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Twilight is always the best time to strike. A time when the sun casts purple shadows like bruises across the battered pier. Painting it in the quiet lull of an unwinding day, yet another weary Summer evening. A late hour, but still alight. Tourists filtering back to their cars, back towards the trains that had carried them here.
At an hour this late, people grow tired. Their defenses come down. The air, heavy and hot, had worn away at their minds, all day long. Turning them weaker. Easier for Enmu to influence. And it was always the lazy ones, the careless ones, that loitered long after the timely guests had left for the day.
From the shaded vantage point of a narrow alley, he spots the perfect target. A carefree group of girls, one man towering among them– a muscular guy, intimidating. Nobody in their right mind would challenge a guy like that to a fight. But Enmu’s never in his right mind. He’s always in his wrong mind, his risk-taking impulsive mind. It was what allowed such a boring life to come alive, the reason he could glean some excitement from such a droning, predictable existence.
The physical stature of his targets did not make a difference to him. It’s their mental defenses that are the main obstacle. Selecting a target is always a gamble, because it’s difficult to gauge a person’s mental strength from a safe distance. But this particular group had no doubt spent the day unwinding, letting their guards down. All four of them are sporting over-baked tans. And wide, loose smiles. Which suggests a lack of vigilance. An opening.
The prize? The matching wedding bands they all wear. Each band is paired with a stupidly ostentatious engagement ring. These people are practically begging to be robbed. And Enmu had waited all day long, for the perfect victims to waltz along.
He can feel his pulse leaping erratically, as they approach. Closer and closer, they’re still completely unaware. The tingle of pent-up power begins to pool in Enmu’s fingertips. His mouth floods with saliva, as he anticipates making use of all the energy that had been gathering beneath his skin over the hours. And four people certainly make for an exciting challenge. He hardly ever pushes his luck, trying to hypnotize so many people at once. But today he feels particularly lucky. Particularly amped.
He steps out of the shadows and into their line of sight, putting on a polite, customer service smile. Waving to them as they approach. He can see their ongoing conversation shift as he catches their notice. As he stands there in his carny uniform, wielding his minimum wage authority.
“Hello there!” Enmu smiles jovially.
“Ah, a worker! See, Makio? I told you the pier was closing soon!” one girl turns to another accusatorially. They all come to a stop in front of Enmu. He smiles even wider, eyeing the heavy watch that hangs around the man’s thick wrist.
“You have ten minutes before we close for the day,” he informs them.
“Have you seen a pair of designer sunglasses anywhere? My wife lost them in this area a few hours ago,” the man inquires. Up close, his physique is even more intimidating. Enmu feels his stomach flip with thrill.
“Your glasses? Why, they’re hanging from the front of your shirt!” he titters. “How could you not notice?”
The man’s eyes flick down, landing on nothing. No sunglasses. His mouth slants into a frown, fuchsia eyes going dark with annoyance.
“Hah, I got you to look!” Enmu chuckles. “You must be tired, to fall for such an easy trick.”
“This guy is so irritating,” one of the ladies mutters to the others, not so quietly. Perhaps she wasn’t trying very hard to be subtle about it. Her gaze flickers with impatience too. All of them look like they want him gone.
“You four should head home. Rest ,” Enmu suggests. “It’s no fun hanging around here after hours.”
“We can’t leave… Those sunglasses were expensive,” the smallest woman whines. “Tengen-sama, ask this guy to let us keep looking.” She gives the man a pointed, blue-eyed stare, a silent suggestion that needs no further translation. The man– Tengen– understands what she means. He whips out a wallet, riffling through its folds, pulling out a messy wad of cash. Offering the entire handful to Enmu.
It’s tempting, but Enmu is here to play the long game. The jewelry they’re all wearing is worth far more than the money.
“I’m sorry, but it’s against the rules to allow guests to stay past closing time,” Enmu sighs, voice laced with inauthentic apology. He leans forward, making direct eye contact with one of the girls. “And why would you want to stick around? Aren’t you feeling a little drowsy ?”
She blinks back at him, her lilac stare going empty. Wavering in and out of awareness. Her shoulders slump, a confused look passing over her features. Like she cannot remember where she is. Or even who she is.
“You three,” Enmu turns to the others. “Don’t you want to go home? Don’t you want to go to sleep? ”
The other two girls take on that same blank look. And Enmu would’ve considered these particular people to be an easy win. If not for the man among them. Who seems completely immune to the spell. Strong willed. A fighter.
