And back again.
Note at the end, let's begin.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sekirei; if I did, the situation with certain characters would've turned out very differently and we'd have more than two seasons of the anime. It belongs solely to Sakurako Gokurakuin - who is overdue for a continuation by this point.
"speech"
thought
"phone call"
"Norito"
SOUND EFFECT!
"flashback"
For a moment, Kujou felt as though she'd been yanked violently back in time, as if the past weeks were a riptide dragging her into its depths.
The boy she had once dared to believe was her destined ashikabi had since revealed himself as a deranged egomaniac, a deluded tyrant bent on claiming not only her but every single Sekirei as his.
The harrowing memories clawed at her—days spent on the run, pursued by his Sekirei like a fox cornered by hounds. That familiar chill of helpless terror threatened to take hold again, a sinister whisper brushing against her resolve.
But this time, she refused to let it drown her.
She had found her anchor. Tamotsu.
The memory of him standing between her and Mitsuki was seared into her heart. He hadn't hesitated—not even for a heartbeat. He had risked everything, shielding her with a defiance that seemed reckless but felt like salvation to someone like her.
And he'd done it for her, a stranger he barely knew.
The thought alone warmed her, a fire stoked against the icy fear of what Mikogami represented.
Sure, Tamotsu wasn't the dashing Suave Knight. He lacked the polish, the flamboyant flair, and frankly was too lanky to be considered "statuesque".
But what he had—what he was—outshone her childhood crush. His courage was quiet but steadfast, and a kindness that was frankly unyielding. For all his awkwardness, he had a way of making her feel... seen. Safe. Cherished.
"Kujou-chan…"
Her heart skipped, caught mid-beat like a bird startled into flight.
Even the way he said her name was a melody only she could hear, soft and unguarded, as though it held a piece of his soul. The memory of his voice lingered, weaving itself into the rhythm of her thoughts.
It wasn't just the sound, though—it was everything else.
His smile, so unassuming yet disarmingly warm. The way he carried himself, steady and unwavering even in the face of danger. And oh, the inexplicable warmth he radiated, a balm to wounds she hadn't realized were still raw.
Her heart sang for him.
The thought alone set her pulse racing.
Was this what Lunar Sentinel felt whenever she stood beside Suave Knight? Kujou wondered, her cheeks warming.
Could this aching, fluttering pull that tethered her to Tamotsu be... love?
The question sent a thrill through her, equal parts exhilaration and terror.
She'd already made the mistake of opening up to someone like Mikogami and it had very nearly sealed her fate.
But Tamotsu... he didn't demand she be his. He was just there for her, without asking for anything in return.
Tamotsu could be the one she was meant to be with, but there was only one way to know for sure.
She took a steadying breath, her fingers curling into fists.
If there was a chance to protect what they might have—what they could become—then she had to face the witch who had nearly stolen it all away.
No more running.
No more fear.
Her heart was no longer a fragile thing to be crushed under the weight of the past. It beat stronger now, ignited by a hope she hadn't thought she'd ever find.
Because for the first time, she wasn't standing alone.
"Out of my way, you piss ants!" the blonde witch bellowed, her voice cracking with raw frustration as she lashed out at the Ashikabi of the West's Sekirei. Her movements were sharp and frenzied, a tempest barely restrained, and the ground around her bore the scars of her fury—deep craters and jagged gouges where her wires had struck.
Kujou stood frozen for a moment, her breath catching in her throat as she watched the chaos unfold. She clenched her fists tightly, her nails biting into her palms as a deep, steadying breath filled her lungs.
Her tuner's voice rose unbidden in her mind, a memory etched so deeply it felt like it was part of her very being:
"Your power is not unlike that of Sekirei who can wield elements; it's all about imagination. I know it sounds silly, but it's true. What you perceive your power as shapes how it manifests. Given what yours can do, there's a whole world of possibilities. Heck, even all that anime you've been binging might help you figure it out."
The corners of her lips twitched upward in the faintest of smiles, despite the tension in her chest.
The thought of her tuner teasing her about her marathon sessions of Lunar Sentinel felt strangely grounding.
She had devoured every episode, memorized page of the manga, completely immersing herself in the fantastical world of beautiful heroes who fought for love and justice.
At the time, it had been nothing more than a guilty pleasure, a dream she could escape into.
But now, it was so much more. Because she had someone to share those memories with.
She closed her eyes and let the memory of her imagined transformation play out in her mind like a scene from one of those cherished episodes. It was so vivid, so familiar, that it felt as if she had lived it before. She stood solemnly in the heart of a vast, open space, her arms crossing her chest in a defiant X. Around her, tiny motes of light began to bubble into existence, rising like fireflies from the depths of the earth. They shimmered and danced in the air, growing brighter and brighter until they outshone the surrounding darkness, a radiant cascade of raw, untamed power.
This was her gift. Her power. The reason she was known as the Flare Sekirei.
She had wielded it once before, in desperation, to carve out a sliver of time—a fleeting chance to escape. Back then, it had been a lifeline, a last-ditch effort to cling to the possibility of happiness, of love.
But this time, it was different.
This time, it wasn't about running. It was about standing her ground.
Kujou's eyes snapped open, and they burned with a fire that mirrored the motes of light coalescing around her body. She straightened her posture, her movements deliberate and calm, even as her heart raced with anticipation. Her breath left her in a slow, measured exhale as the power surged through her veins, setting her nerves alight with heat and purpose.
Just as Lunar Sentinel had stood as a beacon of love and justice, she would be the same.
No, she would be more.
Mitsuki might have been a tempest, wild and unyielding, but Kujou would be the Sun—a force of light and heat that no storm could extinguish.
