Hell's Embrace (Itsuki)

Itsuki awakened on the sofa of his hideout.

The memories of yesterday came flooding in.

His whole body ached in a hell of pain.

He remembered everything. What he did to those thugs, to Mihama, to those students. To Nejima…

What has he done?

Why did he do those things?

Had he finally grown mad?

He wished to feel anything, something, but not that way!

He placed his hand over his mouth, as bile rose.

He forced him to swallow it to not puke.

Tears fell from his eyes.

His expression contorted, as his lips pursed and trembled in self-revulsion and guilt.

He had crossed a line that should never have been crossed. Now, there was no coming back from that. His soul has rotted to such a degree that it shouldn’t stay alive, not anymore.

What little sense and morals he had in him told him he should give up now. The chase has gone on for far too long. There was no time for anything else; he had no life. He has no friends who would stick with him now.

What should he do?

In hindsight, it was obvious what he should do.

Give himself to the police.

Turn himself over.

No.

Maybe he should die.

No.

He will die.

A sick part of himself was happy with those turns of events. His death was long overdue. Maybe in hell, he could meet her again.

The logic part of himself was tired. Maybe she was in the wrong after all. Maybe she had made her choice, and he refused to accept it.

She wanted to die, so did he.

All of his Herculean effort for her.

All of this for vengeance without aim.

A small, weak laugh came out of his mouth. His body was finally weak. He felt every wound in himself burn; he felt his soul burn.

He was already in it, wasn’t he?

A rotten eighteen-year-old boy.

He would meet his end now and make no mistake, this time.

Yet, before he could put his thoughts into action, voices shouted from outside his hideout. “This is where that freak lives! Let’s teach that bastard a lesson!” From outside, somehow, a bottle with a flaming cloth managed to get past the boards.

More and more bottles smashed against the building’s walls. Fire spread through his hideout.

A part of his mind told him to run.

To save himself.

But his soul told him to stay.

Itsuki sighed and stumbled towards the hallway. He took the picture frame of his long-dead friend and collapsed to the ground, sitting with his back against the wall, as his legs buckled.

He stared at her.

It has been a long while.

He looked at her one last time with half-lidded, tired eyes. And smiled.

He threw the portrait forward. It fell against the ground and shattered the glass.

It was ironic that now, of all times, he had clarity in his mind and soul.

This journey extended itself for too long, and now its end was near. It was no tragedy; it was a blind tantrum all along, self-inflicted, for he couldn’t accept the loneliness and void she left in his soul.

Tears fell from his eyes. And they didn’t stop. Were those tears of pain, misery, hurt, sorrow, realization, or even tears of freedom? He couldn’t tell anymore.

Itsuki closed his eyes as he felt the flames creeping closer. He had no plans of stopping them.

Or running away.

He felt pain. He felt his emotions. He felt like himself after so long.

His whole body was on fire already.

Pain and discomfort flared up as wounds opened up due to the heat.

Yet, Itsuki didn’t feel warm at all. He just felt the cold and the sting of his wounds.

Even as the flames burned his clothes, caressed his skin, and traumatized his flesh, he felt nothing at all.

Maybe he died a long time ago, and just now realized.

“I will find you in hell, Suzuki,” He whispered.

Now, he found the strength to blame her for all that had happened.

The flames soon blanked him, as the building started to collapse.

His consciousness gave in to sweet oblivion, or at least, it was what he wanted to happen.

Reality distorted around him.

Flames became purple. The scenery morphed into that one that wouldn’t be too dissimilar from what one would expect from Narak’s hell.

A half-cat, half-human yokai stood before Itsuki, as they were taken from mere reality to the Idea World. “Nurarihyon has great works left for you; we cannot allow you to-”

The yokai extended its hands towards Itsuki, but rather than a husk devoid of life, it met something else. A sword immediately appeared and cut across the yokai’s palm, drawing dark blood from it.

From the husk of a man, it saw a glimmer in his eyes.

Twelve black wings broke out of his back, like how seeds break through the soil to rise, and metal exploded out from inside his arms, legs, and his body, except for his chest and head.

His wings pushed him forward, as his sword came to life like a typhoon of cuts laced with abyssal blue flames. The yokai had little to no chance to avoid him, as his wings made him take flight and descend like a falcon upon it.

The yokai summoned amulets and talismans to protect itself from the blows, as Itsuki’s body became overtaken by blue flames.

The talismans reflected the flames, as the amulets blocked Itsuki’s sword attacks.

Itsuki was more than content to allow himself to die in that fire.

Yet, a wretched creature came to him, sprouting bullshit about the enemy of mankind. As lost, overtaken by guilt, and desperate for his own demise as Itsuki was, he wouldn’t allow it to taint his view any further.

He would die as a human and never give in to these monsters in the first place.

Maybe if they never existed.

Maybe if they had never insisted on being evil.

He and she would still be together, and none of this insanity would even have happened in the first place.

Wishful thoughts for a man that deserved a fate worse than the easy death he had chosen.

The yokai gritted its fangs. It was not as easy as they thought it would be. Itsuki fought like a force of nature incarnated.

He burned through whatever life he had.

Life expenditure at its finest.

Until his body was naught but blue flames.

The abyssal fire in his soul was indomitable and overwhelming. The crushing depths of the purgatory he has cast himself into.

