Tamamo's No Good, Very Bad Days

Tamamo reflected bitterly on the chain of decisions that had brought her to this disastrous moment. Had it all gone wrong when she failed to reveal her true nature to her beloved husband, Konoe? Or was it when desperation drove her to invite a damn exorcist into their home to "cure" him? Perhaps the real mistake was falling in love in the first place, knowing full well that most loves—especially ones like hers—ended in tragedy.

Regardless of where her missteps began, they had led her here: sprinting through the countryside, pursued by an army of over 50,000 soldiers, each one baying for her blood.

Escape seemed impossible. The exorcist Ab e no Semai —a smug, self-righteous prick he may have been but he was still skilled —had managed to pierce through her illusions, rendering them useless. She couldn't run; no matter where she went, they would track her down. She couldn't fight; despite her incredible strength, she lacked the skill and experience to cut through an entire army, especially one bolstered by mystical support.

Even hiding was out of the question. Her species, renowned as some of the greatest shapeshifters in existence, should have made her untraceable. Yet the sheer determination of her pursuers, combined with the exorcist's maddening ability to sniff her out, left her no sanctuary.

Tamamo swallowed hard as the noose of her fate tightened around her. The countryside stretched out endlessly before her, but it offered no solace. She could hear the clamoring of boots, the shouts of orders, the dull thrum of magical auras pressing closer. It really seemed like she was going to die here.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she whispered to herself, "Some goddess I turned out to be."

"Eh... everyone has bad days sometimes."

Tamamo blinked, too exhausted to summon any real anger or fear. Her legs trembled, and she couldn't decide whether to collapse, fight, or just let fate do its worst.

"So, you're here to mock me, then?" she asked, her voice low and bitter. "Come to remind me how foolish I was? To call my dreams impossible, just like that damn oni did?"

Sojōbō—the Enlightened Tengu, the King of Mount Kurama, and ruler of the most militaristic yokai faction in Japan—stood before her as though he had simply been strolling by. His casual stance and serene expression contrasted absurdly with the raging mob closing in behind her.

"No," he said lightly, tilting his head as though observing an insect pinned under glass. "I'm just curious."

"Curious?"

"Wanted to meet Japan's new great evil," he said, a flicker of amusement in his voice. "The monstrous kitsune who wanted to kill the emperor and take over the throne. That's quite the reputation you've built for yourself."

Tamamo let out a sharp, hollow laugh. "Reputation? I didn't build it. They did. I just wanted to save my husband. Now, I'm the enemy of all Japan. A monster. A great evil." She spat the words like venom. "But why should you care? You yokai only accept me because you think I'm one of you. You're wrong. I don't belong anywhere—not with humans, not with yokai, not even with gods."

Sojōbō crossed his arms and gazed at her thoughtfully. "That's quite the pity party, Lady Tamamo."

Her tail bristled in indignation. "Are you mocking me?"

"Not at all," he replied, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I'm just pointing out the obvious: you've got thousands of soldiers trying to kill you, your illusions are failing, you're exhausted, and yet here you are—still standing. Not bad for someone who doesn't belong anywhere."

Tamamo glared at him, but his words planted a small, unwelcome seed of pride in her chest.

"So what?" she snapped. "Standing isn't enough. I'm going to die here, Sojōbō. There's no escaping this."

The tengu shrugged, unfazed by her despair. "Then don't escape."

"What?"

"Don't run. Don't fight. Just stand there and let them come. They want to see a monster? Show them one."

Tamamo stared at him, caught off guard. "You think I should just let them kill me?"

"No," Sojōbō said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "I think you should remind them why foxes are feared in every corner of this land. Stop trying to be what they want you to be—human, yokai, or god. Be Tamamo-no-Mae, the kitsune who defied the emperor's court. Be the nightmare they'll tell their grandchildren about."

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Tamamo felt a flicker of something deep within her. It wasn't hope. It was something sharper, hotter—anger, pride, defiance.

"Easier said than done," she muttered.

Sojōbō's grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the fading light. "Then let me make it easier. I've been bored for centuries, Lady Tamamo. How about I lend you a hand?"

Tamamo raised an eyebrow. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I love a good fight," he said simply. "And besides, the enemy of my enemy is..." He chuckled. "Well, you know how it goes."

Tamamo hesitated for a moment, then let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Fine. But if I survive this, I'm holding you responsible for all of it."

"Deal," Sojōbō said with a wink, flexing his talons. "Now, shall we?"

As the soldiers crested the hill, Tamamo turned to face them, her tails unfurling behind her like a stormcloud. She felt the fire rising within her again—not just fear or anger, but something primal.
And this time, she wouldn't run.