With her power building to a crescendo, Kujou turned her focus forward.
This wasn't just for her.
This was for Tamotsu, the boy who had given her the chance at a future she could no longer deny. And it was for Uzume, whose happiness hung precariously in the balance.
"Hey, you about—?!" Mitsuha's shout cracked through the tension like a whip, only for her words to falter and die as her jaw slackened in sheer disbelief.
Kujou didn't pay her any mind, the light of her gathered power reflecting in their depths like molten gold. She didn't need to look at Mitsuha to know what she saw—a figure shrouded in radiant energy, calm and unyielding, like a hero stepping out of a legend.
"Kujou-chan..."
His voice.
She turned toward him, catching the wonder in his wide, spellbound eyes. Her lips curled into a confident smile—at least, she hoped it looked confident. Her heart beat a wild rhythm, but his awe steadied her, igniting something deep within her.
This boy had done nothing but protect her up till now.
It was time to return the favor.
"When I tell you," she said, her tone deliberate and firm, "thumb your ears and look away."
"Y-yeah, got it."
He nodded, his trust shining brighter than any words could express.
For a fleeting moment, she felt invincible.
Her gaze shifted to Mitsuki, a blonde acting as fury incarnate. Her movements were a chaotic dance of violence, punctuated by the metallic hum of her wires. With a fierce snarl, she dropkicked one of the West's Sekirei straight into a streetlight, the impact ringing out like a cracked bell.
"Kuzuri!" the Ashikabi of the West cried out, rushing to the crumpled figure along with his other Sekirei.
"BUTT OUT!" Mitsuki snapped, her voice venomous as she lashed out with a flurry of wires, slicing through the air like deadly ribbons.
KA-THWACK!
A sharp, resonant crack rang out as the whip came down, its glowing arc intercepting the wires with uncanny precision.
Mitsuki staggered back, her feral momentum broken.
Kujou took a steadying breath, the power within her thrumming like a second heartbeat, its warmth coiling around her fingers. She flexed them, feeling the energy pulse, yearning for release.
"EVERYONE!" she shouted, her voice ringing with unshakable authority. "CLOSE YOUR EYES AND EARS—NOW!"
The gathered combatants froze for a split second before scrambling to comply.
Kujou didn't wait to see if they listened.
The orbs of light she cradled burned brighter, their searing glow casting sharp-edged shadows across the battlefield. With a practiced motion, she brought the radiant globes to her chest and pushed forward with all her might.
The orbs shot out like meteors, streaking toward Mitsuki in a blinding arc. The blonde turned, her expression twisting from anger to shock in a heartbeat.
"S-SHIT—!" She sent forth a maelstrom of steel, aiming to cut the attack in half.
THWOOM!
The globes erupted in a cataclysmic flash of light, so bright it seemed to devour the world in an instant. A piercing ring followed, sharp and relentless, echoing across the battlefield.
Kujou stood unmoving, her eyes unfazed by the brilliance of her own creation.
Her breath came fast and uneven, heart hammering in her chest. The light still flickered faintly around her, a lingering reminder of her power.
As the radiance subsided, she risked a glance around.
Relief washed over her like a wave—her warning had been heeded.
The others had their hands clamped over their ears or their faces turned away, shielding themselves from the worst of the blast.
Mitsuki, however, was not so fortunate.
The blonde shrieked and raged, clawing desperately at her eyes as she staggered and stumbled like a drunk. Her hands lashed out wildly, grasping at empty air as if trying to rip the lingering flash from her vision. She raved incoherently, her voice a raw, guttural and pained wail as the world around her dissolved into a cacophony of blinding light and muffled silence.
Kujou watched from where she stood, her chest heaving as the adrenaline surged through her veins.
The sight was almost surreal—this dangerous, volatile force reduced to flailing helplessness.
Had it been Yomi or any of South's more seasoned Sekirei, this wouldn't have worked; they knew her powers too well and would have anticipated the move.
But Mitsuki? Mitsuki had underestimated her. She'd never given Kujou the chance to show her strength until now.
Now she knows, Kujou thought grimly, her lips curling into a small, weary smile.
The blonde would know better if they fought in the future, but Kujou didn't care right now. The immediate threat had been dealt with, and she had faced down one of her demons with all the power she could wield.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Kujou felt herself breathe a little easier.
"Tamo, what are you spacing out for!? GO!"
Mitsuha's sharp voice cut through the moment, snapping Kujou's gaze to the boy. He startled like a deer caught in headlights before nodding furiously.
"Right!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he turned and sprinted into the swirling mist after Uzume. His silhouette disappeared quickly, swallowed by the thick veil of smoke and light.
Kujou let out a shaky exhale, her knees trembling beneath her before finally giving out. She collapsed to the ground, landing hard on her rear with a soft gasp. The tension in her body melted away, leaving her limbs weak and unsteady. Her heart pounded in her chest, its frantic rhythm echoing in her ears.
"Oi."
The voice made her flinch slightly, and she looked up to see Mitsuha standing over her, arms crossed and gaze sharp as ever.
For a moment, the woman's face was unreadable, her steel-blue eyes studying Kujou like she was a puzzle missing pieces. Then, to Kujou's surprise, Mitsuha's lips curved into a lopsided smirk.
"Not bad, Pinkie."
Kujou blinked, caught off guard by the casual jab. She opened her mouth to protest but found herself laughing instead, the sound escaping her in light, breathless bursts. "My name... is Kujou," she managed between gasps, though her tone lacked any real indignation.
The smirk on Mitsuha's face softened, and she extended a white gloved hand. The leather glinted faintly in the dim light as Kujou stared at it, following the arm up to see the faintest hint of respect in Mitsuha's expression.
