"Huh? This is..."
The first him. Himself in most of the waking consciousness. Sometimes, the drawn lines connected to his top lip with the paint fool even him that he is smiling, if he wouldn't be his second form. The red tattoos around his eyes are gone as expected, though why does he see this? He isn't finished yet with the exorcism. The sword trembles and clatters with its teeth. "What is wrong?"
"Kill...him," it murmurs.
"Why would you?"
Deep and raspy, an unusual calm and soft tone to it. The seller stays silent. "You need to." The real one steps back. "You cannot defeat Natsumi otherwise."
He immediately gazes at the sword's face. "Natsumi...is she showing me this?" It shuts its mouth closed.
Water fills around them, wets their clothes past their knees, and further until even their pants are soaked. It doesn't stop, but the seller stays quiet, no attempt to run. There is nothing dangerous about it. For a second, he stops his breath as it closes around them but effortlessly takes air in again. Yellow roses spring from the hard, solid ground beneath them, stone that cracks as their roots break through them. As their sun-kissed petals open, carps emerge, first small but then grow larger until each is about as big as his hand. On their white bodies, the sign of him shows what is also drawn on his barriers, an eye in simple red lines.
The blue seller runs away, unhindered by the water's force and as the real one steps foot after another...It doesn't hold any power against him and so he follows.
Sounds of stomping through flowers echo, actual bubbles rise. As the field, or whatever it is supposed to resemble, stretches out into the far, the blue seller just keeps running and whenever the real one speeds up, he becomes equally fast and lacks closeness to strike him with the lightning blade that is over two meters long. The carps dart past him, their touch only a gentle breeze of warmth, although such wouldn't be possible.
Real seller stops, observes as the blue one imitates, and watches him with his careful eyes. Such a weird sight, to see himself without the markings. Naked, exposed, his Kimono misses the drawings of the balls, and the eye on the back is closed. This form of him should be sleeping... now, he is the ruler of the body. For the time being until the Mononoke is exorcised, then he will fall asleep again. The real seller does something wrong that prevents him from capturing the pale version of the young man. When was the last time he had ever seen himself in such a condition? One, two, or maybe three centuries ago? His transformations happen so fast, the next blink of his and he is ready to slaughter.
A hit, a blow inside of his chest, as the blue seller reaches out to him. His life is so far away from him, he cannot reach it inside of his mind, as if the seller's barriers hold it protectively covered. It could be all these centuries that he has forgotten everything or cannot go into it.
Hunting and exorcising a human Mononoke is a whole different story to him. Given a body of blood and flesh, it benefits their abilities...and Natsumi still has his scale...
"Kill him."
The real seller flinches at the sword's sudden reaction. A fog, thick and heavy, covers his mind. He wants to continue to chase the other but fails to move any limb. What is that about now? He trusts the sword; it tells the truth. It tells what people don't want to hear. There is nothing to deny about it, he saw it centuries-long and still...
His arms and legs shake, instinctively lays a hand on his chest to calm the racing heart. Why, so suddenly it became a fearsome, unbearable task to stab the other...
Wait, what is he even doing here?
The seller shakes his head, looks around. Carps in water, with widely blooming yellow roses, bubbles rise as he breaths.
Nothing, his fingers spread and grab but no sword. As the vision clears, there is...oh, his second form?
Tanned skin, the golden markings, and their eyes, glowing red like rubies in a black lake. The real seller shouldn't be awake, as the golden one's the one ruling now until the exorcism is over. For the first time, or so it feels, there is time for him to take a closer, deeper look at the fighter version. There is the urge to brush through his long, white hair, twirl the strands in between his fingers...
"Run."
Bells ring, the fishes compile all around his body. On the left side of the blue seller's shoulder, a scale dances up and down. It bows a bit towards him. It likes the seller. "Why?"
"Run," the scale repeats. He never heard his scales speak, how interesting...
The golden version sprints forward, the blue seller tenses, turns on his heel, and takes all power for running. His mind clouds, deeply rooted feral instincts show themselves, take over every nerve and every space of his mind. He runs and runs, as much as his power deems possible.
What is this feeling? Such feeling, inside of a cage, a monster lurking just outside...The flowers die under his feet and he wants to pity them but...what is he only doing? Back into reality, he runs faster, yes, through the field from his self. Why does he hold up the sword against him? The sword, the sword...so lost and helpless...
Someone switches his mind off, he swims like a baby in the water with no use of his brain, all clogged up in confusion. There is no other way but to let himself get guided by the scales that emerge from the flowers, who turn to the direction he is supposed to take.
How long is he fleeing? Seconds, minutes, hours, days? Whatever time it is, the seller loses sense for it. Soon, a thread comes into his view, slender in such a gentle way as though they were arms to hold him up in a sense of protection. With no second time to comprehend, one foot after another finds their way on it, with arms outstretched to the far. The balance is easy in such a hilarious way and almost as if this is an everyday exercise, he walks over with the other side shining in the dim light. Oh, yes, everything around them is dim. Sunset, maybe? And hadn't the sun shone back some time?
