Energy
n. the strength and vitality required for sustained physical or mental activity.
Nishiki carried himself in a rather contradictory way, seeming diligent and lazy at the same time. He ran, played, and jumped around to his heart's content, almost childish in doing so. Despite this, he hated training and unnecessary exercise, and would rather spend his time napping underneath the shade of the cherry trees. Like the weather, he changed daily. One day, he would be brimming with sunshine and movement, while the next day, he would be weighed down by hazy clouds and lethargy.
In reality, Nishiki always had energy to spare. His youko blood coursed through his body at an odd pace, granting him strength and speed where others could only wish for such boons. He felt this excitement surge, especially when he was in his human form.
And although he was quite good at easy-going activities like grooming and sleeping, Nishiki always had to force himself to relent—to relax.
One day, it rained hard enough that most people were sent inside, and the only ones who braved the storm were the ones that had to be out, or the scouts that needed to maintain patrols and reconnaissance. Nishiki, however, went against the advice of the higher-ups, and decided that there was nothing he wanted to do more than splash around.
Damning the war and its conveniences, Nishiki stepped out into the threshold, rain beating down on his every step.
Just like he wanted.
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Flannel was eccentric. He could be quite energetic, too, and always tried to interest some humans in his own exquisite (terrible) tastes, or get involved in a fun activity that would stimulate his overactive need to be entertained. There were times that he downplayed this naturally fun-loving and energetic side to him by playing it cool, and pretending to be a sophisticated city kid when—in reality—he was nothing more than a country bumpkin, but with ears and a tail instead of a sickle and overalls.
Yet, he always managed to make time for adventuring: a hobby which lead him to mountains, forests, and woodland paths aplenty. He was a full moon on a cold night—exhilarating, powerful, overwhelming—that could only be drained on hazy, moonless mornings.
He was similar to Nishiki in many ways, but was equally different, as well. The garou blood in his body gave him unnatural amounts of adrenaline, which fueled his primal urge to break free and run wild. Every minute spent was done so in relishing, even if it was squandered away in midday relaxation under the shade, or collecting strange (and broken) objects that no one else but him would consider treasure.
On the same rainy day, Flannel had such a strong desire to explore and collect that he couldn't contain himself anymore. He ran out from his place in the dryness—he broke free from the temporary camp that Kamui's army had made—and headed out to the plains. They spent all day running away from and dispatching enemy soldiers that they had no choice but to stop and rest in this wilderness, yet it was the perfect place for Flannel to be, because there were no boundaries to respect.
Also, the rain inhibited the rest of his allies from being as active and strong as usual, so he could take advantage of that situation and try his hand at scavenging, instead.
He moved with the raindrops as they fell to the ground, in sync with the war that went on in discordant drum beats, completely estranged and abnormal.
Just the way he liked it.
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Nishiki, in the midst of playing in the rain, had his arms spread wide and his eyes turned towards the sky. He loved all things beautiful, and the rain was no exception.
After spending some time reveling in the storm, he caught onto someone else's scent.
It was Flannel, of course. None of the other humans wanted to leave the safety and dryness of their current location, and it wouldn't be a good idea to do so, anyway, especially since their bodies were weaker and more susceptible to sickness after being in the rain for long. Although some of the soldiers—especially the ninjas like Saizo, Suzukaze, and Kagerou—were used to being caught in downpours, because the wet season in Hoshido was hell in a handbasket for anyone that had to shoulder it.
But if there was a choice between absolutely drenched and mildly damp, there was no doubt in any human's mind which one they would rather be.
The beasts were a different story, and so things happened differently as Nishiki ran straight ahead for his wolf friend.
"Flannel!" Nishiki ran him down at full speed, the impact of which caused them both to tumble down in the wet grass. It was too sudden, too fast, and so Flannel couldn't react properly in time. There was no choice but to fall.
He fell, but didn't stifle his screams all the way down. Even after they slammed against the dirt (mud), he cried out. "H-Hey! What was that for, Nishiki? You can't just tackle people like that!" The words without asking me first wanted to follow, but Flannel bit back on his tongue.
