Demon Eyes

By CrimsonNoble.

Author's Notes: I thought, 'Wow, RK crossovers are really popular… but that's kinda sad. I mean, Shinji never goes through his, "I kill people," stage.' Then I think, 'You know, I should do something about that.' And finally, an idea comes. 'Demon Eyes Kyo! He's perfect!'

Based upon the manga SDK, simply because Kyo is so much more badass there. And yeah, Kyo is like Kenshin magnified a hundredfold.

Please note that this is my first first person POV to be put for public viewing. So rag on me.

Why I've decided Shinji is fifteen… Well, we're repeatedly shown that Tokyo-3 has had time to reconstruct between Angel attacks, and at this point there have been twelve of them. Reconstruction of a lot of a major city takes more than just a couple of weeks, so I'm assuming there's a month at least between each Angel. And we're never told when any of the pilot's birthday's are. Nor are we told when the series starts. I think it's safe to assume that he's at least a year older than when he started piloting. Don't blame me for holes in canon.

Basically, this is my third-priority fic, first two being Stahl Nacht and Ocean Red. Meaning sporadic updates.

I have yet to decide if I will set romance, but if I do, it will be Shinji/Rei, and it will accept that they are siblings for all intents and purposes. Heh, you want an anime about incest, go watch Angel Sanctuary.

"God said to Abraham, 'Kill me a son.' Abe says, 'Man, you must be putting me on.' God say, 'No.' Abe say, 'What?' God say, 'You can do what you want, Abe, but the next time you see me coming, you better run.' Abe says, 'Where do you want this killing done?' And God says, 'Out on Highway 61'." ~The Hunted.

Disclaimer: I own neither Samurai Deeper Kyo nor Neon Genesis Evangelion. Applies to all future chapters.

Summary: "She said it might be connected to another universe. She was right. They expected me to be the same when I came out. They were wrong." Alternate Universe beginning at the twelfth Angel. Shinji Ikari lived another life inside the Sea of Dirac. He lived the life of Demon Eyes Kyo…

Chapter One: I Return

I lie still as my senses slowly come back. The first thing I recognize as they do is that I'm lying in some sort of half-filled tube.

…What happened? The last thing I remember is Mibu…

Where is he? I'm going to kill him!

Abruptly there's a woman wrapping her arms around my neck, and if I weren't so weak she'd be dead. No one surprises me like that.

She's… crying? Is there a reason for it? I think she said something, but I wasn't listening.

"Where…?" Is all I manage before I black out again.

/|\

This is becoming too habitual. I shouldn't keep passing out like this. I'm stronger than this!

It's a long minute before I realize what I'm lying on. And even then it's a long time before it manages to sink in.

A bed? Where the hell am I? And more importantly, where the hell are Mibu and my sword?

As my eyes slowly creak open, I see a mop of blue hair, almost glowing iridescently in the unusual light.

"Sakuya…?" I manage to creak out, though the voice is pitched somewhat higher then I remember.

No. She has red eyes. Like mine. The color of blood. Like my hair. Which brings to mind another point, I don't have enough hair… I bring a hand up to my scalp to check. No, not enough hair.

Red eyes that are, at the moment, almost staring at me with a curious look. Almost. Who is this girl? She's not wearing a kimono, and I think I vaguely recognize her…

My head hurts as I try to recall her name.

"Pilot Ikari?" She asks.

Who's Ikari? Slowly, ignoring the ache in my head, I twist my neck to look for someone else. It's at this point that I realize my armor is gone. And for that matter, so are my clothes.

"Pilot Ikari?" She repeats.

It takes a moment, but then it occurs to me that she might actually be talking to me.

My name is Ikari?

A memory enters my head, red eyes, blue hair; skin the color of a sake bottle, and a smile… a name. Rei. Zero. Spirit.

I want something to drink…

It feels like my head's about to explode.

"Rei?" I ask, unable to do anything else. Damn this is annoying.

She blinks slowly. I don't know, I think she knows something's different.

I force myself upright, bracing my hands on the squishy mattress.

And, for the first time, I realize what I look like. This is not me! I am not this scrawny! I am not this young! There is no way this body is mine!

It crosses my mind that I probably look like an idiot, staring at myself like this. But that's not important, compared to my state. I look like a child!

"Is something wrong, Pilot Ikari?" She asks. She sounds quite uninterested, but I'm not sure about it. I can't remember her… but I remember her apathy.

I feel like something is very wrong.

After a few minutes I respond, "Yes. There is."

She stands to leave. "I will call the doctor then."

I snort. They won't be able to help. Unless they often have people trapped in other people's bodies.

I ignore the girl who disappears as the door opens and the albino exits. Is she that terrifying? She's only a girl…

As I shove myself out of the bed, I stagger slightly, thrown off by the odd garment on my legs. I haven't seen anything like them, though they do faintly remind me of a split-skirt, hakama.

