My abdomen is burning.
It feels as though molten iron is tearing through my skin and flooding my insides. I see nothing. I hear nothing. Even the pain begins to drift away, as if every thread connecting me to reality is being severed.
Am I dying?
I finally rescued Papa… and yet, am I to die here?
I don't want to die. I want to live longer. But I cannot pull my consciousness back from the encroaching darkness. If this is the end, I want to touch Papa one last time. I want to fall asleep feeling his warmth.
But when I reach out my fingers, I find nothing. There is only the sensation of the cold, hard floor.
Then, suddenly, a warmth brushes against my fingertips.
Someone's warmth.
But it isn't Papa's. I cannot see, and my sense of smell is paralyzed, but I know this for certain. Then who is it? The warmth is unfamiliar, yet incredibly peaceful. As I feel it, something buried at the very bottom of my memories begins to take shape.
I do not remember what it is. But I know it instinctively.
The foundation of half my existence.
The first warmth I ever touched when I came into this world.
"Mom… my…?"
I forced my trembling lips to move.
"Is it… you, Mommy…?"
Have you come to take me away? I wanted to ask, but I couldn't find the strength. My consciousness is completely submerged in shadow. Within that abyss, I let out a soft sigh.
Ah, I have to tell her it's not time yet….
I have to tell her I can't go because I still have things to do….
In that moment, a fire erupted in my chest. A bright flame cleared away the darkness, racing through my veins and heating my cooling body until it was white-hot once more.
What is this? This flame? I don't know what it is, but for some reason, a sensation of "deliciousness" lingers on the tip of my tongue.
"𝘗𝘧𝘧𝘵!!"
I pushed aside the debris and pulled myself up. I spat out the dust that had made its way into my mouth, but the feeling wouldn't leave. I had fallen about one story, so I wasn't severely injured. I had even managed to avoid being crushed by the larger concrete fragments.
But "my body is intact" was the extent of my luck. Before I could check on anything else, dark-red tentacles lunged at me from the front.
"𝘞𝘰𝘢𝘩?!"
𝘉𝘖𝘖𝘖𝘖𝘖𝘖𝘔!!!
I rolled sideways, barely avoiding the strike as the tentacles slammed into a pile of rubble. Stone fragments exploded in every direction like pins in a strike. Protecting my head with my arms, I cursed my own stupidity.
'You idiot! Don't relax just because your body is in one piece! The fight is still going!'
Unlike me, an ordinary citizen, Hitokawa was a professional. From the moment the floor collapsed until the second I regained my senses, he hadn't stopped for a heartbeat, locked in a desperate struggle with The Artist.
𝘊𝘓𝘈𝘕𝘎!! 𝘉𝘈𝘕𝘎!! 𝘊𝘓𝘈𝘕𝘎!!
However, the tide of battle didn't look good. He had struggled against two tentacles; with three lashing out relentlessly, he couldn't even get close. To make matters worse, the environment was working against him.
We had fallen into a basement corridor. The Artist navigated the walls and ceiling with ease, dodging Hitokawa's strikes and countering from above. It was impossible to keep up with attacks coming from such unpredictable directions. Destroying the floor hadn't been an act of bravado; it was a tactical move to force the fight into a space where the monster held the advantage.
Hitokawa's body was already riddled with deep wounds. Most concerning, however, was his quinque. The blade of the greatsword, which had been forced to withstand the monstrous power of the rinkaku for too long, was now covered in cracks that looked ready to shatter at any moment.
I had to help. I aimed my gun.
"Do not interfere."
"Bastard!"
The Artist, sensing my move, swung a tentacle toward me.
𝘉𝘖𝘖𝘔!!!
If I didn't dodge, my life would be forfeit. I was forced to throw my body aside with everything I had. With the monster's range, supporting Hitokawa was proving nearly impossible.
'Damn it! Isn't there anything I can do?!'
No matter how I looked at it, we were cornered. Combat prowess, environment, killing intent—the enemy held every advantage. Driven by desperation, I screamed to Hitokawa.
"Hitokawa! Any bright ideas?!"
𝘊𝘓𝘈𝘕𝘎!!
Parrying a tentacle that was thrusting toward him, Hitokawa yelled back.
"How about the 'I'll handle this, run with Eto' strategy?!"
"Rejected!!"
Don't talk nonsense. I couldn't leave him alone, and unless we finished this monster here, he would never stop hunting us.
𝘉𝘈𝘕𝘎!!
Seeing Hitokawa falter for a moment and The Artist preparing a follow-up strike, I pulled the trigger without hesitation. The Artist was forced to use one of his three tentacles to block the bullet.
But the remaining two were the problem. Hitokawa managed to deflect one, but he was too slow to stop the second. Sharp scales tore a chunk of flesh from Hitokawa's thigh.