A burst of warmth inside his chest, the desire to reach the other side faster than lightning. It occupies every cell of his body...joy?
Joy...joy...joy...
A thread? He can try to balance it but that could be hard...
The golden seller shakes his head, the sword clatters, and trembles. Or does it only clatter? A look at his hands and yes, it is himself who trembles. But in what? Refusal from his mind that shakes off the fog. He had been running; it must've been a long time as he doesn't even remember getting to the thread. The blue seller stands there untouched, his gaze fixed on the other side. Starring at him gives the attention back and he takes a close look, still with the weird, naked face. No markings.
"You're doing it wrong."
"Hm?" If the sword had eyebrows, it might look angry...or impatient. It grits its teeth.
"Get through yourself..."
Does the seller want to stab the version of himself? It dreads him, alone the thought of it...but the sword, it's always right. Isn't it?
Get through yourself...must he ignore these voices?... Are there even voices? It must have been his friend...or does someone whisper words to him? Impossible, in this realm of his...no, where even is he? All of a sudden, shot of nowhere, the place becomes familiar. In the centuries of traveling around, the seller might have seen it...
He should trust further, should anticipate. Maybe, after this long time, he might feel pain...he hopes not.
If the sword is certain that he must destroy this other version, it must be it. It wouldn't want to harm the seller as he is the only one to be able to wield it...He has yet to see someone else do so.
This thought pushes him, cold fingers wrap around his arms. As he looks at them...did his skin become darker? He marches further, ignoring the thought. He must do his duty, it burns inside of his head. Who knows what Natsumi did already and she still got his scale, he must retrieve it...
The thread, as sweet and slim as the tender veins below his skin, shakes but none falls. With an ease that surprises the golden seller, he manages to get onto it. The first version holds his breath, stays quiet and motionless until the golden one almost got him through his sword with a precise, efficient hit. In the last moment, his hands shake so much, why? And the blue seller...his heart cries at the weak sight of him, he doesn't want to hurt himself... the blue one senses his chance and sprints to the other side, jumping off with a sound similar to a splash in a puddle.
"Concentrate..."
The impatience in its voice drips as venom, scars his brain.
He couldn't now, he couldn't anymore. Long enough he waited, he is always calm, collected, knows what to do, and doesn't get scared too easily. There is nothing that can break the mask, nothing...
His sides and heart ache, or where it should be and he drops to his knees. "Concentrate...Concentrate!"
"I shall try once more..." He must defeat the Mononoke. He must, at all costs. The golden seller distracts his mind with the thought of the victory. Tori and Atsumotchi, with a bit of luck, might survive. Maybe their son Nariaki as well, but he isn't too sure. He isn't even sure who Natsumi wants dead. Her Mother? Father? Brother? Altogether? Given its own spirit, even if the demon one is the dominant side, she has her wishes, dreams, and desires. Her grudge is meaningless...
Her grudge...who's grudge? He can't quiet phantom, until...a small figure, her dark skin, and even darker eyes and hair. Natsumi of course. The seller blinks, it shows the golden seller. Her skin is darker than the tanned version of himself, he casually notices. As the golden one rushes in his direction, the scale shakes and rings its bell. The medicine seller takes his go again, clouded with a warmth that seems as though someone emerging from ice blocks its way and takes up all the energy. Such disgusting feeling lost and lost forever there...
On the entire way he always holds enough distance to escape the meters long blade, but now, the golden seller takes up speed. Oh no...what?
The blue seller's hands sweat, his light blonde curls stick to his face and forehead and fall on his view.
Fear...blank, animalistic fear, for sheer survival. He had never in such a long time felt that.
It is of no use, as the golden one gains on him. Unable to save himself, he earns a blow against his arm, as the sword does not cut through. In the last second, his power saved him although it won't leave him well.
The blue seller stumbles to the ground. There is no physical pain, no ache or itchy feeling, and no blood when he covers the hurt place with his hand. No wound. Nothing. As he gazes upon it, there are cracks, like a broken porcelain doll. Some feeling, far from his mind yet so close to him, takes the space for the actual torture. Heartbeats slower down, deepen, his breathing shallow. Nobody is here...he wants to call out to someone for help, someone to come and save him but there is no one. He doesn't change a single inch of his face to prevent any emotion from leaking.
The golden seller holds the blade up, ready to slice him in two, but the blue one rolls to the side and escapes the hit, quickly regains posture, and sets up, but to flee is no option. He would gain on him in no time. No possibility to use his power outside of filling his body, no barrier or the sword, nothing. He is useless at this very moment.