"Sorry, sorry!" Nishiki's voice was too happy to sound genuinely apologetic. "I'm just really excited today! What about you, Flannel? Got any plans today?"
Nishiki really was excited, because his tail swung back-and-forth behind him, like a large furry pendulum swinging ever closer to its destination, so as to hypnotize someone entirely. But there was no trance, only sheer jubilee as the fox's dark eyes were alight with joy and playfulness, his long eyelashes fluttering faster than Flannel could count.
It would have all been overwhelmingly endearing, had he not been so carelessly perched on top of him. Flannel, after getting tackled, was trapped underneath Nishiki's weight. He was trapped underneath someone that didn't even notice the awkward and compromising position they were in, to begin with! Because Nishiki's hands—slender and supple as they were—placed themselves on either side of Flannel's body, pinning him between their graceful curves. And his legs—lean and muscular as they were—straddled Flannel's waist at both sides, but judging from that obtusely naive look on Nishiki's face, he had no idea what they looked like from afar.
Or up close, for that matter, since his stupidly happy grin lacked any ill intention whatsoever.
Flannel was dumbfounded for a moment, before he became antsy at the continued discomfort that came with being shoved to the ground. He told Nishiki, "Are you gonna get up or what?"
"Oh," he said solemnly, like the realization by itself was disappointing. "Sorry!" Nishiki laughed chastely, and removed himself from Flannel with an agile leap. Then he smoothed out his clothes—an action that proved to be futile, considering the pouring rain around them—before straightening his back. Flannel sighed, and was lucky that there was water there to cool him off, because that little incident has his head fuming with embarrassing thoughts.
It felt like his ears were steaming, and he did everything in his power to hide the flustered heart from rising to his face.
"It's raining, y'know. You should head back inside!"
"I could say the same thing to you! What're you doing out here, Flannel?"
"Why should I tell you? I asked first!"
Nishiki shook his head. "Actually, I asked first."
"Well, since you're just dying to know...I was planning on scavenging for treasure today. It's raining, we're not doing much, and it's been a while since I found anything good."
"I see. Can I help you, then? I'm super bored and I owe you one, anyway!"
"You don't owe me anything," Flannel muttered, the words I actually owe you one for saving me the other day lingering on his tongue. He spoke louder as he said: "Do what you want. I don't really care."
"You say that a lot," Nishiki pointed out, smiling. "I'm starting to think that you actually care."
"Shut up!"
He laughed. His laugh was so teasing, but very pleasant to hear. Even if it meant he was making fun of Flannel, Nishiki's laugh was always easy on the ears.
It was a dangerous thing to get used to, actually.
"Okay, okay. I'll help you for real! Where should I get started?"
"Uh, okay, but I doubt that you know what to look for. No one appreciates my treasure these days," Flannel recounted, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "Besides, you like a lot of stuff that humans do. Their soaps, for one."
"Well, that's partly true, but I think you're the one that's a little weird for collecting bugs. And napkins. And leftovers. And corpses."
They began the scavenger hunt in the midst of their conversation, although Flannel stayed quiet as he tried to snatch a beetle from its hiding place beneath a rock. When he successfully nabbed it, he said, "I like what I like, and that's all there is to it. You and the others can like whatever you want, too."
"I like that about you." Nishiki spoke up as he grabbed a broken hilt of a sword. "I think I'm more of the judgemental type."
"You?" Flannel scoffed. "No way, you're so...nice. You also do favors for everyone, no matter who they are. Even for people like Asura or Zero."
"To be fair, you don't know a lot of people." Nishiki reminded Flannel of this, although he wasn't too much more amicable than him, either. "Also, those guys and everyone else, they're my comrades. I have to be nice!"
"Actually, you would be nice to the sun and moon, if they were people. Not to mention that you keep a score of all the favors that you owe. And you also pay them back, every time, even when it's really inconvenient for you! Judgmental people wouldn't really do that kind of thing."
