"I'm growing… stronger." The capybara-sized fragment of a demon supposedly long vanquished smiles mirthlessly at the Earth Mother's agony and pain, as she steps back into the main chamber of her formerly paradisical domain. The tension is palpable, as thick as a blanket of creeping fog rolling slowly and ominously down the gentle slopes of hills.
"Look at you." The demon pointed a finger in an accusatory manner at the Earth Mother, his voice dripping with mockery.
"My hands…" she murmured, staring as rivers of magma coursed erratically across her arms. Forests bloomed and withered chaotically on her shoulders, storms swirling violently within her glowing eyes. A sharp tang filled the air—burning plastic mixed with scorched rubber—as she gazed upon her corrupted visage. When the corruption subsided, her skin returned to its natural state, but faint scars remained, rifts in the continents, tiny drips of magma, small groups of cloudy squalls—a grim reminder of the cost of confronting such evil packed into one fragment of a memory.
"Did you… do something to me?" Dheghom demanded, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.
Aku grinned, touching the tips of his primate-like fingers together. "It's really nothing relevant to you."
"It's something," she shot back, defiance blazing in her eyes despite the toll it took on her.
"It's you yourself who got too curious," Aku jeered, leaning back against the bars of his cosmic prison. The material groaned under the strain of containing his burgeoning power.
"You think, for a second…"
Aku's little snout seems to exhale a powdery substance akin to hot ash, as the gleam in his green irises intensifies with his growing contempt. Fangs extend outwards from the muzzle of his capybara-like form as he seems to wobble, shudder, and grow an extra few sizes, straining the ethereal material of his cosmic cage even further. "That I… did something?" The great Earth Mother—an eternal force of balance—felt something unfamiliar. Fear. Vulnerability. Aku had scarred her, not just physically but spiritually. And worse still, she doubted she could undo it.
The wind carried whispers through the crisp, dense fog of the forest, soft yet insistent. Jack knelt beneath the sakura tree—the same one where, not so long ago, he had released a ladybug into the sky. His fingers traced the grooves in the bark, lingering on the spot where Ashi could have stood beside him.
As fleeting as her existence was, the thoughts of her, and all the friends and allies he made along the way, would always remain eternal in his mind, he so resolved.
The ground was firm beneath him, yet he felt untethered, weightless in the way grief made time lose meaning. It had been… two years? Maybe more? Since his return to the past, since his kingdom celebrated his victory over the Shogun of Sorrows, since he was hailed as the savior of the world.
And yet, standing here now, under the falling petals of spring, he felt nothing but loss.
What was it all for? a voice whispered in his head, echoing the question he'd asked himself countless times since Ashi faded from existence. His hands tightened into fists, resting against his knees.
Ashi was gone. And the world moved on without her.
Jack exhaled sharply, steadying himself before reaching into his sleeve. A small, fragile thing rested against his palm—a ladybug. It crawled across his calloused fingers, its red shell stark against the pale skin hardened by years of battle. Its tiny legs tickled his skin.
In the erased timeline, Ashi had smiled at this moment. The memory surfaced unbidden—her wide, curious green eyes; the softness in her expression as she watched the creature take flight, giggling like a child discovering wonder for the first time.
That moment felt infinite. But it wasn't.
Jack let out a quiet breath and raised his hand. The ladybug fluttered briefly, circling once before disappearing into the sky. Go to her, he thought, his chest tightening. But he didn't let it linger. He couldn't afford to.
He rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his gi. Clutching the hilt of his katana, he spoke aloud, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.
"I have to live." "For her…"
Memories flashed in his mind—vivid fragments of battles fought and lives saved. The Imakandi freeing him from Aku's control after a grueling ordeal. The Shaolin monks training him since birth, instilling in him the vow to avenge their sacred abode destroyed by Aku. His time in the rave, saving an innocent girl named Olivia from her psychopathic father, DJ Stylbator, who used music to enslave minds.
He smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth breaking through the cold grip of grief. "And for everyone else."
Then—the wind shifted. A deep, unnatural hum thrummed through the air, subtle at first but growing louder. The leaves rustled unnaturally, twisting in directions they shouldn't. The sky darkened, as if the sun itself held its breath.
Jack's instincts sharpened. He turned, hand instinctively moving to his sword, scanning the forest around him. A whisper reached his ears—low, malevolent, familiar. He didn't hear the words, but he knew the voice.
His grip tightened on his blade. His jaw locked. The air was wrong. Something was coming. Something old. Something hungry. Something… not yet dead. —-
The crimson torii gates rise majestically against the canvas of the evening sky, their lacquered surfaces catching the golden remnants of the setting sun. Beneath them, Jack walks in quiet contemplation, his geta-clad feet tapping softly against the smooth stone path. Each step feels deliberate, as though he is measuring not just distance but time itself—the weight of years pressing heavily on his shoulders.