To be honest, she didn't really remember the fight. It was all a haze of blood, screaming, and laughter—a cacophony of chaos. The roar and crackle of her Foxfire mixed with the sharp, silent thwip of feathers slicing through the air, cutting down soldiers with deadly precision.

Even in her nine-tailed form, she probably wouldn't have survived if the crow hadn't been there. Every time the army began to regroup, rallying behind their commanders and captains, those leaders were abruptly cut down by Sojōbō. Without their heads to guide them, the soldiers' resolve crumbled into panic. What had begun as an organized army became a stampede of wild animals, their collective terror overwhelming reason as they fled into the countryside.

By the end, Tamamo stood in a battlefield of smoldering corpses, her body covered in sword cuts and arrow wounds. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her tails drooped and singed, and the weight of exhaustion bore down on her like a collapsing mountain.

Sojōbō landed lightly beside her, not a speck of blood on his feathers. His blade was already clean, as though he hadn't just butchered dozens of soldiers with it.

"So," he asked casually, tilting his head, "do you feel better?"

Tamamo glared at him through the blood and grime streaked across her face. "Better? I just fought an entire army! I'm bleeding everywhere, half my tails are scorched, and I'm pretty sure I broke a rib."

He shrugged, the picture of calm indifference. "Yes, but they're gone now, aren't they? No more screaming humans chasing after you with torches and pitchforks. That's something, isn't it?"

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself. He wasn't wrong. The silence around them was deafening after hours of battle—a silence broken only by the distant crackle of dying flames and the occasional groan of a wounded soldier still too stubborn to die.

"That's not the point," she grumbled, wrapping one arm around her aching ribs.

Sojōbō chuckled, sitting down cross-legged on a relatively clean patch of ground. "Maybe not. But you're alive. And now you've got a story that'll scare even the oni around their campfires."

Tamamo slumped to the ground with a groan, her legs finally giving out beneath her. "Great. Just what I always wanted—a reputation as the monster they all think I am."

The crow tilted his head again, his sharp eyes glinting in the fading light. "Better to be feared and alive than pitied and dead. You've got fire in you, Tamamo-no-Mae. Let them see it. Let them choke on it."

She stared at him for a long moment, her golden eyes dull with exhaustion. Then, despite herself, she let out a soft, bitter laugh.

"You really are a terrible motivational speaker, you know that?"

Sojōbō smirked, his sharp teeth glinting. "And yet, here you are, still breathing."

Tamamo sighed, leaning back against the nearest unburnt tree, she shot Sojōbō a glare, her tails twitching in irritation. "You know," she muttered through gritted teeth, "if you really want to help, I'd appreciate it if you could stop being so smug about it."

Sojōbō tilted his head, an infuriating grin spreading across his face. "Smug? Me? I'm just helpful."

"Sure," she deadpanned. "Helpful."

He chuckled, tapping a clawed finger against his chin as he surveyed the battlefield. "Well, if you insist, I can make sure they stop chasing you. Permanently."

Tamamo's ears perked up despite herself. "How?"

"It's simple, really," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "I just need to make them think you're already dead—or worse, gone. All I need is a bit of your blood and a convincing illusion. I'll make it look like one of their desperate little spell casters managed to seal you away before dying. They'll scatter like frightened rats, convinced they've won."

She stared at him, her exhaustion making it hard to summon the energy for outrage. "And you couldn't have done this before?"

"Nope." He flashed her a wicked grin. "It needed to be plausible. Besides..." He glanced around the field of charred and mangled bodies. "This was way more fun."

Tamamo inhaled sharply, her claws flexing as she fought the overwhelming urge to attack him then and there. She wouldn't win—she knew that. But gods, it would feel so satisfying.

Instead, she settled for closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. "Fine. Just do it before I pass out."

Sojōbō gave her a mock bow, his wings flaring dramatically. "As your majesty commands."

With that, he plucked a feather from his wing and dipped it in the blood staining her fur. Muttering something under his breath, he began weaving a spell, drawing glowing sigils in the air with practiced ease.

Tamamo slumped to the ground, watching him work with half-lidded eyes. "You're lucky I'm too tired to kill you right now," she mumbled.

"You're lucky I find you entertaining," he quipped without looking back.

She let out a soft growl, but it lacked any real menace. As the glowing sigils solidified and the illusion began to take shape, she felt herself drifting toward unconsciousness.

Before the darkness claimed her, she thought she heard him chuckle. "Sleep tight, little fox. You'll thank me later."