-
Dheghom did not have the time nor strength to summon another shield before his fist collided with her torso.
Pure, searing agony. Her form cracked. She *felt* herself breaking—the magma coursing through her veins spilled into the oceanic patterns on her skin, sending waves of torment rippling through her very being. His corruption—his essence—was inside her now, tainting what remained of her divinity.
Her vision blurred as she stumbled back, breath ragged and uneven. The shards surrounding him pulsed violently, flickering between forms, caught between past and present, between the erased and the rewritten.
"He's not just growing stronger," Dheghom realized, her voice trembling, barely audible over the chaos, the walls of her plane of existence seeming to warp and swirl around her, the usually vibrant, pulsing galaxies that sprinkled the walls of the domain now flickering erratically, as if their light was being sucked in by a black hole.
"He's absorbing the corruption that festers above."
Aku laughed—a low, guttural sound that warped the air around him. He rolled his shoulders, his monstrous form flickering between demon and something… more. Reality bent under his presence, twisting like molten glass under the unbearable heat of his fury.
"You stripped me of my dignity. Very likely, for eons," he snarled, cracking his knuckles, his abyssal fingers elongating unnaturally. "Mocked me in your little celestial prison, thought you had me bound for eternity, hmm?"
He tilted his head, grinning ear-to-ear, too wide, too unnatural.
"Tell me, you pathetic, cowering heap of trash." A pulse of darkness erupted from his body, forcing the ground beneath her to tremble—not out of fear, but submission. "How does it feel to lose? How does it feel…
CRACK. Dheghom barely registered the sound before his next strike shattered through her defenses. "..to be absolutely eviscerated by the very being you tried in vain to restrain?" She gasped—or tried to. Her throat seized as pain radiated outward, fracturing her resolve along with her body. Staggering backward, her legs faltered beneath her. The once-vibrant green of her domain dimmed; the space above blackened, mirroring her despair. And then… Aku reached out.
His long, clawed fingers wrapped around her throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. She struggled, thrashed, summoned every ounce of strength left within her—but it wasn't enough. Not this time. Aku leaned in close, his grin stretching impossibly wide, his voice dripping with venom. "You thought you were eternal." He tightened his grip, savoring her helplessness. "But even gods can die."
Dheghom's mind raced. There had to be a way. Something—anything—to stop him. Summoning the last dregs of her power, she clenched the pendant around her neck. The Earth's final gift. Civilisation's last gift to her.. Before they forgot.
Aku's eyes flickered—he noticed, but it was too late.
A portal tore open behind her, an erratic, desperate breach fueled by the pendant's energy. With one final surge of willpower, Dheghom tore herself free, the force propelling her through the collapsing rift.
Aku snarled, lunging after her—but the portal collapsed before he could follow.
She was gone.
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the void. The corrupted shards still pulsed faintly around him, whispering echoes of lives lost, stories unfinished.
And then— Aku threw back his head and laughed.
It was a laugh that shook the fabric of existence itself, reverberating across dimensions.
"Run, run, little goddess," he sneered, his corrupted gaze gleaming with malice, licking his grotesquely protruding fangs, as he twirled the shards around his pointer finger.
"It won't save you."
- In the fleeting moments of clarity amidst the chaos, Dheghom retreated into herself, seeking solace in the dwindling sanctum of her mind. In a small subarea of her domain, far removed from Aku's relentless assault, she collapsed to her knees, her entire left side wracked with the cacophony of typhoons swirling across her skin. Earthquakes rumbled beneath the continents etched onto her flesh, while magma boiled and bubbled where Aku's fists had struck her.
"How... did he... become so powerful...," she choked out, her voice breaking under the weight of despair.
Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the scorched earth of her inner sanctum, feeling the fractures spreading beneath her touch. Each tremor mirrored the shattering of her spirit.
"I'm... I've... oh no." The realization hit her like a tidal wave, drowning her in its inevitability. "I've failed."
Her voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the storm raging both outside and within. For eons, she had stood as the guardian of balance, the keeper of memory, the eternal force that held existence together. And now, faced with the resurgence of Aku's power, she saw the truth laid bare: she was no longer strong enough to stop him.