Lanterns line the walkway, swaying gently in the breeze like fireflies tethered to strings. Their flickering light casts shifting shadows across the sacred grounds, illuminating patches of moss-covered stones and delicate chrysanthemum petals scattered along the edges of the path. The air carries the faint scent of burning incense mingled with the sweet, earthy aroma of the flowers, creating an almost otherworldly calm that contrasts sharply with the lively festival below.
He hears it then—a soft rustle of fabric, the careful fall of footsteps behind him.
"You are deep in thought," comes a voice, soft yet commanding.
Jack turns slowly, his hand instinctively brushing against the hilt of his katana before he recognizes the figure approaching. His mother, the Empress, stands a few paces away, her posture regal and composed, her hands folded neatly within the sleeves of her ornate junihitoe. Her presence commands respect without effort, a testament to decades of wisdom and grace.
Beyond her, partially obscured by the shadow of a nearby tree, the Emperor watches silently, his gaze steady and unwavering, yet unintrusive, as he delicately smooths down his rust-coloured sokutai, straightening his kanmuri as properly as he can, his ivory tablet in hand, the purpose of which to jot down the details of the performance that will start very soon, as a memento of everything he and his family had gone through.
Jack lowers his eyes, his expression guarded. "It has been… some time since I last attended this festival."
The Empress inclines her head slightly, acknowledging his words. "It is good to see you here," she says, her tone measured but warm. There's something in her voice—a subtle reassurance, perhaps, or an unspoken understanding.
A silence stretches between them, thick with unvoiced thoughts and shared history. The wind stirs again, carrying with it the faint whisper of leaves brushing against one another high above. Somewhere in the distance, a flute plays a mournful tune, its notes weaving through the stillness like threads of memories long washed away by the gentle waves of time.
"Do you think of her?"
The question hangs in the air, simple yet profound, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Jack freezes for a moment, his breath catching imperceptibly. The lantern light dances across his face, highlighting the faint lines etched into his features—marks of battles fought and burdens carried.
"Yes," he admits finally, his voice low but steady. "I always do."
The Empress studies him carefully, her sharp eyes taking in every nuance of his demeanor—the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers curl briefly into fists before relaxing. She steps closer, her movements fluid and deliberate, until she is near enough to place a delicate hand on his arm. Her touch is light, almost imperceptible, yet it anchors him in the present.
"I believe we should all honour her by living," she says softly, her words carrying the weight of someone who had faced loss and emerged stronger—or at least wiser—for it. Her gaze holds his for a moment longer before she withdraws her hand, turning toward the shrine ahead.
Jack exhales slowly, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. He nods, though whether to himself or to her, he isn't sure. Straightening his shoulders, he follows her through the final torii gate, where the courtyard of the shrine awaits.
Ahead, the shrine glows with the warm light of countless lanterns, their reflections shimmering in the polished wooden floors. A crowd has gathered, anticipation buzzing quietly among them. At the center of the stage, preparations are underway for the performance—the dance of the Fleeting Princess, a story of love, loss, and longing that mirrors all too closely the echoes in Jack's own heart.
As they take their places among the spectators, Jack allows himself a fleeting moment to breathe, to simply *be*. For now, amidst the flickering lights and whispered prayers, the ghosts of the past feel just a little farther away. —- The scent of chrysanthemums lingered heavily in the air as the prince of the land walked among the festival crowd, his gi blending seamlessly into the sea of deep reds, golds, and whites. The Chrysanthemum Festival, known locally as the Kiku Matsuri, was in full bloom. Lanterns swayed gently under the early evening sky, casting long shadows over cobblestone paths. Children laughed, merchants called out their wares, and in the distance, a flute played a mournful tune.
He exhaled slowly, the wisps of his breath forming into mists in front of him, dissipating as quickly as the ghosts of the memories that lived in his head, and ONLY in his head. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt… present. Not trapped in the weight of his own grief. Not drowning in the ghosts of a timeline long gone. Just here.
His mother and father watched from a distance. The Empress, ever composed, studied her son carefully, noting how his shoulders—once burdened with a sorrow too heavy for one man to carry—seemed just a fraction lighter. The Emperor, stoic as always, merely nodded.
This is good, they thought. He is healing. But even they couldn't shake the feeling that this peace—like all things—would not last.
A performance was about to begin at the shrine's courtyard. Drawn by the murmurs of the crowd, Jack followed the procession of nobles and common folk alike.
At the center of the stage, a lone dancer appeared, draped in a silk kimono the color of dusk. A hush fell over the crowd. She moved gracefully, deliberately. Her sleeves billowed like waves, her steps light as falling petals. The melodious ensemble began to play, the deep resonance of the biwa harmonizing with the high, piercing notes of the flute, of which the other performers played so gently yet diligently, never wavering on a note for too long or too short. The melody was slow, haunting—a requiem, not a celebration.
Jack knew this story before it was even spoken.
