The throbbing ache in his newly branded forearms was a constant reminder of the price. Yet, the hunger of the scars, the hum in his bones, was a stronger imperative. The power demanded release. The contract demanded its first payment.
He didn't have to wait long.
That night, drawn by an instinct he didn't understand, Yuki found himself in a narrow, rain-slicked alley several blocks from his apartment. The air hung heavy and wet, smelling of garbage and wet concrete. And beneath it, the familiar, cloying scent of decay.
It was there. Lurking in the deeper shadows near a overflowing dumpster. Not the gym creature, but something kin. Smaller, perhaps, but no less vile. It looked like a child's doll that had been left in a grave for decades. Its porcelain skin was cracked and yellowed, patched with mould. Its glass eyes were cracked, one missing entirely, leaving a dark, weeping socket. Its mouth was a fixed, jagged grin, revealing needle-like teeth. But it moved with a jerky, unnatural speed, skittering on all fours, its limbs bending at impossible angles. It was tearing into something small and furry – a stray cat, Yuki realized with a jolt of nausea. The creature made wet, crunching sounds as it fed.
The scars on Yuki's forearms pulsed violently. The hum in his bones became a roar. Kage's presence coiled tighter, a serpent sensing prey. There, the cold whisper hissed. The first payment. Feed the fire. Reap the soul.
Yuki stepped out of the alley mouth, his silhouette framed by the dim streetlight. The doll-creature's head snapped up, the cracked eye fixing on him. The jagged grin seemed to widen. It dropped the mangled cat carcass and skittered towards him, moving with terrifying speed, its limbs clicking on the wet pavement.
Fear, cold and sharp, lanced through Yuki. But it was instantly drowned by the surge of power from the scars. The crimson energy erupted, not just from his palms, but from the brands snaking up his arms. It coiled around him like a second skin of shadow and red light, humming with destructive intent. The air crackled. The scent of ozone and burnt sugar overpowered the decay.
The creature hesitated for a fraction of a second, sensing the shift in power. Then it lunged, its mouth open impossibly wide, revealing not just teeth, but rows of rotating, bone saws.
Yuki didn't think. He reacted.
He thrust his hands forward. The crimson energy lashed out, not as tendrils, but as solid, whip-like cords of shadow and light. They struck the creature mid-air, wrapping around its torso, its limbs. There was a sickening crunch as bone shattered under the pressure. The creature let out a high-pitched shriek, like grinding glass and tearing metal.
Yuki gritted his teeth, pouring more rage, more grief, more of the hollow ache into the energy. The cords tightened. The creature's porcelain skin cracked further, oozing a thick, black ichor. Its remaining eye bulged, the glass shattering.
Finish it, Kage's voice hissed, eager and cold. Take the soul.
With a roar that was part his own, part the energy's, Yuki clenched his fists. The crimson cords contracted violently.
The doll-creature exploded.
Not in a spray of gore, but in a shower of dark, viscous fluid and shards of cracked porcelain. But at the epicenter of the explosion, something else was visible. A small, dim point of light, flickering weakly like a dying candle flame.
The soul.
The crimson energy, acting on instinct and Kage's silent direction, surged towards the light. It enveloped the flickering soul, not consuming it instantly, but absorbing it. Yuki felt a jolt – not physical, but psychic. A rush of fragmented sensations: the creature's mindless hunger, its brief, terrified existence, its final, agonizing moment of dissolution. Then, the light vanished, drawn completely into the swirling crimson energy.
The energy recoiled, flowing back into Yuki's arms, into the scars. The hum intensified, vibrating through him, resonating with the stolen life force. A wave of… something… washed over him. Not pleasure, but a dark, heady satisfaction. A feeling of fullness. Of strength. The hollow ache inside him seemed to lessen, filled momentarily by the stolen essence.
He stood panting in the alley, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead, the scent of ozone, burnt sugar, and black ichor thick in the air. The remains of the creature steamed faintly on the wet pavement. The cat's mangled body lay nearby.
He looked down at his hands. The black scars pulsed with a deeper, darker light. They felt warm. Sated.
He had done it. He had killed a monster. Taken its soul.
He had fed the fire.
And for the first time since Hana died, the crushing weight of powerlessness had lifted. Replaced by something colder, darker, and infinitely more dangerous.