Tatsuya didn't know what to do if he didn't get up, if he didn't defeat the Demon of Wrath.
What about the others? He thought, what about Ruza, Sora, and Luna? What happens if the demon cult goes to the mansion?
Tatsuya laid his trust in Tokagame to kill the demon; he never thought that he would actually lose.
Run! Flee!
His instincts were screaming at him to flee; he can't die here. Didn't want to die; he was too afraid to die.
He glanced to his side; Kiome stood wide-eyed with his mouth half open.
Micah, on the other hand…
"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!"
The scream cracked the air like thunder, raw and unchained.
It didn't sound like Micah.
Not the gentle one. Not the calm and collected one. Not the one who joked quietly over stew. Not the one who always carried the weight without complaint.
This was grief turned to madness.
Before Tatsuya could stop him, Micah bolted forward.
"Micah—!"
His footsteps tore the earth, sickled through mud and leaves, closing the distance between himself and Rukai with reckless fury. His sword was unsheathed, trailing behind him like a comet's tail. The flames in his heart had consumed all thought—reason, strategy, and fear. All that remained was a single, blistering feeling:
I can't lose anyone else.
"YOU BASTARD!"
The swing was wild—too high. Rukai caught it effortlessly with one of his sickles, the crescent metal gleaming in the light. Their blades shrieked against each other, and Micah lunged again. Another strike. Another. His blows were fast but not sharp. Brutal, but not measured.
It was everything he wasn't.
He knew it.
Somewhere, deep beneath the rage, Micah knew he was fighting wrong. That he had always been taught to wait, to watch, and to move when the opponent gave something away. He wasn't doing that now. He wasn't thinking.
But how could he think?
How could he think when Tokagame—the man who had bandaged his wounds and trained him like a little brother—was lying motionless against a tree, possibly dead?
How could he think when he was supposed to leave the Corps, to write, to live, and now the only thing he could do was scream until his throat tore?
"STAND STILL!" he roared, driving his blade forward in a reckless stab.
Rukai twisted around it with fluid madness, his sickles arcing wide. He grinned—wide and giddy and euphoric. "Yes! Yes! That's it! Finally!"
Micah swung again, then again, faster now, cutting through the air with nothing but fury. But each time, Rukai moved with that same erratic sway, like a man dancing with lightning. No rhythm. No sense. Just raw instinct—beautifully broken.
"You're angry," Rukai whispered in delight. "So angry."
"Shut up!"
"You lost something, didn't you?" Rukai said, his voice soft now, almost tender. "You're screaming at yourself more than me. Because you were never good enough to save him."
Micah's sword froze.
For the briefest moment, he hesitated.
Rukai's eyes lit up.
"There it is."
The twin sickles crossed—an X of judgement—and slammed into Micah's stomach.
Steel sliced through flesh. Blood burst, and entrails gushed out like an opening wound in the sky.
Micah stumbled backward, coughing. He tried to lift his sword, but his fingers were numb. It dropped from his hands.
He fell to one knee.
Holding his insides in his hand, trying to push them back inside, but it was futile.
Tatsuya screamed something, but it was distant.
"Ahhh," Rukai exhaled like a prayer, kneeling beside him. "You feel that? That's Wrath. She's beautiful, isn't she?"
Micah stared blankly ahead. His vision was spinning. Everything felt… floaty. There was no pain yet—just a strange warmth leaking from his stomach.
"…I wanted to write…" he mumbled, dazed.
Rukai tilted his head. "What?"
Micah didn't answer.
His eyes weren't on Rukai.
They were looking past him. Toward the tree where Tokagame still lay. Toward the place where Tatsuya, Kiome, and the others stood frozen. Toward a future that was slipping from his grasp like sand between bloodied fingers.
You said something earlier. Micah thought, Tatsuya had once whispered to Micah under the night sky. That I don't have to choose. That I can be both.
That memory flickered again, fragile and warm.
A trembling smile touched the edge of his lips.
"I really… thought I had more time."
Rukai's expression softened—not with pity, but with reverence. "You're beautiful like this."
Then the sickle came down.
A flash of silver.
A final gasp of breath.
And Micah Arkwell, who had always waited, always endured, was gone.
Killed by the Demon of Wrath, Rukai.
part 2
"…No."
Tatsuya's voice was a whisper. Barely a sound at all. Like it had been stolen from his throat before it could fully form.
Micah's body lay crumpled on the forest floor, a slumped silhouette against the dappled green and red, blood soaking into the earth beneath him.
His sword—his dream—had fallen just inches from his hand.
And his hand wasn't moving.
He wasn't moving.
"…No," Tatsuya said again, louder now. He took a step forward. Then another. "No. No. No—no, no, no, no, no!"