His fingers curled into his sleeves. His heartbeat slowed.
The dancer lifted her hand—delicate fingers reaching for something unseen. A man, dressed in the garb of a warrior, clad in a simple gi, entered the stage. He reached for her. She turned away.
The music swelled. War drums echoed through the courtyard.
The warrior battled unseen forces, wielding an imaginary sword. He struck, he parried, he fell. The Fleeting Princess—his love, his anchor—watched from a distance, never stepping closer, never interfering.
And then— She began to fade. Jack's breath caught in his throat. The light dimmed, the candles flickered, the torii gate in the background falling dark as the lanterns were gracefully snuffed out. The performer's kimono turned sheerr. One moment, she was there—the next, she was gone.
The samurai on stage dropped to his knees, hands outstretched, reaching for someone no longer there.
A single chrysanthemum petal drifted onto the stage.
The performance ended. Silence blanketed the shrine.
Jack did not move. The applause was hesitant at first, building into something fuller, but he didn't hear it. His gaze remained fixed on the empty space where the dancer had stood. A memory that refused to let go.
He sighed, and joined the audience in their raucous, emotional applause.
For the timeless princess. His ill-omened bride to be.., Ashi.
The woman who saved his life, yet couldn't save hers. For she was part Aku.
And as he clapped, something deeper than the skin of his hands stung. —- As Jack turned to leave, parents escorting him, his loyal citizens bowing solemnly to make way for the prince and his family, a cold wind rushed through the festival. The lanterns flickered. The air hummed with something wrong. For just a moment, his shadow stretched longer than it should. He glanced over his shoulder, heart tightening. Nothing. Just the chrysanthemums swaying in the evening breeze.
Jack exhaled, shaking his head. Perhaps he was imagining things.
"Come, let's go son." said the emperor, his wife nodding in agreement.
Jack smiled softly as another tear rolled down his eye.
"Yes, Father and Mother." —- But far away, beyond time and space—Aku grinned in his prison. And Dheghom, battered and bruised, watched with growing dread.
Aku stands tall over her weakened visage, shards containing the echoes of virtually all conscious life on earth raining down around them, their bubbles long shattered by the sudden surge in his power.
"I've broken out of those flimsy bars, you wench."
The earth mother ducks, grimacing as Aku's gnarled foot barely misses her head, the pendant around her neck intensifying in luminosity as she blocks another dark shockwave from Aku's lunges.
Thinking quickly, she grabs the pendant around her neck, and using her ability to create another subarea in her rapidly deteriorating domain of existence, she dives into the portal, and with a clench of her outstretched hand behind her, she attempted to close it as quickly as she'd frantically opened it.
But it was to no avail.
Aku burst through, a toothy grin on his face, lunging at her with wanton abandon, cackling maniacally.
The earth mother's eyes widen, as a balled up fist from the now rabid demon makes contact with her face, momentarily summoning the wrath of bubbling magma to the surface of her left cheek.
"This is...! AHKH!" She coughs, feeling her legs momentarily buckle from the impact as the entire fabric of reality seems to bend and twist at the demon's every will, every swing of his fists, every attempt to sweep the Earth Mother off her feet more dangerous than the last.
With another sweeping gesture of her right hand, she tries to summon a greenish shield, with faint indents of the earth's continents on it's rounded surface - the protective measure JUST barely able to contain the sheer power of Aku's kick.
The demon grins.
"Your time will be over soon, you ornery old, decrepit ogress."
Dheghom clutches her left cheek, feeling the searing heat of the magma spilling out into the formerly serene oceanic-patterned portions of her skin.
"This... power...! His... ambition is too str-!"
The shield, a shimmering testament to her defense, erupted in a blinding flash, Aku's power shattering it into a chaotic storm of crystalline fragments. Jagged shards, like shards of frozen starlight, ripped through the luminous expanse, the air crackling with residual energy. A wave of icy dread, like glaciers creeping along her vertebrae, accompanied the deafening explosion, and the sheer, overwhelming force of the destruction momentarily shattered her composure, leaving her reeling in a whirlwind of disbelief.
"Those.. those shards are following... him!"
The small shards of yellow, baby blue, magenta, orange, sapphire blue, pink, green and last but not least, the gnarled, jagged blood red shard and the corrupted, tendriled blackened one seem to coalesce around his fist, their pace akin to the planetary rings drifting lazily around Saturn.
Dheghom's eyes grow wide in shock. Aku's grin, a jagged slash of cruel amusement, widened as she parried his blow, the force of their clash warping his very form. His silhouette stretched and distorted, an unnatural extension of limbs and torso, adding a disturbing height to his already imposing figure. He bared his teeth, a feral, almost shark-like grin, directed at the Earth Mother, whose former grace now seemed a distant memory in the face of his grotesque display.
"They're mine now."
Author's note: Also on AO3! I'll probably be updating this more there.