Chapter 1: Wake tf UP!
On a chilly night in the expansive fieldlands of Japan, the echoes of a woman's piercing screams reverberated through the air. Within the confines of a distinguished noble house in a serene village to the north, a profound event unfolded. A woman with lustrous black hair, deep black eyes, and a complexion as delicate as porcelain was immersed in the sacred act of bringing new life into the world.
In the throes of labor, the woman unleashed cries that resounded with the intensity of her emotions, each wail a testament to the raw power of the birthing process. Beside her, a skilled doctor attentively guided the infant's emergence, ensuring a safe and steady progression. With every ounce of strength she possessed, the woman endured the pain, her determination unyielding.
As the hands of time continued their ceaseless march, an hour drifted by, and a profound hush descended upon the room. Carefully cradling the newborn boy in his arms, the doctor lifted the tiny bundle, swathing him in a pristine white blanket. Exhausted yet filled with anticipation, the woman wearily opened her eyes, her gaze fixed upon the doctor who tenderly extended her baby into her waiting arms.
In that poignant moment, as mother and child locked eyes, the room stood still. The baby, his eyes as yet unseen, hesitated for a brief instant before finally unveiling the enigma that lay within. His eyes, like twin obsidian orbs, revealed an unfathomable depth, captivating his mother's attention. A tender smile graced her fatigued face as she beheld her child with unconditional love, finding solace in the purity of their connection.
Meanwhile, the doctor's brow furrowed with a mix of curiosity and concern. The boy, unlike most infants, did not release the expected chorus of cries or exhibit the typical signs of newborn vitality. Instead, he fixed his gaze unwaveringly on his mother, his expression inscrutable. A flicker of unease danced in the doctor's eyes as he contemplated the significance of this extraordinary stillness. Unwilling to disrupt the delicate balance of the moment, he chose to withhold his worries, opting to observe the unfolding scene with a blend of awe and cautious vigilance.
XXX
It lay there, bewildered and disoriented. The vessel couldn't comprehend how it had arrived in this place, mired in confusion after its triumphant victory over the Ancient Enemy and its ascension in godhome. Now, its attention was fixated on a being before it—a creature adorned with a tan, almost pallid shell adorned with numerous antennae sprouting from its crown. The vessel's gaze was drawn to the creature's eyes, which seemed to hold the essence of the entire void lake within their depths.
A smile graced the creature's face, captivating the former vessel's attention. And then, with a tone that resonated with instinctual love, the creature uttered a name: "Kiyoshi." The vessel attempted to respond, taken aback by its own ability to do so, but instead, its words emerged as incomprehensible speech. Astonishingly, this did not deter the creature in the slightest; rather, waves of love radiated from it, enveloping the vessel in their warm embrace.
A faint smile appeared on the vessel's lips as it closed its eyes, savoring a sensation it had never experienced before. Vessels were created to be hollow, devoid of outward displays of emotion. Yet, in this moment, the vessel could feel the warmth of its smile, an unfamiliar but comforting sensation that washed over it, filling the void within. In this extraordinary encounter, the vessel discovered a newfound appreciation for the beauty of emotions, especially in a moment as profound as this.
XXX
It had been 6 years since he was reborn as a human. The species he now belonged to were called humans, and they were a fascinating species in his eyes. The only noticeable differences among them were variations in hair color, eye color, and occasionally, skin tone (which were all new terms he had learned). The former vessel now had a gender and a name, things he had never experienced before. Well, except for the impromptu name of Little Ghost, given to him by his sister. However, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of never seeing Hornet again. At least Hallownest could now find peace, now that the Radiance was gone.
"Kyoshi-sama!" a shrill voice echoed through the garden where he found himself. Kyoshi, the vessel turned human, had his white hair elegantly pulled back into a high pony-tail, while his eyes remained two black pits devoid of light. His fair and almost pale complexion was complemented by the color of his kimono, reminiscent of the cloak he had worn in his previous life. Standing at a height of 114.3 centimeters (3 feet seven inches), Kyoshi locked eyes with the woman who called his name. Although the lady flinched slightly under his gaze, Kyoshi remained unperturbed. He walked towards her, closing the distance between them.
"Kyoshi-sama, it is time for your evening meal," she said, bowing respectfully. The concept of eating was still new to Kyoshi, as he had never experienced hunger as a vessel. Yet, as a human, he was obliged to consume food and drink to sustain himself. Even though he lacked the natural inclination for hunger, he found himself being practically force-fed by his caretakers. Some meals were enjoyable, while others proved less appealing. He still vividly remembered the unpleasant sensation of vomiting up his insides. Kyoshi and the servant departed for Kyoshi's family house, a grand estate belonging to the prestigious Akatsuki family.
However, one peculiar object in the house caught Kyoshi's attention—the katana hanging above the family fireplace. It stood out amidst the absence of nails, the sacred weapons he had wielded in Hallownest. Whenever he inquired about it, he was met with questioning looks, prompting him to drop the matter entirely. Katanas were similar to nails in some ways, but they had distinct characteristics. They were curved, designed to cut with a single side. The slim blade, often adorned with intricate patterns, featured a flat guard to protect the hand from cuts—a feature that wasn't necessary back in Hallownest, where warriors were protected by their resilient chitinous carapace. The blade was sheathed in a wooden container, typically resting on one's waist.
