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artsycervidae · 6 months ago

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Moksha: Chapter 17

The fight carries on, and Hinata strikes a deal with a demon.

Word Count: 5.8k

Don't forget to brush up on trigger warnings.

In his avid enthusiasm to fight Yasumoto, Gyutaro had forgotten what an obnoxious bitch of a combatant they were. Already their illusory swordcraft pushed him back, cut off his death strikes, and prevented him from multi-tasking. Their unruly weapon was tightly leashed in by their fist, providing a mid- to close-range power that Gyutaro couldn't breach head on. He would have to find another angle to get a blow in.

There was no way either hunter could keep up with him: not with his superior experience, speed, and knowledge. The gridded buildings stretched across Yoshiwara had always been his and his sister's stomping grounds, the nature of 'open' and 'closed' inapplicable to the likes of them; he took heavy advantage of this, invading buildings as a shortcut. Humans couldn't sense him by natural means anymore, not unless he just sat there in front of their eyes. Already the latter Slayer had fallen off the trail, meandering on the fringe of Gyutaro's attention while the former harassed him incessantly.

Gyutaro broke free for a moment, and only that: he kicked down the back door to some shabby excuse for a tea house and led his hunting prey deeper into the building-- theorizing on how he could corrupt his own blood, turning it into poison-- and there was the human again, down the hall. Preceded by clamorous voices, Yasumoto skidded to a stop on all threes while the whip tailed behind them. They flicked their wrist at him, the barbs hissing through empty air as Gyutaro made his only choice to defenestrate himself, his closest means of an exit. The whip, accounting too little for evasive action, missed his throat and instead lassoed his leg at the calf. Thinking so fast it hardly constituted as thought, Gyutaro dug his kama blade beneath the patella and popped it out, autotomizing himself free at the knee before the limb tugged back and vanished inside. So much for his theory to catch them in close quarters.

Hinata frowned at the foot spritzing ashen blood, the whip unreeling and dropping its catch as the demon's flesh flaked and dissolved. The courtesans had scattered like disturbed rabbits, seeking rooms and corners to hide in. Hinata fled for a different direction, intending to cut Gyutaro off outside.

Gyutaro's leg regrew itself in stride, but not without a vicious upward kick, his spraying blood solidifying into a deluge of projectiles that pelted and demolished the side of the structure. Inside, people were screaming; Gyutaro luxuriated in that panic.

With the precious few seconds he had, the demon willed the blood in his veins to twist and prickle, to eat at itself and anything around it in a necrotic feeding frenzy. Perhaps Hinata expected him to cede ground-- instead, he waited for the Slayer to run out, revealing their position to him-- and so they did!

Rather than follow him out the destroyed window, they emerged from a tangential one, bursting into Gyutaro's vision from the side. Prepared, he redirected his attention to his twin scythes, the blades darting out in turns to deflect the oncoming sword before he surged forward. Hinata laughed nervously, "Oh! I thought I had you-- clever! Beautiful form!"

His foe was backing up already, Gyutaro elbowed his way into their personal space with a barrage of swipes, some of which sheared through fabric, and he knew with certain pleasure that the metallic smell verified his success. Shallow as the cuts were, his joviality expressed itself in cackles-- before that goddamned fist uppercut him, clashing his teeth together so brutally that if his brain weren't already undead, it would have more than bruised itself against its cranial cavity.

The concussion healed itself in a blink, but what a precious blink it had been. Once Gyutaro's attention snapped back into place, the Slayer had already absconded from that unfavorable position. Gone! "You thought you had me?" Gyutaro taunted aloud, head craning towards a fleeing blur. "Just wait! I'll get you sooner or later."

Gyutaro chased their shadow, swearing that they had just vaulted another rooftop and taken off down that empty path. He wanted to see the effects of his poison, damn it! As he prowled, from otherworldly sprint to steady stalk, Gyutaro kept all feelers out for either vicious warrior. Another door kicked in, another space invaded. Hinata couldn't have gone far.

The building he happened into-- belatedly, he realized it was a home, the front room converted into the best approximation of a reputable entryway its resident could achieve. The effect was of much poorer quality than where he and Daki resided. He had led the fight closer to the riverside. An unconscious decision, maybe. Didn't matter.