Each repetition hit like a blow to the chest.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
Just seconds ago, Micah was screaming. Raging. Alive.
And now—
"Micah! Get up!" Tatsuya shouted, stumbling forward. His voice cracked. "Micah! I said, Get up!!"
His vision blurred, and he didn't know if it was from fear or fury or whatever was trying to drown him. All he knew was that if Micah didn't get up, if he didn't smile and mutter some sarcastic little remark, then—
—then—
He couldn't breathe.
Kiome was still frozen beside him, but his hand had come up to his mouth, trembling violently.
"Is he…?" He whispered, voice hollow, eyes shaking. "He's not… He's not…"
Tatsuya didn't answer. He couldn't. His mouth wouldn't open anymore.
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, pressing against their eardrums like water filling their lungs.
Then—click clack.
Bootsteps.
Rukai.
The Demon of Wrath stood a few feet away, both sickles loosely held in his hands. His arms were soaked in blood. His cloak was spattered crimson like it had bloomed with petals.
And he was smiling.
Wide. Radiant. Euphoric.
"…Ahh," Rukai breathed, turning his head toward them, eyes gleaming with that manic shine. "You see it now, don't you?"
Tatsuya didn't move.
Rukai tilted his head like a curious child.
"The truth," he said, taking a step forward. "The purity of Wrath."
Another step. "He burnt so beautifully. Didn't he? No hesitations. No lies. Just one desire. One overwhelming, honest need to destroy."
He opened his arms wide, spinning slowly like he was welcoming the applause of an invisible crowd.
"That's what we are. Beneath the mask. Beneath your ideas of 'honour' or 'mercy.' This—this is the real face of humanity."
"You…" Tatsuya whispered.
Rukai stopped spinning.
"What was that?" he said with mock cheer. "Speak up, little hero."
"You…" Tatsuya growled, fists clenched so tight his fingernails were drawing blood from his palms. "You killed him."
Rukai grinned.
"I did."
Kiome flinched violently beside him. He turned his face into his sleeve, sobbing soundlessly.
"You killed him," Tatsuya repeated, louder this time. The words burnt as they left his mouth, each one etched in fire. "He didn't even get to fight for what he believed in. He didn't even…"
Tatsuya's knees buckled.
He dropped to the forest floor.
His head was ringing. A loud, high-pitched noise in his ears, like a scream no one else could hear. The world was tilting. He couldn't feel the ground. Couldn't feel his body.
Micah was dead.
Tokagame was dying.
"Go ahead," Rukai said, voice soft as silk. "Cry. Scream. Hate me."
He twirled a sickle in one hand, slow and easy.
"Because that's the seed. That's how Wrath begins."
A blur of motion. A hand gripped his shoulder and shoved him back.
"Get behind me."
The voice wasn't cold. It wasn't loud. But it was firm, low, and steady, like a stone resisting the tide.
Kiome.
He stepped forward, his black and light blue checkered kimono fluttering from the residual shockwaves in the air. His posture, as always, was measured. Reserved. Calm. But his eyes—his eyes burnt like dying coals, stubborn to the last ember.
"I'll take it from here."
"…Kiome… wait—!"
Tatsuya barely managed the words, his throat raw, body numb.
But Kiome didn't look back.
He already knew.
"Micah wouldn't want you to die here," he said quietly, drawing his blade. "And I made a promise… not just to him."
He pointed it toward Rukai.
"…but to myself."
The Demon of Wrath tilted his head with an amused smile, like a beast watching a rabbit scold it for being hungry.
"Another one?" Rukai whispered, letting his sickles fall lazily at his sides. "So eager to die in someone else's name."
The trees behind Rukai snapped and groaned, twisted by the sheer pressure in the air. Mana—dense and volatile—crackled like static.
Kiome held his stance.
No shaking, just a single breath to steady himself. And then he vanished.
His foot cut the soil as he dashed, sword raised.
A slash, a parry, then a step back. Fluid but sharp. Calculated. The Sword Art of Wind, in pure, precise form.
He cut low; Rukai blocked. He twisted mid-air, slashed overhead, and parried. Again, again, and again.
But Rukai wasn't even trying.
"You're sharp," Rukai said, licking a trace of blood from his lip where a glancing blow had landed. "You're thoughtful. You're trying not to kill me. How sweet."
A pulse of magic shook the sky.
Before Kiome could reposition—
He pointed his sickle toward Kiome. A ripple of mana shot out like a whip—faster than wind.
Kiome's body flew.
Like a ragdoll thrown by a child, he was launched, crashing through tree after tree, until his body was swallowed by the forest beyond.
Gone.
Just like that.
Tatsuya stared at the spot where his comrade had stood.
Kiome, who had always been composed. Always thinking three moves ahead.