Speaking of weapons, as soon as Kyoshi had gained the ability to walk, he took the katana from above the fireplace and attempted to challenge the sun, much like how he had done to the Radiance. However, he soon discovered that the sun was not an enemy but still is considered a deity, known as Amaterasu, and that the moon, Tsukuyomi, chased Amaterasu in the night sky, perpetually creating day and night. Although Kyoshi found some relief in learning that the sun was merely a source of light and warmth, he couldn't help but keep a watchful eye on it, just in case it exhibited any peculiar behavior.
Kyoshi sat on his knees, his gaze fixed upon the array of food laid out before him. The dish consisted of white rice formed into compact balls, slices of cooked meat, various sauces, and a sprinkling of fresh greens. Although it wasn't his favorite meal, he resigned himself to endure it. He lifted the chopsticks in his hands, delicately picking up one of the rice balls and sliding it into his mouth. With measured movements, he chewed slowly, savoring the flavors before swallowing. The void within him absorbed the morsel almost instantly, as it always did. Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice the presence of someone new entering the room.
A shadow loomed over him, causing Kyoshi to peer up and meet the gaze of a man standing before him. The man's long, luxurious white hair was styled similarly to his own, tied into a high bun. His lemon-yellow orbs radiated intensity, a gaze that would have made anyone else shiver. But Kyoshi was no ordinary person.
Standing at an impressive height of 183.4 centimeters(6 feet), the man addressed him . With a stoic expression, Kyoshi rose from his kneeling position and offered a respectful bow. "Good evening, father," he replied in a monotone voice. While the man standing before him was his father in name, Kyoshi couldn't bring himself to truly consider him as such. After the age of three, he hadn't seen his mother, and he had a lingering suspicion that this man had played a role in her absence. The man spun on his heel and began walking away without another word. "Follow me," he stated simply, his command carrying a weighty undertone. Kyoshi obediently stood up and trailed behind his father, quietly stepping in sync with his footsteps as they made their way down the hall.
As they walked through the back entrance, within the walls of the Akatsuki residence, a treasure trove of ancient paintings adorned the halls, each one harking back to the early days of the Edo period. While the family had since transitioned into trade and commerce, their roots could be traced back to a time when samurai warriors were the backbone of their lineage, symbolized by the katana proudly displayed above the grand fireplace. It was against this backdrop that Kyoshi's father, mindful of their prestigious heritage, broached the topic of finance and trade, hoping to initiate his son into the world of business. However, Kyoshi's attention was elsewhere, captivated by the sights and sounds of the bustling town before him. He had spent his entire existence confined to the serene confines of the family garden, never venturing beyond its borders. Now, he found himself enveloped in the refreshing embrace of the cool, untamed air that permeated the village.
Father and son embarked on a leisurely stroll through the busy streets, their presence drawing a variety of reactions from the townsfolk. Some cast awestruck gazes their way, admiring the opulence that accompanied their prestigious name. Others, envious of their wealth, couldn't help but feel a tinge of resentment. And then there were those who averted their eyes altogether, a mix of disdain and... fear? Kyoshi couldn't fathom the reasons behind the unease he detected in the eyes of the humans they encountered. As they weaved their way through the bustling streets, Kyoshi and his father finally reached their destination—a modest house, a far cry from the grandeur of their own residence.
A man awaited them outside, his face contorted in a sneer that swiftly transformed into a forced smile upon meeting his father's gaze. "Greetings, Akatsuki-sama. I trust this visit will be to your satisfaction," he uttered, bowing with utmost respect. Kyoshi's father ignored the man's pleasantries and strode past him, signaling for Kyoshi to follow suit. They entered the house, the man guiding them through to a quaint garden nestled behind it. A simple stone pathway led to a small table, meticulously arranged for their meeting. As the trio settled themselves around the table, Kyoshi couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret for disregarding his father's earlier admonition. The stranger and Kyoshi assumed their positions, kneeling on opposite sides of the table, while his father stood off to the side, overseeing their interaction.
"Kyoshi, today we shall engage in a simulation of a trade negotiation between two villages," his father's voice resonated with a stoic tone. Kyoshi listened intently as his father provided the context of the situation, outlining the scarcity of resources in each village and the limitations on their supplies. The negotiation commenced smoothly, Kyoshi and the now-introduced Ryota engaging in a spirited exchange of words, discussing the available resources and the terms of their potential trade. Kyoshi's father occasionally interjected, offering his insights and advice. "Those items hold greater value," he would remark, or "the price is too high," his words serving as valuable guidance.
Yet, amid the seamless flow of conversation, an issue arose—food. It was a topic that struck a chord within Kyoshi, for in his previous life, sustenance was an alien concept. Even in his current existence, he had no need for nourishment as ordinary living beings did. But now, faced with the negotiation of food supply, he found himself at an impasse. Ryota extended an offer, proposing to provide his village's sustenance for an entire month in exchange for a certain amount of currency.
Curiosity compelled Kyoshi to inquire about the specific quantity, prompting Ryota to respond with a figure denoted in a unit unfamiliar to Kyoshi. As he pondered the offer, Kyoshi failed to notice the beads of sweat accumulating on Ryota's forehead, his gaze inadvertently fixed upon Kyoshi's eyes.