The place was small, and for some reason, a familiarly grey itching in his mind told him he ought to feel something at this discovery. But nothing else came: only a dreamy pseudo-sorrow, interrupted by the gentle murmuring of two people in a room further to the back, on Gyutaro's left. He remained in the hallway that stretched further into the house, all still and silent-- besides the human presence coming slowly to greet him.

From the opposite end of the hall, Hinata manifested like a smoking wraith, eyes and teeth glinting off what little light was available. Gyutaro cursed himself for getting distracted by unnecessary details, but didn't attack them immediately. Neither did they approach him. "Thank you for the opportunity to talk," they began. "It's not often that one gains audience with a member of the Twelve Kizuki. Especially someone so tough. Sorry for the inconvenient timing-- and the unconventional circumstances." They wondered if drawing his blood had impressed him. They hoped so.

Gyutaro already knew his merit. He didn't need to be told, much less by the enemy. But to hear one of them admit it, without much prompting, brought an ugly satisfaction, a warming in his brain and chest that threatened to throw him off his rhythm. "Flattery will get you nowhere, especially if you're lying. This better be good. I'm not in the habit of talking things out."

"I personally think that life is more fun with a 'time-out' session, now and again." It gave them a moment to soak in the fear, their muscles taut and trembling and threatening to snap. The sudden silence after so much chaos left a ringing in their ears, a tune that matched their screaming nerves as they appreciated Gyutaro from afar. Their body ached to destroy, but a fire fed too much oxygen could burn itself out. Patience.

"This isn't a time-out," Gyutaro stated. "I'm just curious to hear what you plan to beg for." 'And I want to see how long it takes the poison to kill you.'

Anxiety bubbled under Hinata's skin, and their chest tightened. He saw right through them, but they stood their ground. "I'll get right to it then." Their mouth was dry and sticky suddenly, and they couldn't feel their teeth anymore. They rocked back and forth on their feet to the motion of their filling and emptying lungs. "I found you first, so I thought it would only be fair I get a crack at it. It'd be a waste to let you shred through a few more Hashira, when I could just talk to you myself. Save us both the time and energy."

"How many of you are there?" Gyutaro demanded impatiently.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Certainly not for the Slayer to consider the question seriously. "Do you mean Hashira, or here currently?"

"Here, currently in Edo."

'Edo?' Hinata's brow twitched with mild interest. "Two."

"You lie."

Despite the accusation, Hinata smiled. The fact he didn't trust them made them trust him all the more. "Don't worry. The Corps won't stay away forever, but I wouldn't want anyone else to ruin our talk." Their face softened, "Do you know, I spent the better of four years tracking you down? It wasn't easy-- the Demon Slayer Corps isn't exactly known for its transparency-- one of your predecessors made it nearly impossible to maintain a physical archive, and nobody wants to help me. I did what I needed to do to get here, though. The last thing I need is someone stealing the reward for all my efforts."

Gyutaro's heart squeezed at the notion: they had been seeking him specifically. He was their unattainable reward. "As if you could handle me with only a child as help." His spine groaned as he leered forward, inspecting Yasumoto for signs... but there was nothing. This spoiled his mood. The poisoning must have been too weak or he hadn't hit them quick enough or something. Maybe he had to hold that venom in his veins while he struck them, rather than depend on its permanence in his own body.

"I don't intend on 'handling' you. Nor do I think you're being given your due credit." Hinata took a cautious step forward. Gyutaro's grip tightened on his kama but he didn't react yet. They paused a moment before whispering, "Is he listening, Gyutaro?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. It was a dumb question to ask." It was better to assume that the Demon King was always watching, always listening. Even if his attention was elsewhere, he was never farther than the nearest demon. "I can't promise not to kill you-- it's my job. But I would hate to see you die. You're already so strong and unique," they sighed with the utmost of admiration, "I don't see why anyone would neglect you."

"Neglect?" Gyutaro's upper lip was curling now, torn between a smirk and a scowl. He latched onto that word to keep his guard up. (The swell of personal gratification at the compliment though, he didn't mind.) Their silver eyes pierced through him, but he wouldn't let on how exposed he felt. He bore a tense jaw instead, warning, "I don't need you to feel sorry for me." His hand rose idly to his throat, scratching away the skin beneath his jaw. "Underestimate me like that again, and I'll have to pull your intestines out through that disrespectful mouth."

