The Choice and the Desire

They spent the first day in silence, each processing the Serpent's offer in their own way. The shelter stood in the valley's center like a monument to possibility—both tempting and condemning.
Haruto found himself drawn to it repeatedly, studying its construction, imagining life within its walls. Simple life. Quiet life. Life without the constant weight of cosmic judgment pressing down on his shoulders.
"It wouldn't be so bad," he said aloud, though no one was near enough to hear. "We've already done so much. Broken the seal, separated the demon essence, passed five trials. Maybe that's enough. Maybe we're allowed to stop."
But even as he said it, he knew he was rationalizing. Sloth speaking with his voice, wearing reasonable arguments like a mask.
Shinjiro sat at the valley's edge, where the path leading out disappeared into ashen mist. He held his sword across his knees, but he wasn't sharpening it or cleaning it—just holding it, as if the weight reminded him of something.
"I died fifteen years ago," he said when Kiku approached. "Everything since has been borrowed time. So what does it matter if I stop here? My story already ended. This is just... aftermath."
"You don't believe that," Kiku said softly.
"Don't I? The demon queen brought me back for her own purposes. I'm animated by the same essence we're trying to contain. I'm not really alive—I'm just a corpse that forgot to stop moving." He looked at her with haunted eyes. "Staying here wouldn't be giving up. It would be finally acknowledging what I am. A footnote that stretched too long."
Kiku sat beside him. "Mother brought you back because she saw something in you worth saving. Something she'd lost in herself—the ability to die for something meaningful and have that death matter. You're proof that endings can have value."
"Or I'm proof that some endings shouldn't be interrupted."
The priest spent his day praying, though Haruto suspected the prayers were more argument than supplication. The old man knelt before the makeshift altar he'd constructed, surrounded by the scrolls he'd carried all this way, having what sounded like a heated theological debate with himself.
"Four hundred years," the priest muttered. "Four hundred years of guardians and maidens sacrificing themselves to maintain the seal. And we destroyed it in a week. Arrogant children playing with forces we didn't understand, convinced our mercy was superior to their discipline."
"You don't believe that either," Ayame said, joining him.
"Don't I? We broke something that worked. Imperfectly, painfully, but it worked. The demon queen was contained. The corruption was manageable. Yes, Tsukiko and others like her suffered, but they suffered to protect thousands. And we—we decided that was unacceptable. That our feelings mattered more than their sacrifice." The priest's hands were shaking. "What if we were wrong? What if staying here isn't sloth but wisdom? Accepting our limitations before we cause more damage?"
"The seal was breaking anyway," Ayame reminded him. "We accelerated the timeline, yes, but the end result was inevitable. At least this way, we're trying to find a better solution than the cycle of suffering that preceded us."
"Are we? Or are we just making things worse while convincing ourselves it's improvement?"
Ayame herself spent the day flickering—not between human and demon, but between presence and absence. Sometimes solid, sometimes translucent, as if the valley couldn't decide whether she belonged there.
"I'm not supposed to be here," she told Haruto when he found her by the dried stream bed. "This valley is designed for the living. For those who can make genuine choices about their futures. But I'm—" She gestured to her unstable form. "—I'm neither fully alive nor properly dead. I'm maintained by the connection to the demon essence you three carry. If you stay here forever, safe and unchanging, what happens to me?"
"You'd stabilize," Haruto guessed. "Become as static as we would. Frozen in this in-between state."
"Exactly. Not growing, not changing, not moving toward either human or demon. Just... stuck. Forever." She looked at the shelter. "And part of me wants that. Wants to stop struggling, stop fighting to maintain this impossible balance. Just accept stasis as the price of peace."
"That's sloth talking."
"Is it? Or is it wisdom? Accepting that some struggles can't be won, only endured until you're given permission to stop?"
As the second day dawned—if dawn was the right word in a valley where the sky remained perpetually ashen—they gathered by the shelter without planning to. Some instinct drawing them together to finally voice what they'd been thinking individually.
"We can't stay," Kiku said immediately. "I know that probably sounds naive, coming from someone who's only been alive for a few weeks. But we can't. The Crimson Lilim are still out there. The consequences of breaking the seal are still unfolding. And we're the only ones who carry the knowledge of what we've done. The only ones who can even attempt to mitigate the damage."
"But we're exhausted," the priest countered. "Broken. Carrying burdens that grow heavier every day. How much farther can we actually go? Two more trials? Then what? Even if we pass all eight, we still have to live with the demon essence permanently. Still have to fight the Lilim, manage the corruption, deal with consequences for the rest of our lives. Maybe acknowledging we've reached our limit is brave, not cowardly."
"Or maybe it's both," Shinjiro said. "Brave and cowardly. Wise and slothful. That's what makes this trial so cruel—it doesn't offer clear-cut right and wrong. Just two different forms of defeat."
"Defeat?" Ayame asked.
"Yes. Either we stay and defeat ourselves by surrendering to comfort. Or we leave and defeat ourselves through exhaustion and eventual failure. Either way, we lose. The only question is how."
