Chapter 3: Homecoming
A/N: Chapters will be realeased on Sundays.
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"Red Child."
Although the name was peculiar, as he expected the normal regeneration, immortality, undying, etc, but he liked the change in theme.
Nodding to himself, the doctor finished writing before exiting the room, leaving Ken to his thoughts.
'Let's just sleep; even if things truly are as I dread, only time will tell.'
…
Walking up in front of his shitty house, Ken sighed as he braced himself for what would come after opening the door.
He really didn't want to; his senses were perturbing him, but the taxi the doctor called for him was watching.
'Good people still exist, huh?'
He took a glance at the rundown state of the complex again and said, 'I just hope, for his sake, that Lady Karma really is real.'
A small part of him shuddered at that thought, vehemently opposing what Ken wanted: What would happen to him should that be true?
Still, as the thought was too primitive and too insignificant to be acknowledged, Ken continued on with his previous actions.
Inwardly thankful to the doctor, he opened the door, the flimsy handle with a broken lock providing no resistance.
Once inside, he investigated the surroundings, finding an increase in the number of countless beer bottles and clothes scattered all the way to the bedroom.
'Shit'
Quickly and quietly shutting the creaking door, Ken ran into the bathroom, still remaining light on his toes, and slowly opening and shutting that door.
Once inside, Ken then sat on the toilet with the seat still up.
He heard a conversation flow immediately after he sat down, with a woman he didn't know asking who that was, not believing his father's flimsy answer of no one.
She asked a few more times, with his father giving a different, flimsy response every time, so seemingly fed up, she stormed out.
Bang
The loud smack of the door and the creek that followed made Ken think the rare silence wouldn't last much longer.
"BRAT!"
That was his cue.
Not believing for a second that this place would hide him any longer, Ken opened the door with a squeak.
Quickly shuffling out, barely missing the unexpected speed the door shut, if he didn't move, his entire forearm would suffer an injury, being squished between the doors, and that could land him back in the hospital.
Ken was glad he missed another visit, but his father didn't seem too pleased with Ken's perfectly OK state.
Ken, trying to defuse the situation with small talk, began, "She seemed nice."
He gestured towards the black pants near the door; 'she'must've forgotten' he presumed.
His father looked at them before saying, "Those were from yesterday; someone left them behind."
'Good, he's talking; a little more of this and we could end the night unscathed.' He was thinking that his father had walked up to him.
'What does he wan-'
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp kick to the shoulder, making him crash into an all-too-familiar wall and create another identical child-sized hole.
"THESE PAST FEW DAY'S WERE THE BEST IN A WHILE, FORGETTING YOU EVEN EXIST, FUCKING FREELY NOT WORRYING ABOUT SOME DAMN'D SNOT NOSED BRAT TO INTERRUPT."
'This Man-Child!'
Ken rolled to his side preemptively, ignoring the pain from his liver and dodging an axe-kick that aimed for his head.
'HE TRYING TO KILL ME?!!!'
"ALL THIS CAME FROM YOU GETTING SICK CAUSE YOU 'Awakened Your Quirk'. YOUR LUCKY, THE GOVERNMENT PAID FOR THE DAMAGES CAUSE I WASN'T GONNA. YOU CAUSE A HASSLE FOR A QUIRK THAT ISN'T EVEN POWERFUL!"
'Not that you even know what it is.'
Ken, now on his feet, once again jumped back, missing a straight-forward punch that brought a powerful gust of wind following it.
His father possessed strength atypical of a fat adult.
"FUCKING USELESS AGAIN-"
This time Ken landed with his back to the table, his right to the bathroom, and his left to the window that was covered over with wood planks.
His father was right in front of the door to the left, next to the empty coat rack that Ken suspects has never been used by anyone.
His useless father grabbed some weight plates that normally collect dust in the corner. Ken had tried to pick it up once, but the result was total failure. That was to be expected, however, as they weighed more than 80 kg.