Hinata's eyes flickered over his chest and throat, twitching with restraint. "It's not that I feel sorry for you. We're still on different sides of this war. But I know someone who is about as powerful an opponent you'll find in this lifetime. And if you can defeat him, maybe then you could take care of anyone who tries to get one over on you." They lifted an eyebrow at him, their only hint. "For my own peace of mind, I'd like to see what you can do. I won't presume you'll keep me around for long, but if you do," the corners of their mouth curled, "I'll see to it that you continue to get stronger."

Gyutaro's hand absentmindedly rose to his face, scratching at his brow before planting his nails into the flesh of his cheek, peeling away whatever he could gouge. He wondered, "What makes you think I need your help? I could've sworn I told you, I've killed plenty on my own, Hinata."

He wanted to fray their nerves and it worked... somewhat. Hinata swallowed, careful not to let their throat betray the feeling that came when their name settled in someone else's mouth, in Gyutaro's especially. The exhalation of its start, the dragging out of the a's, the stab of the t. The Slayer shifted their weight uncomfortably. "Not permission," they said carefully. "It's simply a matter of measuring your growth. I've never met a demon like you. You're different, and I'm interested."

Gyutaro found himself grinning again. "Let's say, for the sake of hypotheticals, you can give me something I want," he suggested lazily, failing to dampen his personal interest. "What are you suggesting between us?"

"Do you know the name Ishikawa Nobutoshi? The Lower Rank Exterminator?" Hinata was moving slow, their right hand hovering over their katana, the left holding its net like one would casually hold wound-up rope. Step after silent step, they drew nearer.

"Sounds familiar," Gyutaro fibbed. "The Lower Ranks are forgettable fodder, easy to exterminate, so remind me."

Unwounded by Gyutaro's tone, Hinata said, "He's the current Mist Hashira. I want to see you kill him. If I survive long enough to witness only that, I could happily die by your hands knowing that I put all my effort in."

"That's all?"

"That's all.

This had to be a trap. It was so obviously a set-up, to control his movements and demand certain results. There was no way in hell that a Demon Slayer would go to a demon for an assassination collaboration. Gyutaro couldn't help it-- his head tilted back and he crowed out his rackety laughter. The voices in the only occupied room went quiet: hearing a sound they couldn't comprehend or understand, but that left a lingering horror in the air of what lurked in the dark.

"Whew. That was a good one." And, because he hadn't berated them enough, he jabbed an accusatory finger. "This is probably related to why nobody on your side likes you. Your pranks are on some next-level stupidity."

"Thanks, but it wasn't a joke, Gyutaro," Hinata said patiently, leaning forward onto their toes, another silent tread. "I hate to admit it, but I'll tell you again," they said with no difficulty. "I'm invested in seeing you shine. How much stronger can you get, if only someone could recognize and appreciate it?" They dropped their voice so as not to be heard by their neighbors, stopping right beyond his radius. They dared not to get in arm's length, still wary of Gyutaro simply lashing out.

It would be easier to ignore any of this happened. Just slaughter Hinata, hunt down the tsuguko, then murder the Demon Corps reinforcements as they rolled into town. That being said, he couldn't deny the appeal of a test. Hinata had already shown their hand, and Gyutaro needed no prompting to better his craft. No matter the outcome, if Hinata survived or not, a steady flow of Hashira was something welcome if he got his practice in. Imagining the sheer power of ingesting their lives, Gyutaro couldn't hope to calculate how much stronger he would become. He would totally leave Daki in the dust. Huge portions of blood would be awarded. He'd be so strong that nobody could hurt her again, no matter how many mistakes she made. Gyutaro liked his chances, but he wasn't going to make a bet he couldn't collect on: he needed more information.

He stepped forward, each kama at his side. Hinata's eyes didn't widen but their pupils dilated slightly with no choice but to focus on the demon, the corners of their anxious mouth twitching. Gyutaro slouched closer, snickering at their added discomfort. "What kind of lowlife goes to such desperate extents for a single demon? Seems like a lot of work," he taunted, letting his voice fall to match the atmosphere. "And it doesn't sound like you get anything out of it but dead comrades and a brutal end."