"Then I take it back," Nishiki suddenly said, in agreement with Flannel's statements. "I was wrong."
"Huh? What do you mean? Nothing I said was wrong—"
"I was wrong about you," Nishiki corrected him. "You're really judgemental, after all."
Flannel paused in his search, hands full with the shattered remains of a clay pot—courtesy of Felicia, no doubt—but mouth agape at what he felt to be an insult of his character. "W-Wait, seriously? You're calling me judgemental just 'cause I said all that stuff about you?"
"Yup, exactly that!" Nishiki smiled happily as he handed Flannel another treasure of his own. In contrast to Flannel's literal garbage taste, however, Nishiki's treasure was far more luxurious.
It was one of his basic black hairpins, unbent and not destroyed. Flannel stared at it as the other spoke.
"You're judgemental, but in a good way, because you see people for what they really are. I like that about you! I also like how honest you are! And even though you don't act it, you're really observant, aren't you?" Nishiki chuckled, hiding the pretty motion behind a delicate hand. "That's just the kind of person Flannel is, after all…"
If the wolf spontaneously combusted, then he still wouldn't be as red as he was now. His ears twitched tamely as his face scrunched up, looking equal parts disconcerted, embarrassed, and humbled. He hadn't expected and hardly deserved such unwarranted praise—coming from a narcissist like Nishiki, of all people—and when it came to him, he didn't know what to do. Should he shout at him for being so cheesy? Or should he thank him for giving out (seemingly) genuine compliments?
Unable to truly understand the answer, Flannel shoved the hairpin into one of his pockets, and scoffed loudly as a way to stifle the growing sheepishness inside of him. "Alright, weirdo. What, do you want me to thank you? Or say something just as embarrassing, like, 'I like you too' and all that? Is that what you want?"
He just laughed again. Flannel wondered if Nishiki was capable of making any other noise than that.
If he was capable, he didn't show it.
"If I did want that, would you say it, still?"
"Nishiki!"
"Would you?"
"Fine...I like you, too...at least, I like the way that you don't care what anyone thinks about you, but, at the same time, you care too much 'cause why else would you go through all the trouble of making yourself clean unless you're trying to impress someone?"
"Uh, Flannel? I'm not impressing anyone with bathing once in a while. You know that, right?"
"Whatever! Just quit acting weird, or I'm gonna, I'm gonna—"
"Gonna what?"
"Gonna dump all your shampoo on the ground!"
He gasped. "You wouldn't."
"I would!"
"Okay, I'll stop now."
"Good."
They continued looking for treasure after that, but Flannel stirred hotly by himself, still shaken up by the kind words he received not too long ago.
And no matter how much he denied it to himself or Nishiki, there was something reassuring about being told his most meticulous habits were still enjoyable in other people's eyes.
That he was still an enjoyable person to be around, in Nishiki's eyes.
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When the rain stopped, the lull of strategy and warfare got back into full swing. Before they could enter Valla—before the skies changed and before they could change their fates—there was lots of work to be done on the surface world. There were lots of battles, struggles, and hardships to endure before the end would reward them.
There was still work to do.
Nishiki and Flannel were tasked with patrolling the surrounding area, the same as other groups of soldiers who had to make sure the route to their next destination was safe. While Kamui mulled it over with their multitude of siblings, the two beasts ran out to get a head start.
Unsurprisingly, the youko was full of energy, and felt it in ways that the garou couldn't. This showed when halfway through their sprint towards the nearby villages and woods, Nishiki picked up speed while Flannel slowed down gradually.
When they approached the first village, they instantly noticed how it was void of life, because all the inhabitants were holed up in the small stone houses, with windows and doors boarded up for good measure. The fox and the wolf could barely get a word in edgewise before they were ignored by the paranoid humans. At the last home—which housed a small family of a single mother and her two daughters—they finally learned the reason why for all the caution and distrust.