"Well?" Mitsuha said, tilting her head. "You just gonna sit there all day, or are you gonna help me keep that idiot from getting himself killed?"
Kujou's cheeks flushed faintly as she hesitated, the adrenaline still coursing through her making everything feel surreal. But then she reached out, her trembling fingers brushing against the leather before gripping it firmly. Her eyes widened as Mitsuha pulled her up in one swift motion, her strength startling. Kujou stumbled slightly but found her footing, her cheeks still warm as she glanced at the woman.
"Thanks," she said quietly, brushing dust off her knees.
Mitsuki's screams echoed across the battlefield, her voice raw with frustration and panic. She staggered blindly, her arms flailing in futile arcs before her feet caught on uneven ground. With a strangled cry, she toppled over, landing in an ungraceful heap amidst the rubble.
For a fleeting moment, Kujou's heart ached with pity for her former tormentor. The sight of the blonde—so fearsome just moments ago—reduced to this pitiful, frantic mess was almost enough to stir something akin to sympathy.
Almost.
"What happens to her now?" Kujou asked quietly, her gaze still fixed on the fallen blonde. Her voice wavered, but she steadied it as best she could.
"Mitsuki's not my problem anymore. Tamo is."
"But Tamotsu-san said he doesn't want anyone to be terminated," Kujou argued.
"And you think that's possible?" Mitsuha's voice was flat, tinged with skepticism. She didn't bother looking at Mitsuki, her focus instead on the thick curtain of mist her master had vanished into.
Kujou hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip as she considered her answer. The weight of the question pressed down on her like a stone, but then she lifted her chin, determination flashing in her eyes.
"If it's him that wants it," she said, her tone firm despite the tremor in her chest, "then I do."
Mitsuha finally glanced at her, one brow arching sharply. "Such faith in someone who isn't your ashikabi." Her words came out almost dismissive, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze, as if she couldn't quite figure Kujou out.
"Uzume-san is just as guilty as me then," Kujou countered, her voice soft but unwavering.
Mitsuha sighed, dragging her hand down her face with clear exasperation. "Don't I know it," she muttered, her tone walking the line between sarcasm and reluctant acceptance. After a beat, she dropped her hand and gestured toward the mist where Tamotsu had vanished.
"Come on," she said, already moving forward. "That idiot's got a head start, but he can't outrun me."
Irritating.
It was the only word Yomi could think of to describe her opponent.
Her beloved scythe, honed to perfection, was proving maddeningly ineffective against Ten. The blade that had sliced through countless foes with ease seemed to falter now, unable to pin down the damned Veiled Sekirei. Perhaps it was her own fault for skipping her usual sharpening routine in favor of a long, indulgent makeout session with her ashikabi the night before. Or, more likely, it was because Ten was just too stubborn, too damned determined to avoid becoming another one of Hayato's trophies.
Whatever the reason, Yomi was seething. The Veiled Sekirei was far more aggravating than #49's pathetic little chase through the city had been. Honestly, if Hayato hadn't insisted on capturing this tramp intact, Yomi might've scalped the pink-haired runt just to spite her.
At this rate, I might still do it, she thought venomously, spinning out of the way of another shimmering veil that lashed toward her like a striking cobra.
Yomi's scythe hissed through the air as she sliced through the offending fabric, her movements sharp and fluid. She'd already seen what happened when Ten got a solid grip on someone. Juusa had been rendered completely useless, lying limp where she had swung into the ground after getting ensnared.
Himeko wasn't faring much better, forced to hang back and play defense lest she end up ensnared as well. Mitsuki was still tied up with her "dear sister," and Taki was practically useless in this kind of fight. That left Yomi—alone—to deal with the woman her ashikabi had deemed "a prize worth taking."
"Worth it, my ass," Yomi growled under her breath as she danced away from another swipe of the veils. How is she this good? Ten was a Double-Digit, just like her—strong, but nowhere near a Single-Digit's caliber. And yet she was holding her own against three Sekirei with far more combat experience.
The frustration boiled over. With a sharp arc of her scythe, Yomi tore through another silken tendril, her glare boring into the brunette. "You are really making me work for this," she snapped, her voice laced with venom.
Uzume, breathing heavily but still standing firm, met her glare with one of her own. "You're trying to take away my only real chance of being with my destined one," she spat back. "Are you really that surprised?"
Yomi scoffed, rolling her eyes as if the words were beneath her. "Spare me the romantic nonsense. You'd get just as much love if you gave in to Hayato-kun. He's soft like that."
Uzume's expression darkened. Her lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it—only derision. "Like you did?"
The words hit Yomi like a slap. She froze mid-step, her scythe trembling in her grip.
What did that bitch just say?
"Are you implying," Yomi hissed, her voice dangerously low, "that I'm just like those brats? That I was forced to become his Sekirei?"
"Am I wrong?" Uzume countered, her voice calm but cutting, her veils shifting in readiness.
"DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE!" Yomi roared, her voice echoing through the mist like a thunderclap. Her scythe swung wildly, the blade gleaming as it cleaved through the air. She lunged, her movements fueled by fury. "I chose him—ME! Don't you dare mistake me for one of them!"
Ten barely had time to react. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the blade as it whistled past her head. Her veils lashed out in retaliation, one wrapping around Yomi's wrist and yanking her off balance.
Yomi snarled, ripping her arm free with brute force and spinning into another strike. The scythe's edge grazed Uzume's shoulder, tearing through fabric but missing flesh by a hair's breadth.
Uzume retaliated with a sweep of her veils, forcing Yomi to leap back. The Death Scythe Sekirei's boots skidded across the pavement as she regained her footing, her eyes blazing with unbridled rage.