Ryota's-pov
Ryota's gaze remained fixed upon the child's eyes, and as he delved deeper into their depths, a sense of vastness overwhelmed him. It was as though he had stumbled upon an infinite expanse, an abyss that stretched beyond comprehension. The intensity of the darkness within those eyes seemed to swallow the very essence of light that surrounded him, leaving him trapped in a timeless void.
Within this boundless emptiness, Ryota felt a palpable energy, a force that yearned to unleash its destructive power upon him. Yet, he couldn't help but perceive a paradoxical restraint, a controlled might that could annihilate in a fraction of a second. In the presence of this enigmatic entity, he felt a profound insignificance, his own existence reduced to a mere speck in comparison to the overwhelming aura emanating from the child.
The child, or whatever it truly was, transcended the boundaries of a simple human form. It held within it a hidden depth, something far more profound and mysterious than its outward appearance suggested. Ryota couldn't deny the sense that there was an unfathomable complexity concealed beneath the surface, an essence that defied conventional understanding.
Overwhelmed by this revelation, Ryota's instincts compelled him to release his emotions in a desperate, guttural cry. His scream pierced through the stillness of the surrounding void, resonating with the eerie silence that enveloped him. It was an instinctual response to the overwhelming presence he confronted, a cathartic expression of his own vulnerability in the face of the unknown.
3rd person pov
Kyoshi's tranquility was momentarily disrupted as the man before him unleashed a torrent of terrified screams, his voice reverberating through the air. His face contorted with horror, as if he had laid eyes upon a vengeful specter. "G-get away from me! Stay back!" he pleaded, his trembling intensifying with each passing moment. Ryota, consumed by fear, seemed unable to comprehend the sight that had unfolded before him. "T-Those eyes... please, leave me be, please!" he implored, his voice trembling with a mixture of anguish and terror.
Amidst the chaotic outburst, Kyoshi's attention was piqued. The man starting raving about the void struck a chord within him, but he remained silent, his thoughts veiled behind a stoic facade. His father, now fixated on his man's perplexing behavior, furrowed his brow in mild confusion. Kyoshi, however, kept his gaze fixed forward, intentionally avoiding eye contact with his father. It was as if he carried a weighty secret within him, a truth he dared not reveal.
XXX
It had been a week filled with perplexing incidents, each one leaving Kyoshi's father increasingly frustrated and bewildered. He had desperately sought assistance from others to aid in Kyoshi's negotiation practice, hoping to uncover the cause of the unsettling reactions he garnered. Yet, without fail, every person who inadvertently locked eyes with Kyoshi would recoil in fear, uttering the same chilling words: absolute darkness, or the void. The phenomenon both confounded and enraged Kyoshi's father, a man who had never been inclined towards religious beliefs or superstitions. Nevertheless, he persisted, driven by the desire to find a solution.
In the solitude of his private corridors, Kyoshi sat upon his futon, surrounded by the austere simplicity of his room. The porcelain white walls, adorned with delicate cloud designs near the floor, provided the only semblance of visual stimulation. The distant sound of the front gates opening caught Kyoshi's attention, prompting him to make his way towards the source of the commotion. He navigated through winding corridors and empty rooms, his steps measured and purposeful. As he finally arrived at the gate, the figure of his father came into view. A sash hung around his shoulders and looked to carry something within.
His father walked up to him and tossed something towards him, and Kyoshi caught it effortlessly. As he examined the object, his eyes widened in surprise. It was a pale white mask, resembling a creature that roamed these lands—an elusive fox, if he remembered correctly. The mask bore no markings, except for the intricately carved mouth and nose.(Think of Sabuto's mask without the scar) Bound by a simple rope, it held the potential to transform his visage. Kyoshi's emotions swirled within him, a mix of liberation and nostalgia. No longer confined behind a mask, he relished the ability to express himself freely and reveal his true face to the world. Yet, there was a twinge of longing, a yearning for the familiar comfort of hiding behind a mask, shielding his true self from prying eyes. Perhaps, in that mask, he could find solace and preserve a final connection to his old home.
"Put that on, we will be departing shortly," his father instructed in his usual stoic tone. Kyoshi obediently placed the mask over his face, feeling the cool touch of the wooden surface against his skin. With one hand, he held it in place, while the other deftly fastened the rope around his head. Once the mask was secure, a sense of confusion washed over him. He expected some transformative effect, a shift in his essence. However, as he wore the mask, he still felt the full range of emotions and sensations. Perhaps it was a consequence of his human nature, or perhaps there were other forces at play.
While his father went inside to gather their few belongings, Kyoshi took advantage of the spare time and strolled toward the private gardens. The winter season had given way to the rebirth of spring, and the landscape was adorned with puddles scattered across the grassy expanse. Approaching a sizable puddle that held his reflection, Kyoshi peered intently at the face staring back at him. The familiar porcelain white fox mask reflected his image in obsidian black, but instead of seeing his own onyx eyes through the mask's eye holes, he saw only an abyss—a void that seemed to hold nothingness, reminiscent of his previous mask's enigmatic nature.