“Sir, aren’t you exhausted ? Dragging yourself around in the sun all day long?” Enmu leers, stepping closer. Staring up to make eye contact, as intently as he is capable of.
“Why are you talking like that?” Tengen says, his voice measured and even. Eyes narrowing.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Like you’re offering a riddle,” Tengen scoffs. He steps forward, matching Enmu’s stance, except he’s doubly intimidating, towering in height. Blotting out the sun with his own body.
“ Sleep, ” Enmu commands. He sees Tengen’s consciousness flutter. And he’s surprised the guy hasn’t collapsed completely. Such a direct instruction would cause most people to keel over instantly.
All the while, the three girls remain silent, dead-eyed and rigid, staring straight ahead. Tengen seems to notice this, his expression clouding over with concern as he touches the blue-eyed girl’s arm.
What a fool. He had been so steadfast, until emotion distracted him. Leaving his mental faculties wide open and vulnerable.
“Sir, ” Enmu pipes up, and Tengen’s eyes fly back to meet his own. “ Sleep ,” Enmu commands. And this time, it works. Tengen’s eyes turn vacant. His expression goes slack.
Enmu flits around the four of them, his body buzzing with joy as he slips their wedding rings off one by one. It’s quite the bounty; these rings sport the thickest, most brilliant stones he has ever seen. And it doesn’t end there. Two of the girls are wearing dainty necklaces with silvery charms. Enmu removes these deftly, meeting zero resistance.The girls remain dissociative. Mentally detached, their minds floating off somewhere far away, while he makes easy work of them.
He moves in to remove Tengen’s watch, having saved the best for last. It’s a heavy, gorgeous piece. He pauses to hold it up to the muted evening light, admiring the classy inlaid stones as they glimmer.
Perhaps he had lost track of time, too deep in love with his latest treasures– because suddenly, there are thick fingers cinching tightly around his throat.
“Drop the watch, now,” Tengen commands, squeezing. Enmu releases a choked, giddy noise, eyes flashing with a delight that does not match the situation. Tengen squeezes tighter, until dark sparks begin to creep into the corners of Enmu’s vision.
“ S-Sleeppp ,” Enmu wheezes. Tengen’s grip loosens, just slightly. Enough for Enmu to suck in a thin lungful of air.
Powered by the quick rush of oxygen, he kicks with all his might, the heel of his shoe driving mercilessly into Tengen’s groin. All at once, he is released.
He cannot help stopping to take in the sight of this stranger doubled over in stunned distress. Such a handsome face, twisted in agony. Enmu laughs, gleeful and goading. Tengen immediately shakes off the pain, his face stealing over with complete and utter fury.
That’s Enmu’s cue to flee. He dashes off as fast as his legs can carry him, laughing breathlessly. Heart soaring with the excitement of it all, a classic game of cat and mouse! So fun , so plainly fun, the most entertaining thing to happen to him in a long, long while.
Getting away with easy thievery had been growing boring anyways. It’s exhilarating, to be caught in a chase. He can hear Tengen gaining on him, getting closer, raising the stakes.
Adrenaline carries Enmu all the way to the end of the pier. And suddenly he’s faced with a brand new thrill. The despair of having nowhere to turn. Until his eyes land on a nondescript tent, a ramshackle establishment that he’d never notice, if not for his newfound desperation. It’s as if the hiding place had appeared out of nowhere. Serendipity.
He slips inside, pulling the heavy flaps of the tent closed behind him. Watching through the parted seams as Tengen races on past.
Enmu grins as he catches his breath, dipping a hand into his breast pocket to survey his haul. Eight gaudy rings, four of them wedding bands. A watch and two necklaces. The nicest spoils he’s acquired in the past six months, maybe even the past year.
Although the watch is by far the most expensive item, he’s most excited over the rings. He has a special soft spot for the wedding rings he collects. Their sentimentality, their meaning, it turns them priceless. It laces them with an energy that feeds his abilities. With every stolen symbol of love and promise, he can feel himself growing just a little stronger.
He’ll pawn the other stuff, but the rings… He digs through his pocket, hand closing around the chain of his beloved pocket watch. He pulls it out, unspooling its chain. All the rings he’s woven over the chain clack against one another. It’s the most satisfying sound he’s ever heard. Utter music, pure melody. Each one of these rings burns slightly to the touch, in the very best way. Their power never dies. No matter how much he siphons at it, they keep feeding him like the good little pets they are.
