The gym creature's grip was like iron. Tendrils clamped over Yuki's mouth, choking off any sound, while another hand crushed his throat, not cutting off air, but pinning him in place. The psychic assault was relentless, flooding his mind with the sensory nightmare of Hana's death: the coppery tang of her blood spraying, the wet tearing sound of the shadow's claw, the chilling finality as the light left her eyes.
The creature's vertical maw gaped, the silently screaming faces within seeming to pulse with stolen life force. It wasn't just showing him the memory; it was feeding on his reaction. Every spike of terror, every wave of grief, every surge of impotent rage was like a morsel to it. The air grew colder, thicker with the stench of ozone and rotting meat. Yuki could taste it at the back of his throat, a foul, metallic tang that made him gag against the tendril covering his mouth.
Despair. The word echoed in his mind, not his own thought, but the creature's emotion bleeding into him. It reveled in his helplessness. It savored the taste of his shattered spirit.
He struggled, a useless, reflexive thrashing against the creature's impossible strength. His feet scrabbled for purchase on the polished wood, finding none. His fists beat uselessly against the creature's grey, fused-bone arm. It was like hitting solid rock. The creature didn't even seem to notice. Its attention was entirely focused on draining him, on consuming the feast of his despair.
The scent intensified. It wasn't just the creature's own foul odor anymore. It was his scent. The scent of his own fear, sharp and acrid like ammonia. The scent of his grief, thick and cloying like funeral lilies left too long in the sun. The scent of his blood, where the tendrils had broken the skin on his cheek and throat, thin coppery threads mixing with the creature's stench.
It was the scent of despair made manifest. A miasma that clung to him, that filled the gymnasium, that fed the monster holding him captive. He was drowning in it.
His vision began to tunnel, the edges darkening. The creature's hunger was a physical weight, pressing down on him, crushing his will, his hope. The silent screams in his head – Hana's, the faces in the maw, his own – merged into a deafening cacophony of agony.
This is it, he thought, the words numb, distant. This is how I end. Eaten by despair.
Then, a flicker.
Not of hope. Of rage. Pure, white-hot, blinding rage.
It erupted from the hollow place inside him, a volcanic explosion that burned away the numbness, the terror, even the grief for a split second. This thing. This monster. It dared to use Hana's death against him. Dared to feast on her memory, on his failure. Dared to fill his lungs with the stench of his own despair.
NO.
The rage wasn't a thought. It was a force. A primal scream that finally tore through the psychic block, though no sound escaped his covered mouth. It was a scream of pure defiance, a rejection of the creature's feast.
The creature flinched.
It was slight, almost imperceptible. A tremor that ran through its fused-bone frame. The vertical maw snapped shut slightly, the screaming faces within momentarily silenced. The psychic pressure lessened, just for a fraction of a second.
It had felt it. The rage. The defiance. It wasn't the nourishing despair it craved. It was something else. Something… spicy. Something dangerous.
Yuki seized the moment. He stopped struggling uselessly. Instead, he focused every ounce of his will, every shred of that burning rage, and pushed. Not physically. Psychically. He imagined the rage as a fire, a white-hot blade, and he shoved it directly into the creature's mind, into the core of its being.
The effect was instantaneous and violent.
The creature shrieked.
It wasn't a silent psychic scream this time. It was a physical sound, a high-pitched, piercing shriek of pain and surprise that shattered the gymnasium's silence. It was the sound of tearing metal and tortured souls.
Its grip loosened. The tendril over Yuki's mouth spasmed. The hand crushing his throat jerked away.
Yuki staggered back, gasping, sucking in huge lungfuls of the foul air. The creature recoiled, clutching its head – or where its head should be – with its tendril-hands. The vertical maw opened and closed rapidly, the screaming faces within contorting in agony.
The scent of despair was still there, thick and cloying, but now it was mixed with something new. The sharp, acrid stench of fear. The creature's fear.
Yuki didn't hesitate. He turned and ran.
His legs felt like rubber, but adrenaline surged through him, lending strength. He sprinted towards the gym doors, his footsteps echoing wildly in the cavernous space. He didn't look back. He could hear the creature behind him, its clicking limbs scrabbling on the wood, its shrieks turning from pain to fury.
He burst through the gym doors, slamming them shut behind him. He didn't stop running. He fled down the corridor, past empty classrooms, towards the school entrance, the creature's furious shrieks echoing behind him, chasing him through the hollow halls.
He didn't stop until he was out of the school gates, gasping for breath in the cool afternoon air. He leaned against a lamppost, trembling violently. The scent of despair still clung to him, a foul perfume mixed with the coppery tang of his own blood and the sharp stench of the creature's fear.
He was alive. For now.
But he knew the scent wouldn't wash away easily. It had marked him. And creatures like that… they could follow a scent.