"You talk big for someone who's about to lose everything," Yomi spat, charging again. Her scythe carved wide arcs through the air, each swing faster and more vicious than the last.
Uzume countered with precision, her veils darting like vipers to deflect the strikes. The fabric shimmered in the misty light, forming a near-impenetrable barrier between her and Yomi's relentless onslaught.
But Yomi wasn't just fast—she was cunning. She feinted left, drawing Uzume's defenses to one side, before spinning low and slicing upward. The move caught Uzume off guard, and the tip of the scythe nicked her thigh, drawing a thin line of blood.
Uzume hissed, her veils snapping back defensively as she stumbled slightly.
"Looks like first blood goes to me," Yomi sneered, licking a speck of blood from her blade. "A bit salty for my tastes, but I've had worse."
"Keep yapping and you'll be choking on yours next," Ten shot back, trying to steady herself.
Oh, if only she could've invoked her norito, she would've ended this fight in a heartbeat. One clean sweep of her scythe, and Ten would be in two neat pieces at her feet.
But Hayato had forbidden it.
The thought made her blood boil. Fine. She didn't need that blessing to carve this bitch up. Her scythe was sharp enough, and her rage… her rage made her lethal.
Some said anger blinded you in a fight, dulled your senses and made you reckless. For Yomi, rage was her edge. It sharpened her reflexes, quickened her strikes. She wasn't the Black Sekirei—she didn't have that level of infamy—but she was a master of fury, and it had never failed her.
The Veiled Sekirei was on the defensive now, her shimmering cloth tendrils swiping and spinning in desperation. Yomi's blade tore through them with ease, shredding the silky traps that once sought to entangle her.
"You're slowing down, Ten," Yomi sneered, her voice dripping venom as she advanced.
Uzume didn't reply, her focus split between evading Yomi's relentless assault and trying to reform her veils. Sweat dripped down her face, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was flagging, and Yomi could smell victory.
"Let's end this little dance," Yomi growled as Uzume attempted to retreat further.
She drew her scythe back, channeling wind through the blade with a motion so fluid it was like an extension of her body. The weapon hummed with energy, the sharp edge gleaming ominously.
"TIME FOR A REAPING!" Yomi roared, launching herself at the brunette like a bullet from a gun.
Uzume barely managed to recover. Her veils coiled together into a spinning drill, a last-ditch effort to meet the incoming attack. The fabric screeched as it twisted in a blur, its desperate energy clashing head-on with Yomi's scythe.
The impact was cataclysmic.
A shockwave of air erupted from the collision, sending loose debris skittering across the battlefield. Both women strained against each other, their weapons sparking and groaning under the force. Yomi's teeth were bared, her muscles taut as she pushed with everything she had.
But neither could claim dominance.
With a sharp crack, Yomi's scythe shattered, shards of gleaming metal exploding outward. They slashed across her arms and shoulders, scoring shallow cuts into her skin and tearing through her dress. She staggered back, snarling at the sight of her beloved weapon reduced to ruins.
Uzume fared no better. Her makeshift drill unraveled, the shredded fabric falling around her like wilted petals. Her chest heaved as sweat dripped from her chin, her face pale but defiant.
Yomi wiped blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, glaring daggers at the woman who refused to yield. "You're really testing my patience, you damn slut," she hissed, flexing her fingers as she prepared to tear Uzume apart with her bare hands if she had to.
Then she noticed movement behind Uzume, a shadow slipping through the mist. A slow, savage grin spread across Yomi's face.
"What are you looking so smug about?" Uzume demanded, her voice hoarse but steady.
Yomi didn't answer. She didn't have to.
A scream ripped through the air as a massive blade tore into Uzume's back. The Veiled Sekirei's eyes went wide with shock, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as she crumpled to her knees. Her veils, once alive with purpose, fell limp and lifeless around her.
Himeko stepped forward, her blade gleaming wickedly in the dim light.
"A little sooner would've been nice," Yomi snapped, her voice dripping with irritation as she stalked toward the fallen Sekirei.
"You looked like you were having fun," Himeko replied with a casual shrug, effortlessly spinning her blade as though it weighed nothing.
"Hardly." Yomi brushed past her flockmate, striding through the tattered remnants of Ten's veils. She loomed over the downed Sekirei, her gaze fixed on the exposed crest at the nape of Uzume's neck.
Uzume's trembling hands clawed at her neck, trying to cover the mark in a futile attempt to shield it.
Yomi's lips curled into a snarl. She grabbed Uzume's wrist and yanked it away with brutal force, exposing the crest fully. "Consider yourself lucky, bitch," Yomi spat, her gloved finger hovering over the mark. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to end this—to press harder, to terminate the woman who'd caused her so much trouble.
But she didn't.
Instead, she battled the wave of resentment threatening to consume her.
Uzume was beautiful, Yomi admitted grudgingly. Strong, too.
Would Hayato love her more? Would Uzume take the place in his heart that she had literally carved for herself?
The thought made her stomach churn with fury.
"No," she growled under her breath, pressing her finger to Uzume's crest. "No, you won't. Scythe of my pledge, rend-!"
"YOMI!"
The sharp command froze her in place, the venomous retort on her lips dying as she turned toward the voice. Her master, Hayato, stood just beyond the mist, his golden eyes locked onto her with a piercing glare.
"That is enough," he said coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If you go any further, even I won't forgive you."
Yomi's breath caught in her throat.
There were few things in this world that Yomi feared. The Black Sekirei held one spot on that short list, but far above her was this. Displeasing him. Disappointing him. Worse, angering him.