He slips these new rings onto the chain, adding them to his precious collection. Knowing with deep, assured certainty, that the next time he commands somebody to sleep, these new rings will serve to amplify the effect. Bringing him one step closer to the otherworldly status he craves, and one step further away from the ugly mundanity of his human existence.
The pocket watch was the first thing had ever stolen, and he doesn’t let himself forget it. It’s the centerpiece to every single one of his escapades, the common thread that anchors his ability, that allows him to harness a power he always knew he had, but could never make use of. Not until impulse had overtaken him, on that fateful morning long ago. He hadn’t commanded his very first victim to sleep at all. He had simply pickpocketed the guy. The risk had been so titillating. Nothing had come close to it, since then.
He admires the watch’s face in the dim lighting, trying to puzzle out the meaning behind the abstract symbols around its circumference. Strange characters in place of the usual numbers. He can feel himself coming down from the rush, the high of the chase.
He pockets the watch, taking a proper look around. Belatedly noticing the unusually chilly air that fills this space. The cold darkness of this tent. There’s a cloying scent of incense wrapping itself around his senses, but he can’t identify any particular scent. Lazy swirls of indigo smoke curl around his ankles. The smoke seems to be doing slow, self-contained rotations over the carpeted ground.
Enmu swallows thickly, as a pleasant dizziness blankets itself over his mind. What is this place? He thought he knew the pier and all of its shoddy establishments like the back of his hand… but this odd, self contained, dreamy little space is brand new to him.
“Remove your shoes, please,” the echo of a voice instructs. The sound of it snakes out from the obscured, foggy depths of the tent.
Enmu slips off his sandals, immediately compelled to obey. Then he steps into the embrace of the dense fog. Walking forward aimlessly, like an invisible rope is tied around his waist, tethering him closer to the source of that voice. He’s surprised to find that this tent must be far deeper than it looked from the outside. There are thick, gnarled candles peppering the ground around him, framing a clear path. Their flames burst to life as he passes by them, almost like motion-sensitive electric lights. And as he continues, the scent of incense only grows headier. By the time he comes to a stop in front of a beaded curtain, his mind is swimming shallowly, all of his thoughts slipping into something comfortable… and blindly trusting.
He parts the beaded curtains carefully, and finally he enters a space that is properly lit. It’s a tight, intimate hovel, the ceiling comprised of low, draped silks. He has to duck to keep his head from brushing against them.
“Welcome to my temple. I am Douma,” says the man in the center of the room. He wears a genteel smile, beckoning Enmu over. “Come, have a seat.”
Enmu sits before him, perching himself on one of the many plush cushions scattered over the ground.
“I typically don’t do readings after hours,” Douma says. His voice has such a… sedative cadence to it. Enmu takes a solid minute to process the words.
“I’m just here to hide out,” he informs, his speech dreamy as his eyes zero in on the many, many rings that adorn Douma’s fingers. The calm gesticulation, the waving of Douma’s hands as he speaks words that Enmu cannot even hear. All he can do is salivate over those rings. The jewels in them are massive. Pricey garnets, beautifully cut sapphires, brilliant turquoise inlay.
“I’m sorry, but if you’re not a paying customer, you must leave,” Douma smiles.
“ Sleep ,” Enmu breathes the command, eyes still fixed on those gorgeous rings. But the order does nothing. If anything, it feels as if the spell has bounced back, somehow. It’s a boomerang effect that washes over Enmu’s body, leaving him dizzy and tired. Is this how his victims typically feel?
“That won’t work on me,” Douma chuckles. And Enmu finally bothers to look him in the eye. He’s taken aback by the striking spectrum of color in each iris. Douma wears an unnatural and calculating, facetiously warm gaze. Technicolor apathy, in those eyes. It’s arresting, nauseatingly intense.
“ S-Sleep ,” Enmu tries again. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, too heavy to wield. And his body is crawling with uncomfortable warmth. That strange indigo smoke seems to be worming its way into the cavities of his brain, turning him guileless. Suggestible.
“Sorry, but you’re not going to be robbing me for the second time,” Douma says darkly.
All at once, the candles that light up the space go out. The only thing that remains bright are Douma’s eyes. With a flourish of his fingers, he magics up a huge crystal ball, seemingly out of thin air. It begins glowing softly, brighter and brighter, until the space is lit up once more. Its light is white, gently clinical, like an old boxy television screen. It grows in size between Douma’s palms, becoming weighty and solid, flickering with violet. Tiny shocks of miniature lightning.
The power that emanates from this thing… the energy is intensely familiar to Enmu. It’s a much more powerful version of the energy that he feels from his pocket watch.
