Rain slicked past the branches, dampening every surface in the forest. Kurota's lungs burned as he ran, shoving through wet leaves and branches that slapped his face and tangled in his hair. The smell of fear and nature clung to him, the air felt terrible to run in with the heavy pressure of Maryoku. His shoes hit mud, slipped, and caught again. Behind him, something huge and unseen shredded the quiet—its low growls broken by the sharp crack of wood and the decay of matter.
He didn't look back. He'd already looked once and that had been enough. The image was burned into his skull: a tall figure wreathed in drifting smoke, the suggestion of a grin carved through the darkness, eyes too bright to belong to anything alive.
A Yokai. Real. Not a rumor, not a lesson from a folktale, it was a true yokai.
He jumped a fallen log, barely catching his balance as his breath came in ragged bursts. Think, think. The old outpost should've been closed—one of the abandoned labs from before the keeper wars. If he could reach it, maybe he could hide long enough for the patrols to sweep through.
Branches snapped behind him. Closer now. The sound crawled along his spine like static.
Run faster.
He tried. His legs felt like stone. Every step was a miracle bought with panic.
The forest behind him blurred into streaks of black and gray, a fog a wash of bruised black clouds. Something hissed through the air—a low whisper that turned into words that didn't quite sound human.
"Keep running, human."
He nearly tripped. His Maryoku spiked instinctively, a weak pulse, more spark than flame. The pressure of another presence pressed against it, heavier, older, like a tide crashing over a small matchstick.
A cold laugh was sent through the trees. "You leak Maryoku like a broken jar. Do you know what that does to things like me?"
He didn't answer. The clearing appeared ahead: a stretch of pale mud and the silhouette of a collapsed steel structure draped in vines. He sprinted for it, lungs on fire, every heartbeat hammering through his ribs.
Inside, the air was stale and sharp with rust. Vines hung from the ceiling, glass crunched underfoot. The remains of a sign—Atsuma Research Unit 14—were half-buried in dust. He stumbled behind a support beam and pressed his back against it, trying to quiet his breathing.
For a moment, the forest was silent again. Only the rain. Only his heart.
Then came the whisper of footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
"You hide well," the voice said, closer now, soft and almost amused. "But not well enough."
The shadow stepped through the doorway. Lucien. Or what was left of him. His form shimmered with smoke, the edges of his body fading and reforming with every step. His eyes were bright slits of violet fire, his grin too sharp, too wide.
Kurota pressed his back harder against the wall, every instinct screaming to move but his body refusing to listen.
"I can smell the fear," Lucien said, tilting his head. "It's beautiful. It's… human."
"Stay the fuck away from me," Kurota managed. His voice cracked but he raised his fists anyway.
Lucien laughed softly. "You have no idea what's chasing you, do you?"
Then he lunged.
Kurota dodged left. The creature hit the steel beam with a sound like thunder, claws slicing clean through the metal. Shards of debris flew everywhere. Kurota rolled, grabbed a loose pipe, and swung it with everything he had. It connected with Lucien's shoulder and went straight through the smoke. No resistance, no impact.
"Cute," Lucien murmured, re-forming behind him. A hand made of shadow grabbed Kurota by the collar and threw him across the room. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his chest. Pain flared through his ribs.
He pushed himself up, coughing, eyes darting for an exit. The only one was the doorway Lucien blocked.
"Why?" Kurota rasped. "Why me?"
Lucien tilted his head again, almost curious. "Wrong place. Wrong time. Doesn't matter."
He stepped forward—and the smoke that followed behind got darker
A deep rumble vibrated through the floor, the metal finally gave up after years of rusting. The impact from Lucien's strike had fractured something vital. Kurota barely had time to look up before the ceiling collapsed and came down.
The sound was monstrous—steel snapping, glass shattering, dust exploding into the air. Lucien's eyes widened, and then everything disappeared in a roaring collapse of weight.
The world went white, then black.
When Kurota came to, there was no air. Just pain, pressure, and silence. Something heavy pinned his legs. His chest burned with every shallow breath. He tried to move and a bolt of agony shot through his right arm. He looked down. It was wrong—shredded, twisted, drenched in blood and debris.
"Fuck…" He coughed, spitting crimson into the dust.
A flicker of light pulsed in the rubble beside him. Violet.
Lucien crawled out from beneath a bent sheet of metal, half of his body gone. His upper torso was still solid—if "solid" could describe smoke and Maryoku pretending to be flesh—but below the waist was just a roiling void slowly fading away. He looked like a god trying to remember how to exist.
Kurota stared, half in horror, half in awe. "You… you're still alive?"
Lucien looked down at himself and gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Alive. If you can call this living." His form wavered again. "And you—still breathing, somehow. Impressive."
Kurota tried to crawl backward but the debris around him shifted, cutting into his side. His chest was a raw, bleeding mess. "Don't come near me."
"You don't have long," Lucien said quietly. "Neither do I."
