering wood jolted Akuma back to the present. His hand had unconsciously tightened around the park bench's armrest, splitting and snapping the wooden material.
"Where am I…?" Akuma's voice was a bit groggy. "…Oh yeah, I went for that walk and ended up dozing off on a park bench."
Akuma glanced around the dog park, noting how the usual afternoon crowd had thinned to nearly nothing. In particular, a young woman was packing up her golden retriever's toys with suspicious haste, shooting nervous glances in his direction. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second and her fingers immediately tightened around her frisbee.
Then she muttered something under her breath.
"Don't look at me, you demon."
It didn't matter if he were half awake, or had headphones plugged in, his sharp hearing would always pick it up. And the sting that follow came as certain as sunrise. It wasn't the insult itself that stung, but from the utter isolation it carried. The way it reinforced the invisible barrier between him and everyone else. Not to mention their eyes. Always those same cold and unforgiving glares, as if he were a monster who might attack at any moment.
A dry and bitter laugh escaped the boy. For the past 3 years, his life had been a constant game of hide and seek. And it was impossible for anyone else to be the seeker. The worst part was that he couldn't even bring himself to blame them.
After all… He is a murderer. And no matter how hard he scrubbed his hands, that blood never washed away.
Akuma slumped deeper into the bench, letting his gaze drift upward to the clouds. According to those around him, somewhere beyond that endless blue was supposed to be heaven.
But instead of a floating castle or mystical lights, he was met with the mischievous grin of a child angel. One that clearly lacked the concept of personal space.
"What is with you people and ruining my hobbies? Don't you have literally anything else to do?"
"…"
"Right… Why do I even try."
While lamenting on his shitty life, Akuma spotted a strange man nestled against a wall across the street. He was sitting on a folded and clearly worn-out cardboard box, but that was hardly the strange part—it's not as if homeless people were rare Pokémon cards or anything. What had caught Akuma's eye was the expensive looking cloth he was wearing. It was decorated with intricate patterns that sort of resembled an ancient language. He was also surprised it hadn't been stolen yet.
Though, that might've been because of the intimidating staff leaning against the wall beside him. A staff nearly as tall as Akuma with a large crescent moon at its tip. It seemed impossible to wield as a weapon. So impossible that Akuma started to consider that maybe it wasn't a weapon at all and instead a pole for dancing. It's not like he knew how far this homeless man would go for some change.
"Gotta feel bad for the less unfortunate, am I right. It pains me to say, but I'd never understand it. Seeing as the cosmos insists on making my life absolutely perfect."
It was right around then when a businessman hurried past the homeless man, completely ignoring the fact that his donation cup only had a few coins to spare. Such was the spectacular human ability to not see what's uncomfortable to acknowledge.
The apparition floating above Akuma smiled grimly at the sight. For once, its expression seemed almost in tune with Akuma's.
"You saw that too, huh?"
The angel didn't answer. It never did. Just smiled that same empty smile it always did. The kind of smile you'd see on a man who made promises he had no intention of keeping.
"Everyone thinks they're being neutral by just minding their own business. Telling themselves that there isn't anything they can do to help. And yet if it were them, they'd be the first ones begging for help. I tell you, man. People like that really get on my nerves. Especially the ones who aren't as powerless as they like to pretend."
Akuma paused as self-awareness ambushed him.
"…Damn."
He reluctantly pushed himself off the bench and crossed the street.
"Hey, man…" Akuma pulled out his wallet as he spoke. "Saw you over there and stuff and just though I could help. It ain't much, but I can give you a little some…thing."
Empty. Completely and embarrassingly empty. He might as well have been holding a tumbleweed.
He could only laugh at it all. Albeit a hollow and pained laugh.
"Welp. Can't say I didn't try…"
A hand clamped around his ankle with surprising strength as he turned around.
"Look, man. I didn't mean to blue ball you like that, but these things happen. You can't just take that frustration out on me. So, you mind letting me go now?"
"⌿⌰⟒⏃⌇⟒ ⍙⏃⟟⏁ ⍜⋏⟒ ⋔⍜⋔⟒⋏⏁."
Akuma paused for a moment, his head slowly turning back to the homeless man.
"⊬⍜⎍ ⌇⋔⟒⌰⌰ ⎐⟒⍀⊬ ⌇⍙⟒⟒⏁ ⎎⍜⍀ ⏃ ⊑⎍⋔⏃⋏. ⏃⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⏚⊬ ☊⊑⏃⋏☊⟒, ⟟⋏⎎⌰⎍⟒⋏☊⟒⎅ ⏚⊬ ⏃ ☌⍜⎅?"
"…Huh. Is he speaking in a different language? A foreigner? Hm… I don't really know how to deal with those."
In his stumper, the homeless man began sniffing Akuma's grabbed ankle which caused his joints to instantly lock.
"Okay, so that literally felt like I was being defiled by a tentacle. Tell you what, let's just pretend we never saw each other, yeah? I go on with my day and you go on with yours."
As if he actually understood Akuma's words, the homeless man released his grip on Akuma's ankle.
"Oh… Ah, I didn't actually think you'd let go… Maybe you're not actually a foreigner. Maybe you're just a weirdo. In which case, me and you aren't so–… Ah, never mind. I was about to say a cringy one liner, but I changed my mind."
"⊑⋔? ⍙⊑⟒⍀⟒ ⏃⍀⟒ ⍙⟒ ☌⍜⟟⋏☌?"
Those were the words Akuma heard as he walked away. They didn't sound distant either.
Akuma turned back to see the homeless man standing right behind him, the massive pole in hand. Had he finally gotten impatient and decided to mug him? If this was revenge, then just how far would he take it? What exactly would he do to Akuma's youthful and well-toned body?
Akuma's footsteps doubled, then tripled then increased more. He ran so fast that even a seasoned Olympian would be helpless in a footrace. He ran so fast pedestrians swore a typhoon had passed by the street.
Akuma dared to look back, only to spot a figure holding onto the cloth covering their body for dear life. More accurately, it was now only covering the homeless man's head, revealing underwear with golden embroidery. He might've been wrong, but he could've sworn there was something hairy flailing around behind his butt too.
"Holy shit! What the hell is my life?!!"
Three blocks. Five blocks. Ten. No matter how fast Akuma pushed himself, those footsteps—as well as the gibberish he assumed to be a foreign language—never fell behind.
"P–Please, wait!"
Akuma was so focused on running that he didn't even notice the homeless man was suddenly speaking English.
(Dammit, dammit. If it's come to this, then I'll fight to keep my chastity.)
He knew he couldn't just lead them to his home. At the same time, he couldn't stop running in the middle of the city or his face would end up on every social media platform—probably captioned "IRL Speedster" or something.
His feet slowed at the front of his front door. Without warning, Akuma turned and threw a punch that caused a shockwave to ripple through the front porch. However, the homeless man effortlessly evaded his attack. As he did, the expensive cloth fell off to reveal something that made Akuma's brain stutter.
Two small horns poked out of his forehead. His ears were elongated and horse-like, twitching with what looked like a mix of confusion and nervousness. A tail swished behind him, barely concealed by what appeared to be the world's most expensive set of underwear.
This was no foreigner. Hell, this wasn't even a human.