Another blow, the blue seller lifts his arms to parry, which cracks all over the place as well. Big fissures, through his sleeve and skin, slow him down and take more energy. Is he fooling himself or why does the golden one become faster after he absorbs his blows?
"Run, run run run run run." The scale shivers.
No chance.
Once again, with eyes wide open, he is too slow to make even a step and the only thing that his instincts force him to is covering his head with his hands. He feels the cracks even though his skin's numb. Inside him corrugates a feeling unknown to the blue seller. Jumps and leaps, presses against his chest and cuts the air out of his lungs, he sits there and rests his face in his hands. Alone this single movement is so slow, like slow motion.
Don't do this, don't do this. The golden seller cannot just do this, to destroy him. No chance, no life when running away. He faces death...
Death?
It isn't him to face death but the other one, the blue seller. Light and graceful are his hits, filled with power to the brim of the golden seller's very soul. But before he can strike the quivering, trembling form of the blue seller, a final rebel rises inside of him, roars, and leaves havoc in his mind. Speed vanishes like rustling leaves in the wind, he shakes as heavily as the other part. "Kill him..." the sword urges him. "Now...do not...linger..." The golden seller's eyes warm-up, then his cheeks and parts of his bare chest, his vision blurry. Held up high to pin right through his back, the fishes with their red eyes gather all around them and envelop them in a circle, the sword races down and with a squirm and another bloody scream, the blue seller's limp body falls onto the flowers.
The scream wasn't his, too high and too female-like for that. The seller lies there, eyes open and body curled up like a baby. His face warm and wet, he kneels down and gently pets over his head. That is, with the pain that feeds on him, the blue seller disappears into a swarm of...centipedes. Anxiously they crawl away, the fishes fall dead and the water turns such a deep red, wouldn't it be for the golden one's eyes, he'd not recognize the weak figure of Natsumi. Rooting, their petals fall off and dissolve into the nothing, the beet of yellow roses vanishes.
"This hadn't had to be..." she murmurs, the softness of her maturity in a child's body that gives her a tone close to being scary. "I thought...you would not decide for this way, but I was wrong." The seller's hands still lay on her head. "I did not mean harm to you, ever. I do not know what you did that kept the demon inside of me away from the fragile, weak part of my soul, the part is truly given by my Mother...but it was such a...different experience for my life. You see..." Natsumi closes her eyes as tears begin to form themselves, glister on the corners. "I am bond to human limit. A demon in a child's body, with a part of the child's soul still in me...this mixture was not liked by the human that raised me."
It was the seller's power. That part, that last resort inside of him, that keeps Mononoke at bay. Should he ever be devoured by a Mononoke, would that be the part to save him, the last chance. She must've absorbed that power, thus causing it to bring the Mononoke to sleep so far that she didn't turn completely until the end where they separated.
"The grudge, all these feelings of my Mother were manifested inside of me for as long as I could think. But the child's soul held back the reason...if I ever knew it. I did not attack you, for your kindness really touched my heart. Until today, where Atsu told the story...the only familiar memory of her was when she called for my help so desperately. I heard her but I couldn't move...a freshly born baby but the Mononoke that was made...of course, I understood everything...but I was bond to the baby's body, to this human form...so she died. I didn't even know who she was until now..." The seller's hand moves away.
"Mr. Medicine seller, would I have turned like this if Mother didn't die?"
A long pause, absolute and utter silence.
"I wonder...maybe...not."
"Nobody ever liked me. Neither Tori, nor Atsu, nor brother." Another break, neither of them says anything, until Natsumi pouts, close to crying. "Did you like me, at least? Before you exposed me, that is..." Another wave of silence.
The seller's lips curl up into a smile. "You softened my heart," he speaks gently, a brush of sweet summer breeze.
Sobs erupt from the child; tears stream in an endless flow. Natsumi cries out loudly, a child's wail for love in its naked core. They wait there until nothing but hiccups remain of her. His face becomes warm and wet again, can barely see correctly.
"Mr. Medicine seller?" He focuses his attention on her. "Are you alright?"
"Hmm..." His body trembles.
"Alright...alright...Medicine...seller..." Natsumi cracks, raven black blood floods out of her. "We see...each...other...no more..."
May you rest in peace he wants to say. But the words stuck, unable to find their way to air. A single little worm of power inside of him, Natsumi's power, wriggles around and fades, weaker and weaker. In the last second, the seller imagines to grab this power and to hold onto it tight, with his bare hands, digs his long nails inside of it before it can disappear completely. Sorrow...sorrow strikes him harder than the blows from before...the blows? How has he felt them, he wasn't...
The seller's surrounding dissolves into nothing. Last is Natsumi, who looks at him with wary eyes, a smile gracing her lips as good as possible. She moves her hand a bit, in which his scale lays, bathed in blood both black and white. There is no way to react as he falls asleep.