In the case of Satoru Ryosuke, his past isn't as black and white as compared to his blonde comrade's. The Satoru clan was one of the remaining ones who appraised the traditional samurai culture Japan was infamous for, and because of this, those at the top, the family members, who ran this group, were rich.
They specialized in secure operations to keep officials safe, those who'd be hounded by the press, who had shady ties to the underworld. In short, they were devils walking around blindly without anyone noticing those angelic faces they wore were simply painted on. However, this was not exclusive to the Satoru clan's clients, unfortunately. A woman chosen for breeding had given birth to a child, but for them, there was "everything wrong" with it. His skin tone was brown, and his eyes were that same color, yet he was healthy. His mother coddled him in his arms while the Founder looked on in shame... his shadow cast over the youthful woman, innocently caring for her child.
Inside his eyes, swirling without a lifeful light roaring ablaze embedded into the center, the woman feared for her being with wide eyes, sweat pouring down her face bursting out her pores,
"{What is this wretched thing?}" He hatefully inquired in Japanese, "{You dare bring this curse into our family? Disgrace my son, your husband? Women are made for one purpose and one purpose alone. And if they can't do that, there's no point in their existence},"
The next moment, a whistle immediately spilled out his mouth, and those family members had decided to flee. Haori dragged behind their feet, the youngest man with split hair down the middle closed the doors on this room. Her screams were loud, bursting with volume to the point of the residents' ears ringing, but neither of them moved from their postures. Enslaved women continued to cook in the kitchen with tears in their eyes, others dragging brooms along the floor to clean the infection. Her skin yielded to the cold steel of an honorable weapon wielded by a devil incarnate, drenched in blood with that blade in hand desecrated by a loving mother's innards, he walked right out. Katana in left, the baby in his right arm, cooing gently... without even a cry, though his mother had screamed, this infant stood silent. Why was this?
"Ever since I was a young boy, I've been subject to prejudice,"
Walking around that palace that pierced the clear blue skies, balls of paper indented his cheeks, laughter of children seen nearby before vanishing behind a corner. With a kind smile over her lips, that woman guiding them with swats over their backs had turned back to him and couldn't even bear to keep it up any longer. All she could do was spit on the ground and vanish with the kids. Then again, this was boring, wasn't it? Would you like to see something truly horrible? Despicable?
As we know, there are a numerous plethora of diseases that exist to solely affect the human body, capable of taking their lives with ease. Some of these include viruses, such as the Black Death, responsible for annihilating a quarter or so of Europe's population way back in the 13th century. Those victims likely suffered until their deaths, but it was random, no one was specifically targeted for any personal reason. No one hates anyone for the Plague, so while those lives were lost, that was it. They were the lucky ones.
In the end, humans are their own worst enemies, and so, with a wad of cash exchanged among families, the deal was cut. That Father, the Head of the Clan, wore a black robe with red stripes leading up to the shoulders vanishing around the cut exposing chest hair. His hair was lengthy, split down the middle and leading down to his waist, with a thick beard over his chin. He was a normal Japanese man, by all extents and purposes, he was a 'good person', right? After all, not just anyone would make a security organization if they didn't have direct intentions of helping people. But... what is a 'good person'?
As Ryosuke Satoru was pinned to the floor with hazy vision prohibiting true processing power, violated without reason, he thought of this question. A 'good person.' Inherently, what makes a person 'good?' Every day, those kids would get smiles and wonderful greetings as if they were God's children, he knew nothing like this happened to them. Was that because they were 'good'? What made them worthy of that praise, and what him worthy of this agony? What makes a 'bad' person? Why did it have to be him? Why did he ever do wrong to be hated by so many people, for no reason at all, all he did was be born into this world, and even then, people couldn't even look him in the eye.