The world could crumble into dust for all she cared, but the thought of his disapproval twisted her insides into knots. He was her everything. Her savior. Her reason for being.
"I'm sorry," she blurted in a rush, immediately retreating a step. She would've backed off entirely, but his next words stopped her cold.
"No," Hayato said, his voice firm. "Stay there. It might make this much easier if she sees the consequences."
Her lips curved into a smirk before she could stop herself, though it felt strained, her face almost aching from holding it. "Of course," she purred, shifting her grip on Uzume's shoulder. "She won't be going anywhere like this."
"Bitch!" Uzume snarled, her fiery defiance undiminished despite her trembling form.
Yomi just chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Say what you want, Ten. But soon enough, you'll understand."
Hayato stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring the moment. His confident smile—one Yomi adored—was etched across his face as he knelt in front of the defeated Sekirei.
"Number Ten," he said softly, his tone almost reverent. "I've been waiting so long to meet you. The pictures MBI had don't do you justice."
Uzume lifted her head weakly, her gaze still sharp despite the pain etched across her face. "Flattery will get you nowhere, little boy," she spat.
Yomi's fingers twitched against Uzume's shoulder. The audacity of this bitch—to talk to her beloved master like that—made her want to end it right there. But Hayato chuckled, brushing the insult aside with an air of unshakable confidence.
"Feisty and powerful," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You really are worth all this effort. But don't worry—you'll change your tune about me soon."
He reached out, gently tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Uzume stiffened, her eyes wide with shock and anger.
"DON'T!" she shouted, her voice cracking as her body jerked in a futile attempt to free herself. Yomi pressed her finger harder into the crest on Uzume's neck, a warning as sharp as the glare she shot her.
"Don't even think about it," Uzume hissed, her voice trembling but resolute. "I'm not some collectible you can add to your shelf. You are not my master."
Hayato tilted his head, his expression softening with mock curiosity. "Then who will be?" he asked, his voice deceptively gentle.
The question left Uzume momentarily stunned, her lips parting as though to answer, but no words came. Hayato took her silence as an opening.
"All this uncertainty," he continued, his tone coaxing. "All this doubt… do you really want to keep suffering through it?"
"That's my choice," Uzume shot back, her voice rising. She thrashed against his hold, her veils flickering with the faintest hint of life. "You have no right to take it from me! From any of us! All these Sekirei you've forced—"
"Are now my family," Hayato interjected, his calm demeanor never wavering. His smile grew warmer, almost paternal. "They resisted at first, just like you. But they came to understand that my love for them is pure. I just want us all to be happy together. Is that really so sinister?"
Uzume's glare deepened, her voice cutting like a blade. "You raped them," she said coldly, her words laced with venom. "You tore away whatever chance at happiness they had to satisfy yourself. Whatever lies you tell yourself, spare me from them."
Hayato stilled.
Yomi's breath hitched as her master's confident smile faltered ever so slightly. Her heart clenched, but she forced herself to speak. "They all denied you at first, Hayato-kun," she reminded him, her voice soft but firm. He glanced up at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. "But we all love you now. She will too. You'll see."
"SHUT—!" Uzume's shout was cut off as Hayato's hand shot to her throat, silencing her with a grip that was firm but not crushing. His golden eyes glinted with something hazy, almost distant, as his smile returned, wider than before.
"Yomi's right," he said absently, his voice soft but tinged with a strange fervor. "It's okay, Uzume-san. Soon everything will be okay."
He leaned closer, his lips drawing nearer to hers. Uzume's struggles grew frantic, her body twisting and thrashing with wild desperation. Yomi growled low in her throat, tightening her grip on Uzume's shoulder to keep her still, her nails digging into flesh.
There was a loud boom that sounded off in the distance, but Yomi paid it no mind, chalking it up to the inevitable outcome of Mitsuki's fight. If her flockmate had finally gotten herself terminated, so be it. One less nuisance to deal with.
Besides, soon Hayato would have a far better replacement… one she would delight in bringing to heel.
Uzume thrashed harder, her voice breaking into a desperate wail. "No, no, don't… please, no! NO!"
"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!"
Yomi's head snapped toward the shout, just in time to see a young man with fire in his lavender eyes barreling toward them. His fist connected with Hayato's face in a sickening crack, the force of the blow sending her beloved master sprawling.
"HAYATO—!"
Her scream tore through the air, raw and filled with panic. She abandoned Ten without a second thought, her scythe clattering to the ground as she rushed to Hayato's side. Sliding to her knees, she turned him over with trembling hands, her heart hammering in her chest.
Then she saw the blood.
A thin trickle of red slipped from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale skin.
THUMP.
Her heart clenched painfully, her breath catching in her throat.
How dare he.
THUMP.
How dare he—how dare he—how dare he!
THUMP! THUMP!
Yomi's head snapped up, her eyes locking onto the bastard who had struck her precious master. Her vision blurred at the edges, her fury sharpening into a singular, blinding point of focus.
The boy stood protectively in front of Ten, his chest heaving as he glared back at her with defiance that only stoked her rage.
Her trembling hands reached for her scythe, but it wasn't enough. The broken blade wouldn't satisfy the howling need for vengeance that burned in her chest. She summoned the wind, twisting it into a blade of pure force that shimmered at the hilt of her weapon.
Her lips curled into a snarl as she lunged forward, her heart pounding in her ears as she descended on him like a reaper from the heavens.
I'll make it up to Hayato with his head! she thought gleefully, her scythe arcing downward with deadly precision. No, with his head and Ten's together—
"With furious whips, let my ashikabi's obstacles be crushed!"