“I can give you a reading, and you can pay me. Or I can toss you back out into the daylight, where that man you stole from will surely make quick work of you,” Douma laughs.
“I don’t have any form of payment…” Enmu says slowly, his focus captured only by the crystal ball in Douma’s grasp.
“What an insolent risk to take, lying right to my face,” Douma tuts. “You really are a disrespectful one. And to think I allowed you to walk off with my pocket watch, all those months ago!”
Suddenly, the pocket watch in question turns blazingly hot, in Enmu’s pocket. He gasps, feeling the shocking sear of its energy melting through his skin, spreading. Turning him hot all over. He doubles forward, all the breath leaving him, as if a swift punch had been delivered straight to his gut. He clutches at his own waist, the sound of Douma’s amused laughter ringing around him distantly.
“You got so excited, so careless, with the scrap of power I granted you! It was fun to watch, from afar. Most of the ongoings around here are so dull ,” Douma sighs, dropping the crystal ball into his own lap. He caresses the glass, lovingly gazing through its milky, clouded surface. “But I’m growing bored with you, Enmu. You’re nothing but a lowly carnival employee. And my shred of benevolence gave you a god complex so quickly!”
Enmu makes a choked noise, a shaky, sardonic smile rising on his face. He looks up, and Douma can see that Enmu’s nicest feature– his nearly neon-blue eyes– have turned delirious.
“I’d like a reading,” Enmu requests, licking his lips. “Tell me my fortune. Tell me what I can do to be less boring,” he pleads, a debauched flush rising in his cheeks.
“Hmm… payment first,” Douma holds out an open palm, eyes patient. Enmu reaches into his pocket, pulling out his collection of stolen rings, biting back a gasp at the way it feels to touch the metal directly. Through his clothing, it had tingled, but touching it with his bare fingers almost hurts.
With shaking hands, he parses through the rings one by one, trying to decide which one he’d be least upset to part with. But all of them are special to him, each one a lovely flash of meaning. There’s no true metric to decide with, so he selects one at random, finding it hard to focus on choosing one at all. He can hardly focus on anything. The ache of touching them is dizzying. He slips the ring off of the chain, dropping it into Douma’s waiting hand.
Enmu watches him survey the offering with bated breath. After a moment, it seems Douma has decided the payment to be satisfactory. A split-second spark of violet light blooms in his palm, and when it ebbs away, Enmu can see that the ring has devolved into a small puddle of melted silver. It sinks into Douma’s skin, disappearing entirely.
“You’re the type to indulge in cheap thrills,” Douma murmurs, his fingernails scraping over the glass of the crystal ball. The motion is akin to the way someone might pet a lap dog. “I didn’t have to use any real insight to know that, though. You have mundanity written all over your face. It’s woven into your clothes. It’s coming off of your skin. You reek of it.”
He looks up, vivid eyes flashing as he takes in Enmu’s dazed expression.
“Are you listening, Enmu? You’re a nobody. The best you can hope for is to dedicate yourself to the service of someone like me. I am a god among men, a deity. This space you have wandered into, my shrine, is a place that exists outside of time. Once you leave here, you will go back to being your lonely, pathetic self. And then what? ” Douma raises an eyebrow. “What will you do, when you no longer have the power I have so graciously given you? Because you know I’ll never allow you to leave here with that pocket watch. That talisman is for those who prove themselves worthy.”
The crystal ball turns clear in Douma’s hands. Its hazy surface morphs, and through it, Enmu can see a softly churning image begin to form. He recognizes the teeny effigy of himself, a dark haired, light-eyed miniature figure. A scene begins to take shape, self-contained in the glass. The tiny Enmu strides along the pier, all the way to the end. Pausing, leaning precariously over the edge.
“I see you falling into the deepest despair. I see you throwing yourself into the sea like the coward you are,” Douma smiles.
Enmu watches the little scene change. It darkens, the sloshing, stylistic ocean beneath the pier goes black, crawling up. The miniature version of himself leaps, and at the same time, the ocean reaches to swallow him. To devour him whole.
“You have a weak will. You’ll never survive the transition back to normalcy. It’ll eat your pathetic mind alive.” Douma leans in close, surveying the entranced look in Enmu’s eyes.
“Your reading is over. If you want further insight, I’ll require some more payment,” he informs, taking an errant lock of Enmu’s hair between his fingers, tucking it back in place.
Before Douma can draw his hand back, Enmu grabs at his wrist with both hands, locking tight, his gaze going frantic.