As someone breaches my maai, I whirl, my hand going for the Muramasa that should have been in my left hand.

I, of course, knew that it wouldn't find anything. The sword isn't here any more than I am in my body.

Which brings to mind the question of where my body is. Logically, it should be somewhere.

My thoughts are interrupted as the purple haired woman almost tackles me into the wall, saved only by me posting out. I am glad to notice that my unnatural strength has stayed more or less completely, even though I still don't look anything like what I should.

"Shinji!" She shouts, almost in my ear. By the sword, this woman is getting annoying.

Though the name triggers something lying dormant in the back of my head. A splitting pain erupts as I remember who these people are.

I almost collapse. And that's saying a lot. Because I don't fall. Ever.

I remember this woman, Katsuragi. I know she was my guardian. I know what I'm wearing, pants, and where I am, NERV hospital at the Geofront. But I still don't care.

So what if I know these people? Knew rather, because I've had years to grow without them. Years to become what I am.

And I'm still going to kill Mibu.

"Get off," I growl in a guttural tone. My hands are clenching involuntarily, itching to wrap around her neck.

She ignores my imperative, and remains on me like a leech. I don't think she's actually looked at my face yet.

I don't bother with a second warning, and my knee rams into her gut, hard. She's lifted off the floor by the force of the blow, nothing special by my standards, and collapses.

The door opens again, and another presence enters my maai.

I look up from the woman, standing straight, and tilt my head slightly to the right to stare at him. He's a doctor.

"I'm leaving," I say coldly.

The foolish man tries to keep me from passing him, and in response I slam him face first into the wall. I think his nose is broken, but I could be wrong about that. I'm not an expert on identifying injuries. Just on killing people. And all I know is there was a crunch when he hit, and now he's bleeding.

I leave the room, leaving a gasping Katsuragi and an unconscious doctor behind.

I don't know if I went back in time when the Angel sucked me in, but I know that the boy I used to be wasn't taught about me. More likely then that the world forgot me.

Which nevertheless means my sword still exists somewhere. And I will find it. I ponder the question of my armor for a while, but decide that it probably decayed long ago.

And I also wonder what happened to Akira and the other three. Well, obviously they are dead.

A sigh of exasperation escapes my lips, and I, relying on memories more than two decades old, try to navigate the fortress.

Already I can tell that it's just going to be one of those days. Life was so much simpler back then.

/|\

As I step into the light of the outside world, and coincidentally into the pollution of Tokyo-3, I yawn. Some of my memories have gone bad over the long years, and it took a while to find the exit.

Idly I wonder if I'm as fast as I was, and I decide to test myself.

The next instant I'm standing a full twenty meters from my former position, and I smile in satisfaction. I still got it.

I turn my thoughts once again to my sword. I know it was left at Sekigahara, but I think it probable that the bastard Mibu stole it after I… what happened to me anyway? He couldn't have killed me

Which means what? I shrug the thoughts off in favor of my sword.

So it could be anywhere in Japan. I refuse to think of the possibility that it could be in another country. The Muramasa is a valuable sword, yes. But there's no way it could have been taken elsewhere. That is simply impossible.

The most likely locations I can think of for it are Sekigahara itself, Edo, Kyoto, and Tokyo. Any of the Tokyos.

Well, I'm already in the Third Tokyo. Might as well look for it here.

Where though? I haven't seen a weapons dealer yet…

The museum perhaps? It's a fairly logical place for it to be. Yes, that will be where I look for it first.

It's at this point that I realize I'm still only wearing a pair of pants. "Hell," I whisper. "Better find some clothes first."

As I pass a windowpane, I notice that there is at least one thing right with this body. My eyes…

They're still the color of fresh blood.

/|\

Dressed in my newly appropriated clothing, I step once again onto the streets of this new city. I'm not quite sure what the family that owns the house is going to think when they find that one of their kimonos has been replaced by hospital pants, but that's not my problem.

Finding my Muramasa is.

I walk away from the house at a demure pace, heading straight toward the museum. If it has my sword, that's good. If it doesn't…

I'll probably kill the curator. Hell, I'll kill him anyway, but that's beside the point.

I take a look at the street, full of people, and then I look upward, gauging the height of the buildings lining the street.

No, I decide. I don't think I could get on top without being seen. I'm already garnering odd looks for my choice of dress, and disappearing might start people asking questions.

I shove through the crowd, ignoring the way the mass of bodies tried to prevent me accessing a direct route to the museum. I'm tempted to start killing them, but I refrain from doing so, I want my sword, not to be arrested. Yet anyway. After I get my sword, they won't be able to take me.

I shove my way off the sidewalk, onto the stairs of the museum. It was an impressive building, built like a pagoda, though why that was the style decided upon is far beyond me.