The words echoed across the battlefield, stopping Yomi cold. Her eyes widened in shock just as something black and sinuous surged into her path like a thunderbolt.
The blow came with the force of a freight train, slamming into her scythe with such power that her hands nearly gave out. She barely managed to block it, but the impact still sent her flying backward.
Yomi twisted in midair, her instincts taking over as she pivoted into a low crouch, her boots skidding against the cracked pavement. Her glare darted toward the source of the attack, her rage redoubled as she searched for her new assailant.
For a heartbeat, she thought it was Mitsuki. The figure before her bore an uncanny resemblance—the blonde hair, the piercing eyes. But as rationality wrestled control from her anger, she realized her mistake.
No.
This wasn't Mitsuki.
This was someone else entirely.
The woman standing before her radiated fury, her eyes gleaming with a murderous intensity that Yomi couldn't help but admire, if only for a fleeting moment. The coiled black whip in her hand crackled with residual energy, her stance one of a predator ready to strike again.
So, this was #38 – Mitsuha.
Mitsuki's beloved "Nee-sama" then.
Oh, the little rabbit was with her too. Joy.
"Tamo, are you alright?!" Mitsuha's voice was sharp with concern as she took up position beside him, her whip coiled and ready.
"I'm fine, don't worry," Tamotsu replied, his lavender eyes darting to her before returning to Uzume. The Veiled Sekirei clung to him like a lifeline, her trembling hands gripping his shirt. "But Uzume-san…"
"She'll be fine," Mitsuha cut in, her tone brisk as she crouched briefly to examine Uzume. Satisfied the injuries weren't fatal, she stood and leveled a glare at Yomi, her golden eyes blazing. "Try that shit with my ashikabi again, Forty-three, and I'll grind you into the pavement."
Yomi didn't flinch, the smirk on her lips sharp and taunting. "All's fair, Thirty-eight—yours started it," she shot back, brushing off the threat as though it were nothing. She dusted off her torn dress, her gaze flicking briefly to Tamotsu. "Consider it a lesson in not poking your nose into someone else's affairs. You might want to curb that reckless behavior of his before it gets him killed."
Mitsuha's whip snapped taut, the tension in the air thick enough to choke. Her glare darkened, a deadly promise burning in her eyes.
"Speaking of reckless," Yomi went on, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "Seeing as how she's not here at the moment, I take it you had a lovely reunion with your imouto?"
"I didn't terminate her if that's what you're hoping."
Pity.
"How touching, the bond between siblings."
"It wasn't my idea – you can blame my bleeding-heart ashikabi for that," Mitsuha snapped, the admission laced with frustration.
Yomi's eyes shifted back to #38's ashikabi, her gaze assessing as she took him in properly for the first time. Seeing two Sekirei now hanging off of him, her smirk twisted into a sneer. "Now, now, Ashikabi-kun, you should know better than to put yourself in harm's way like that. Is a wingless like Ten really worth risking you and your Sekirei over?"
Tamotsu straightened, his stance firm despite Uzume's weight against him. "If I can protect the people closest to me, then I will," he said evenly, his voice carrying a quiet strength that made Yomi's sneer falter for a moment. Then he added, with a faint smirk of his own, "Besides, you wouldn't want to break the rules of that loon's precious plan, would you?"
Yomi's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her scythe. "And what rule would I have broken, Tamo?" she sneered, drawing out his name like it was a joke.
"Killing ashikabi is forbidden, isn't it? And correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you'd want to trouble your master like that."
Yomi's lips curled back, a low growl rising in her throat. "Now you listen to me, you little shit—"
"Stop, Yomi."
The single word sliced through her fury like a blade.
Her master's voice was quiet but commanding, drawing her attention instantly. She turned toward him, her expression shifting from rage to surprise. "Hayato-kun?"
Hayato stood a few paces away, his posture relaxed but his golden eyes sharp with warning. The faint trail of blood on his lip did nothing to diminish the cool authority he exuded. "Let's not let this end in blood if we can avoid it. Perhaps we can still settle this peacefully, right ashikabi-san?"
Hayato moved past Yomi without a glance, his footsteps unhurried as he approached the boy and the three Sekirei standing protectively at his side. His hazel eyes gleamed with quiet confidence, a faint smile curling his lips as he extended a hand.
"While I admit I'm curious as to how you managed to navigate Taki's mist, I believe we have more pressing matters to discuss. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? What will it take for you to hand Ten over to me? Name your price."
"Price...?" Tamotsu echoed, his lavender eyes widening in stunned disbelief.
Hayato's smile deepened, the faintest hint of condescension coloring his tone. "Why yes. Money, status, anything within my means is yours for the asking. But given MBI's involvement, I suspect such things might not hold much value to you." He paused, his hand gesturing faintly toward his gathered Sekirei. "So instead, I offer you something far greater: Sekirei. My family here is quite adept at acquiring them. I could provide you with as many as you desire—"
"Shut your goddamned mouth."
The venom in the boy's voice cut through the air like a thunderclap.
Hayato fell silent, his smile fading into a neutral expression as he regarded the boy with curious detachment.
Yomi's blood burned. Her fists clenched at her sides as her body tensed, the insult to her beloved ashikabi igniting a firestorm of fury within her.
#38 stared at the boy, her mouth slightly agape, along with #49. Even #10 clung tighter to his arm, her face etched with shock. Clearly neither had expected such vitriol from the meek looking ashikabi.
"For all your talk about family," the boy began, his voice low and trembling with restrained anger, "you sure treat Sekirei like collectors' items. They might not be human, but they're still people, just like you and me. For all that's said about that bastard in the East, you're just the same to me. You think you can force them to be yours."
Hayato's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, letting the boy's tirade continue.