Hinata paused before their eyebrows tilted upward at the brow then, their lips parting just a fraction-- Gyutaro had nearly touched on something. "Are you familiar with the phrase, 'Fortune and misfortune are intertwined?'"

Something in his brain itched. "I am."

"I used to think that things had to get worse before they got better. If one could just persevere through the darkest times, they would eventually be met with the light... but I was wrong. If you lie down on the ground and let the universe kick your ribs in, all you'll get is broken bones. If you don't do anything to fight back, nothing will change. When fortune and misfortune tangle, it's because someone is reaping the benefit of another's suffering." And somewhere deep under the rapids surge of Gyutaro's undead vitals, Hinata could feel their own heart about to crash out of their ribcage. They wanted to glance at the scythes and make sure they weren't plotting anything dangerous. But the Slayer couldn't look away from Gyutaro's face. Their eyes traveled the blotted pattern across his features and lingered in his captivating gaze. "He's already gotten the better of me. Without you, I'm utterly powerless against him. I need you."

After lengthening the fight longer than a night, bringing someone else's tsuguko into a combat situation, and trying to flagrantly play on both sides of the game board, this was the only time that Hinata made any sense to Gyutaro. And yet, he couldn't believe that-- it disarmed him to see them so glib and vulnerable. He couldn't argue their logic. The blessings of others were meant to be taken, though he never expected to hear someone from the Demon Corps admitting as much, getting closer and closer, deliberately leaning in, acting so... helpless.

He adored it: seeing this human self-flagellate, placing him at the fulcrum of their machinations. The urge to slap them--to pinch and pester and twist their arm--made his fingers curl tighter, cutting crescent moons into his palm. Rendering someone so strong into something so small, the opportunity to break them more... it wasn't such a bad offer, for the price being paid.

"What a coward," he needled. "Pleading for charity from me, of all people. Let's say, for fun, I do make the mistake of letting you escape now. How do I know you won't scamper off and never show your face around Yoshiwara?"

The demon's head cocked, a pallid lip curling in question-- and a little with amusement. Hinata's chest fluttered, torn between staying and running for their life. "Because that would mean slewing through hundreds, maybe thousands, of other Slayers' bodies in order to get to you again," they said. "Don't misunderstand. I'll earn my demise by your hand, as promised... I'm not afraid of that. If we're going to fight to the death, I want to be completely unrestrained. No regrets. Nobutoshi stands in my way of that. So, what do you think?" There was no misreading the naked entreaty on their face. Gyutaro loved that look, but hated the way it made his own insides feel unprotected. "Would you do the honors of killing and eating me after you've dealt with the Mist Hashira?"

The door barely slid open-- their privacy shattered, the reality of their situation rushing in-- before Gyutaro crashed through the paper wall, scaring the absolute shit out of the couple in the room. He had the advantage of mythological status: if, say, a moment of brutality were to break out in some shady business, Gyutaro could make off with a meal and frame an unlucky Slayer. Besides, having a hostage to guard against further suspicious schemes was useful.

Gyutaro maimed. The man shrieked when his arm fell away, blood spurting over his paid company as she scrambled for cover. The demon snatched the man up by the back of his collar and swung that meat shield to face the incoming danger-- Hinata, who had wasted no time and was already upon Gyutaro. His stimulated mind tracked their momentum and potential paths. He struck out but the Slayer had vaulted, tucking their legs and drawing their sword with a ringing tone that crashed headfirst into his sickle before he could carve another chunk of flesh from his victim. Said victim also vanished, leaving Gyutaro holding torn fabric in his fist.

Their Immolation melee style lended closer to Flame Breathing, with Foliage serving as an inspired fuel source thrown into the hearth of their being. The Third Form: Fuse Follow was incredibly similar to Foliage's First Form in how it carried itself, which was much like the Water Breathing's Third as well. Of course, this meant it strained their ligaments and joints so much more-- the natural movement of water and vine was lost in translation, when applied to the idea of a dragged-out powder keg set to go off.