Her failure wasn't just personal—it was universal. Every life, every timeline, every fragment of consciousness she had sworn to protect would be consumed by his insatiable ambition.
The low murmur of the palace had long since faded into the background. Beyond the paper-thin shoji doors, the soft shuffle of servants' feet was barely audible, blending seamlessly with the distant calls of birds nesting in the ancient cypress trees. Rain tapped rhythmically against the tiled rooftops, its steady cadence creating an almost meditative stillness.
Jack sat alone on the tatami floor, cross-legged, his posture calm but deliberate. A single andon lamp flickered beside him, casting faint shadows that danced across the wooden beams of the room. The tea in his cup steamed gently, its rich, earthy aroma curling around him like a wisp of memory—a fleeting comfort in an otherwise heavy moment.
He took a slow sip, savoring the warmth as it spread through his chest.
For the first time in what felt like ages, the world seemed... peaceful.
Or so it appeared.
But peace, Jack knew, was often deceptive. Beneath the surface of this tranquil scene, something stirred—something unseen yet palpable. The air grew heavier, pressing against his lungs as though the walls themselves were closing in. Even the rhythmic drip of water from the courtyard's bamboo fountain—the sound he'd found so soothing just moments ago—suddenly halted mid-drip, leaving behind an unnatural silence.
Jack froze.
His fingers tightened instinctively around the porcelain teacup as he glanced down at its contents. What had been a shimmering, leafy-green liquid moments before, seemed to darken ominously. An inky blackness bled outward from the center, twisting and curling like veins spreading across parchment, corrupting the purity of the tea.
A bitter tang filled his mouth, sharp and metallic, as though the very essence of the drink had turned sour.
The breeze outside stilled completely. Not even the whisper of leaves brushing against one another disturbed the oppressive quiet. Then, without warning, the candle beside him flickered violently—once, twice—and extinguished itself, plunging the room into shadow.
Silence. Suffocating. Absolute.
Jack placed the teacup carefully back onto the tray, his movements measured despite the unease clawing at the edges of his mind. He stared at the swirling darkness within the cup—not a reflection, not a shadow, but something alive, pulsing with malevolence.
And then came the voice. Soft, insidious, untraceable.
*"He is now free."*
The words slithered into his consciousness, bypassing his ears entirely. They resonated deep within him, a pulse beneath his ribs, a whisper buried inside his own thoughts. Jack's jaw tightened. His breath caught for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to exhale slowly, grounding himself in the present.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be.
Yet the weight of those four words settled over him like a shroud.
A quiet knock broke the silence.
The shoji doors slid open soundlessly. His mother, the Empress, entered first, her presence commanding yet serene, her every movement as graceful as the oceans before a storm. She carried herself with quiet authority, her hands folded neatly within the sleeves of her ornate junihitoe. The Emperor followed closely behind, his expression unreadable but watchful, the ceremonial shaku held firmly in one hand, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Jack did not turn to face them immediately. Instead, he pressed his fingertips into his palms, steadying himself. His gaze lingered on the extinguished candle, the untouched tea, the creeping darkness pooling in the corners of the room.
"It has begun," he murmured under his breath, his voice low but tinged with resignation.
"Son," the Empress said softly, her tone laced with both concern and understanding. "Your grimace says it all."
The Emperor stepped forward, his piercing gaze flicking between the tea, the candle, and Jack's rigid form. "Is there something troubling you?"
Jack finally looked up, meeting their eyes. His own were dark, unreadable pools of emotion—anger, fear, determination—all swirling together beneath the surface.
"…Something's off."
He turned his head slightly, gazing past them toward the distant gardens. The wind no longer stirred the branches, and the lanterns from the Kiku Matsuri, which should have bathed the night in warm hues, were conspicuously absent. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the grounds, swallowing the light whole.
The night felt too deep.
Too silent.
Somewhere far away, beyond time and space, Aku laughed—a low, guttural sound that reverberated through existence itself. The Earth Mother cowered beneath him, her once-mighty form trembling under the weight of his corruption.
A torrent of shards—fragments so meticulously harvested from the streams of time that Dheghom had been tasked to oversee—rained down upon them, dissolving into wisps of mourning echoes as Aku grinned, his triumph palpable.
