The humming of the glass vibrated in Yuki's teeth, a dissonant thrum that matched the frantic pulse of the crimson spark in his chest. The figure on the balcony – Kage, though it hadn't named itself yet – pressed its palm flat against the darkening pane. The spiderweb cracks spread, reaching towards the frame. Its grin widened, revealing too many teeth, each one a sliver of polished obsidian. The voids of its eyes burned with twin pinpricks of crimson light, fixing Yuki with an ancient, predatory hunger.
Open the door, Yuki Tanaka. The layered whisper scraped against his mind, dry leaves on stone. I offer you fire. Fire to purge the shadows. Fire to make the monsters scream as she screamed.
Hana's face flashed in Yuki's mind – her eyes wide with terror, her throat ruined, her silent scream echoing in the alley. The spark inside him flared white-hot, a surge of pure, incandescent rage that momentarily drowned out the fear. Power. The power to do something. To strike back. To make them pay.
The humming intensified, vibrating through the floor, up his spine. The cracks in the glass branched further, tendrils of darkness seeping into the apartment. The air grew colder, thick with the scent of ozone and something ancient, like dust from a forgotten tomb.
What do you want? Yuki managed to project the thought, his mental voice trembling but defiant.
Kage's grin didn't falter. It tilted its head, a gesture of chilling amusement. Want? I want what is owed. What is freely given. I want the souls of the creatures that feast on fear and despair. The ones that stole your light. The ones that lurk in the gymnasiums, the alleys, the mirrors. It paused, letting the weight of its words settle. You give me their souls. I give you the power to take them.
Souls. The word hung in the air, heavy and profane. The power to take lives. To become like the things he hunted. The spark inside him pulsed eagerly, craving the fuel, the violence. The hollow ache of his grief screamed for vengeance, for anything to fill the emptiness.
How? Yuki's thought was a ragged whisper.
Kage raised its other hand. From its fingertips, tendrils of pure, liquid shadow oozed, not falling, but flowing upwards like smoke. They coalesced above its palm, forming a complex, shifting symbol – a spiral intersected by jagged lines, glowing with the same faint crimson as the embers in its eyes. It pulsed with a dark, resonant energy.
The contract is simple, Kage's whisper scraped. It binds us. You are the hand. I am the fire. Together, we reap. Their souls become mine. Their power becomes yours… for a time. It leaned closer, its face almost touching the cracked glass. The crimson embers in its eyes blazed, boring into Yuki. The price is their souls. And a piece of yours, with every harvest.
A piece of his soul. The words struck like a physical blow. But what soul did he have left? It was already hollowed out by grief, haunted by Hana's silent scream, stained by the phantom blood. What was a piece of that compared to the power to avenge her? To destroy the things that had stolen her? To never feel powerless again?
The image of the gym creature's maw, filled with screaming faces, flashed in his mind. The memory of its tendrils on his skin, feeding on his despair. The shadow-thing watching from the window. They were still out there. Hunting. Feeding. And he was just prey.
Unless…
The spark inside him roared, a furnace demanding fuel. The crimson glow flared under his skin, visible now as faint lines tracing the veins on his hands. The hum in his bones became a deafening roar.
Yes, the thought erupted, raw and desperate. Yes. I accept.
Kage's grin stretched impossibly wide, splitting its face like a wound. The crimson embers in its eyes exploded into miniature infernos. Excellent.
The shadow symbol above its pulsed violently. With a gesture like flicking water, Kage sent the symbol flying towards the cracked glass. It didn't shatter the pane. It flowed through the cracks, through the darkened glass, like ink dissolving in water.
Yuki gasped as the symbol hit him.
It wasn't a physical impact. It was an invasion.
The liquid shadow symbol slammed into his chest, cold and burning simultaneously. It spread through him like a virus, tracing paths along his nervous system, sinking into his bones, coiling in the hollow place where the spark burned. He felt it etching itself onto his very soul, not with fire, but with absolute, chilling finality.
Agony, pure and absolute, ripped through him. It wasn't physical pain, but the sensation of his very being being rewritten, claimed. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound that finally tore free from his throat, echoing in the silent apartment.
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. The crimson spark inside him wasn't just a spark anymore. It was a roaring inferno, fed by the shadow symbol, burning him from the inside out. He could feel Kage's presence inside him now, not just outside the window. A cold, ancient consciousness twining around his own, a serpent coiling in the hollow spaces.
It is done, Kage's whisper echoed, not just in his mind, but from within him. The voice was layered, colder, more resonant. The contract is sealed. Written in your grief. Forged in your rage.
Yuki looked down at his hands. The faint crimson lines were gone. In their place, etched onto the skin of his palms, were intricate, swirling scars. They weren't red. They were black, like ink injected under the skin, and they seemed to shift slightly, as if alive. They pulsed with a faint, dark light.
He looked up at the balcony. Kage was gone. The glass was whole again, unblemished, reflecting only his own pale, terrified face.
But the humming remained. A low, constant thrum vibrating in his bones. The cold presence inside him remained, a coiled serpent of shadow. And the scars on his palms burned with a dark, hungry energy.
He had made a pact. With a demon. For power. For vengeance.
And the first payment was already due. The scars itched. They hungered.