"That's the most pessimistic thing I've ever heard you say," Haruto observed.
"Because it's true. Look at us—we're already arguing ourselves into staying. Finding reasons why surrender is actually the smart choice. That's exactly what sloth does. Makes inaction seem like wisdom."
They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The shelter stood before them, simple and sufficient. The path leading out remained shrouded in mist, promising nothing but continued struggle.
"I vote we leave," Kiku said. "Not because I think we'll succeed. Not because I'm certain it's the right choice. But because staying here means we stop growing. Stop learning. Stop becoming anything other than what we are right now. And I—" her voice broke slightly, "—I've only been alive for a few weeks. I've barely begun to discover what I might become. I don't want to spend eternity frozen in this infant state."
"I vote we stay," the priest said quietly. "Not because I'm afraid. But because I'm tired. Because I've spent my entire life serving duty and watching people die for it, and I—I just want it to stop. Want to spend whatever years I have left in peace instead of judgment. Is that so terrible?"
They looked at Shinjiro and Ayame. Two votes for, two votes against. The decision would fall to them.
"I abstain," Ayame said. "I'm not fully alive. My vote shouldn't count equally with those who have genuine futures to risk."
"That's a coward's answer," Shinjiro said, but his tone was gentle. "If you're part of this group, you get a vote. That's the deal."
"Then I vote we leave. But only barely. And I reserve the right to resent the decision for the rest of my existence."
Three to one. The majority wanted to continue.
All eyes turned to Shinjiro.
The ronin sat with his sword across his knees, staring at the shelter. The scar on his chest was glowing faintly—the demon essence responding to his emotions, to the weight of being the deciding vote.
"I've been dead longer than I was alive," he said slowly. "My real life ended fifteen years ago on a demon's claws. Everything since has been extra. Bonus time. Part of me thinks I should be grateful for that bonus and stop pushing my luck. Accept this valley, live out these borrowed years in peace, and let my story finally end properly."
He stood, sliding his sword into its sheath with practiced ease.
"But the other part of me—the part that came back, that chose to keep fighting despite being dead—that part says I didn't survive death just to surrender to comfort. That the reason I was brought back was to see this through. Whatever 'this' means. However it ends."
He turned to face them.
"I vote we leave. Not because I'm confident. Not because I think we'll succeed. But because I'm curious. Because after fifteen years of borrowed time, I want to know if there's any meaning to be found in the epilogue. If footnotes can matter."
Four to one. The decision was made.
The priest closed his eyes, and Haruto saw tears leak from beneath his lids. "Then I wasted my vote. Should have chosen leaving too, so we'd all go together without regret. Now I'm the dissenter. The weak one."
"No," Kiku said, moving to his side. "You're the honest one. You said what we're all feeling—that we're tired, we want rest, we want permission to stop. Thank you for voicing that. For making sure we acknowledge what we're giving up by leaving."
The priest opened his eyes. "You're too kind for a demon."
"I'm learning from the best."
They packed their supplies—what little they had—and prepared to leave the valley. The shelter remained behind, door open, offering sanctuary they were choosing to refuse.
As they reached the path leading out, the Serpent of Eight Sins materialized one final time.
*"YOU CHOSE TO LEAVE,"* it said, and something in its tone suggested surprise. *"CHOSE ACTION OVER COMFORT. GROWTH OVER STASIS. UNCERTAINTY OVER SAFETY."*
"We chose stupidly," the priest said. "But we chose."
*"THERE IS NO STUPIDITY IN CHOICE, ONLY CONSEQUENCES. AND YOU HAVE ACCEPTED THAT CONSEQUENCES ARE INEVITABLE REGARDLESS OF WHICH PATH YOU TAKE. THAT IS WISDOM."*
The sloth-head spoke alone: *"THE TRIAL OF SLOTH IS NOT ABOUT NEVER RESTING. IT IS ABOUT NOT HIDING IN REST. ABOUT REFUSING TO LET COMFORT BECOME PRISON. YOU RESTED WHEN YOU NEEDED TO, THEN CHOSE TO CONTINUE DESPITE LEGITIMATE REASONS TO STOP. THIS IS MORE THAN ADEQUATE. THIS IS COURAGE."*
*"THE SIXTH TRIAL IS COMPLETE,"* all eight heads said in unison. *"TWO TRIALS REMAIN. THE NEXT WILL TEST LUST—NOT OF FLESH, BUT OF DESIRE. OF WANTING THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE, PEOPLE YOU SHOULD NOT POSSESS, FUTURES YOU SHOULD NOT DEMAND. IT BEGINS NOW."*
The valley around them dissolved, replaced by darkness.
When light returned, they were standing in a forest clearing. But it was wrong—too perfect, too carefully arranged. Like a stage set rather than natural landscape.
And standing across from them were figures that made Haruto's breath catch.
People he recognized. People he'd lost.
