Tag rematch

"What do you intend to do now?" Atsunori asks as he eases out of the hug.

The answer matters less than hearing her say it.

"I-I…"

Her words hang, stretching the silence.

She really is perceptive—already guessing what's coming.

Atsunori places a hand on her shoulder. Not to stop or comfort her—just to acknowledge the weight of what she's about to say.

Her voice is steady. Strained.

"I'm going to free the Yokai and reveal the truth. I don't know for certain what comes after, but I…" She bites her lip, holding herself there for several seconds before finishing, "I'm willing to deal with the consequences."

A slow dip of his head. He respects her choice. He truly does.

Which is why he answers honestly.

"I'm going to protect—"

No, that's not right.

"I'm going to preserve this." His tone is firm and even, but not cruel. "Because I'm not willing to accept the consequences of tearing it down."

She nods.

Once.

Then again.

"I see…" Tears streak down her face. "Yeah… t-that's—" A sob. "That's fair. I understand… I-I really do."

Both hands cover her face, trying to keep herself together.

He waits.

As long as it takes.

Until the tears stop. Until the red fades from her eyes and something steadier replaces it.

She's ready.

His spine straightens. His posture locks into something stiff—heavier. Heat rolls off him in a sudden wave, skin darkening into a dense, brutal red as power surges upward.

Muscles swell, stacking thick and dense beneath the skin. Fabric screams as seams split, his shirt tearing apart and falling away in tatters.

He grows—bones stretching and height increasing until the room feels tighter, easier to dominate. His jaw shifts, teeth lengthening into fangs as his breath grows into a low rumble.

A sharp crack echoes as thick, ridged horns force their way from his scalp.

When the transformation settles, an Oni stands where a man once did—built like living stone. Only his eyes remain the same, unmistakably Atsunori's.

"I won't ask you to stop." His voice is deep, menacing—empty of malice. "But I won't let you proceed."

"I know." With that, her change begins.

There's no violence to it. No tearing surge. Avery closes her eyes and lets go.

The air around her softens. Light bends, blurring her outline as the world stops insisting on her exact shape.

Orange fur blooms along her wrists and arms, slipping naturally through her clothes. Her ears rise, alert and elegant. Behind her, a single tail unfurls as magic spreads alongside her whiskers.

Her eyes open—blue layered with green, bright but steady.

Where Atsunori becomes harder to push, she becomes harder to grasp.

She meets his gaze with both firmness and kindness.

"I'm not here to break things. I'm here to change them."

The Yokai watch in silence.

Avery steps into the space between them.

She doesn't attack.

Instead, she gestures for him to proceed.

It isn't a taunt, just her way of approaching this.

He honors it.

His first swing is neither fast nor vicious—just decisive, meant to grab her.

Avery ducks under it, pivots past his follow-up, then slips by a third reach that grazes her ears. She keeps moving, each dodge leaving her less room than the last.

On the fourth exchange, she steps in.

She aims for his jaw. He braces for impact—but instead inhales something cool, fresh, like mist.

Understanding comes too late. Darkness swallows his vision. The next thing he knows, stone slams into his back.

His eyes snap open. Avery's already at one of the control panels.

No.

He lunges. She dodges just in time as his strike tears the screen free. He glances at the cells—still sealed.

She didn't have time.

That was smart.

But it won't work twice.

His movements tighten. No wasted force, no wide swings meant to dominate space. He shortens his reach, controls his footing, cuts angles instead of chasing.

Avery retreats just enough. Slips past instead of away. Redirects instead of blocking.

He presses—she yields.

Again and again.

At first, he assumes she's waiting—watching for another opening, another gamble.

So he avoids giving her one.

Minutes pass.

Too many.

He leaves false openings—she ignores them. He makes real mistakes—she ignores them too.

Just movement. Delay.

The realization hits when his step comes a fraction slower than before.

She isn't trying to bring an end to this.

She's buying time.

Beneath the adrenaline, fatigue flickers—small, but there.

That's when it clicks: she isn't fighting an Oni.

She's fighting the system that sustains it.

Letting him spend himself. Letting the structure prove how unsustainable it is.

Anger sparks—not at her, but at himself.

Of course she'd do this.

Of course she'd choose the path that demands patience, restraint and faith that pressure alone can reveal the truth.

His next step cracks stone. He stops. Avery takes the chance to widen the distance, exhaling in relief.

If that's how she plans to win…

Then he'll prove he can adapt without ceasing to be himself.

He'll show her how effective control and order grow to be when they're allowed to.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

When Atsunori stopped chasing me, I thought I'd earned a moment to breathe.

Doing so was a mistake.

Magic gathered around him almost immediately. The pressure in the air made me back away before thinking.

The ground trembled.

Stone behind him began to rise.

Too late I understood he wasn't attacking—he was building. A wall, cutting straight across the room's diagonal. And I'd given him exactly what he needed: space and time.

I sprinted forward, lifted an arm, then stopped short of his reach. It was a feint meant to make him flinch, to break his focus.

He either read it or didn't care.

The spell finished.

Half the room, including both exits, were swallowed by solid rock.

The Yokai were still on this side, observing silently. One tensed. Another shook its head and turned away, retreating deeper into its chamber.

It wasn't that I couldn't break the wall—I just couldn't afford the energy if I wanted to wear Atsunori down.