“Please, Douma-san! Tell me what I can do! You can’t stop there!” he begs.
Douma rips himself out of Enmu’s grasp.
“Such disrespect!” he frowns, drawing his hand all the way back. He slaps Enmu across the face so violently that the man falls aside, catching himself against the ground with a startled yelp.
Enmu breathes heavy, eyes pooling with tears. His gaze is shocked and downcast.
“You will address me as Lord,” Douma tells him. “Master is also fine. Though that’s usually reserved for my shrine maidens.”
“ Let me become one ,” Enmu begs, voice thin and wobbly.
“Become what? My shrine maiden?” Douma’s eyes dance with hilarity as Enmu looks up at him once more. “You think you’re worthy of serving me?”
“No, I’m not!” Enmu says at once. “But I can be!” he insists. He can feel the warm trickle of blood running down his cheek, where Douma’s nails had scraped across his skin. That slap had been more of a slash.
“Well…” Douma reaches out, brushing a light touch over Enmu’s injury. He brings his fingertips to his mouth, tasting the gathered blood. Deciding. “I suppose your willingness gives you the barest potential to serve me,” he muses. “Are you willing to pleasure me whenever I see fit?”
“Yes!” Enmu answers at once. Crawling forward again. Then he thinks better of it, sitting back submissively. The idea to prostrate himself seems like a good one. He lowers himself into a trembling bow, pressing his forehead into the woven carpet.
“Your lack of self worth is marvelous,” Douma says lowly. He laces a hand into the back of Enmu’s hair, shoving the man’s face into the floor, giving him a tease of rug burn. Then he yanks Enmu up, peering into his desperate eyes. Surveying his face. “Your mouth is nicely shaped... Might be good enough. Let’s test it,” he smiles. Enmu nods, his face going warm. He crawls closer, eager to prove himself.
He nuzzles his cheek against the front of Douma’s billowing pants, palming at him, immediately looking up for some further instruction, some type of command. Douma only smiles politely, and there’s no intimacy in it, no curiosity at all.
“Go on,” he urges vaguely. Enmu tries to breathe past the spark of nerves in his chest. He fumbles with the intricacies of Douma’s pants, all the complicated ties. Fully aware that he’s being studied, assessed, as he gets the clothing out of the way and takes Douma in hand.
Even half hard, Enmu can tell that Douma is far more well endowed than he expected– though what did he expect? The man claimed to be a deity, after all. And the thick incense wrapping around Enmu’s senses is making it hard to think, hard to be rational or strategic. There is no focus left in him, only instinct. Vague intuition is what he’ll have to run on, because he has no trove of previous experience to guide him on what to do. He can only do what he thinks he might want done to himself. Deity or not, Douma must respond to the same things as everyone else, right?
With his face resting over Douma’s thigh, Enmu puts all his waning energy into stroking him to hardness. There’s a hand petting through his hair, surprisingly tender. But he doesn't dare look up again. He already knows Douma would find that insolent.
Instead, he licks at the shaft of Douma’s cock tentatively, taking the head in his mouth, laving his tongue around it. Encouraged by the slight sigh he hears above him, he lowers his head further, trying to keep his teeth out of the way. Mouth pooling with saliva, jaw already aching, as he tries to take Douma into his mouth fully. But he can’t do it, Douma is too big. Enmu can’t subdue his own quiet, strangled whines. Nor the nervous sounds spilling out of him, as he tries his best to force Douma’s entire dick into his mouth. Spit spills down his chin, and he pulls away, sucking in a breath. This should be easier to do than it looks, but it’s not, and he can already feel his face burning with the fear of disappointing Douma, of failing what has clearly made itself out to be a sacred task.
He wraps his hand around the base, trying to take Douma’s cock back into his mouth again, bobbing his head slightly.
“Too much teeth,” Douma admonishes, grasping a fistful of Enmu’s hair, yanking him back. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“I’ll try harder!” Enmu insists, grabbing for Douma’s cock again– but his hand gets slapped away.
“Do you know what a privilege it is, for you to be allowed anywhere within five feet of me?” Douma asks, his tone impatient. “Do you understand the honor I am bestowing upon you?”
“I’ll do better, I will, please!” Enmu begs, though he doesn’t gamble with reaching forward again. Not without permission.