"You raped those girls you call family," Tamotsu spat, his words like daggers. "You tore their choices away from them, and now you have the nerve to stand there and offer them to me like trinkets? Like I'd do the same thing you did? To Kujou-chan or even Uzume-san?"
He took a step forward, his glare fierce enough to make even Yomi flinch. "Take your offer and shove it up your porcelain little ass."
The air grew thick with tension, crackling with unspoken fury. Yomi's body trembled as she fought the urge to lunge at the boy, to tear him limb from limb right before his Sekirei.
How dare this brat speak to her ashikabi like that. To the one who had saved her. The one who had given her purpose, her everything.
Her nails bit into her palms as she forced herself to stay still, her eyes darting to Hayato for permission. But her master didn't so much as glance at her.
Instead, he sighed softly, the sound more weary than angry. "I see..." he said at last, his voice calm and measured, as though Tamotsu's tirade had rolled off him like rain. "Very well. You leave me no choice: I will simply take Ten from you by force. Yomi, Himeko."
Yomi couldn't get to her feet fast enough, her scythe of air forming in her hands in an instant. Himeko followed suit, her blade glinting as she flanked their master. The two Sekirei moved in perfect synchronicity, their eyes locked on their target.
"Tamo-chan…" Uzume whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. She clutched his sleeve, her face pale as she looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"We're not leaving you here," Tamotsu said firmly, his voice softening only for her.
Yomi barely stifled a derisive snort, her lip curling into a sneer.
Don't make promises you can't keep, brat.
Hayato raised his hand, his expression serene but his golden eyes cold as he addressed his Sekirei. "Yomi. Himeko. While I urge you to mind the rules, the same can't be said for his Sekirei. Do what you wish with her and Forty-nine if she gets in your way."
"With pleasure," Yomi purred, her smirk returning as she stepped forward, her scythe humming with energy.
If I can't kill you, I'll kill what you hold most dear, little boy.
"YO! RICH BOY!"
The sharp, taunting voice rang out, cutting through the thick tension in the air.
Before anyone could react, the mist began to dissipate, peeling away like smoke caught in a sudden breeze. The oppressive veil that had cloaked the battlefield vanished, revealing the world beyond in stark clarity.
She recognized the Ashikabi of the West's Sekirei and himself just off to the side, carrying one Sekirei in his arms with a stony look, but he was but an afterthought.
Rather, her ire flared at the sight of one Seo Kaoru lounging casually nearby, his usual air of smug indifference firmly in place. Beside him stood his Sekirei, the Raiden Twins—#11 and #12—whose presence alone was enough to make her grip her scythe tighter.
But it wasn't just their presence that set her blood boiling.
There, between the twins, was Taki and Mitsuki.
Her flockmates stood battered and disheveled, Taki's once-pristine dress torn and singed in several places with Mitsuki covered in bruises and bright red eyes, as if she had stared at a screen for too long.
Electricity crackled faintly around her captors' fingertips as they both held a hand down on the two Sekirei's shoulders, their other hands hovering dangerously close to their captives' crests.
Taki's face was pale, her breaths shallow, but her eyes still burned with defiance. "Mikogami-sama!"
"H-Hayato-sama? Where, where is he?!" Mitsuki ranted, letting out a grunt as one of the twins prodded her warningly.
"Taki! Mitsuki!" Mikogami abandoned all pretense of composure, his earlier goal forgotten as he turned his full attention to his captured Sekirei. His hazel eyes widened in horror as he took in their state, his hands trembling at his sides.
Mitsuki aside, Taki had been ordered to stay on the outskirts, to maintain the veil until their business was complete. But now, stripped of her control and held captive, she was at the mercy of the Raiden Twins.
Mitsuki was a sorry sight to behold, and from the looks of things, she had played right in the pink brat's hands if that loud boom earlier was anything to go by. The only reason she and Himeko hadn't been affected was due to the distance between them; #49's powers were meant to be used at close range.
Her focus snapped back to the boy—Tamo, as the others called him—whose startled voice broke through the chaos.
"Seo-san?!"
"Yo, kid, be with ya in a sec," Seo drawled, giving Tamotsu a lazy wave as if this were a casual reunion. His attention quickly turned back to Mikogami, his eyes sharp despite his relaxed demeanor. "Mikogami," he said, his voice dripping with mock civility, "I'm gonna make this real simple for you, so try to keep up. How's about you take two here for the price of one? Seems like a fair trade to me. Ball's in your court. "
Hikari, the fierier of the twins, grinned deviously, sparks dancing along her fingertips. "And decide quick—I'm not feeling very patient."
"You're enjoying this too much, sis," Hibiki muttered, her tone exasperated as she stood at her sister's side, her own hands crackling faintly with restrained energy.
Yomi's lips curled in disdain as she glanced at the two failures. They had one job and they botched even that. So what if they were terminated? It would just mean more time for her to monopolize Hayato.
And yet...
"Taki... Mitsuki..." Hayato rasped, his voice breaking as his trembling hands clenched into fists.
That small, fragile sound from him ignited a flicker of something in Yomi—something she didn't dare name.
"So, what'll it be, rich boy?" Seo pressed, his smirk widening as he crossed his arms. "Your pride… or your Sekirei?"
"I…" Mikogami's voice faltered, his composure slipping as he stared at Taki's trembling form.
Seo raised a brow, his expression sharpening as he turned to his Sekirei. "Hikari, Hibiki—do it."
"We are the pledged thunderclap—!" Hikari began, her voice echoing with the promise of devastation.
"ENOUGH!" Mikogami's anguished scream cut through the air. His chest heaved as he staggered forward, his golden eyes wide and desperate. "Enough… just let them go. Don't take them from me. Please."