The woman was shouting incoherently, tucked into the furthest corner of the room where Hinata also unceremoniously dumped the wide-eyed, trembling man. They recognized him-- the food cart vendor. Paler and shaking, but Hinata felt the instant connection, as if they had only held money out to him seconds ago. They remembered how he sniffed and plucked at the proffered coins, picking the ones he wanted-- a horrible contrast to the tears pouring down his cherry cheeks, the wailing plucking at Hinata's heart strings. They turned away from him, hardening their expression. "Ma'am, please find this gentleman a tourniquet," they requested, though they banefully wondered if she had heard over her own panic. Gyutaro's spine curled so he could pick up the severed arm, his body movement Hinata's only blessed comfort.

Once upon a time, they would have been righteously incensed by Gyutaro's assault on the unarmed. Frankly, the fuss felt moot by this point. People died all the time-- whether they were eaten, dropped, or pushed onto railroad tracks made little difference. So long as demons caused injury or death, Hinata would leave that moral agonizing to the Slayers who had time and energy for the emotionally untrained. Already they had to tolerate the burning absence at the 'stump' of their own right arm, drumming their 'detached' fingers to test mobility. The pain sparked their brain-- it was an unwelcome distraction from Gyutaro. They didn't want to think about this person, whose name Hinata didn't even know. "Ma'am, please stop screaming. I'm getting a headache." Who could work under these conditions?

"Hey," Gyutaro grumbled. "What was all that earlier, if you're going to make it hard on me?" He gestured with the limp hand, to the disgust of the traumatized couple. The woman stopped screaming, finally assisting the man in tying off his blood flow as he clung to her for tremorous survival.

"I'm afraid I can't roll over and acquiesce," Hinata informed, "nor would I expect that of you. It'd hardly be worth the fun," which earned its own sob from the two at Hinata's complete mercy, and its own pang of satisfaction from Gyutaro's rotten heart.

"How convenient for you," Gyutaro said mock-bitterly.

"It's a hard habit to kick," Hinata shrugged, as though this inability wasn't the very reason for their being here. They barely reserved the right to determine their own death, and that they had clawed for. "Besides, I promised you a challenge."

"Which, as far as fighting, you're not half bad at," Gyutaro commented. "But your customer service could use work. You're fucking terrible with comforting others." And he cleanly bit off one of the man's fingers at the knuckle, ring and all. The crunching of bone and ligament was enough to cause the woman to retch, the man pulling her face to his shoulder as if he could protect her any better from the horror show. Gyutaro then spit the silver ring out clean-- it richoceted off the floor with a sharp ping! and danced madly out of sight.

Hinata tried not to worry about whether the food cart man would still be able to work or ever be alright after this. Instead, they laughed that clear "Ha ha ha" before admitting, "If I took the time to tend each and every person impacted, I wouldn't be nearly as good at what I love to do." And to prove their point to everyone involved, they flickered as though in a heat mirage.

Gyutaro's vision broadened, eyes darting to the corners of the room-- there. The swordsman pinged off wooden structures like a berserk salamander, bringing their sword or barb-wrapped fist down on Gyutaro's head and shoulders. Gyutaro had to sacrifice ground again, backing under the weight of Hinata's full-bodied bullying. The space was just enough.

The man was barely on his feet, stumbling wildly for any direction away from the squabble, and the woman was hot on his heels. Gyutaro only barely caught their escape from the corner of his eye--

Hinata couldn't keep putting off the form's finale: the fuse had to lead somewhere. They wondered if the barbed gauntlet would be enough to crush the demon's pronounced neck vertebrae; probably not, when it belonged to an Upper Rank. So they aimed higher. Their fist bludgeoned his skull in before their final flourish: the net cracked like a gunshot and their fingers splayed, flaying open his cranium and forcing a blind spot. The demon's head jerked down and he dropped the dismembered arm. Hinata greedily seized the limb before it landed, catching its limp fingers between their palm and sword handle at first before juggling it underarm.

Blood gushed over Gyutaro's neck-- it was an exquisite release from pustules and boils, though it didn't heal nearly as quickly. Even within a closed space, their fighting style was capable of adapting: 'I really need to stop underestimating them,' he thought as they wildly wobbled their blade before making another strike.

Gyutaro caught their katana midswing with one scythe and moved to emit a frenzy of blood from the other, but his wrist veered down and away into the floorboards, detonating the already-splintering ground. The net had yoked his hand, compelling the inaccuracy-- he had been preoccupied with the hole in his head. Its added lacerations made his Blood Art way more destructive than he anticipated, and the foundation of the house itself shifted, groaning in pain.