"...Our village was attacked recently," the mother reluctantly explained. They saw her trembling figure through the slats in the boards, and the way she clung onto her daughters with disparity raging through her limbs. "They killed a lot of us, injured some, and scared the rest into hiding. I lost my wife that day, too."
"I'm sorry," Nishiki consoled. "Do you know where the attackers went? We could take care of them for you."
The girls lit up at this new prospect, but the mother remained suspicious. There was a glimmer of softness appearing in her hardened stare at this point, however. She shifted audibly. "They've...taken residence nearby. They haven't left, and they claimed the town for themselves. Less than a mile away, to the east of this village, they're in the woods, watching us as we speak…"
The beasts looked to each other wordlessly. After a moment of silent deliberation, Flannel spoke up. "We're gonna find them, okay? And we're gonna kill 'em for what they did to you."
"Rest easy!" Nishiki supplied. "We got this!"
Before they could hear the woman's response, the two of them ran off in the direction she gave them, determined to settle the uneven score for the humans' sake.
Maybe it was Nishiki's influence, or maybe it was the brimming tears in the little girls' eyes, but Flannel also felt inspired to save the lives of humans, for once.
He knew the feeling of vengeance—and the helplessness of watching a loved one's life slip through shaking fingers—all too well.
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The second they arrived at the small patch of woods, they knew something was wrong. The air was still, where previously it had been breezy, and an awful stench of death and rubber assaulted their noses. Because of their true forms realized, the smell was ten times as worse on their sensitive noses, and it took them a few seconds of shaking and rattling to grow accustomed enough to the odor. By then, Nishiki asked: "Is that what I think it is?"
"The Nosferatu? Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too…" Flannel muttered, swiping at his face in an attempt to banish the thought of death lurking over them. "It means there must be sorcerers there, summoning the monsters from...whatever they summon monsters from."
"How annoying," Nishiki groaned. "C'mon, let's make this quick."
"After you."
They ventured in deeper, and became more wary with each step they took. The forest was corrupted, they realized, because the further they walked, the more they saw the plant life wither around them. Verdant trees and lush clearings became increasingly blackened and shriveled, until the flowers all but wilted in the gnarled heart of the woods they traveled in.
At the very center of it all, there existed nothing but soot and ash, alongside a sickeningly green and purple bubbling of a poisonous, swampy surface rising from beneath the deadened grass.
Standing in the midst of the mire was a lone figure, dressed dirtily in a dark mage's regalia, wielding a tome and summoning awful monstrosities into the clearing beside him.
They were the Nosferatu, also called the "Faceless" by certain people. They were monstrous amalgamations of existence, that appeared as nothing more than giant green muscle-monsters with faces obscured by a holey mask. Each of them were chained and connected to whatever lich created them in the first place, as evidenced by the cumbersome iron wrapped around their wrists and ankles—giant leaden orbs tethering them to the ground. They all had clubs and axes of variable size, yet every weapon was embedded with spikes and haphazard nails. Those few that were unarmed still had fists the size of small, human children, whose size and strength were nothing to sneeze at. They were lifeless yet living as unidentifiable ooze slipped out of the crevices in their masks, and unholy sounds of agony and pain resonated from within.
Nishiki and Flannel, like the rest of Kamui's allies, faced the Nosferatu multiple times before. They originated in Nohr, of all places, and were originally used as ammunition against Hoshidan forces. While the royal siblings were all enlightened and far removed from their previous territorial warfare, the corrupted seat of the Nohrian Kingdom continued to spew damned creations such as those, for sadistic pleasures if nothing else.
By the looks of it, the two beasts walked into a tragedy about to unfold, as dozens of these mindless beasts spawned from the swamp beneath them, and the sorcerer who summoned them slowly killed off the forest—using its natural energy as food for his treacherous spell.
He turned around, and faced the two beasts with a terrible smile upon his face. With sandy blonde hair and frighteningly red eyes, he held his own wiry frame with shaky hands, cackling and trembling all the while. "It seems we have guests~ How lovely!" He practically sung, the syllables of each word squeaking and clanging against each other in absolute disharmony. "Here I was, about to set upon that weakened village with my renewed forces, but it looks like I don't have to go far for victory. And to think that a garou and a youko of all creatures would stumble here...how lucky for me!"