Kurota's heart pounded. The Yokai's tone had changed—less predator, more cornered animal, the fear of death can change anything.
Lucien's gaze flicked to the torn mess of Kurota's arm, then to the swirling void below his own torso. "We can fix this. Both of us. There's a way."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"A Maryoku Contract." The words came like a whisper and a threat at once. "Your body's broken, mine's unraveling. I repair yours, you repair mine. And in turn we share the same form."
"That's insane."
"Are you humans stupid?" Lucien said. "It's the only way either of us walks out of here."
Kurota's head spun. The pain, the dust, the impossible logic of it all. He wanted to say no. He wanted to die human. But the thought of dying here, alone, eaten by some thing that wasn't even sure of its own shape.
He met Lucien's glowing eyes. "You try to screw me over, I'll drag you down with me."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Fair."
They reached for each other.
The contact was a spark. Then a fire. Then an explosion.
Kurota screamed as the foreign Yōryoku surged through him, raw, searing every nerve. Lucien's form dissolved into pure energy and poured into his veins, burning its way through bone and blood. Their broken bodies fused where they touched—Lucien's fading energy filling the gaps in Kurota's flesh, Kurota's human spirit anchoring the Yokai's dissolving essence.
For a moment, everything was light.
Sigils burned themselves into their very being—Scars of violet marking across Kurota's right chest and upper arm, marking the places where death had almost claimed him. The same symbols, glowing faintly, wrapped around what was left of Lucien's lower form before vanishing into nothing.
When the light died, there was silence.
Kurota collapsed forward, panting, his vision faltering. His right arm was whole again, skin pale and marked with glowing sigils. His chest hurt but it moved when he breathed. He was alive.
But he wasn't alone.
Something else breathed with him.
That's better, a voice murmured inside his head, not separate, not distant—woven into the pulse of his own thoughts. Now we can both stand.
Kurota's fingers clenched. "What the fuck did you do to me?"
We did it, the voice said, calm, matter-of-fact. Don't be dramatic.
He tried to stand. The world tilted, then steadied. He could percieve and sense the maryoku in the air, it was a beautiful sight.
Get up faster, the voice urged. We can't stay here. The energy from that contract will draw attention.
"Fine," he muttered aloud, stumbling toward what used to be the doorway. "But this isn't over."
It never is.
He stepped out into the rain again, half-alive, half-something else entirely.
Rain had stopped, leaving the forest heavy with mist and the scent of wet earth. Kurota moved cautiously, his body still adjusting to the merged being inside him. Every muscle, every nerve, felt sharper, faster—but also unfamiliar. Lucien's presence was constant, like a shadow in the corner of his mind, whispering suggestions, urges, impatience.
You're holding back, the voice murmured, smooth and insistent. Let it out. Feel it. Feed.
"I'm not feeding on people," Kurota said aloud, his voice harsh and loud, echoing slightly through the fog. "I'm not a monster."
You already are, the voice countered. Your body, your energy, it's hungry. Ignore it and you'll waste away.
The hunger gnawed at him. Not ordinary hunger—not for food, water, or sleep—but for Maryoku. Humans leaked it constantly, the weak and scared more than the strong. Every time he caught a whiff of it, every flicker of panic in a passerby, it called to him. Lucien's influence pressed, guiding, urging, pushing him toward the act he tried desperately to resist.
Stop pretending. You want it.
"No!" Kurota growled, pressing both hands to his temples as if he could squeeze the urge out. But the fusion made his body betray him. His left eye flared violet—a septagram blazing faintly—casting a shadow over the brown of his right eye. A pulse of hunger shot through him, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Feed, the voice insisted, calm but merciless. A little. Only enough to satisfy your hunger. You think you can survive without it?
The scene shifts to kurota, eating the corpse of a suicide victim.
He swallowed, trembling. The first time was… messy. He didn't even realize how far he'd gone until the world around him shimmered and dulled at the edges. He had taken just enough to feel the burning tension inside him release. Lucien chuckled inside his head, almost pleased.
Good. We're stronger now. Faster. Cleaner.
"Fuck," Kurota muttered, tasting copper in his mouth. "I'm not… I'm not a monster. I'm human."
Don't lie to me.
Days passed in a blur. Kurota, or the merged consciousness now calling itself something darker, moved through the outskirts of villages, feeding sparingly but enough to stabilize the unnatural balance inside him. His reflexes sharpened, movements becoming almost too precise, too calculated. Lucien's presence shaped every step, every flicker of aggression.
They talked constantly in the shared mindscape, arguing, cajoling, laughing bitterly at memories neither of them had fully claimed.
We should hunt bigger prey, Lucien said one night, voice low, threading through Kurota's thoughts. Stronger humans, more energy.
"No," Kurota snapped back. "We're not going after yokai hunters. Not yet... What am I saying we'll never go after them that's too far and dangerous, I could get seriously harmed!"