“One more chance,” Douma tells him darkly. “If you disappoint me again, I’ll toss you into the sea myself.” He releases his grip on Enmu’s hair, letting the smaller man catch himself, collect himself. And then Enmu moves with the desperation Douma had been seeking, the worship he’d been casually expecting. Enmu’s mouth descends over his cock, and Douma can feel himself hitting the back of that tight throat. The vibration of Enmu’s panicked gagging has a pleasant warmth blossoming in the pit of Douma’s stomach, and he decides this is better. A more enthusiastic effort. The wet heat of Enmu’s mouth has Douma moaning despite himself. He doesn’t want to give this lowly nobody any undeserved encouragement, by displaying a positive reaction. But maybe it’s somewhat deserved, if Enmu can pull such an automatic, pleased sound out of him.
He can feel Enmu’s tongue flattening up against the underside of his cock, the soft seal of his lips closing in. The subservient little sob that escapes him as he sucks Douma off in earnest, bobbing his head, choking every time Douma’s dick jostles aggressively against the back of his throat. Glistening saliva coating his chin. Bright, heavy tears running down his face as pulls off to lap at the head again. He’s breathing high and shallow, keeping his gaze downcast and modest just the way he should, his small fist working around what little he cannot reach with his mouth. And Douma thinks maybe he underestimated Enmu, just a little. But it’s a thought he’d never share. Enmu doesn’t deserve to know that he’s actually doing decently at this.
Douma shoves himself into Enmu’s mouth again, annoyed by the very idea that some praise might accidentally sneak out of him. The startled cry Enmu releases is atonal, but it’s oddly pretty, and Douma throws all his caution aside. He fucks Enmu’s mouth, forcing him up and down with a tight grip in the back of his hair, enjoying the stuttering buildup of a quick orgasm. Ignoring the weeping and the weak struggling. He tilts his head to get a better view of Enmu’s slightly tortured expression. And he decides that this is the only context in which Enmu could ever appear endearing. With spaced-out blue eyes and an overstuffed mouth, the reddened splotches of color dusting his cheeks from the lack of oxygen. Enmu’s black lashes keep fluttering as Douma continues to use him, and his whines die down into strained whimpers. His fingernails scrape over Douma’s thighs, like he’s trying to grasp something in order to tether himself to reality.
Douma allows him one shred of validation, in the form of his own low groan, moments before he cums. He holds Enmu’s head firmly in place, with both hands, as he releases fully into his mouth, down his throat, and Enmu gags violently, desperately.
“Swallow,” Douma demands, and Enmu obeys, his Adam's apple working. He shuts his eyes as Douma pulls him off, gasping and panting.
Enmu finds he has a newfound appreciation for the ability to breathe, as he stays there on his hands and knees, feeling the burn of air returning to his aching lungs.
“You have some on your chin. Don’t let my generosity go to waste,” Douma warns.
Enmu swipes at his own skin, gathering the small amount of cum that had escaped his mouth. He chances looking up at Douma, as he licks it off of his fingers.
Douma watches him with an expectant gaze, and Enmu detects not a single trace of satisfaction in the man’s stare. It’s humbling. So he looks down again, bowing his head. He can see that somehow, Douma’s appearance has mystically righted itself. Fully and impeccably clothed again, not a single out-of-place wrinkle, not a trace of anything happening at all. He realizes belatedly, that somewhere in the middle of everything, the crystal ball had vanished.
“My offering,” Douma holds out his palm, and Enmu takes a minute to process the instruction. He knows what Douma wants, and he feels a pang in his heart as he reaches into his pocket. Slowly, he pulls out the pocket watch, all the rings jangling against each other, still hot to the touch with energy.
He hands it to Douma, watching despondently as a brilliant violet light sparks up, and all of the rings dissolve. Only the pocket watch is left intact.
Douma stands, and Enmu remains on the ground, gathering up his wits.
“Aren’t you going to thank me for the honor I've just given you?” Douma kicks him in the side, and Enmu yelps.
“Th-thank you, Douma-sama!” he rasps, his eyes snapping up.
There’s a spirited look of reverence in Enmu’s unhinged stare.
“I expect more offerings. Don’t assume this is nearly enough to earn your role as my servant,” Douma holds out the pocket watch, the little wellspring of power that had allowed Enmu to hypnotize and plunder all those unlucky beachgoers.
“Well, aren’t you going to take it?” Douma urges, swinging the watch by its chain like a pendulum. Enmu scrambles to standing. He accepts the watch with shaking fingers, handling it with newfound respect.
“Thank you, Douma-sama!” he repeats, cheeks flooding with color in a perverse sort of way. To Douma, it’s perhaps the only thing that makes Enmu interesting.
“Go on, get out there and start collecting,” Douma orders. “You have a quota to fill, little miko.”