His smile widened to an impossible length, and through the grit of his own madness, he shouted, "An ounce of your fur on the market sells for fortunes! Wait until I bring your entire body to go alongside it, too! Ahahaha!"
Each laugh rippled in the air and in the muck with visible waves throughout, the motion of which riled up the Nosferatu connected to the sorcerer. They groaned and moaned against the motion of his crazed antics, and when he pointed at Nishiki and Flannel, they stood to attention like toy soldiers awaiting battle orders.
"Kill them all," he cried out. "Bring their corpses to meeee!"
The monsters broke free from their chains—metal discarded with a delicious snap—and they closed in on Flannel and Nishiki. Despite being grossly outnumbered, neither of them showed any signs of fear. Hesitation and trepidation, sure, but not fear. They weren't afraid of this singular instance in time where they were disadvantaged, because as far as they were concerned, their whole life was lived at a disadvantage. Time and time again, they would face off against hordes of enemies, those who wanted nothing more than to slay them victoriously and wear their fur as high-end fashion statements.
This was nothing new. And once they tore through the Nosferatu like butter, they could show that slippery mage a thing or two about true terror.
Then they would avenge that village, and prove to the mother and her daughters that hope was still alive, after all.
With that resolve in mind, the two of them made quick work of the obstacles before them. Left and right, the Nosferatu fell. They were like dominoes, because one after another, they would blunder and tumble—a vulnerability that allowed either Nishiki or Flannel to set upon them like vultures, and put an end to their sordid lives just as hastily.
For Flannel, he liked testing his strength against their own, and became more motivated when he crushed and tore them apart like rag dolls. For Nishiki, however, he liked testing his agility against their clumsiness, as he leapt and twirled over their heads, and bounded from one large set of shoulders to another—giggling happily every time he tricked one of them into attacking each other.
It was going so well that in the second it took for it to all fall apart, Nishiki felt whiplash.
The fox felt pain. Not any usual pain, like a blade cutting into him, or a large axe coming down on his lithe body, but a pain that burned like hellfire and spread its way from his legs upward. It caused searing, lasting, debilitating pain that overwhelmed him at once. The more he flailed, the more he suffered, and the fiery sensation made his muscles feel like cinders, and reduced his movements to nothing but unstable ash.
He glanced down to discover the source of his suffering..
Nishiki stood in the pool of rancid waste—the accumulation of toxic green, purple, and black sludge that formed beneath the feet of the monsters and sorcerer alike. His paws were soaked in the treacherous substance, and the sensation morphed from fire to acid within seconds. Streams of darkness arose from the muck, and wrapped itself onto the fox silently, like jaws tightening around a piece of meat.
Like a noose tightening around his life.
He gasped for air, and skidded across the uneven surface for relief but found none. Instead, each step through the sludge hurt him more and more, until all the excess energy from before had faded, leaving nothing but sluggish pain in its wake.
This was a possibility created by hatred, above all else. This was the Nohrians' sick, twisted, anti-Hoshidan agenda, only pushed to a more magical and inhumane point than ever thought before.
It made him sick.
Nevertheless, Nishiki was caught in an impossible situation. The longer he stayed in the swamp, the shorter his lifespan appeared to be. All he needed to do was jump out from the waste and recover, but this was made difficult as the Nosferatu surrounded him. They trapped him in their vicious circle, and pounded down on him without hesitation. He dodged their initial blows, but every time he did so, he landed back on his feet in the mire, and his energy would be drained further.
He tried leaping from their shoulders and heads, again, finding instant relief the moment his feet left the toxic sludge. He was able to fight in this way, and the more he practiced dodging their blows and avoiding the waste on the ground, the more he succeeded in landing strikes and recovering himself. Nishiki continued to succeed as the Nosferatu were tricked into punching each other, moving too fast for their tiny brains to comprehend.