He snapped me back into motion with a swing that caught my sleeve. I tore free, fabric ripping as I pulled away.

The room was still large, but the options were gone.

He advanced again. Not swinging, not grabbing—just walking. Each step stole ground from me. Each retreat tightened the margin.

I moved left—he adjusted, cutting the angle.
I tried to circle—he mirrored, shoulder blocking the last open path.
I darted forward, hoping to slip past—

His arm lashed out, fast enough to crack the air, and caught my shoulder.

I hurled sleeping mist at his face. It hit him full on.

His knees struck the stone with a heavy thud—but his hands didn't loosen. Not even slightly. If anything, the pressure shifted, muscles tightening as though letting go wasn't an option.

My vision blurred.

If he pulls…

If he twists…

I didn't think, I shed.

My mind pictured my shoulder slipping free the way skin peels from a wound. Something answered—horribly, beautifully. Pressure swelled between his grip and my flesh, a bubble forced into existence, stretching until it hurt in a different way.

Then—

I was no longer there.

Stumbling backward, I barely stayed upright as what remained in his grasp turned translucent. A ghost-image of my arm and shoulder.

Atsunori surged back on his feet, already recovering.

He looked down at what he held.

Then clenched.

The phantom tore apart, unraveling into scraps of pale light that scattered and vanished.

My breath came out in broken bursts—not from fear, but from the cost.

I'd barely escaped. And I'd spent more than I could afford if I meant to outlast him.

Heat pulsed through my shoulder—not pain exactly. An echo. Like his fingers were still there, digging into my muscle.

But no matter how desperate things became, I would keep moving.

Even if I saw that bond again—the thread tying a human to their Blessing—I wouldn't sever it. I refused to win by stripping someone of their freedom. It was just another easy path. An absolute, irreversible end.

Cold stone pressed into my shoulder blades. No space left to give, only angles that folded back toward him.

Atsunori closed the distance in a single motion.

I ducked under the first grab, twisted out of the second. I formed something different—pepper spray, hoping to surprise him—and tried to slip past his right side.

He adjusted instantly, still coughing from the pepper.

One arm slammed into my path, the other was about to hook my hair. I let myself fall, struck the ground, then stumbled, recovered—

And then his hands landed on me again.

Both shoulders.

My back hit the wall hard enough to rattle my teeth. Stone dug into my spine. His grip locked in, fingers biting deep, pinning me as completely as the cages behind.

I fought immediately—shoved, twisted, kicked, tried to wrench free. Magic flared on reflex—mist, illusion, distortion—but none of it formed right. Everything came out half-shaped, unraveling the moment it touched him.

"Avery."

I struggled harder.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "This isn't how I wanted it to end."

My breath came fast and shallow. Thoughts scattered, refusing to line up.

"No—" I turned my head, searching for anything. "Wait! Atsun—"

"I won't hurt you more than I have to." His grip tightened, careful but unyielding. "I'll make sure you're treated properly afterward. I promise."

Afterward…

He meant it.

This wasn't a threat. He was already thinking past this—about containment, recovery, restoring order.

That scared me more than anger would have.

I tried to think.

A spell. Any spell.

The mist wasn't enough. Other illusions—too slow, too fragile. A double—no space, no breath. The void field—too much. I'd collapse before it finished forming.

Think!

My head felt stuffed with cotton. Every idea slipped away, thoughts tangling over each other, panic tightening around them.

The pressure increased.

My ribs compressed. Breath stuttered. My arms burned under his grip. The world narrowed to heat, force and the sound of blood pushing through constricted veins.

The questions—should I, can I, what if—collapsed.

All that remained was need.

Space.

Air.

Out.

I didn't shape it. Didn't define it. Didn't care how.

I just wanted it.

Didn't even care about choosing.

And somewhere beneath my skin, it answered.

A deafening shatter split the room. For a heartbeat, Atsunori looked like broken glass—cut diagonally—before vast, indifferent pressure ripped through the space between us. The world spun. Stone shredded at my skin before everything slammed to a halt.

A hard cough made me choke on air and blood. Breathing felt like tearing myself open.

But I had no time to rest. I forced myself upright, joints grinding and I saw…

Devastation.

I was on the far side of the wall he'd built. It lay in ruins, broken stone scattered everywhere.

Whatever I'd done, it was too much.

"Atsunori!" I screamed.

He was on the floor, blood soaking the ground far too quickly.

A single line cut across him—from his left shoulder to his opposite waist—still pouring red.

No.

What have I done?

My legs locked. I couldn't look away—from the wound, from how still he was, from the way the room seemed to hold its breath.

His fingers twitched.

He was alive.

Yet that didn't change what I did.

This wasn't an accident. Not a miscalculation. Not the cost of fighting.

This was what happened when I stopped choosing.

When I reached for help without knowing what I was asking for. When I let something else decide.

Like with Kairi.

The same mistake.

Just louder.

I hadn't meant to hurt him. I didn't even know what I wanted to happen.

And that was the problem.

Power didn't care about intent. It answered necessity. If I kept relying on it like this—asking for anything instead of deciding for something—this wouldn't be the last time.

My shaking hand pressed to my mouth, forcing my breathing to slow.

I couldn't take this back.

But I could learn.

Whatever happened next—whatever Atsunori did, whatever I chose to do in return—I wouldn't let this happen again.

Not to him.
Not to anyone.

And not because someone stopped me.

Because I would.