Dheghom's blue-green pupils widened in horror as magma surged beneath her skin, typhoons swirled violently across her shoulders, and earthquakes rippled through the once-pristine patterns of continents etched onto her flesh. Aku's oppressive aura pressed against her like a suffocating tidal wave, crushing what little strength remained within her.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
"He's… in this subarea," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos around her. "I'm… done for."
Aku crossed his blackened arms, his grin widening as he watched her kneel, her trembling hands gripping the silky fabric of her toga. The jagged black shard—the repository of all his memories from the erased timeline—floated toward him, tracing graceful figure-eight motions between his six horns.
"No… NO!" Dheghom shouted, lunging desperately for the shard. "It…!"
"Too late," Aku sneered, his voice dripping with malice.
The black shard hovered momentarily before pressing itself firmly against Aku's throat, merging seamlessly with his humanoid form. A surge of dark energy pulsed outward as the shard fused with him, restoring what was rightfully his.
Granting him worthy of HIS own power.
A massive shockwave erupted from the merged entity, sending Dheghom careening backward onto the cracked floor of her domain. Aku rose gracefully into the air, his arms crossed, his newfound height casting an imposing shadow over her shattered sanctuary. His raw power now far eclipsed hers, leaving no doubt of his dominance.
"Please…" Dheghom begged weakly, her voice strained and broken. "Don't…"
Aku twirled the remaining eight shards in his hand, momentarily breaking his scornful glare to admire their vibrant hues: blood red, yellow, icy baby blue, sapphire, magenta, orange—and finally, pink and green. Each shard gleamed faintly, pulsing with the remnants of lives long erased or forgotten.
"Don't? Don't?" Aku mocked, his laughter echoing through the chamber.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the shards hurtling toward Dheghom like a hailstorm. She raised her hands instinctively, summoning a shimmering shield just in time to deflect their impact. But even as the shards ricocheted harmlessly aside, the strain showed on her face. Her shield wavered, then collapsed entirely under the relentless assault.
"You… are destroying the… memories of…" she gasped, coughing violently as a thick, viscous black liquid dripped from her lips, staining the constellation-studded floors below.
"Memories, shmemories," Aku spat, his voice laced with disdain. "They're not relevant to me. They don't have my power flowing within them. Do I need to store them for later?"
He cackled, raising his fist abruptly. With a sharp clench of his fingers, the earth mother's shield shattered into thousands of glittering fragments, scattering across the ground like fallen stars. Her power was spent.
"I accept… my fate," Dheghom murmured, her body wracked with spasms of pain. Another violent cough brought forth more of the black ichor, pooling at her knees as she slumped forward.
"But you know what?" Aku said, tilting his head mockingly. He gestured lazily, and the green bubbles she had lovingly embalmed the shards re-formed around them, sealing away their contents once more.
"I'll spare you—for now." His brows furrowed, his expression twisting into something grotesque—a wicked grin stretching too wide, his nostrils flaring, his fangs glinting menacingly.
"I like to see…" he trailed off, his voice oozing sadism.
"...those who've overstayed their welcome suffer."
Aku laughed again, the sound echoing like chalk scraping against jagged, gnarled nodules of rock. In an instant, his essence coalesced into the shape of a black meteor. With an effortless leap, he corkscrewed upward, smashing through the walls of the formerly serene realm. The eight shards followed obediently in his wake, their colors dimming as they vanished beyond the breach.
The Earth Mother collapsed, panting heavily, her energy utterly depleted. She didn't know how long it would take—or if she ever could—to recover from the devastation wrought by Aku's return. As she stared into the yawning abyss left behind by his departure, one truth crystallised in her mind:
He would come back for her.
"And when he does…" she whispered hoarsely, freezing mid-thought as sheets of ice spread rapidly across her spine. Her fists clenched involuntarily, nearly pounding against her thighs in frustration.
"He… won't spare me."
Her voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes, though none fell. There was no solace here, only the cold certainty of failure.
"I… can only hope that… someone else can… defeat him in my stead."
Her shoulders slumped, her head bowed low.
"I've failed."
The silence that followed was deafening—a void where hope had once flickered, however faintly. Above her, the crack in the dome pulsed faintly, its swirling darkness mirroring the despair settling deep within her soul.