Retracing his steps back inside, Kyoshi made his way to the back door, the one leading directly to the village. The front gates, primarily meant for visitors, offered an easy passage to the outside world. Standing alongside his father, their contrasting grayish-blue and yellow kimonos created a visual dichotomy, signifying the journey they were about to undertake.
XXX
Years had passed since Kyoshi had first received his mask, and over time, he had acquired several replacements as he aged. Yet, the design of the mask remained constant—a fox, a symbol of cunning and adaptability. The mask had proven effective, gradually diminishing the unsettling effects others claimed to witness. Now, it merely evoked an eerie sensation in those who dared to meet Kyoshi's gaze for too long. Furthermore, it instilled a sense of fear in people, granting him an advantage in challenging situations during his "goods trading" endeavors. Whether they employed a casual approach or orchestrated a dramatic display, Kyoshi noticed that others often yielded to his desires. With each successful negotiation, a barely perceptible smirk would grace his father's face, a silent acknowledgement of Kyoshi's growth and prowess.
Kyoshi's most recent journey had taken him to another village, accompanied by one of his father's trusted business partners. His purpose was to witness real trade in action and offer subtle guidance or critique when necessary. As they approached the village, Kyoshi's gaze fell upon the distant buildings adorned with lights, creating a mesmerizing display in the night sky, resembling an interloping dance. As they disembarked from the carriage, he couldn't help but notice the curious stares directed their way.
In an attempt to alleviate the tension, Kyoshi waved to the onlookers, and to his subtle relief, the crowd responded with soft murmurs, their curiosity temporarily appeased. Comments ranged from inquiries about his mask to admiring his lustrous hair. Kyoshi nonchalantly brushed off the remarks, focusing on following his father's business partner through the bustling village. Eventually, they arrived at the grandest structure in the area, the main building that held the most significance.
Approaching the imposing double doors, the business partner raised a hand to knock, but before he could make contact, the doors swung open, revealing two women with strikingly similar features and attire. Their hair was meticulously styled into neat buns, and their faces were predominantly covered in white makeup, with only the vibrant red lipstick and blush marks standing out against the pale canvas. Their kimonos showcased a stark contrast, ranging from elegant black garments adorned with delicate flower patterns to vibrant magenta ensembles embellished with intricate gold designs. In a synchronized manner, they spoke in monotone unison, their words flowing seamlessly, "Welcome, we hope your stay is to your liking." Stepping aside, they created a path for Kyoshi and his companion to enter the building. A man in his fifties, who appeared to be overseeing the proceedings, greeted them with a warm smile.
"Greetings, Fujiwara-san. And who might this be?" the man inquired politely, his eyes shifting between Kyoshi and his companion. Caught in the periphery of Kyoshi's vision, he noticed a woman with striking lime-green eyes staring at him with a mixture of disgust and intrigue etched upon her delicate features. Though he couldn't comprehend the reason behind her disdain, Kyoshi chose to remain indifferent, unaffected by her judgmental gaze.
With a genial smile, Kyoshi's companion replied, "Hello to you too, Nakamura-san. This is Akatsuki-senpai's gaki," referring to Kyoshi. Bowing respectfully, Kyoshi acknowledged the man's surprise, "Oh my, I didn't know he had a child." As the two engaged in conversation, Kyoshi's attention subtly returned to the noblewoman who had captured his curiosity. Without directly facing her, he cast a sidelong glance, his mask expertly concealing any indication of his gaze.
To his surprise, the woman's expression had transformed from disgust to genuine curiosity. She began to approach him, and an unexplainable tension gripped Kyoshi's being. His hand started twitching for his nail that wasn't on his, there was something inherently different about this woman, an aura that surpassed that of a mere mortal. She stood before him, her lime-green eyes piercing through the openings of his mask. "Hello there, Akatsuki-sama," she greeted, her bow accompanied by a honey-toned voice laced with an underlying edge. "May I be so bold as to inquire about the mask you bear?" she continued, her curiosity evident.
Kyoshi contemplated her request for a moment before deciding to grant her a response. "The people in my village cannot endure the intensity of my gaze for prolonged periods," he answered in a monotone voice, carefully choosing his words. "So, my father provided me with this mask to shield my eyes from their sight."
She raised an elegant eyebrow, her curiosity piqued by Kyoshi's explanation. However, before she could further delve into her inquiry, the two men who had been engaged in conversation suddenly noticed the presence of the women. "Oh, hello there, Lady Fujikawa," Nakamura greeted her respectfully, his tone reflecting a sense of familiarity. Although it was evident that Lady Fujikawa held some level of disdain towards him, she managed to compose herself with a controlled breath. "Hello to you too, Nakamura-sama," she responded, her voice maintaining its saccharine quality. With a swift glance in Kyoshi's direction, she gracefully departed, leaving him with a lingering sense of dread. However, any further contemplation was interrupted by Nakamura's gesture, signaling them to follow him inside. The trio was led to a secluded room, providing an air of privacy away from prying eyes. As they settled into their seats, the two men positioned themselves across from each other, their focus directed towards the matters of village finance and supplies.
