Of Gods and Angels

BY : Pseudo Hanyou
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 1266
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor do I make any profit from this fic.

Chapter 1: Precision


6:14 p.m. Teru Mikami stared at the clock, the fingers of his right hand tapping together as he counted the seconds. 58…59… He let out a long, ragged breath as the digital numbers changed. 6:15. A subtle wave of relief washed through him at the evening of the numbers. He couldn’t stand “in-betweens” like 4; it was almost enough to drive him mad. Rising from his chair, he strode over to the large window, intent on distracting himself from the time.

It was why he could never wear a working watch, or sit facing the clock in the rare event that he ate at a restaurant. The platinum Seiko he wore didn’t keep time. It was simply for show, the battery having been removed upon its purchase, the hands permanently stating that it was noon. Mikami rarely glanced at the device; the only reason for doing so being that he would feel his old sense of being an outcast heavy upon his shoulders and looking at one’s watch, in his eyes, caused one to appear nonchalant or disinterested in their surroundings.

People who glanced at their watches had places to be, things to concern them other than the thought of how they were being perceived by the ones around them. It was a defense of sorts for Mikami; a way to appear average. It was something he found to be particularly important, not only throughout his adult life due to his career, but also since…

The lawyer brought the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses as he peered over the city. How magnificent it seemed from above: bright lights disguising the filth that roamed its crowded streets. It was only when he decided to focus on the streets themselves that he was able to see it all for what it really was.

Humans. Greedy, indulgent, selfish bastards who scrambled about; some engaging in evening activities, others on their way to commit atrocities that would only be known if they made the mistake of defying Kira’s law. And he, Mikami Teru, Kira’s right-hand man, could see the names of every single one of them.

Their life spans, he tended to ignore unless ordered otherwise. For beneath the names were jumbles of uneven numbers; enough to cause him to clench his jaw and squeeze his eyes closed as to block them out. Sevens and nines and…fours. The fours seemed to stand out the most, taunting him as though urging him to write down the names of the ones who bore them. If not for his devotion, his need to obey Kami in all things, he would perhaps rid the world of a few of those who had done nothing more than annoy him with the years of their life spans, if only to temporarily relieve the tension in his chest.

Kami. It took no more than a fleeting thought of the one to whom he paid allegiance to nearly bring him to his knees in exultation. Finally, there was a being who gave him purpose; a reason to bear all of…this. It made the other things seem less significant: The occasional drips of water that hit the metal of his sink with sickening echo, the loud footsteps as someone passed his apartment door. One…two…three… when they took the fourth step, he wanted to throw open his door and put an end to the source of the sound.

He pressed his head against the cold pane of the window and stared down at the ants below. All of them, so….uneven, so imperfect. Mikami wondered how it was that every being did not strive for perfection in the manner that he did. Why would they all not want to be close to Kami? Why would they not aspire to be similar to Kami in every way? A trace of a smile touched the corners of his lips when he wondered what Kira-sama looked like. Was he beautiful? Perfect? Did he have wings like an angel? No, Kami did not need wings. It was his minions who required them in order to travel through his realm. Kami was too perfect to require such burdensome appendages.

Cringing, he turned and glanced at the digits on the clock once more. 6:30. It was time to begin. With an almost religious fervor, the lawyer retrieved his briefcase from its place beside the door and opened it to reveal, amongst other things, his bible, passed down to him from Kami himself. The Shinigami who had bequeathed it unto him stated as much: that Kami commanded that Mikami receive this gift and fulfill the duties of Kira-sama.

Said Shinigami remained only a few feet from him, as he always seemed to do since first approaching Mikami, a sneer on his darkened lips. “So punctual,” He mused, a chuckle leaving his mouth as he watched Mikami close his briefcase, place it in the exact location from where he had retrieved it, and move across the room, where he kept a meticulously placed oak desk directly in the left-hand corner.

Filled with adrenaline, Mikami took a moment to bow over the book, kissing it reverently before he took his seat at the altar. “Shinigami Ryukku,” He addressed the creature before opening the book. “Tell me: can Kami see me in this moment?”

Ryuk tilted his head slightly, amused that Mikami had yet to understand that Light was not Kami, but merely another human with grand ideas who had come into possession of the Death Note. Deciding it would most likely be more entertaining to allow the fool to think Light was indeed Kami, he shrugged his shoulders, looking away from the dark-haired man. “Dunno.”

Turning his eyes upon the notebook, Mikami nodded with understanding, knowing that the Shinigami would not divulge anything Kami did not wish for him to know. With his right hand, he reached over and opened the smallest drawer in the desk, retrieving the single pen he kept inside, along with three pages of names that he knew Kami would have him write. The top page had one-third of the names with a strike through each letter; a reminder that he had already entered them into his bible.

He inhaled and raised his arm, ready to open the Death Note with his left hand and begin writing with his right. Already he could feel the thrill of knowing that he was taking actions to please Kami, that Kami would somehow know Mikami had completed his fifty names for the night and perhaps…perhaps he would have a kind thought in his servant’s honor. The idea alone was enough to make his skin tingle with anticipation, his eyes become wide, his fingers tighten around the pen.

Bowing his head once more, he murmured a prayer under his breath. “Kami, forgive my past sins and allow me to atone by doing your will.” He opened his eyes and glanced at the open book before him; a testament of his work, his will, his devotion. Inhaling one last time, he swiped his hand over the page, smearing the first name of the fifty onto the white sheet.

“Sakujo!”


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