Chapter Text
This is hell.
That's not a joke. This is the netherworld, and for some reason, he's been reincarnated as a demon. That is literally not how the afterlife works, in any religion, and honestly, he's just stumped. Plus, the demons here seem to regard humanity as mythology.
So... well, it honestly makes no sense.
"Don't touch 'im, Sivvi," the father warns. "And get out of the room. Keep your distance."
His older sister, who looked barely any older than five, pouts. She had deep gray hair, but bright scarlet eyes. Her eyes met his own for a long, thoughtful moment, and he felt entranced by the beauty in that curious, hopeful gaze.
Obediently she steps away from the crib, smiling once more at the infant before waving, and leaving through the door.
"Bye bye, Soyo!"
The last thing he sees is his father's cold, contemplative eyes, sharply focused on him in the doorway. The shoji doors rolled shut, and that was it.
Vassago Soyo lives the first three years of his life only seeing his nanny and no one else. And even then, she keeps minimal contact, not ever touching him except for necessary measures, always wearing gloves.
But he remembers that scarlet gaze, and he shivers. Suddenly, in a way he can't even describe— information begins to build in his head.
He learns, each time his sister sneaks a glance into his room, a little more.
They don't talk, they don't do more than smile at each other— and yet, Soyo learns more about the family each day. He learns about the world he's in, how everyone has horns and wings and the tail of a demon, how he has two older brothers and an estranged mother that's in solitary confinement.
He learns that he's alone now, as is the tradition for the Vassago house. Something about our Bloodline Magic (there's magic?) being heavily influenced by contact, and thus, to avoid any complications in the most important years of maturity, he's kept apart.
He learns, bit by bit, the information coming to him with each moment of that scarlet gaze.
Oh, he realises one day, between fiddling with his own tail and wondering why his horns looked every bit like dog ears instead—
—wait, isn't this the Netherworld of that one manga?
In his past, he spent most of his youth with an air rifle in one hand.
The protective headphones were always a comforting weight against his ears, sealing him off into a chamber of his own privacy, allowing him into a world of just him and the targets he had to shoot.
"You'll definitely win the Olympics," his coach told him. "You're our team's pride and joy!"
"Our little prince!"
"Keep rising!" the world cheered. "We want to watch you soar!"
And, riding that high, he went on, pompous and arrogant, up the ranks of junior championships. Regionals, Nationals, and on and on.
He was the youngest contestant, just barely legal to join, but he still thrived against the competition, and snatched the victory right from under their noses. And he laughed, and he spun, and he luxuriated in the attention.
Perhaps he was being too precocious.
Every other contestant was much older, bigger, and stronger than him. So there was nothing he could do when they organised a retaliation.
He entered his locker room, walking right into an air gun firing at his face.
The gun blows through his eyes and then, a foot stamps down his spine. The culprits were arrested very quickly after that, but the genius youth was reduced to a sensational sob story.
He lived, unfortunately.
He lived in shame, disgraced, unable to ever fire a gun again. He closed his eyes to the world as they turned away from him, too ashamed of his embarrassing turnout to do much more than mock him. Even his mother couldn't do more than weakly assure him that she still loved him.
"Have you heard? The kid's a loser shut-in now."
"Heard he does all that weeaboo crap. Streams on Twitch, games all day, cosplay."
"How the mighty have fallen!"
He startles awake to the cold reality that was his other life.
He turned into an utter bum, after that. He dropped out of school, and there was no chance of him ever learning how to hold a job while declared legally blind. So he turned to games, to freelance work, and never quite managed to earn a solid living with his paltry skills.
He had been a disappointment to the bitter end, and since he had no idea how he met his end, he just knew that he devastated his mother on the way out.
He was such a fucking failure.
"Soyo."
His wails are cut short when his father speaks to him, appearing by his crib. The older man cradles him in his arms— the first genuine, personal contact he's ever had in this life— and rocked him, ever so gently.
The man sits down, and Soyo blinks away the tears to meet stern red ones.
"If you wake your brothers, they'll be insufferable in the morning."
Father is a rough, unkempt man, large and covered in scars. His hair, curled and scruffed like the mane of a wild beast, framed his cold frown with an uncharacteristic tenderness.
Also... why does he have dog ears?
His eyes tell stories of cruelty and war. Of comfort, found only in the solace known as belonging. Soyo reaches out, stubby fingers taken in by a surprisingly gentle, chapped hand ten times as large as his own.
And Soyo knows that this man is exhausted.
Father looks down, and his scowl gives way to a smile as he notices Soyo has stopped wailing. A gentle finger, nails long and slightly ticklish, brushes against his cheek, wiping the tears away.
"We of the Vassago house are wolves," Father says, like a declaration. "We are a pack, a family. And here the strong protect the weak, and no one is left behind."
No one is left behind.
Soyo cries louder.
Father sighs. "Looks like my youngest is a little crybaby, huh?" he walks, looking out the door toward the full moon. "That's fine. Cry all you want. I'll be here."
Soyo wasn't an only child in his past life. He had siblings, too, but with his rise to fame, he distanced himself from everyone. There was a divorce, a family separation... he didn't even remember how many siblings he had, or their names, or their faces anymore.
He couldn't help but feel guilty that he ruined everything back then.
(But now...)
(Now... perhaps, it could be better.)