But it didn't matter anymore. They were done before he could even register what happened, and the doors were shut behind, as he laid there in his sweat with tears leaking out his eyes, he couldn't hold it in. Maniacal laughter shot out a wide mouth with teeth as red as the color of his blood, eyes bloodshot yet pouring out tears near the edges, Ryosuke cackled sorrowfully to the gods above. What did he do to deserve such a punishment... was he truly so insignificant in this world that this was his gift for playing along so much? Then again, what more could he do? All he was, at this point, was a young boy, naked in his chambers with nothing more to do but sob. That was all he could do. Hold his legs and cry into his arms; for being so powerless.
The next day, a wooden sword was taken up and donning a haori, Ryosuke faced the sensei in the dojo. His robe was special, it was gold and black, with engravings of tigers seen over the leggings, his form was excellent. Stance as hard as a rock, eyes apathetic as drool leaked out his bottom lip, he gazed without motion to the distance in front. Why was he like this? After all, it was a sparring lesson, so why did he seem so focused on accomplishing a lofty goal that seemed to matter not? The teacher and the master dashed ahead, but only one came out on top, and as Ryosuke stood upright, two cracks burst out the instructor's knees. Bending inward so he could fall flat on his face, those pleas for mercy were unheard as that hair shape flashed back a memory that deserved to burn.
The same hair that moved happily from behind him, overpowering him with those arms locked down in place, the steel from the katana shone in the sunlight as those rays peered in through the window to his right. The screams were music, he could listen to them for hours, and as he slashed right at his feet so those toes could slice apart, it appeared. A phenomenon that should only occur to those who have suffered through hell ensuring that those who experience nothing but pain. As he cut away at the violator's toes and cut apart his feet without mercy, the tears in his eyes streamed down his cheeks rapidly to paint the puddle in tiny liquid spots, all while a maddening-wide grin painted his lips like never before. In the end, nothing mattered, as his hands stood drenched in that demon's blood, he analyzed the blade, ridden with crimson liquid, soaked in another's insides. Flicking bits of the brain off and wiping it away with the sleeve custom made by himself, there it was, a reflection he'd grown to hate just because other people did. But that was over now.
This was the dawn of a new beginning, one he could never escape or restart, and so, as he cleaned the blade, he could only think of that first image ingrained into his brain. The same way a kernel stuck between teeth, he could never escape her beautiful face, that of his mother's, gruesomely slaughtered that day only 15 years ago. The only words he could say right now were to her spirit as he sadistically smirked,
"{Mom... let's get started.}"
"The next thing I remember was those flashing lights. Azure blue. Scarlet red. My eyes were as bloody as my heart, yet it roared with the rage of a thousand suns, I remained unchanging as I walked out of that building. Their innards painted my outfit, one I'd made myself, another thing they'd ruined, but it didn't matter. Their guns were aimed directly at me as they stood locked behind their cars, they could've killed me at any time, I was at a range disadvantage. But they didn't, instead, their faces stood paralyzed with fear, as if they didn't see me as human anymore,"
The only thing that existed there was hatred, in its purest form as it emanated off his being, neither of the officers bothered to switch off their safeties. His smile was crooked, impossible, one you'd believe a demon would wield; despite the malicious intentions of that cadence, there was one thing neither of the group parked there could mistake this look for. Even while his hair leaked with droplets of blood, while cuts inflicted by those who abused him stung his person to the core, he smiled through it all. For the first time in his life, at this moment, as he willingly got on his knees, put his hands behind his head, there was nothing but that sensation.
Pure, maddening, unexplainable ecstasy. There was no hollow feeling, instead, as the cuffs locked over his wrists, he giggled to the police station.