XXX
Kyoshi found himself unable to put a name to the peculiar feeling that stirred within him, reminiscent of the moments he spent conversing with Hornet in Hallownest. During those fleeting minutes, the weight of the kingdom and its myriad challenges seemed to recede, allowing them a respite from their burdens. Although now faded, the memory of that respite brought a sense of contentment to Kyoshi's soul. The meeting had transpired smoothly, filled with light-hearted conversation and occasional playful jabs, yet devoid of any true hostility. Once again, they found themselves inside the carriage, the wooden wheels bouncing against the rough gravel road as the horses diligently pulled them forward. The gusts of wind whipped against Kyoshi's long hair, cascading around his mask-covered face.
But then, without warning, his instincts flared to life, urging him to flee, to escape from an unseen threat. His hand twitched imperceptibly, the subtle movement going unnoticed by his companion. Kyoshi longed to caution the man, to implore him to turn the carriage around and return to Nakamura's village. However, there was no tangible danger in sight, no concrete evidence to substantiate his unease. In Hallownest, his instincts had been his lifeline, alerting him to imminent perils and guiding him through treacherous situations. But this was no longer Hallownest; danger no longer lurked perpetually behind him. With a deep breath, Kyoshi reined in his anxiety, reminding himself that he possessed the resourcefulness to navigate any unforeseen circumstances. It was something he had always done—finding a way, even in the face of uncertainty. And so, he allowed his body to slump forward, his head bowed, reminiscent of the moments he would occasionally doze off on a bench. The sound of Fujiwara's chuckle reached his ears, but in that moment, Kyoshi cared little for it, consumed instead by his own thoughts and the enigmatic premonitions that plagued him.
XXX
Kyoshi remained seated in the confines of his private chambers, unwavering and patient, his vigil extending for a period of ten consecutive days. Not once did he shift from his position, dismissing the servants' persistent pleas for him to partake in nourishment. He had adamantly refused, firmly asserting that sustenance was unnecessary for him. The entreaties of the servants, attempting to leverage his loyalty to Akatsuki-sama, failed to sway him. After all, how could he be scolded by a man who was nowhere to be found? This was the primary reason for Kyoshi's prolonged stay in these corridors. Upon his return, his father's absence had been palpable, his disappearance shrouded in mystery. Yet, Kyoshi harbored no deep concern for the man who had never bestowed upon him the same tender smiles his mother had once graced him with. Instead, he recalled his father's smug and arrogant smirks, reminiscent of the self-assured expressions worn by the Eternal Bug as it passed by her abode.
Furthermore, Kyoshi's instincts refused to subside, even in the stillness of his surroundings. His right hand had taken to frequent twitches, a persistent urge to grasp something that was no longer within reach. And so, he sat and waited, expecting the inevitable, much like the time he had fallen and landed upon the desolate, skull-laden ground of the Birthplace. It was then that a sound had pierced through the shroud of suffering silence. As he escaped the abyss, fleeing from the clutches of the Nosk, he had stumbled upon an exit—a fleeting respite. It mirrored the feeling of wandering the desolate wastes, a perpetual sense of treading upon an unknown path, though he had always been aware of its existence from the very beginning.
A resounding boom jolted Kyoshi from his futon, his bones creaking and cracking in response. The sound was unlike anything he had ever encountered in this life, yet it stirred a faint echo of recognition deep within him. Without a moment's hesitation, he propelled himself towards the rear entrance of the estate, his kimono sleeves cascading past his fingers, concealing the tightening of his clenched fists. Unimpeded by the absence of servants, he sprinted through the labyrinthine hallways with an unparalleled swiftness, surpassing even his own previous feats without the aid of the mothwing cloak. His socked feet glides effortlessly, unencumbered by the flowing length of his hakama pants.
As he reached the outskirts of the village, a scene of utter chaos unfolded before his eyes. The once familiar shops and lively festivities had now succumbed to the ravages of flames. The orange inferno, intense and consuming, bore a resemblance to the nightmare flames he had encountered in his previous existence. Yet, this conflagration surpassed them in its ferocity, its searing heat a vivid reminder of a distant memory.
The village lay desolate, devoid of life, with no bodies engulfed by the haunting orange glow. Amidst the devastation, a sound reached Kyoshi's ears—an eerie laughter, simultaneously familiar and foreign. His gaze shifted towards the path ahead, where a silhouette emerged from the haze. The loose strands of white hair, no longer neatly gathered in a bun, swayed from side to side with each purposeful step. Lemon-yellow eyes bore traces of orange, while red stains marred the once vibrant yellow and orange checkered pattern of the kimono. The baggy black hakama pants, torn and tattered, exhibited a state unfit for public view.
"Kyoshi-kun~," his father called out, a tone he had never used before, for he had always addressed Kyoshi simply as Kyoshi. His laughter pierced the air, carrying a mixture of manic hysteria, twisted excitement, and burning rage. With a frenzied look in his eyes, he lunged towards Kyoshi, a clawed hand aimed at his heart, poised to strike with lethal force. Swift as a shadow, Kyoshi evaded the attack, sidestepping his father's menacing reach. The rush of adrenaline urged him to find a weapon, to defend himself against his now unhinged father. Without hesitation, he turned back towards the estate, his destination set on the hearth.
Silence hung in the air for a moment, broken only by the rustle of the wind and the crackling of flames. Then, with sudden ferocity, his father sent him hurtling through the delicate paper walls, crashing into the room adjacent to the fireplace. As the walls tore apart in his wake, Kyoshi could feel the bone within him crack, a pain that was as familiar as it was unwelcome. His shell had fractured before, that was not new. So he channeled his soul for a brief moment and mended the bone in a matter of seconds.
