Avery

The taste of mud and old rain lingers on his tongue, and a few thin rays find him from above, but they don't cut through the dark cleanly. Barely able to make out the shapes around, nothing gives him a hint of this place.

The air is stale and close, a second skin. Silence settles over him like cold water.

The first movement brings a jolt of agony—raw and immediate, as if he's been hit by a truck, which isn't far from the truth.

Dragging himself free of the mud, each pull is measured and expensive. The world tilts, and faint cracks echo from within—bones, probably broken.

My Oni regeneration isn't kicking in. Must be the exhaustion.

Memories surface, bit by bit, while he sits up.

By now, the culprit could be anywhere—disguised as anyone. The weight of it hits him slowly, crushingly.

Not only did he let a terrorist get away scot-free, but he also caused indiscriminate destruction and threw countless lives into chaos. He pictures the passenger from the car that hit him—they must be in the hospital by now.

How is he ever going to make up for this? Set things right for his family? The loyalty he owed them, broken by his own hand, presses heavily on him.

Wait…

Atsunori checks his chest, searching for the metallic weight that usually hangs around his neck on his days off. He's sure he put it on this morning, tied the pendant around his neck.

But it's gone.

On top of all that's happened today, he's lost it too—yet he barely has the strength to mutter a complaint.

The only tangible gift from his father, a symbol of his bloodline—of dozens of generations, lost because Atsunori was such an incompetent heir.

A failure, just like…

Dragging the thought away, he lets his head fall, eyes adjusting to the dark. Something else catches his attention in the mud: the hood he'd snatched before ending up here—black, ruined, his only clue.

Rage gathers again, slow as the first bruising clouds of a storm.

No, it's not my fault. It's that bastard's.

Anyone bold enough to launch such an attack will come back. Next time, Atsunori will be ready—he'll make them pay. The confusion clears, leaving only purpose.

He searches for his phone but only crushed shards answer. Above him, the hole he fell through yawns endlessly. He must be inside some ancient structure. Nothing to do but find an exit—or a layer thin enough to breach.

With a painful motion, he stands and begins picking his way forward. Then, in the dark, he realizes he's not alone. A silhouette of someone—or something—stands directly in front of him.

What could be down here?

Hesitation creeps in. He wonders if he should transform—or if he even can, in his current state.

Then…

"Hi, hi!"

It… waves at him?

High-pitched, energetic voice—almost childlike. But judging by the frame, she's probably a young woman.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"It's me, Avery." She steps into the light, her features coming into view.

As suspected—a girl in her twenties, though the way she carries herself feels oddly immature. Wearing an off-shoulder jacket patterned in yellow and blue, the design matches her shirt, bag, and long trousers—if you ignore the bits of leaves, grass and sludge clinging to her. She's soaked, too, for some reason.

Her long blonde hair is tied into two messy ponytails. Hard to tell if they always look like this or they've just come undone.

"I don't know any Avery."

A foreigner. American, perhaps.

"Oh, right. But we just met, remember? We bumped into each other, and I followed you to return your thing. Here."

A foreigner. American, perhaps.

She extends her hand. In her palm rests Atsunori's amulet—an old ring turned pendant.

In one motion, he lunges forward and rips it from her hand.

"Why do you have it? What did you—" Realizing his rudeness, he stops.

This girl chased him across half the city to return his most prized possession.

The least he can do is…

"Thank you. I'm truly grateful, Avery."

The words spark something in her. An even wider smile spreads across her face, and her cheeks flush like she's being praised by her parent.

"You're welcome, mister… umm…"

"Atsunori. Munakata Atsunori."

"I'm Avery Bennett. Pleasure to meet you, mister Munakata." She dips into an exaggerated bow, trying far too hard to be formal—maybe even on purpose.

"Atsunori is fine. How did you even get down here?"

"The earth swallowed me and I fell into an underground lake."

That explains a lot.

"Alright, stick with me and we'll find an exit together."

"Okay, Atsun."

Atsun?

We just met.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The two of them wander around in the darkness, guided only by the glow of the girl's cellphone. The place is clearly some kind of abandoned temple—rotten wooden beams, faded murals, and a bronze statue confirm as much.

Every few steps, Avery darts off or points at something that catches her eye, eager to share her discoveries. Atsunori humors her, offering a comment or two about the purpose and history of a rusted gong, cracked incense burners and—

"By the way, Atsun, who was that person you were chasing?"

"A troublemaker. They stole from one of my establishments."

"And you failed to catch them, huh?"

Her remark forces Atsunori to suppress a grunt. A nod is his only answer.

"I see," she says lightly. "Well, everyone slips up sometimes."

What's with the patronizing tone?

Is she trying to make fun of him?

"So, how about I help you?" she says, looking up at him.

"Why? This has nothing to do with you. Actually, why chase me across the city just to return something a stranger like me dropped?"

"Because it looked important, duh. And with how hard you went after that guy, it's obvious catching him matters to you."

"That still doesn't answer what's in it for you. Either way, you can't help me, and you shouldn't get involved."

"Fine." She gave up surprisingly easy. Atsunori half-expected her to pout and complain.

After a bit more exploring, he's convinced they've checked every original exit—and that there's no open way outside. There's also no spot where they can get a phone signal.

So I have to do this the hard way. And with Avery as a witness.

At the main entrance, now collapsed and buried, he kneels, ear pressed to the rubble, listening intently.

A bird chirps on the other side.

Inches or meters? Impossible to say—but the surface is definitely beyond it. A slow exhale as he pulls back.

"So, what's the plan?" she asks.

"You're going to return to the previous room, cover your ears, and stay put until I come back for you."

"Suure. Can I at least know why?"

"No."

"Okay then, see ya."

Is she a pushover, or does she just not care?

Atsunori places his hand on the blocked passage and focuses on the feel of the earth. In his mind, it becomes clay on a table—something he can shape freely, bend at his will.

And his will is simple: out of my way.

Gradually, the earth obeys, drifting aside at his command. Almost at once, the ache in his body returns. Magic in this state is dangerous—but necessary.

Under other circumstances, he would rest, regain his strength—maybe even search the temple's storage for preserved food. But with a dangerous criminal still at large, and Atsunori holding the only clue, he can't afford to waste time. And then, there's Avery. She ended up here helping a complete stranger like him, so the least he can do is get her out as soon as possible.

Seriously, what's her deal? Does she really go this far out of her way to help just anyone?

A crack in his insides cuts his thoughts, breaking him into a coughing fit.

Damnit, now's not the time for distractions. Focus.

Another push of will against the blockade. Slowly, it obeys.

As a Yama Oni, shaping earth and rock comes naturally. His control, though, is too slow to be useful in combat… or during a chase.

Also, this makes it more humiliating to have been defeated by a landslide.

Shame mixes with resolve. One last, stronger push, and light begins to seep through the gap.

Finally free of this place.

All that's left is to escort Avery back to the city, then back to the estate—to report everything that happened, maybe ask to be put in charge of…

Ahead, lights begin to blur and smear.

Walls bend. The doorway twists, and the ground tilts upward to meet him—then everything goes black.