Some of the monsters even killed each other in this way! He couldn't help but laugh.
Then, a singular beam of concentrated energy fired into his back. He screamed out in agony, the sound cutting off midway as he slipped from the monster's shoulders, and landed right into the oozing darkness and poison beneath him.
"You forgot about me!" The dark mage gasped dramatically. "Have you heard of the spell Resire? It's so wonderful, really. I can heal myself at your expense! And just when you were doing so well on your own, too! You'll be dead in no time, dearest youko. Worry not, for the end is in sight~"
Nishiki feared that he may be right. The Nosferatu were upon him, now, landing blow after blow. He evaded the very worst of it with his innate speed, but even then he couldn't avoid their attacks forever. The acid beneath his paws ate away at him, too, and when he tripped over his own tiredness, he found himself incapable of standing up once more.
Instead, he saw a large fist—moldy green and shackled—rise up above him. He figured it was the same limb that would land itself permanently in his injured face, and make mincemeat of his most beautiful features. Lacking the strength to defend himself, Nishiki prepared for the end to come.
It never did. The only thing he felt was a rush of wind beside him, and the spray of ungodly blood splatter across his face.
It was Flannel. The garou dug his claws into the offender's arm, and tore it out in one staggered, harrowing pull. Then he sliced into the monster's chest, and ripped its entrails and flesh matter out from its hollowed torso. As the corpse fell before him, he howled victoriously, and bounded effortlessly throughout the mire in order to reach Nishiki.
He swept him up in his arms, and ran through a space in the monstrous formation.
It was time to retreat.
Before Nishiki could even beg for Flannel to put him down (or bargain with him that they had to kill that mage, before he destroyed the nearby village), his body was carried away, on wings prepared for flight. He heard the rancorous steps of the wolf beneath him, as well as the lingering laughter of the mad dark mage behind them.
Despite everything, Nishiki was thankful for having Flannel around, as he would have been dead otherwise. Relief flooded him as he decided to entrust his life to the other, for now—completely sure that he'd be able to take care of him for the time being.
Feeling properly tired for the first time in his life, Nishiki closed his eyes, and succumbed to slumber instantly.
He dreamed of Flannel.
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Nishiki woke up, and he learned that the threat was taken care of. Flannel lead the other patrols (which consisted of Mozume, Nyx, Charlotte, Asama, and Setsuna) into taking down the dark mage once and for all, and they succeeded in every way possible.
"I killed him myself," Flannel added on proudly. "Serves him right."
The village that suffered at the dark mage's hands was also taken care of. Asama healed any lasting injuries that the survivors from the first attack had, Mozume helped them restart their agricultural lives again, and Charlotte ran a temporary soup kitchen—giving the villagers the first proper meal they had in a long time. Nyx, meanwhile, taught the villagers a simple spell to ward off the Nosferatu, in case of future attacks.
With all that sorted out, Nishiki felt relieved. It didn't outweigh the guilt and shame he felt for being defeated in the fight, but it was enough to convince him that he wasn't entirely in the wrong, here.
"Also, Asama and Sakura looked at your wounds already," Flannel said. "They said you're good to go. Do you wanna go out and—"
"No," Nishiki muttered, sounding purely exhausted. "I'm tired. I think I'll rest up here."
"Okay," Flannel gave in, although he didn't try to hide the disappointment on his face. "Sucks that you're cooped up in here for a while, then."
"Actually, it's not that bad! It's kind of refreshing, honestly." Nishiki smiled.
Flannel frowned. "Okay, whatever you say." Weirdo.
With a newfound gratitude burning in his chest, Nishiki spoke. "Thank you, Flannel. You saved my life back there. I'm really in your debt, now!"
"Don't mention it," he said. "I mean, I couldn't just let you die, or anything...b-but you're welcome, I guess…"
I'm sorry I let you get hurt in the first place, went unsaid, but Nishiki understood it all the same as he grabbed Flannel's hand in his own, and rubbed his fingers over the other's bony knuckles.
They were quiet after that.