Crawling with determination, Kyoshi made his way towards the main room, his eyes fixated on his target. And there, amidst the dancing tongues of the tamer orange flames, hung the katana he sought. Leaping with agility and purpose, he snatched the sheathed sword from its resting place. The struggle to unsheathe the blade was real, each moment intensified by the piercing gaze of his father. But after a brief struggle, Kyoshi triumphed, revealing the gleaming purple hue of the blade, a stark contrast to the disheveled orange rags that adorned his father's form. Gripping the katana with unwavering resolve, Kyoshi held it steady, the weight of the weapon perfectly balanced against his being. There were no tremors, no twitches, no signs of nervousness betraying his composure.
"PSHHAHAHA!" his father unleashed a guttural laugh, yet Kyoshi stood firm, undeterred by the madness that consumed his father's soul. With an unyielding resolve, he charged forward, the weight of the heavy blade propelled by his strength, aimed to strike back at the source of the chaos.
*Clink*
Kyoshi's hands remained steady as his father caught the blade, his voice barely above a whisper, "Little fox." A sudden tightening of his fist shattered the katana in his grasp, leaving only half of the blade intact. "WEAK!" he bellowed, followed by a swift kick to Kyoshi's ribs. The force launched him through the air once again, crashing through the estate and landing harshly on the streets below. His clothes became further tattered and torn, yet the katana remained firmly in his grip. Without hesitation, Kyoshi focused his soul for a fleeting moment, mending his injuries as the pain subsided.
Rising from the rugged ground, Kyoshi could feel its abrasive texture against his socked feet. The remaining portion of the blade felt lighter now, but his grip remained unwavering. He held it confidently in one hand, reminiscent of how he once wielded his nail, ready to face the approaching figure with a menacing orange glow.
"Little fox, I suppose I'll give you some credit for still standing," his father taunted, his every step cracking the ground beneath him. "But..." With a burst of speed, he charged towards Kyoshi, his every movement exuding a deadly intent. "YOU ARE DEAD!" he declared with a twisted smile, his fist cocked back for a devastating blow.
Kyoshi held his ground, unwavering and resolute, waiting until they were face to face. In one swift motion, he leaped over his father, bringing the blade down in a powerful downward slash that sliced through the fabric of his kimono. His father swiftly turned, aiming a clawed slash at Kyoshi, but he leaped back, creating distance between them. They stood locked in a stare, predator and prey, with Kyoshi embodying the role of the prey. This dynamic was all too familiar to him, reminiscent of his encounters with the infected beasts of Hallownest, who often singled him out as their target.
With a fierce clash, blade met skin in a powerful lock. It was Kyoshi who ultimately broke the stalemate, swiftly ducking underneath his father's arm and delivering an upward slash that severed it from his body. A high-pitched screech escaped his father's lips as he desperately attempted to launch Kyoshi away once more. However, Kyoshi deftly sidestepped the attack, his new body proving more nimble and agile than his previous one. No longer burdened by the awkward weight of his head, he marveled at the newfound freedom of movement.
Seizing the opportunity, Kyoshi leaped onto the stump of his father's arm, using it as a springboard to propel himself into a graceful flip through the air. At that moment, he noticed something peculiar about the regenerating stump—it was slowly regrowing. But his focus wasn't solely on the regrowth itself; it was the essence that permeated the air as the limb began to reform. It bore a striking resemblance to her, the primal and enigmatic being he encountered in the depths of Hallownest. However, instead of the vibrant orange hue he anticipated, the essence took on a deep scarlet color, emanating a primal lust for human blood. It exuded strength, yet carried an underlying consequence that made the void within Kyoshi bubble up in anger.
Tightening his grip on the hilt of the shattered katana, Kyoshi prepared himself for the next strike. Determination fueled his actions as he readied to face the formidable opponent before him.
Akatsuki's POV:
Akatsuki's breaths turned into visible plumes of steam as fatigue started to creep into his muscles. Each swing of his diminishing in power and precision. However, there was something that kept him going—a flicker of determination fueled by the presence of the child standing before him. The child gripped the shattered remnants of the blade, holding it as one would wield a short sword. Every strike he made was efficient and calculated, devoid of any signs of fatigue. Akatsuki couldn't help but wonder where the child had acquired such formidable combat skills. No one had ever trained him before, so how did he possess such prowess? Throughout the entire fight, the child remained eerily silent, giving no indication of his existence beyond his physical presence. It was as if the mask he wore further emphasized the notion that he was not of this world, not bound by mortal limitations.
Though his instincts urged him to retreat from the perceived threat standing before him, Akatsuki dismissed them as mere paranoia. Letting out a low growl, he dashed toward the child, who mirrored his movements and charged as well. Akatsuki swung his right arm in a sweeping arc, intending to strike high, but the child swiftly shifted to the left, feigning his movement. Just as Akatsuki anticipated the dodge, and aimed a quick kick aimed at his waist. Frustratingly, the child effortlessly leaped over his outstretched leg, displaying a remarkable level of grace and agility. A strange sensation tugged at Akatsuki from within as he let out a call, the sound echoing through the surrounding chaos.