"𝘎𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘩𝘩𝘩!!"
"Hitokawa!!"
It was a direct hit. His leg buckled, blood geysering from the wound. Not stopping there, The Artist swung the tentacle he had used to block the bullet. Even through the haze of pain, Hitokawa managed to raise his sword to block.
His willpower, refusing to break even in this life-or-death situation, was magnificent. Unfortunately, his weapon could not keep up with that will.
𝘚𝘕𝘈𝘗!!!
With an ear-splitting ring, the greatsword—its durability pushed to the limit—shattered like glass.
"NO!!"
I ran forward and caught Hitokawa as he was blown back by the impact. Fortunately, the quinque had absorbed most of the force before breaking, so he hadn't been skewered. But the damage was done; Hitokawa's consciousness seemed to be fading as he leaned against me.
𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱. 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱.
The Artist approached us, walking with an arrogant stride as if he no longer needed to rely on the walls or ceiling.
"Finally, just the two of us."
"...!!"
𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬.
I pointed the gun at him. I knew it was a hollow threat. Sure enough, he looked at me with an expectant gaze and spread his arms wide.
Go ahead, shoot, his body language said. Show me the full extent of your emotions.
I hesitated. Should I really shoot? At this distance, I wouldn't miss, but I knew he wasn't the type to just stand there and take it.
If it were about revenge, I'd want to do it. I'd want to be free from the hatred that occasionally binds me. But no. That's not the priority right now.
"...."
I didn't pull the trigger. Instead, I decided to cross a dangerous line.
"Hey, you. You said you wanted me as material, right?"
"Hmm? Well, yes."
"Then I'll give myself to you. Take me."
"...What?"
"In exchange, let my friend and the child go. That's the deal."
The Artist looked genuinely surprised. Then, his eyes narrowed in displeasure.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm making a trade."
"That's not it!"
The Artist shouted, thumping his chest in frustration.
"You're supposed to shoot me! Here stands the man who killed your father, impaled your child, and is now about to slaughter your friend! Show me your rage! Show me your hatred!! Let me see the vivid colors of your emotions!!!"
"Does revenge put food on the table? Does hatred save the people I care about? Let them go alive. Do that, and I'll show you all the hatred and revenge you can handle."
"I have no interest in emotions that come out like some cheap child's play!!!"
The Artist raised his voice, his anger palpable. His kakugan flared with a hellish light, pressuring me. But my mind did not waver.
If the hatred is mine, and the revenge is mine, then I will decide how to use it. Whether I explode with it to kill someone, or lay it down to save someone.
But from The Artist's perspective, this was unacceptable. He scratched his head irritably like a spoiled child, then suddenly, a meaningful smile curled his lips.
"You want me to let them live? Fine. I won't kill them."
"...."
"Instead, I'll keep them alive and torture them. I'll sever their limbs and slowly pull out their intestines, and I'll make sure you hear every single one of their screams! I wonder if you'll still be saying the same thing then? Hmm?"
"...Haa."
A sigh escaped me. I didn't truly believe he'd agree, but I didn't expect such persistent blackmail. If he's going to play it this way, I have no other choice, do I?
Well, in a way, I was grateful. If there's no way to save them, and no way to save myself… if the outcome is the same no matter what I do…
Then it means I can lay everything down and go berserk at the very end, doesn't it?
"Fine. Let's see which of us dies first, you son of a bitch."
The Artist broke into a wide grin, as if he had finally seen what he wanted to see. I gripped the revolver in one hand and the broken hilt of Hitokawa's greatsword in the other. Even though most of the blade was gone and only the base remained, it felt incredibly heavy. Hitokawa, you really managed to swing this thing around.
I gripped both weapons tightly and glared at The Artist. He, like a photographer desperate to capture a perfect moment, made a rectangle with his thumbs and forefingers and peered at me through the frame.
"Magnificent! This is it! The perfect form of emotion I've been searching for!! This is truly the greatest day of my life!!"
Unable to contain his exhilaration, three rinkaku tentacles exploded from his waist. They surged toward me simultaneously, each carrying a terrifying momentum. Unless a miracle occurred, I would not survive. Accepting that, I steeled myself for death and lunged forward to meet him.
And then….
"The greatest day of your life?"
Utterly absurdly….
"I think you meant to say: the most miserable day of your life."
𝘚𝘓𝘐𝘊𝘌!!
A miracle happened right before my eyes. Every single tentacle lunging at me like a living serpent was hacked into pieces and scattered. It was as if they had been shredded by a giant blade.
The Artist and I both sucked in our breath. Into the center of that momentary silence, a bird descended.
Folding its tattered blanket like a pair of wings, the 'bird' alighted on the floor. Recognizing its identity, I cried out instinctively.
"E-Eto?!"