"What a mournful noise you have, my child," he says, planting a kiss on his child's forehead. "It's muffled, confused, and filled with grief. We will have to fix that."
One of Soyo's legs is underdeveloped, barely fixed by a heavy brace and a crutch for him to limp his way along. No one cares, though, they look out for each other with acceptance, not contempt.
Soyo looks into their eyes and he sees nothing but love. From the servants that cheer him on when he makes a long lap. No one rejects him, and he finds genuine ease in this household.
His siblings are rarely home, as their clan operates very closely with the Netherworld Security from a very young age. So Soyo has yet to meet them.
Children of the Vassago house usually have gray or silver hair. Soyo's was a metallic silver, nearly black, and he often found himself entranced by the magical shade.
"Come here, Soyo."
He's five now, but Father still lifts him in his arms when they go out.
The hospital is abuzz. Soyo can hear the frantic orders on the other side of the glass pane as the doctors try their best to save a life.
Demons are much sturdier than humans, but they are also much stronger. So a situation like this, where a demon's at the edge of their life barely holding on— it's rare. There's a child in that room, and his hopes for survival are bleak.
"Demons have many secrets, many underlying interests, and little empathy for others," he says. "That is why, we of the Vassago house, who are different, have many enemies."
They are police dogs. Their Bloodline magic, which allowed them to solve any crime, discover every secret— it was a threat to many demons.
"He will live," Father says.
His eyes are full of strain, anxious and full of rage— yet, he was desperately shoving it all down for composure. His words alone were filled with confidence.
The teenager on that operating table was Vassago Van, the oldest son and Soyo's older brother.
"Come, Soyo," Father turns. "I will show you how our house cares for our own."
Soyo stares into the mortified eyes of Azazel Henri as his father kisses him full on the lips, in broad daylight, surrounded by the servants of the household who were all equally flabbergasted by the sight.
There's a blast of fire and acid and a wave of immensely indecipherable expletives, and his Father is laughing, leaping back from the assault.
"SAGA YOU IRREDEEMABLE MUTT I WILL STICK MY FOOT UP YOUR—"
Father laughs light-heartedly, and every eye in the vicinity respectfully turns away upon ascertaining that the man was not a threat. Soyo finds resignation in Azazel Henri's eyes, not anger, and he wonders upon the implications of that.
"Oh, I see," Father says, licking his lips. "It's that nameless house up the Mountain of Eternal Strife... they did that to my pup. Thanks for the information."
"If you would just ASK, I would just have TOLD YOU," there's overblown frustration in that voice, like he's trying his best not to strangle him, and somehow Azazel Henri's hair is rising like the anger is fueling his hair strands.
"But I don't trust ya, you guys butter up your language with formalities and shit and it always takes forever."
He hums, leaning down to pick up Soyo, who he'd put on the ground moments ago. (And Soyo, after his father just told him to 'sit boy', just decided that a good boy stays still. He has no idea why he obeyed. Dog instinct.)
"Well whatever then. Let's go, Soyo, Father will bring you to your first bloodbath."
"Hold it right there, Saga! Don't you dare! Leave the kid here, I can get my daughter to keep him occupied!"
"Don't wanna. Soyo's going to be the world's cutest murder baby."
"Don't even joke about it!"
Soyo still has no idea why his father just kissed a presumably married man and everyone is laughing it off. Is this one of those situations? The ones you see in those raunchy doujins?
...also, that was totally Azazel Ameri's father, right? Is this really how his first interaction with the canon material is going to go?
But first of all... he's scared stiff.
What's the mountain of eternal strife? What is that name that promises nothing but danger? How did Father know so much from just a kiss? Is that our Bloodline magic? Why are they going straight into their hideout if they managed to put his eldest brother at death's door? Why is Soyo being made to follow his psycho of a Father there?
"Don't worry, Soyo, I'll make sure no blood gets on you."
"I don't think that's the problem, Papa."
This is hell.
That is not a joke, this is the netherworld. But right now, Soyo means it metaphorically as well, because this— screaming death, crying noises, the sounds of a house crackling in a wildfire as it's cindered, servants and children running desperately for reprieve only to be sliced down by a rabid werewolf that's hunting everyone down— yeah, it's hell.
"Don't worry, they won't die!" his father assures him from somewhere inside the building, how did he know that was the question Soyo was thinking of? "You'll need a lot more than this to kill a demon. I'm just knocking them out so Henri can capture them later."
Soyo sits quietly outside in the gardens, like Hachiko at the train station, just waiting for his owner to come pick him up after he's done working.
He picks a flower. It's not a flower that exists in the mortal realm, this one has teeth.
Soyo puts it in his mouth. Oh it's eating him back! It's still alive after he plucked it? That's so cool!
"What are you up to now?" his dad is there when Soyo finds another flower creature to investigate, a wry smile on his face. Father is covered in soot and blood and dirt, his clothes a little torn, but he chortles at the sight.
"Flower," Soyo says, a mouthful of petals that's trying its best to escape. Father's eyes are filled with relief and satisfaction, and just a little disappointment, presumably because he's done running wild and the high has come down.
"Oh you're a puppy alright," Father sighs fondly, picking him up. "Let's go home."
Soyo's family is a strange one.
All things considered, Soyo enjoys his next life here. Sure his Father was objectively insane and needed to be told that massacres were not an ideal spot for a family outing— but well, they were demons, so that's fine.