"Ketsuki Jutsu: Taki Nagareru Tsuru!" (Blood Demon Art: Cascading Vines!)
With a swift downward motion of his hand, dark orange vines sprouted from the surrounding environment—wrapping themselves around the charred remains of houses, entangling the scorched earth, and ensnaring even the remnants of burnt-down stalls. Kyoshi found himself trapped within this thorny cocoon, his body tightly bound while only his head protruded from the top. From his vantage point, Akatsuki relished in the sight of Kyoshi's futile struggles. A smirk crept across his face as he made his way toward the trapped figure, his heart brimming with sadistic pleasure. In this moment, Akatsuki realized that he had become the predator, entangling his prey within his web of cruelty. It was a stroke of luck that Kyoshi hadn't succumbed to madness upon his transformation, and now Akatsuki intended to savor his torment a little longer.
Akatsuki took a step forward, feeling the weight of his own hunger tugging at him. Once he was finished with his offspring, he knew he would need to feast on more blood. His movements were unsteady, his body weakened by no consumption of life force. Yet, his focus remained fixed on the cocooned Kyoshi. The child's futile struggles only fueled his desire to prolong the torment. A wide smile, filled with rows of sharp teeth, stretched across his face as he taunted, "Oh, little fox, aren't you in a sticky situation?"
Despite the constricting bindings, Kyoshi's head snapped toward Akatsuki with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Two dark pools stared at him defiantly, silently challenging his sadistic intentions. Undeterred, Akatsuki reveled in his power as he pressed on, determined to inflict further pain. "Well, since you're going to die anyway," he sneered, relishing in the opportunity to assert his dominance, "why don't I regale you with a little story?" Kyoshi's struggles ceased momentarily, his attention captured by Akatsuki's words. "Your mother," he began, savoring each syllable, "she was such a kind and feeble woman. Always extending a helping hand to others, even when there was nothing to be gained for herself."
Akatsuki's voice dripped with disdain as he spat out his words, his contempt for Kyoshi's mother evident in every syllable. "Useless," he sneered, "she always manages to find trouble, constantly putting herself in harm's way. If it weren't for me, she would have met her end countless times. That woman, with her incessant need to help others, nearly sacrificed herself on numerous occasions. I remember the time we first met."
Akatsuki paused, relishing in the opportunity to recount his twisted version of events. "She had foolishly ventured into a treacherous ravine," he continued, his voice laced with scorn. "What for, you ask? To save a measly baby sparrow! Can you believe it? I descended into that wretched pit, expecting something of importance, only to find her clinging to life for the sake of a bird. My clothes were dirtied, my patience tested. In that moment, I was tempted to push her down there myself! But alas, I refrained."
Years had passed since that encounter, and the need to ensure the continuation of the Akatsuki bloodline had compelled him to seek a woman. And there she was, Kyoshi's mother, offering assistance to a stranded neko in a tree. Akatsuki approached her, seizing the opportunity to further his own desires. "I took her back to the estate," he recounted, his tone filled with a sickening satisfaction, "and explained my circumstances. She agreed, and a year later, you were born. But after that, she began to pester me incessantly, demanding to see you. I couldn't bear her nagging any longer, so..."
His voice rose to a crescendo as he shouted with a twisted glee, "I PUSHED HER DOWN THAT VERY RAVINE!" Akatsuki's smile widened, basking in the satisfaction of his confession.
Akatsuki's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for any sign of life from the motionless boy. There was no breath, no movement. Could the shock have claimed his life? His gaze fixated on the preteen's mask, where something unsettling seemed to writhe within. A tremor ran through his body, his demonic instincts urging him to retreat, to escape the imminent danger. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away.
The boy's body contorted, as if an unseen force sought to break free and rend Akatsuki to shreds. The sight sent chills down his spine, his primal instincts screaming at him to flee. Yet, he remained transfixed, his gaze locked on the shattered katana embedded in the dark orange cocoon that enveloped the boy. With a sudden burst of intensity, the purple hues pierced through the cocoon, shattering it like glass, and the boy landed gracefully on his feet, assuming a wide stance.
In that moment, Akatsuki realized the truth behind the legends and tales that spoke of the Void and its eerie presence. What stood before him was no longer a human but a creature borne of darkness and shadows, its essence void of humanity. The boy, with two glowing white eyes piercing through the darkness, held the broken katana tightly, as if it were his lifeline. Shadows coiled around him, dancing and swirling, enveloping him in a veil of obscurity.
A surge of dread coursed through Akatsuki's veins as the creature poised itself for an assault, gripping the broken weapon with both hands. The shadows caressed the blade, slowly transforming it into an abyssal blackness. Without warning, the creature lunged toward Akatsuki, propelled by a speed that defied comprehension. No matter how he tried, evading such an attack was futile. Yet, just before the strike landed, a chilling whisper reached his ears, chilling him to the core.
The voice, laced with a sinister aura, reverberated through his being. It was a voice that instilled fear in every cell of his body.