But now he was gone.
"Tch," Rukai scoffed. "Another broken promise."
Then he turned to Tatsuya again.
Grinning.
"Your turn."
Tatsuya gritted his teeth, anger surging within him, in a desperate attempt to cling to something—anything. But it wasn't enough. A strange heat began to spread through his chest, like grief had liquefied into magma and flooded his veins.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't think.
And then… something snapped.
"AaaAAAHHHH!"
A guttural roar tore from Tatsuya's throat, primal and raw. His body convulsed, muscles tightening and twitching as if an unseen force was puppeteering him.
He clawed at the ground, his fingers digging into the dirt as his breathing turned ragged, almost animalistic.
Tatsuya's head shot up, and for a moment, everything was silent. Then, his eyes opened—glowing blood red, vivid and terrifying, like twin pools of liquid fire. Tears streamed down his face, but they weren't ordinary tears. They were crimson, streaks of blood cutting paths down his cheeks.
His arms hung at his sides, twitching with unnatural strength. His breathing was rasping and feral, his mouth stained crimson.
And then—he stood.
A low hum of power shivered through the air.
Rukai's grin didn't falter.
In fact, it grew.
"…Oh?"
The Demon of Wrath tilted his head like a cat seeing its reflection for the first time. A sickle spun lazily in his fingers.
He laughed. Hard. A madman's laugh. One that had no joy, only disbelief and obsession. His eyes widened, wild and glimmering with joy.
A blur.
One instant he was standing, the next—
CLANG—!!
Steel met steel.
Tatsuya's katana came crashing down toward Rukai's shoulder, a brutal vertical slash with no technique, no grace—just pure hatred.
But Rukai moved like he had always been waiting for it.
With one hand, he caught the katana mid-swing. His sickle twirled and redirected the strike—slam!—the blade twisted around and rammed straight into Tatsuya's own shoulder.
THUNK.
The force nailed him into the bark of a tree, pinning him like a butterfly to cork.
Tatsuya's body jolted, arms twitching from the shock. Blood poured from the wound, trailing down the hilt. His eyes widened—but not in fear. Only with hatred.
Rukai stepped closer, breathing heavily, eyes shining with feverish excitement.
"It's you! You came to me!" He screamed at Tatsuya like he was an old acquaintance. "The Reborn Demon, the one master told me to find."
"Reborn Demon," he continued, "join me. You don't belong to them. My master will give you everything! Love, power, control, all the desires you can wish for, eternal life, everything!!!"
"It can all be yours if you take my hand; you'll never have to worry about anyone persecuting you or making fun of you. You'll be full of peace, freedom, and all the power in the world! You'll be like a king ruling over the land of the poor. A rich man lazily watches from his mansion. Never to worry about anything!!"
Rukai stood close now, nose almost touching his.
"You're the one master prophesied about, the one who will take his throne. Save your friends, Reborn Demon; come with me, and you can save them!!"
A hand reached toward him.
"Give in. Embrace it. You were never meant to fight it. You were made to become it."
…
CRACK.
The handle of the katana splintered.
Tatsuya raised his right arm and slammed it down on the blade embedded in his own shoulder—breaking it clean in half.
Blood burst from the wound.
But he didn't flinch.
Didn't scream.
Didn't care.
He stepped forward, the broken hilt still lodged in his muscle, arms twitching with fury.
Then—
He struck.
BAM!!
A fist straight to Rukai's gut. The impact echoed through the clearing like thunder, bending the demon's body forward mid-laugh.
Before he could recover—
WHAM—!!
A knee to the jaw sent Rukai flying upward, his body flipping mid-air like a rag doll. Tatsuya leapt after him, eyes blazing.
CRACK!
A midair roundhouse kick to the ribs. Bone shattered. Rukai slammed back-first into a tree—splintering it into halves on impact.
He coughed blood.
His grin faltered.
But Tatsuya was already there.
THUMP!
A punch to the side of the head.
THWACK!
Another to the temple.
SLAM!
A spinning backfist sent him hurtling sideways. The earth cratered where his body landed, coughing up dirt and roots.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
Tatsuya didn't speak. No, rather, he couldn't speak anymore; his consciousness had faded away, replaced by this beast-like instinct to kill. Like something had taken over his body.
Rukai staggered up, blood pooling down his lip, his arm dangling limply.
But the man—no, the demon—was still laughing.
Even as Tatsuya walked toward him like death with red eyes.
"Y-yes…" Rukai grinned through bloodied teeth. "That's it… that's it…! You're beautiful like this."
But Tatsuya didn't stop; in a blink he stood before Rukai and tackled him, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the dirt.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Crimson tears streamed from Tatsuya's burning red eyes. His mouth foamed with spit and blood.
"YOU… KILLED… HIM!!"
