Yato stood in the middle of his killing field, covered in the carnage of the battle, if one could call it that. It had been more of a massacre, really. Hiiro was dripping with blood, and he could feel even more of it coating him like a second skin.

He looked around, blue eyes dull, and took in the death that followed him everywhere he went. The words of his father echoed in his mind. "You're a God of Calamity, Yato, this is what you were made for."

Was it true, he wondered. Is this all he was made for? Was all he was good for killing and bringing pain? It must have been, because it was all he'd ever known.

"Wasn't that fun, Yaboku?" Hiiro asked. Yato paused.

"Yeah," he responded slowly, almost mechanically. He reverted Hiiki to her human form and she took his hand, smiling.

"Let's go home," she said. A sense of familiarity overtook him, and he smiled back, his eyes once again lighting with a fierce depravity. Home. This is where he belonged. Hiiro and Father were his family.

"Okay," he said.

He had had fun today.