His master stood there, whole and healthy, blood-free. Beside him was a woman Haruto barely remembered—his mother? A childhood friend? The absence in his soul where the Shinigami Wraith had taken payment was relevant here, but he couldn't grasp how.
Shinjiro's figures were different—a young woman with kind eyes, children he'd never had, a future he'd died before living. The life the demon had stolen from him.
The priest saw Tsukiko, but not as she'd been—as she could have been. Older, happy, holding children of her own. The granddaughter who'd been sacrificed, now showing the life she'd never gotten to live.
And standing before Ayame was a man Haruto didn't recognize. But Ayame gasped, her form flickering violently, and whispered: "Kenji."
The guardian. Her lover from four hundred years ago. The one who'd tried to save her and failed.
"Welcome," the figures said in unison, "to the trial of Lust."
Their voices were layered, wrong, carrying echoes that suggested they weren't really the people they appeared to be.
"We are your desires," they continued. "The things you want but cannot have. The people you've lost and long to reclaim. The futures you crave but deny yourselves."
The figure wearing his master's face approached Haruto. "You want me back. Want to undo my death, to prove you didn't fail me. You lust after redemption, after the chance to make different choices, after a past you cannot change."
"You're not him," Haruto said, but his voice shook.
"Does it matter? If I can give you what you desire—absolution, forgiveness, the certainty that you weren't responsible for my death—would you refuse it because the source isn't genuine?"
The woman approached Shinjiro—his lost love, Haruto realized. The one he'd died trying to protect.
"I'm here now," she said. "Alive. Waiting. You can have the future that was stolen from you. Have the life, the family, the years of peace. All you need to do is take it."
"By doing what?" Shinjiro asked.
"By releasing the demon essence. By letting it reform, by allowing the demon queen to be reborn in exchange for your deepest desire. She has the power to remake pasts, to resurrect the dead, to give you everything you lust after. She's willing to bargain."
Tsukiko stood before her grandfather, radiating life and possibility. "I could be alive again, grandfather. Could have the life you stole from me. You could have your family back. Don't you want that? Don't you lust for the chance to undo your worst choice?"
And Kenji knelt before Ayame, his face full of love and regret. "Four hundred years, my love. Four hundred years I've waited in whatever afterlife holds failed guardians. But I can return. Can be with you again. Can finally make it right. All you have to do is accept the demon essence back. Become what you were. Remake the world until it gives us what we should have had."
"You're lying," Ayame said. "All of you. You're not real. You're just manifestations of the trial, designed to test our desires."
"Real, not real—what's the difference?" The figures smiled identically. "We offer what you lust after. Whether we're genuine or constructed, the offer stands. The demon queen has grown powerful enough from your divided essence to bargain. She can give you your desires in exchange for reunification. She can bring back the dead, change the past, remake reality itself."
"At what cost?" Kiku asked. She alone had no figure—no lost love, no absent family, no past to lust after.
"At the cost of everything else. At the cost of the world burning while you claim your personal happiness. At the cost of prioritizing desire over duty, want over wisdom, lust over love."
The Serpent's eight heads emerged from the shadows, studying them all.
*"THE TRIAL OF LUST IS NOT ABOUT FLESH. IT IS ABOUT DESIRE—THE WANTING THAT CONSUMES REASON. THE CRAVING THAT OVERRIDES ETHICS. THE NEED THAT JUSTIFIES ATROCITY."*
The lust-head spoke alone, its voice honey-smooth and poisonous: *"YOU ARE OFFERED YOUR DEEPEST WANTS. THE PEOPLE YOU'VE LOST. THE FUTURES YOU WERE DENIED. THE PASTS YOU WISH TO CHANGE. ALL YOU MUST DO IS BETRAY YOUR PRINCIPLES, RELEASE THE DEMON ESSENCE, AND ALLOW THE DEMON QUEEN TO REFORM AT FULL POWER. WILL YOU LUST AFTER PERSONAL HAPPINESS ENOUGH TO DOOM THE WORLD? OR WILL YOU ACCEPT THAT SOME DESIRES MUST REMAIN UNFULFILLED?"*
Haruto stared at his master's face. At the forgiveness offered, the redemption promised, the chance to fix what he'd broken.
And realized he was being offered the same choice Kenji had faced four hundred years ago.
Love versus duty.
Desire versus responsibility.
Personal happiness versus collective safety.
"This is the trial that broke my ancestor," he said aloud. "This is why Kenji interrupted the ritual. Because he was offered something he couldn't refuse—Yuki's life. His desire for her overrode everything else."
"And you understand why," his master's face said. "Because you feel it too. The pull of wanting. The strength of desire. The way it overrides logic, ethics, duty. That's lust—not sexual, but fundamental. The craving that makes monsters of good people."
The trial had truly begun.
And unlike the previous ones, this one offered something impossible to refuse.
Everything they'd ever wanted.
Everything they'd ever lost.
Everything their hearts lusted after despite knowing better.
The only question was whether they were strong enough to say no.