You will be, the voice whispered, almost gleeful. But you have to survive.
They walked through the forest like ghosts, shadows under the mist, leaving a faint trail of drained energy that humans would only notice as a chill or a sudden swoon.
On the fifth night, under a blood-colored moon, the warning came. Movement in the fog—swift, deliberate. Kurota froze instinctively, senses heightened, heart hammering. Lucien pressed against him, excited, sharp.
Hunter. You smell him. I can smell him. Cmon let's have a little fun!
"I do," Kurota muttered, stepping out into a small clearing. His left eye flared, glowing faintly under the fog, the septagram gleaming. "But I'm not going to start an unreasonable fight."
A figure emerged from the mist—light-blue hair, piercing sky-colored eyes, a thin aura of tamed Maryoku radiating from him. Navin Yuki, a young but lethal hunter, moved with the kind of precision. His weapon, two twin daggers, glimmered faintly in the moonlight, reflecting years of training and instinct.
"So you're the thing that's been draining people," Navin said, voice tight and commanding. "You've been quite a nuisance."
"We've been quite a nuisance.." Kurota corrected, voice a tad bit raspy
He lunged. Navin's eyes widened, barely dodging the first swipe. Leaves shredded, a tree groaned as Kurota's momentum carried him forward, claws and fists tearing through the air with lethal precision.
Navin recovered, slashing with his weapon. Sparks flared as metal met the superhumab force of the hybrid. Sparks scattered across the clearing, illuminating Kurota's glowing left eye. The septagram shone like a curse stitched across his iris.
Hold yourself, Kurota thought inwardly. We're in control as of right now
You're right, we're better than he thinks, Lucien countered. Let's show him.
The strikes became sharper. Kurota moved faster than human reaction, and his own human reflexes moved faster than Navins attack. Navin's blade clashed, deflecting attacks, slicing branches, tearing through the forest like a wind cutting glass. Kurota's mind raced, blending with Lucien's, analyzing, calculating, predicting. They were terrifying.
"Bastard!" Navin shouted, a mix of anger and disbelief. He struck again, but the fused body anticipated him. A surge of black smoke discharged outward, destabilizing the ground beneath the hunter's feet. Leaves exploded into the air. Navin stumbled but regained balance, sweat and determination dripping from his brow.
Finish it, Lucien urged, sharp, impatient.
"No," Kurota said inwardly. "I'm not killibg people unless I'm starving."
Kurota struck with a right hook, sending Navin back against a tree. His left eye flared violently, the septagram pulsing as Maryoku leaked from him like smoke from a forgery. Navin barely blocked the next strike, that Kurota threw at him.
"Enough!" A new presence rippled through the clearing. The air dropped, frost creeping across leaves and mud, locking both hunter and hybrid in place mid-motion. Breath hung frozen, claws and weapons suspended as if the world itself had paused.
The mist parted slowly. A figure stepped forward, shrouded in shadow. Eyes glowed faintly beneath a hood.
"Two souls. One body." Fascinating, the voice murmured "Navin, didn't I tell you to wait a few days before taking on the mission.." she sighed with a expression of disappointment "Whatever.."
We're not done, Lucien whispered in his mind. Not yet. But… be still Kurota.
The frost crawled up the hybrid's limbs, sealing them mid-battle. Navin's weapon hovered, frozen inches from Kurota's face. Kurota's glowing eye dimmed slightly as the force pressed, a strange calm settling over the storm of chaos that had just erupted.
"It's strange how I can sense both Yōryoku and Maryoku from you… fascinating," the cloaked figure said aloud, voice low, and amused.
Kurota tried to move, to react, to break free, but the frost that held him was absolute. Lucien's voice murmured through him, both exhilarated and annoyed, weak brat..
The mist thickened. Darkness pressed at Kurota's vision. Frost ran through his veins. The world froze, silent, eternal for a heartbeat that stretched impossibly long.
And then the silence swallowed everything.
"A Yoman!" the figure continued, crafting up quite the fascinating name for Kurota and Lucien. "Power like yours draws attention. Even from things far worse than me."
Lucien's voice flared, defiant. Let me out. I'll kill them.
"No," Kurota snapped, breath misting the air. "We're not killing anyone!"
The figure chuckled softly. "A moral compass? How quaint."
The stranger's eyes flicked toward the glow. "Interesting, two voices.."
Lucien pressed harder inside Kurota's mind, his energy rising like a tide. We can break it. Together.
Kurota focused, forcing his will forward. Shattering the frost across his right arm.
The stranger didn't move. "So you strengthens under pressure. Noted."
They lifted one hand, palm out. The air around Kurota dropped again, the cold returning all at once. Pain shot through him as the ice re-formed, thicker this time, crawling up to his throat. He gasped, unable to draw another breath.
His last coherent sensation was Lucien's voice, echoing in his head—Not steady, not fearful, but mocking.
Heheh, stupid brat.
Then the world went black.