"Did you think I liked fighting them? I'm a yokai, too!"
The words echo in the silence, leaving Mana breathless and cold. Her blood turns to ice in her veins, and she can no longer keep her tears from falling as she rushes to catch her friend in an embrace. Ever unaware, Kitaro stands still, dazed and confused by the strange girl in this ever stranger land.
"It must have been hard for you, right?" She says, trembling fingers grasping the back of her friend's uniform. "But you always kept trying! You never gave up on me, and all I have of you are good memories. If you can't remember, then you can have mine! Please, come back!"
At first, there is no response. Just as the thought that Kitaro is gone to her begins to settle, she sees it.
He's shaking.
"Who are you?" He asks, finally, voice weak and unsteady. "Why… am I crying?"
Mana can't help the relieved sob that leaves her chest. He finally looks up at her, and she notices the tears staining his face and the grief in his eye. She remembers what she was told- how his despair was so great, his trust so unyielding- that his shattered belief in miracles had led him to a fate worse than fire and brimstone. There, at least, he could be warm. Here, in this empty land of absence and misery, he would freeze.
"I'm Mana," she whispers. "I'm your dear friend Mana, remember?"
And he does.
Kitaro scrubs away his tears on his sleeve and a smile quirks on his lips. "Well," he grabs her hand. "I've sure got a yokai to beat, don't I?"
Mana's laugh echoes through the Land of Unbeing, and the portal closes behind them.
. . .
Kitaro will never forget the looks on his friends faces when they see him come before them. Nezumi Otoko's fall to his knees, Neko Musume's relieved cries, his father's tearful shouting, and everyone else's cheers.
Strangely, Mana had fallen still and silent- asleep. Kitaro doesn't think much of it, assuming that her being human must mean she tires out faster. After propping her up against some rubble, he marches to an open space and raises his hands to the sky.
"Backbeard!" His furious shriek can be heard for miles. The war pauses, and Kitaro is deaf to Nezumi Otoko's rallying cries. "Face me!"
Thousands of red eyes swivel to stare at the small boy, a formless mass of poison clouds and miasma dripping onto the broken world below. They squint at the shining light gathering at Kitaro's fingertips, bracing for the spirit-enhanced bullet's arrival.
And arrive, it does.
With a scream louder than any he's ever let out, Kitaro releases the energy and fires at Backbeard, at his most hated enemy. He guides it towards the center of the Westerner's iris, his aim deadly and true. Molten iron burns bright in the boy's eye, and he watches with sick satisfaction as the legendary evil is obliterated, his power and presence no more.
And that's it. With that fatal shot, he ends it.
. . .
Calm enough to speak, but too riddled with upset to be sensible, Kitaro returns to his family. Everyone is rejoicing and grasping onto one another, so he feels it is only right that he wake Mana to join in on their happiness.
Only, something is wrong.
When her baby blue eyes snap open, there is no recognition in them. She looks blankly, but politely up at Kitaro, and her questioning gaze falls to his outstretched hand.
"Who are you?" She asks him, oblivious to the heartstopping anguish that halts Kitaro in his tracks. At this, Medama Oyaji jumps out of his hair and runs towards her, unbelieving of what he'd just heard. She scrambles away from him with a startled cry, and the square is utterly silent. Soon, voices are shouting over top one another to speak to the girl, and make her remember who they are.
Kitaro cannot muster a single word, his throat tight and eye burning. Realization dawns on him, and he can't bear to stand before the human anymore. She gave him her memories so that he might save her, and this is the price paid.
Kitaro's geta don't so much as make a sound when he walks away, stunned, back home to the forest. His heart is heavy in his chest as he ponders over his actions.
I don't like this, he thinks to himself. Is this ideal even worth believing in?
Shaking his head, Kitaro sighs. The grass is scorched and trampled, and there is no bird song carried on the air. The rivers are muddy and blood speckles the rocks. The trees do not creak and the leaves do not rustle. Many lives were lost, both human and supernatural. He can feel it in the way time ticks on, with no one to bear witness.
The forest is silent tonight.