Chapter Text
Hearts are strange. There are many things that can be a heart. A heart can be the thing beating inside a humans chest, beating frequently to keep them alive. Your heart can be your soul that keeps you connected to the mortal plain. Your heart can be your memories and people you care about.
Demons are said to not have hearts.
MK is not supposed to have a heart, at least not one as big as his.
But MK has too big a heart for one to carry, and it drags him down everyday.
-
MK was born a child of stone. Granted he was not informed of such origins until he was much older.
(He was not informed at all. He was not told he would grow fangs, he did not understand why his parents screamed when his fur became known. He did not even know that they tried to murder him multiple times in his Sleep to no avail.)
As a child of stone, he was unnatural. He never was a baby, only ever existing from age 4. He was a curious child with a monkey tail and sharp fangs.
He did not realise the treatment or his existence was seen as odd. He was never told that he was a rare creature that hadn’t ever been seen before and only heard about a few times.
He did not realise he was a whisper. He had no awareness that he had influence over the stars, technological creation, and many more abilities. He was a clueless child living a life of mistreatment.
It was never clarified or shown to him that parents were not to hit a child. He believed the bruises and painful hits that were given to him were normal. He grew with the pain as well as his abilities. Soon it became difficult for his parents to damage him, as he always healed quickly. He had not known that his healing was quick, nor that it took hits that could severely injure someone to merely injure him at all. To severely hurt him movements that would have been inflicted to commit murder would occur. He was not aware.
It was as his skin and fur were the strongest crystal known. He became increasingly difficult to injure, but it did not mean he felt no pain. No… he felt every single hit.
But he did not complain, as this was his normal. He believed his parents were good people. He believed he was a good person. He was not evil.
That was until he turned 16.
-
The first time he caught a glimpse of the outside world was at the age of 6. He went to the crops outside and was met with earth and dirt that felt so right amongst his bare feet. He felt as if it was his place in the world outside, the dirt the best texture.
This feeling was quickly dismissed when a shovel was thrown at his face, smashing his nose. It did not break, only grew a sore red. It felt as if it broke though, it was incredibly damaging.
His mother grabbed him by his ear and dragged him inside, her screams were shushed whispers until he got inside. Her fury was not quelled for several days, which meant several days of no food for MK. She had screamed about him being vermin, a waste of space and that the Buddha should thank her for being willing to take care of a… it was a word he had never heard before. A demon.
Years later when he went out to the streets of town, his second ever time outside, would he find out what opinions on demons were amongst the people he thought would love him.
-
At age 10 he grew another set of ears. It was noticeable to MK, not because of the extra appendage, no. It was because of the torturous sounds that scrapped at his mind. Chirping that squealed against his ears, rustling that sounded like whipping winds and the worst of all was screams. Screams that sounded as if a monster with a thousand mouths had opened up its jaws and cried out in wails. He screamed. He had never screamed before and he never noticed the hits he received seconds later. He only noticed the screeching monster in his ears grow louder. He tried to rip off the new appendage, crying fat tears that soaked themselves into his bed of a single pillow and blanket that were worn and torn.
The ears were not the only things he had grown. No he had a dark patch of coloured skin around his almond brown skin. It was shaped like a heart, soft around the edges but bolder the closer it got to his nose. His fur felt tingly and his tail swiped at the offending by arms that tried to stop his mission. The hands that tried to prevent him from tearing his own ears off and beat him.
Later that day, he would be curled up in a ball on the stove, accepting the punishment for acting out as fire singed his skin and fur.
-
He was 13 when he started to become curious about people his age. He wanted to figure out why he had never Seen them. He had never succeeded at creeping out of the house. Every time he was disciplined for disrespecting his parents wishes. He found it fair. It was what everyone does to their children right?
(It was not. It was never okay.)
He had managed to go into the roof though. He climbed out his window and sat on top of the hut. The sky whispered to him, the planets ached for his touch, he could feel it. He reached out his hand, desperate to feel the stone that he could meld to his will under his hand.
He wanted to feel the wind through his fur, see others of his kind. Children that were his age and have fun. He snuck back inside.
-
He was 16 when he was taken outside. His mother had grabbed him by one of his four ears and dragged him down a pathway.
He was too distracted by the feeling of grass and dirt on his feet to hear the screams or yells. The wails of terror that overcame the people who watched him go by. Nor did he feel the weapons being thrown at him as he observed how bright and warm it really was outside.
Soon countryside and screams that barley made his ears twitch in his dream like state blurred into busy buildings and markets. He only focused back in when he felt his father push him to the ground. He caught himself on his hands and felt the grainy sand like texture. He was fascinated as it moved along with his hand.
He then felt a tug on his head as he overheard bits of his parents conversation with a man in robes.
He was likely the head of the shrine that he had overheard about. The man glared cruelly at him, and looked back with something similar to pity at his parents. He waved his arm and suddenly MK noticed the crowd that surrounded him. It was full of people as he smiled widely, and stood. Just as he was about to introduce himself, a knife was thrown into his stomach.
Blood spilled from his wound. Saliva, vomit and blood trembled past his lips, falling to the ground. He felt rocks pelt his head, and more sharp objects being thrown at him. He felt people grab his fingers and pull, bones snapping eventually at the repeated tugs.
No matter how fast he healed, or how much his strong skin resisted and saved him from death by preventing the stab wounds sinking in too deep, he felt the torture grind into him.
He wanted to sob, scream, cry at the fact that people were doing this to him. He felt pain ripple through him as he looked into the sky, praying that the heavens from the stories would save him. He got no reply from them, but from the wind.
“They are wrong.”
MK blinked as he felt the nails scratch at him, blood oozing out of his body like spores as the dirt drank up his power. Dirt began to swirl around him, a tornado of dirt as he tore off, barley being able to walk.
He heard the wind encouraging him to run, the reassurance of the planets, the directional gods push him away as he tore off.
He was coughing up chunks of his body as he felt the pathway turn to water and mud. It was raining heavily, his fur sticking to his skin as he heard the noises lessen. Trees surrounded his vision as he kept running.
He was wrong. He was so wrong. Nothing was okay. Nothing was normal. He wasn’t normal. And he certainly wasn’t normal for not being angry or upset at the people who had hurt and lied to him. He just felt oddly disconnected as he tripped over a root.
He felt the dirt move as he groaned into the ground, making a little blanket, rain pelting onto his face as he cried slowly. The wind whispered reassurances against his ears.
His heart was heavy in his hand. Unlike most he did not feel hate towards people. He did not feel betrayal or disappointment. He felt calm, emotionless, apathy.
But more importantly he felt pain and love. A love for the world and a pain for it hurting him.
His heart was not vengeful or evil like some demons and people. His heart was slowly beating, but the pressure was squishing it.
His heart was being squished
And he found he wanted it no other way at the time.