Hinata was still in motion, having thrown their body from the mild crater they helped create. But after two times of facing them, Gyutaro had his own designs: after all, this 'deal' wasn't a ceasefire. He refused to leave without results. As he pursued them he held that boiling, necrotic vision of decay; a second wind of energy pushed him to swipe at their left side, which was a fraction of a second slower to react than the rest of them. But so too was his aim, his face wriggling itself back into shape, his eye not yet fully knit together.

Hinata, for whatever fucking reason, had stopped short altogether; rather than impale the Slayer, Gyutaro slammed them across the room hard enough they spun. Their chin jutted out and cracked against the floor, rolling away through the already-beaten-to-death wall. Something like that would have destroyed all the bones in a civilian's body. But Gyutaro knew Hinata would get right back up.

They found themself in the room across the hall, breathless, but recovered. They replayed that sharpened memory, that split second when they felt his killing intent and evaded their overdue death. In that moment, Hinata could feel Gyutaro behind them-- not the overwhelming biology but his too-close presence, the same feeling anyone might have while walking down an isolated road, swearing there was a second pair of footsteps right behind. It made their heart skip a beat. Hinata had gone into autopilot, all their muscles tensing at once to reduce their obliteration, but there was only so much one could do against a demon like Gyutaro. It hadn't lasted nearly long enough. They ached to touch him again... or perhaps it was just the bone fractures.

As they rose onto shaking legs, they recognized a metaphorical after-taste of disgusting numbness-- a clay-cold softness clashing with the adrenaline burning their skin and muscles. They disdainfully looked to the arm bent against their ribs, the forearm broken in multiple places and fingers squashed. 'He certainly won't be wanting it anymore,' Hinata considered both the owner and the diner in this decision. What a relief. They hadn't thought at all about how they would return the man's arm to him. Just in case Gyutaro wanted to keep up with those projectiles, the Slayer rolled their prosthetic wrist around, clenching their hand open and closed. The cable length untangled from the prosthetic skeleton.

Gyutaro stepped back into the hall, the density of his mended muscles crushing the mostly-stable hallway floorboards. Bits and pieces of debris were pushed from fresh flesh as his optic canal lifted back up into place, the symbol denoting his status carving its rightful place in his pupil. Both eyes sought Hinata in the dark house. The front lobby was still, and the hallway had seen better days: shredded walls flapping, stalactite wood beams trickling, silence taut as a wire.

He supposed he had caused enough damage for one night: the airborne blood slices would draw more attention than needed. Surely Hinata had learned a thing or two by now; he was satisfied. It was in his best interest to bail before more humans congregated to the area, drawn by the lack of noise and panic. Leave Hinata to take the blame. He could still pick off the young one.

Before he could properly decide his next move, the nearly-demolished door of the neighboring room crashed into Gyutaro's side-- Hinata in its shadow, using it more as a makeshift distraction than shield, something swinging out. The demon was quick to slash at the gesture with his scythe, and the misshapen arm burst like a water balloon. Blood and meat splattered in his face and Gyutaro sputtered. Even without his sight, he knew what was coming next. He expected Hinata expected to deal blows, trading steel and struggling to tip the scales either way.

He threw himself forward instead, outright charging with reckless abandon, forcing his foe to backpedal and stumble over their center of gravity. Appropriating their momentum, he slashed them further into the house, "I," clang, "was," clang, "eating," crash!, "that!" (Nevermind that the limb unappetizingly exploded. It was the principle of respect, like teaching a dog to stop begging for table scraps.)

Hinata was on the ropes-- Gyutaro was faster and stronger now, a single bite giving him enough nutrients to make up for fatigue. His head healed itself beautifully, as expected. Hinata had no such ability, and they were trying to stay alive amidst their fawning over his resourcefulness. "You should have eaten before the siege!" they replied, their filter and deliberation slowly degrading under the onslaught of the Upper Six's might.

He had them now-- one kama pinged the sword off-kilter to the left. Then its twin caught both the katana and artificial hand, jerking them up and out of the Slayer's control, his scythe piercing through the wooden support beam he had cornered them into. Hinata's eyes shot open when their back hit the wall, realizing their unfortunate situation, scrambling on their toes to keep hold of their sword. Gyutaro grinned at his hard-earned win and slid his free blade to their throat.