Despite that fact, the fat man wieldedthem as iif they werepillows and chucked them at Ken's small bbody,which would no doubt be severely injured under the pressure.
"I SWEAR YOU SHOULD JUST DIE! FROM YOUR BIRTH YOU-"
His words were stopped by the sight in front of him.
Ken, with his shirt broken out through his back, had blood soiled his clothes. not that he could care, as he currently has two tentacles, one on each side, that grabbed the weight.
The tentacles both fit through the small hole in the circular weights, fitting them on like a pole.
Both tentacles pulled in the opposite direction and split the weights apart.
The frightening part, though, was the demon-like look his son adopted.
Back Slcra, and a red pupil glowing ominously in his right pupil. Ken narrowed his eyes as his eyesight had improved tremendously.
He could see the individual contractions of his father's muscles, allowing him to know that his father was scared, his tense legs telling on him.
'Should I kill him? I've become a little parched lately.'
That thought lingered far longer than his normal spit-second murderous thoughts.
Ken was actually considering it, but what shocked him was that the more he thought about it the more he seemed to agree with the idea.
'AM I CRAZY! I can't seriously be thinking about killing!'
Even though he was on the streets in his past life and he'd heard about killings, some of which he even participated in by giving information like the time and place someone would be killed, Ken never killed himself.
As he thought he was going crazy having such thoughts, a voice invaded his mind, causing Ken to question if some telepath was near.
Oddly enough, the voice sounded so similar to his own.
'Aww Why? You know you want, besides, what has this trash done to deserve your compassion?
The voice in his head fell silent at that, as if letting Ken have a moment to think.
'It's not that he doesn't deserve it; believe me, I want to murder him the most; it's just... Things would become troublesome if he died now.'
Ken himself barely believed that horribly created lie, but he hoped he could fool whatever or whoever he was talking to.
Besides, when I was thinking about it, some truth was there. If his father died, he'd be sent to an orphanage, where life may become even more troublesome.
But the main reason was indescribable. Ken didn't know, but something inside him just hated the idea of killing that man, even though his rage-filled mind was still very open to the idea.
Silence ensued as Ken thought about whether his crappy lie was seen. But eventually, no voice was heard in rebuttal.
Ken's little conversation, though, seemed to take a good amount of time as his father was creeped out enough and gained the ability to properly think again.
The monster, whom he identified as his son, was just standing there menacingly.
The tentacles were colored blood red and swayed, waiting for him to move.
His expression shifted from warryness–to questioning–to anger, the assortment of emotions and the inexplicableness of it all freaking him out even more.
"Y-You!" A shaking finger brought Ken back to reality.
Tch
"F-Forget it; do this again, and I'll be sending you back there personally."
He scurried off into his room hastily, shutting the door, though his cracking voice gave away his nervousness.
'Did I...scare him?'
He looked at his Kagune swaying at his side.
'I admit it was a little creepy, but to scare him so much that his legs were shaking and his voice cracked.'
Ken was surprised, but after thinking about it, he realized it wasn't unexpected.
'He's always had a policy of fearing the strong and bullying the weak.'
Deciding not to think about it anymore, he walked over to his "bed," preparing to grab the painkiller medicine before he frowned.
The pain had disappeared as if it were an illusion, but the dent proved it wasn't.
'This quirk is more useful than I thought. These tenteachles should be a result of that organ inside of me that Doc was talking about. Speaking of quirks, was whatever that was earlier what I presume to be that?'
Shaking his head, Ken denied it: 'No way that is a piece of fiction...rather than that, am I developing Stockholm syndrome?'
Ken didn't just deny it because of how troublesome things would be if his father were to die; his rage was enough to even sound reasonable.
There was something inexplicable; he didn't know, but that small attachment made him not want to kill his father at that moment.
Having more questions than answers, Ken laid down and shut his eyes, wanting to get some rest after that previous ordeal.
'HeHeHe.'
Something somewhere was laughing at his situation.
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