Now, the present Ryosuke peering into memories of the past had no sense of regret or anxiety over his face, instead, with Cthulhu appearing out the black void to his left, his eyes shut,
"Ryosuke Satoru... why did you kill your family?" Asked the omnipotent Older One to the murdering Samurai,
"Because they weren't human, neither did they deserve to be called human. The closest thing they could be called is monsters and I ended their lives," Admitted Ryosuke to the entity stalking him, encircling his dormant spirit with the flap of a few mossy wings,
"Do you think it was 'right' for you to kill them?" Cthulhu once again questioned, to which Ryosuke peeked out one eye,
"I do," Satoru answered without remorse audible in his tone,
"After you were brought to a Japanese public police station, the one who questioned you wasn't someone from their law enforcement, it was an American FBI agent seeking recruitment for a new assassin task force. Including the ranks of this squad were Kosuke, Karlo, and Snow. Among you three, you laid waste to hundreds of thousands of innocent lives for America. If your family members were 'righteous' killings, then what does that make the rest of your victims. Or, in other words, if you were content with just slaughtering your family who abused you, why did you accept their offer?"
But this question was one he felt away from as if the answer was seemingly locked behind a gate, all the while Ryosuke turned his head upright to spot the blinding light above the darkness surrounding them. His brain flickered on for them to appear yet again before his eyes, katanas dug into people's backs, limbs laying onto the floor, all the while he stared at his hands, dirtied with their blood,
"I wasn't content with just killing them. If other people existed like them in this world, then, for sure, they'd have to die. That's justice," Ryosuke's voice was toned with a calming rasp near the edge admiring the blue sky just through the whitened barrier above his head,
"You're lying to yourself. Allow me to tell you again if you don't be true with yourself, then you'd just be stuck here forever and your comrades will die. Let me ask a second time. Ryosuke Satoru, the disgraced outsider excommunicated from the Satoru clan; why did you kill your family and everyone else afterward?"
What was the point of lying? It all reflected in his eyes, the truth, but what would happen if he did so? What laid beyond this encounter that was so important that he couldn't fail? Then again, no one was all-knowing, not even Callum. Was this for himself or him? His head turned to Cthulhu's maddening abomination of a face; yellow eyes gleaming with insanity-inducing shockwaves.
Once again, the lips' edges sharpened to that of knives, a sting spreading outward on his face… he couldn't hold it back. No one was guilty, humanity was a kingdom of predators controlled by disgusting excuses of rulers they care not for their subjects, and only for the power they control. Those who stood by and allowed for the Elite to take control were just as guilty, just like Callum said, but from that wretched cadence infecting his lips, it was visible. Nothing was said and yet the silence spoke a thousand words. In this world, for Ryosuke Satoru, right and wrong never mattered,
"Because I wanted to… and I enjoyed it so I never stopped. That is my justice. Heh, a better way to describe it is… a guilty pleasure," Ryosuke whispered menacingly to which Cthulhu couldn't help but let out a booming chuckle.
A chortle like that is the Devil's, forever echoing into an endless space where everything around was nothing but darkness. The Great Old One had vanished soon after, with Satoru uncrossing his legs, his soles touched against the void… and he cracked his arms. Each new step further closing the distance as he made his way out through the spreading-apart door. There were no words that could state the truth, not of how he was feeling, not exactly, of course.
As he woke up from his slumber beside both his blonde comrade and his snowy rival, his feet were already out the door, and he stood between the brink of light, moments away from descending into further darkness that would fully envelop his soul. Something roared with the rage of a hundred thousand demons, but that look in his eyes was the same as it was those years ago… hate. Building up continuously without ever stopping, that hate needed to be pushed out, the same way we expend our energy with working out our muscles and body; keeping in too much was harmful.
Ryosuke needed his fill to be expended, and so, as he reached the roof of the Tower, he stared up at the night sky to his hair. Nothing was happening, the clouds as grey as ever, the stats visible now, more than ever, and yet that intensity had remained at his center. The fabric of the world had started to alter with a fissure in reality.
A dream that was only thought of in the adolescent mind of a sleeper, but soon, that dream would engulf the entirety of 'reason.' A dream from which no one would wake.
And as the Founder stood at the top of that building with wind flowing through his strands of snow, his dream… would overtake this reality. Piece by piece.
To Be Continued.