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Tanaka Ken never intended for this to happen.

He didn't intend nor want for a fucking truck to crash into him, sending his body flying two feet into the air and landing on his back.

Tanaka realized distantly while his blood was slowly seeping out of the various injuries that he accumulated in the span of fifteen seconds, that very soon, he will definitely die if no help comes.

The realization makes his breath go faster, his body going into overdrive mode and pumping blood through his veins to his brain, desperately searching for a way to stop the bleeding while his mind breaks into into a panic.

His eyes shift quickly from left to right, tears beginning to sprout out of pain.

He's staring at the still horrified civilians.

He wants to scream at them, to shake them from their stupor and question them why the fuck aren't they doing anything to stop the bleeding, or perhaps call an ambulance.

But the urge to scream went away as sudden as it came.

He opens his mouth to say something, perhaps a plea for help, but a quick flash of pain stops him from doing so.

He realizes not a second later that there's a piece of sharp glass embedded in his throat and—oh God he can practically feel it scraping and scratching his windpipe, and every time he tries to take a breath, he coughs up more blood and the injury in his throat worsens.

He doesn't know where the fuck that piece of glass came from.

Perhaps from the windshield that cracked upon impact on his body? 

Well, not that it matters now, does it?

He's going to die here, lying on the slightly cracked asphalt, surrounded by horrified and screaming civilians that are just staring at his bleeding body, too scared to move an inch or call an ambulance.

The thought is bitter to think of, for some reason.

The hope that was festering when he realized that there's a slim chance he may survive if someone calls an ambulance vanishes with the grim realization of his inevitable death.

He's way past saving, he knows this for a fact; he's lost too much blood.

And unless he immediately gets a blood transfusion? He'll die faster than an ambulance can drive here.

Resignation and sadness take place in his eyes, but not fear. Never fear.

For Tanaka Ken never feared death.

Why dread and fear something inevitable? He considered that pointless.

And so, at 2006, July 7th, 7:23 AM, Tanaka Ken, with broken ribs, a punctured lung with 3 bones inside each, popliteal artery severed from a rock he landed on, throat slit by a shard of glass, vocal cords ruptured, closed his eyes for the last time.

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And so, Elkend Bulruk opened his eyes for the first time to the world with nightmares of shattered ribs and punctured lungs in his eyes as an infant at exactly 1106, July 8th, 4:32 AM.

….

….

No one would have thought that Elkend Bulruk and Tanaka Ken were of the same soul, not even the Gods themselves, except, for the Devil that is.

 

          ———————————————————————————————————

            «« Two Weeks After The Reincarnation »»

 

Tanaka Ken—Or Elkend Bulruk, mused bitterly as he saw his new mother come into his vision and take him from his wooden crib, cradling him in her arms.

Fate was cruel, he learned that two weeks ago when he woke up as an infant—Or rather two weeks ago when he died in that car crash and reincarnated(?).

Tanaka Ke—No, he's not Tanaka, he's Elkend Bulruk now dammit—didn't know why the fuck he was specifically reincarnated.

His past life was so average not even a God would spare him a glance in a crowd.

In theory, there was literally no reason for him to be reincarnated into another planet.

(He knew, deep down that this was not his beloved Earth. From what his baby eyes could perceive, his entire house was made of bricks and wood and there wasn't any air conditioner—the temperature changed too random for there to be one.)

He shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to focus on the present.

The past is in the past. There's no reason to trouble himself with questions that he can't answer, yet.

Instead, Elkend observed his new mom's features again for the sake of it— he was bored out of his mind for the last two weeks with nothing to do except observe his surroundings and try to adapt to his new environment.

His mom, for lack of a better term, looked beautiful.

She had black hair and black eyes with a beauty mark slightly under her lips to the left; If he—Elkend—wasn't so bored out of his mind, he might've experienced the familiar pang of bitterness and sadness that he came to be sadly so familiar with when he was still coping with the reality of his death.

In fact; If it wasn't for the beauty mark and the hair that was longer than his old mother's?

He might have immediately assumed that this his old mother followed him into reincarnation.

As it is right now, Elkend could only sigh in his mind as he resumed consuming his mother's milk that she so readily gave to him; his current priority is to survive, and if it meant he had to suck on his mother's breasts while he was wholly conscious of it?

Well, he can't just— not drink, right? Besides; he has no time to feel trivial emotions such as embarrassment or shame.

Not with his nightmares. nightmares that plagued his thoughts when asleep and reminded him of the smell of death—blood and decay.

With those last thoughts, Elkend closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep's sweet embrace.

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It was only a month later that Elkend's toddler body grew his vocal cords strong enough for him to finally (finally!) produce sound that he breathed a sigh of relief.

He wasn't able to make fully coherent sentences— that will probably take more time.

For now, all sounds he can make are incomprehensible gibberish like all babies; but that was more than enough for him.

Because in his nightmares, Elkend would see his past life's body, lying on the ground, bleeding from his leg and throat, not being able to produce sound without pain.

Two days later after he started making sounds with his throat, he eventually self-diagnosed himself with mild sedatephobia; fear of silence.

He cannot bear not being able to say something in the wake of silence, he feared that, if he didn't do something with his throat, he would go mute.

(Who knew bleeding from a piece of glass embedded in his throat could give him PTSD, right?)

It's irrational, Elkend knows this very much, and yet, he can't stand the silence.

He can't stand it without it reminding him of the phantom pain of shards of thick glass embedded in his throat...Extra 

 

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   ««Veanda Bulruk's POV»»

Her dear adorable baby was babbling again and— Oh God he was so cute!

Only nine weeks old and her dear adorable baby was already looking at her with his knowing and intelligent eyes!

She knew, instinctively, that he was smart, even for his age, but to what extent she didn't know.

She wasn't an ex-adventurer for no reason, after all. Her instincts, honed and sharpened but only dulled because of her time of motherhood told her much of her baby.

She would subconsciously shift a little every time her baby's eyes landed on her, body slightly moving in the optimal position for flight or fight.

But she eventually broke down that habit! After all, this was her baby! He would never intentionally harm her— not unless he accidentally turned out to be a reincarnated psychopath who has his memories intact and was dead set on murdering anyone who came into his sight, she sarcastically joked.

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If you reached this point, I want to thank you for reading until this! :D <3