Some arrogant people might have said that they could have felt the weapon. I will not say so. I can, however, say that I had a feeling in my gut. I had the distinct impression that my sword was there.

The door slid open before me automatically, and despite the eleven or so years of memories, counted as thus because I don't remember much before I was four, it still surprises me.

I have time to see my crimson eyes widen in astonishment before my reflection disappears as the door shuts.

I absentmindedly slide a stolen pair of sunglasses on, concealing my admittedly unusual eyes from view, though I suppose the image clashes with the kimono I wear.

The curator steps in front of me as I enter, smiling broadly. He is evidently happy that he had someone, no matter how odd, in his museum. Then again, it might just be that he was amused by my kimono-sunglasses combination.

Yes, the killer of one thousand men amusing to watch. If I weren't going to kill him anyway, right now, at the thought, I know that I would kill him just for that. Yeah. Just for the thought of what he might be thinking.

He speaks cheerfully. "Good morning!" It is? I thought it was noon at least already. Oh. Right. That's just how people greet each other. That and 'good evening'.

My musings are ignored by everyone. That's just the way the shit goes down. "Is there anything in particular you would like to see?"

I grin broadly at him. "Swords. Preferably from around the time of the battle of Sekigahara. Give or take about ten years."

"A good time for swords!" The man exclaims. I roll my eyes, though he doesn't see the action. Swords are swords. Not wine. No such thing as a good or bad year. Unless you count the amazingly badly forged swords manufactured now.

"Yes, I think so too." I agree, sounding like a mindless drone. Yes, that's what I should sound like. Someone with a passing interest in swords, nothing more. After all, I'm only interested in one sword.

He starts toward the area of the museum dealing with that time. I follow, ignoring his attempts at small talk. The man notices this, or I think he does. And, while his tone takes on a more subdued quality, he doesn't stop talking.

We arrived at the display what seems like hours later. I am almost ready to kill the man, as he is that irritating. I can feel my nails digging crescents into my palm. There's warm blood dripping down my knuckles, and I make a mental note to clean that up when I leave. Well, I might not have time to, depending on the alarms set off by my retrieval of the weapon.

And there it is. My Muramasa… my eyes glow as they fall upon the undefeated weapon. It lies there in the glass, sharper than any razor, still honed to a killing edge.

I walk casually up to the glass, my gaze locked on it. The curator notices, and starts to ask about my fascination with the weapon. In his eyes it is nothing special, just a blade that has been taken unusually good care of.

Then my fist shatters the glass, and has locked around the hilt of the blade before the sound reaches my ears. It feels so right to have the blade back in my hand…

I whirl, ignoring the cuts the glass deals as more breaks because of the way I rip my arm out, and the curator is falling in two pieces. By the look on his face, I'd say that he didn't have time to realize what was happening before I bisected him diagonally. Heh, I split his heart in two.

Oh yeah. I still got it.

I wipe the sword off on his clothes, tearing off a strip to make a tourniquet for my arm, before reaching back into the case for the sheath.

"This belongs to me," I inform the recently deceased man before I walk away.

I am careful to exit through the back of the museum, so no one sees me exiting. The Muramasa is hidden inside a long, thin box that I sling across my shoulder to ease carrying. I did have some difficulty finding a box big enough, I mean, the sword is almost as long as I am tall, but I did find one in the end, after cleaning my blood off the floor.

My bandaged hand is lying across my stomach, hidden inside the folds of my kimono. I'm not sure why, but I've put my bandage on in such a way that it looks like the arm-guards we used to wear as samurai.

The image brings back only one memory, my guards splashed with red. I really do wonder what happened to my body. It is, possibly, the only thing I'm really concerned about, now that I've found my sword.

Body… the Katsuragi woman did have a nice body, I give her that. And I lived with her. Ah, yes. That's going to have to change. I'm not just Shinji Ikari anymore.

I'm Demon Eyes Kyo. Slayer of one thousand men.

I wonder why they don't mention me in their histories… Oh well. They'll remember me now…

A smile splits my lips as my eyes close languidly, exposing my incisor teeth.

Somewhere in the distance an ambulance siren screams as it rushes toward the museum.

Why an ambulance? The man's already dead. Surely with all the wonders of modern technology they can divine that much. If they can't… That's just sad. I mean, I'm not even a doctor, and I can tell that he's dead.

Possibly it has something to do with the way he's lying in two pieces?

End Chapter

Stuff: Ahoy there. Armguards: Think those things Kenshin's wearing in the OAV, if you haven't seen that, then the things Soujiro's wearing. Maai: more or less what I remember of the definition given by Benitora in the third manga, it's a field generated by swordsmen through use of their Ki. If anyone enters it, the samurai knows. Think of it as if they're standing in a pool of water, and when someone steps in, they know it. Only really good samurai and newborn children can enter without being noticed.