"Mu no Kokyū, Ishoku no Kata, Itami no Michi" (Void breathing, implant form, Path of Pain)
In the blink of an eye, a barrage of strikes assaulted Akatsuki from all directions, the blows materializing as if from thin air. The sheer speed and ferocity of Kyoshi's attacks were incomprehensible, merging into a maelstrom of motion. The katana in his hands transformed into a spinning saw blade, tearing through the air with unrelenting fury. Each stab felt like a cascade of thorns pricking Akatsuki's skin, devouring the cells that housed his demonic essence. Time seemed to stretch, with each strike lasting an eternity, prolonging his torment.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the relentless onslaught ceased. To Akatsuki's surprise, he found himself still standing, defying the odds after enduring the torrent of Kyoshi's attacks. He attempted to move, to regain his balance, but before he could even twitch a muscle, a swift and decisive slash cut through the air.
SLASH
A searing pain shot through Akatsuki's body as he felt the sensation of his head detaching from his neck. The world spun in disarray as his head collided with the ground, spinning like a Temari ball. In that moment, he realized the inevitability of his disintegration, a fate whispered in the ancient tales. Akatsuki, formerly Takashi, confronted the gravity of his actions, understanding the irreparable damage he had caused.
He was a horrid person, a man who reveled in his power and abused it without remorse. Those who dared to oppose him were swiftly disposed of, their lives extinguished without hesitation. His displeasure could be felt like a dark cloud hanging over the village, suffocating any semblance of freedom. No one dared to speak against him, for he held the village in the palm of his hand, crushing any rumors or dissent with ruthless efficiency. Anyone who attempted to report his misdeeds was swiftly branded as delusional, their voices silenced.
And then there was Kyoshi's mother, a victim of his cruelty. Burdened with the weight of childbirth, she was denied even a glimpse of her own child. Akatsuki had controlled her, using her for his own desires and discarding her like an empty shell. The memory of her body tumbling down the ravine haunted him now as he lay on the ground, his life slipping away.
As his gaze turned upwards to the vast night sky, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure standing over him. Expecting violence and punishment for the pain he had inflicted upon others, Akatsuki braced himself. But to his surprise, instead of a kick or a punch, a cool and comforting hand was placed gently upon his head. It was a touch he didn't deserve, a touch that stirred a mix of emotions within him.
Takashi, engulfed by the sensation of his child's hand gently stroking his head, felt tears roll down his face, uncontrollable and bittersweet. In his silent despair, he questioned, "Why? Why are you so much like her?" It was a question that remained unanswered, a question that would linger in the void of his existence. Without a mouth to scream his regrets or protest his fate, he allowed himself to surrender to the inevitability of his demise.
As his son continued to tenderly pat his head, Takashi released his grip on existence. He embraced the darkness, finding solace and an undeserved peace in the release from his troubled existence. The weight of his sins dissolved into the void, leaving behind only the echoes of a remorseful soul seeking redemption.
XXX
Kyoshi stood there, his eyes fixed on the ground where the remnants of his father once lay. The weight of his father's questions, the longing for redemption, hung in the air. As he stared at the charred remains, memories of his mother surfaced, and he couldn't help but wonder if she, too, had compared him to her in her final moments. The thought brought a pang of sadness, a realization that he would never truly know.
Having done what he could to offer comfort to his father's soul before its descent into oblivion, Kyoshi turned away with a heavy heart. The path back to the ruins of the estate beckoned him, a road paved with the remnants of destruction and the echoes of battles fought. The flames that had once ravaged the surroundings were now extinguished, leaving behind a sense of relief and liberation akin to the aftermath of his triumph over the Soul Master in the Soul Sanctum.
Navigating through the debris, Kyoshi's mind wandered back to the power he had unleashed, tapping into the depths of his soul with each breath. It was a method he had never employed before, utilizing the very essence of his being to fuel his abilities. The cost of such power was great, leaving his previous body behind, along with the spells and items it once carried. But there was no turning back now. He had embraced this new vessel, this reincarnation, and accepted the changes that came with it.
Reaching his wardrobe, Kyoshi carefully selected fresh garments, a symbol of renewal and rebirth. He donned a clean cotton shirt, his gray-blue kimono, black Hakama pants, and a pair of black socks. As he shed his worn and dirtied attire, he felt a sense of shedding his past, letting go of the weight that had burdened him. Securing his sandals, he made his way towards the fireplace, where the sheath of his broken blade lay untouched. The coolness of the wood met his hand as he gingerly grasped it, sliding the now obsidian-hued weapon into its sheath. His blade, like him and his sibling, was tainted by the void, forever changed. And yet, he accepted its transformation, embracing the darkness that now resided within.
With the sheathed blade securely at his belt, Kyoshi moved to the front of the estate, gazing out onto the path that stretched before him. The wind played with his disheveled white hair, miraculously managing to keep it in its ponytail. Strands cascaded over his face, swaying gently with the breeze, a reminder of the ever-present motion of the world around him. As he prepared to depart from the remnants of his former life, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. This realm, despite its looming threats, mirrored the perils of Hallownest yet had the potential to avoid becoming a graveyard for wandering creatures like his previous home. And Kyoshi, the reincarnated knight, vowed to dedicate himself to its preservation.
With unwavering determination burning in his eyes, Kyoshi broke into a sprint. The wind whipped against the long sleeves of his attire, propelling him forward on his chosen path. Each step he took was filled with purpose, each breath resonating with a renewed sense of purpose.