Seo's smile vanished, replaced by a cold, unyielding glare. "You think you have any right to say that?" he asked, his voice low and biting. "They was never yours to begin with."
"Bite… your tongue," Taki growled weakly, her voice trembling but defiant. "Do not pretend to understand my love for Hayato-sama, cur!"
"And like you have any room to talk, going around terminating anyone you can find. Piss off!" Mitsuki added with a snarl.
Electricity crackled as the twins tensed, their own ire rising to match Mikogami's girls. Hikari in particular let out a low growl, her sparks growing more erratic.
"...let her go," Seo ordered with a weary sigh, his voice cutting through the tension.
"But—!" Hikari began, her frustration evident.
"Did I stutter?" Seo shot back, his tone uncharacteristically sharp.
Hikari gritted her teeth but relented, shoving Taki forward with enough force to make her stumble, Hibiki doing the same with Mitsuki. The Mist Sekirei wavered on her feet, Mitsuki doing the same and both nearly fell had Hayato not rushed forward, catching them both in his arms.
"I've got you," Hayato whispered, his voice heavy with relief. He held them tightly, his trembling hands gripping their shoulders as though afraid to let go.
Yomi's eyes remained locked on Seo, her grip tightening on her scythe. The indignity of it all—the humiliation of her master begging, the arrogance of these intruders—seared into her very soul.
"Master… I'm sorry," Taki murmured, her voice trembling as she leaned weakly against him. "I was careless."
Hayato's grip on her tightened, his expression softening despite the tension that still radiated from his every step. "Don't worry about that anymore," he said gently, brushing a stray lock of her hair from her face. "Let's… let's just go home."
"I... I can't see Hayato-sama, please don't let go of me," Mitsuki pleaded.
"I won't - I won't let either of you go."
He carefully helped them stand, making sure they were supported against him before turning back toward Yomi and Himeko. His eyes were shadowed, his usual confident demeanor dulled by the weight of their failure.
"We're leaving," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
"Hayato—" Yomi began, her voice low with protest.
"That's an order, Yomi," he interrupted, his tone laced with exhaustion. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, his gaze meeting hers. "Please."
The word hit Yomi harder than any command ever had.
Her fists clenched at her sides as she cast a withering glare at #38's ashikabi, then at Seo Kaoru and his smug entourage. Her teeth ground together audibly as fury coiled tight in her chest. The taste of defeat was bitter, burning as it settled on her tongue.
Damn them all.
"Congratulations, Ten," Yomi sneered, her voice cutting through the stillness like the edge of a blade. She rose slowly, brushing dust from her tattered dress before leveling a sharp smirk at the Veiled Sekirei. "You get to keep wallowing in uncertainty. I hope it's worth it – the same goes for you as well, Forty-nine."
Uzume's gaze was unwavering, her expression defiant despite the tremor in her legs. She didn't speak, but her silence carried a strength that only fueled Yomi's simmering rage.
The mere fact that #49 actually glared at her was only adding insult to injury, but she couldn't rightly tear the brat in half now. Her master had spoken.
With a final derisive scoff, Yomi turned on her heel, following Hayato as he began to walk away. Himeko trailed behind her, her blade sheathed but her movements tense, as if ready to spring at a moment's notice.
Hayato held Taki and Mitsuki close to him, his head bowed as they whispered quietly to him, their voices too low to be heard. He refused to look anywhere but straight ahead, his face a mask of stone that didn't quite hide the frustration simmering beneath.
Yomi's blood boiled with every step.
Her master's misery, Taki's weakness, Mitsuki's failure and the triumphant faces of their enemies—it all burned in her chest, threatening to choke her. The humiliation was unbearable, a scar that would fester until she could carve retribution into the flesh of those responsible.
Her nails bit into her palms as she whispered to herself, her voice a low growl.
I'll claim their heads for this.
And there we have it.
So that clearly didn't go too well for Mikogami in the end, even with the haymaker Tamotsu came in with.
And Kujou finally got to shine! Originally, I was going to save her debut for something more fitting but as I looked over this more, I realized that I really want to get her in. She's not part of the flock yet, obviously, but I wanted her to realize that Tamotsu is the one she's drawn to. So things will probably come to a head in the next chapter between Kujou and Mitsuha. As for Uzume... well I'll save that for next chapter.
Some are likely going to question why I even had Sanada there in the first place. I didn't mean to sideline the guy but, he's an ashikabi and this was basically a Sekirei brawl. He and Tamotsu were kinda useless here, the latter aside in this case. But Kuzuri and Kujika served their purpose and it was to keep Mitsuki busy until Kujou could get her moment.
You could also say the same for Seo and the Twins showing up, but I'll explain why they're there next chapter.
Speaking of Kujou, here we finally get to see her in action. Her moniker for this story will be the Flare Sekirei and her parlor trick is she can conjure balls of energy she can detonate like flashbangs to devastating effects. This gets even nastier when she uses the norito version of it but we won't see that for some time. All I can say is Kujou is a major part of Tamotsu's flock, even if she herself doesn't really see it. Mitsuha does though which is why she is starting to respect her. There are some drawbacks with this though, as Yomi pointed out herself but I'll go more into detail with them next chapter.
Speaking of, things are going to start ramping up next time. Tamotsu is going to be getting sidelined soon in favor of Minato - and by extension, Yukari - taking center stage. Need to build their flocks after all.
Well, that's about all I got. Going back to writing House of Rand after this so you won't see anything else from Whipped till next year. I hope that these two chapters helped appease some of you and if not, bear with me. I have plans.
Till then,
Stay healthy and safe.