"Don't scold me," he warned, "or I'll enjoy killing you. I'll shatter your bones and tenderize your corpse for good measure."

Hinata shivered with barely-restrained horror, self-directed fury (damn their mortal weaknesses) and adoration-- and when Gyutaro hesitated to slit their throat, they resisting the urge to curl their toes. Did Gyutaro return these feelings of puppy love, the sort of affection one feels when someone else's life is between his teeth? The kind of attraction that makes one bite down gently and slowly, until their adored one squeaks and squirms uncomfortably. Maybe even past then.

It was one of the best ways to be regarded, in Hinata's personal opinion. To have someone's entire attention-- the world closing in around them until they were the only things that mattered and existed-- was the most intoxicating red thread. They couldn't fight the way their face split into anticipatory thrill, the sensation coiling in the pit of their stomach. "That's after you've killed the Hashira, right?" they reminded him, neck arching slightly.

Gyutaro's stomach knotted: the tenderness in Hinata's voice was intolerable. It wormed its way into his brain, curling up and warming itself like an unwanted pet. That instinctive greed was to blame for his undisciplined move; he leaned down so that he was face-to-face with Hinata to drink in the incredibly conflicted expression: their brows upturned, eyes wide, lips parted. "Maybe," he rumbled.

This lean had given their arms some slack-- their prosthetic jammed forcibly into the wood panel behind them, their knees rising and slamming into his chin-- and by the time he extended his scythe for beheadment, their weight had already dislodged them from the wall. They dropped. He kicked next, sending his foot through the wall as Hinata rolled out of his trap; they scrambled, emitting nerve-wracked barks, too animal to be laughter, too delighted to be sounds of pain.

The tables turned so suddenly that Gyutaro fumbled with self-control. Hinata seemed equally surprised when he chased them with bloodied scythes-- swifter and subtler, homing on the individual Gyutaro refused to let escape. They instinctively threw out their left hand, the net unfolding into a parachute. The sickles didn't even slow, sweeping the Slayer off their feet and carrying them through the roof in an ascending discordance of burning and splintering. But that broken ceiling was a glaring opening, and Gyutaro found himself chasing that opportunity, tailing them upward and into the air--

Right into an updraft cloud of wisteria perfume. He howled and writhed as the soft protective lens of his eyes sizzled away, the jelly bursting and dribbling down his face. The constant annoyances were starting to get to him.

What had been an opening for Gyutaro closed for him, making itself available for his foe instead. They felt the opening thread luring their blade to his throat. They felt a surge of disappointment that things had to end so soon. They felt a spark of hope for him: if he could survive this, then truly, he would be the Kizuki they had dreamed of finding. It was time for his next assessment. The vicious concoction of Flame and Foliage Breathing erupted in their lungs. Immolation Breathing Fifth Form: Sacrificial Pyre was the most effective way of forcibly altering their direction mid-motion, much like the most effective way of stopping a bonfire was smothering it with their bare hands. They ripped the net down-- so hard that their muscles screamed and resisted-- and gripped their katana with both hands. They no longer needed the scythes' momentum. All they needed was the satisfying sweep of the sword, coming down onto their new friend.

Gyutaro hastily stitched the components of his eyes back together: sclera, pupil, calligraphic number. He whipped his head up, momentarily blinded again by his unruly hair. He didn't need to see what he could feel. The sharp edge of nichirin effortlessly working its way through his throat. Gyutaro jolted his neck so that it went crack! and flopped at an angle and the sword caught-- pinned between vertebrae at the last moment.

Before either of them could drop into the destroyed house, Hinata felt the shell of their body jerk off-course slightly. An intense pressure was applied to their left abdomen, something deep enough to split the heavy scar tissue of their dermis, but shallow enough that their internal pain receptors couldn't quite make it out. They had no choice but to pull their weapon back, leaving Gyutaro's head barely attached.

As Hinata prepared for landing, they glanced down-- and they could have sworn that there had been a magenta strip of cloth slipping through their skin. But in a blink, it was gone, leaving a streak of their blood in its wake.

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