He howled the words between each bone-shattering slam. He didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
Rukai wheezed—laughing through it. Blood oozed from his split lips.
"Hahaha… That's it… That's it… That's the rage…"
Rukai suddenly stopped with his wrathful mockery. "What…"
His feelings changed from amusement and excitement to being terrified; a presence besides Tatsuya and Tokagame filled his awareness.
Immediately there was one thing in his mind: get out of there as soon as possible. But he couldn't leave without The Reborn Demon.
His master's words still rang like iron chains in his skull, and here he was, right in his grasp. Rukai couldn't afford to disappoint his master.
He was loyal, but this presence, the risk of it being able to swallow him up whole and throwing him in the pit of hell.
But his survival instinct clawed louder.
He grinned his teeth.
BOOM.
A shockwave burst from Rukai's body. Red glyphs shimmered on his skin, glowing like molten veins. With a snarl, he flipped them both. Tatsuya was hurled back.
His magic spiked.
"I gave you one last chance!" he bellowed. "Come with me!!"
Tatsuya didn't seem to respond. He only continued to growl in hatred.
Seeing this, Rukai raised his hand and held his finger together like he wanted to make a snap with his fingers.
Then—
SHING.
A blur of silver.
A whistle of steel.
The sound of flesh being cleaved.
Rukai froze.
His hand—the one raised to strike—was no longer attached.
It hit the ground.
Blood sprayed from the stump like a fountain.
Rukai turned his head, eyes wide with shock.
Behind him stood—
Tokagame Takashi.
Face calm. Katana dripping with blood. Eyes narrowed.
Rukai didn't scream.
He simply stood there, staring at the stump where his hand used to be. The blood gushing from the severed limb didn't register at first—his nerves seemed to delay the pain, his thoughts spinning too fast.
"What…" he breathed, pupils shrinking as he looked—not at Tokagame, not even at the half-transformed Tatsuya—but behind them.
He felt it. Something older than sin, deeper than rage, heavier than judgement. A presence that didn't belong to any realm of flesh and blood.
Suddenly, nothing mattered.
The pain in his missing hand. The blood spilling into the dirt. The smell of his own burning nerves.
None of it.
Only one thought rang out.
Get out. Get out. GET OUT.
Rukai clenched his jaw.
Spat blood.
And without another word—
He fled.
A pulse of magic burst beneath his feet, tearing the earth as he hurled himself back into the woods. Blood trailed behind him like ribbons. He didn't look back.
Couldn't.
He knew.
If he turned around—
That presence might drag him straight to hell.
Tokagame, with the strength he lost, couldn't keep up with Rukai; he could only watch as the demon slipped out of his grasp.
part 3
The forest was quiet again.
The air still stank of burnt bark and iron-sweet blood, but the screaming, the lightning, and the roaring rage of that earlier moment—they were gone. Snuffed out like a dying flame.
Tokagame stood still.
His katana trembled faintly in his hand, its edge dripping with Rukai's blood.
He had no words.
Not for the severed hand that lay twitching in the moss.
Not for the boy standing a few paces ahead—back turned, shoulders heaving, body steaming with lingering magic.
Tatsuya.
He stepped forward—subtle, quiet, the instincts of a hunter awakening in him once more.
Tokagame's heart beat unevenly.
That scent…
His nostrils flared faintly. The stench of demonic corruption still clung to the air, thick and oily. But—
Rukai escaped. His presence is gone. So then…
Why was the scent still here?
Why wasn't it fading?
He looked at his surroundings. The trees, broken and scorched. The earth, carved open by fury. Blood, blackened and fresh.
A katana, its hilt lay shattered on the ground.
But none of it made sense.
Because the scent was growing stronger.
No.
He closed his eyes and tried to reset himself. Taking a deep breath, he thought.
It's just the aftershocks. The blood. I'm still worked up. It's nothing.
He turned his gaze again—this time to Tatsuya.
The scent—demonic, ancient, unmistakable—was no longer in the trees. Not in the battlefield.
It was coming from him.
From Tatsuya.
No. That's not possible. He's just a boy. I trained him. I watched him fight. He can't be…
But his body stiffened. Because now there was no doubt. It wasn't a trick of the wind. It wasn't Rukai.
The scent, the unmistakable scent of a member of the Demon cult, was leaking from Tatsuya's skin like smoke from cracked stone.
As he watched Tatsuya, he slowly turned around.
Tokagame froze. His breath caught in his throat as their eyes met.
Tatsuya's face was normal. No trace of the grotesque, otherworldly force that had erupted only moments earlier.
Just a boy.
Bloodied. Pale. Exhausted.
His expression was dull with fatigue, his eyes they were just eyes, just his usual light green eyes, quiet, human.