The yokai widened its eyes as the talismans began to be crushed, the flames like a torrential hell unleashed by the hands of the divine.

The person before it was like a demon of the depths of hell, who came from hell, as it had no room left for tortured souls.

As for Itsuki.

He felt it too.

As his life burned, he felt the pull of demise closer and closer to him.

A fiery grasp upon his very being.

Yet, it didn’t scare him. No, he welcomed that feeling, strangely.

Demise had never felt so sweet.

The taste of decay was intoxicating.

The Yokai noticed the shift in Itsuki’s presence. It knew that prolonging the combat was a bad idea, or so it thought. He burned himself faster than he could endure it, but in the trade-off, the power he gained was far too much.

Demonic claws jumped from the yokai’s fingers, its teeth became more pronounced, and its form even more twisted. It gathered more talismans and advanced against Itsuki.

Claws matched sword in a flurry of blows from both sides, purple flames echoed against blue ones, in a struggle of power.

A demon in the spitting fiery image of an angel, against a yokai.

Itsuki flew through the battlefield, as the yokai was land-bound, each attack of his a power sweep that threatened to take the yokai out of its feet. The weight of his blade was like a judgment.

A sword of Damocles that hurt him as much as it hurt his enemy.

The yokai left its guard open for Itsuki to take advantage of. An easy target, a lure. Like a rabid beast, Itsuki took the lure and swept down one last time.

Like a falling star, he crashed against the yokai, his blade was its harm and half of its torso. The yokai gasped in pain, but the trap was laid.

Talismans surrounded Itsuki, and a wave of curses washed upon him, like a horde of hungry spirits. His wings were torn asunder and dug through like the tunnels in an ant-hill.

His flames fought against the curse, but in the end, they were both nullified, as Itsuki fell past the yokai. His broken wings fluttered, but they could no longer sustain him, or even rise anymore.

The yokai grabbed its bleeding side with its remaining arm, gasping for air, as Itsuki stopped moving.

Itsuki gritted his teeth and bit his tongue; he stopped any song from coming out of his mouth.

His whole body was aflame, the wounds he gathered throughout the day, the marks of the flames upon his flesh, and now his wings, made his world one of hell and suffering.

He tried to rise, but the pain in his wings was overwhelming. Every single bone exposed, every muscle eaten by hungry curses, left bleeding, his flesh no longer answered him.

His opponent was alive, and so was he.

With tears in his eyes, he grabbed his sword tightly.

Flames burst through it again and splintered into twelve-bladed torches. In a single motion, all of his twelve wings were cut from his body, in screeching pain, more tears fell from his eyes, but he made no sound.

The yokai stared at Itsuki in horror as he moved against it again. Sword in hand, and an expression crazed by pain and hurt, but still with remnants of the person he used to be, and with a single objective in mind:

***Kill it.

Earn a good death.

And follow into hell after them all.***

The yokai jumped back to avoid the swing of Itsuki’s blade.

Sadly, it was not fast enough. Itsuki’s blade tore its chest and belly, spilling its guts on the floor, as the purple flames died out.

With a throat-splitting scream, the yokai fell on the ground, and Itsuki sighed heavily in an attempt to catch his breath.

Itsuki almost fell to his knees, but used his sword as a clutch to support himself. The scenario around them began to change, becoming more mundane.

Yet, the yokai took one more talisman, and it burned right before Itsuki’s eyes. Suddenly, they both were taken to the depths of the Idea World.

An unknown place even to Itsuki. The yokai laughed, its eyes full of malice and ill intent. “Human fool. Nurarihyon could give you so much more than you have! So much power! Yet, you choose to stand up with humans!? Do you not realize that for your species, you are a monster?” Screamed the yokai.

Itsuki merely answered it with a half-lidded stare. “They will never accept you. You will rot in hell! We yokai will take over your world once again! We will overrun it! And torture you and those measly humans for the rest of eternity!”
Itsuki looked down for a moment. It was right. He would never be accepted by anyone else, ever.

He was a monster.

A miserable one at that.

His heart felt the sting of guilt and shame. He had done so much wrong and cemented himself as the villain. There was no coming back.

His tears became mixed with sadness.

He couldn’t avenge her. He couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t help Momo. Was there anything he ever did right?

He hurt innocents. He maimed them and had critically wounded so many more people beyond innocents that he has lost count. His hands were drenched in the blood of his own actions.

His lips pursed, his expression became pained.

There was nothing he could do besides dying to atone for his sins?

Commit seppuku now?

Maybe return to the real world and face a lifetime in prison.

Yet, as he stared at the broken yokai laughing, he realized.

“You will overrun my world… demons, the lot of you. It must mean… hell is getting out of the room, and up to earth you will rise.” Blood flowed out of his mouth, and large gaps and exposed wounds exploded in his flesh.

More and more blood came out of his mouth and eyes.

His body had reached a limit.

Blood gushed out of his wounds, and it painted him red.

Vivid red flesh exposed for all to see.

Yet, a new sentiment was born in Itsuki’s eyes, much to the yokai’s terror. “Then, I will descend into the depths, and down your numbers, until I die, until there is no one left.”

No one will weep for him.

He is an accursed existence.

So he will use this accursed existence to its fullest: Kill all yokai, until it is done. Until he dies.

He raised his sword over his head and swung it against the yokai’s head, separating it from the rest of the body.

The yokai’s head crystallized into something.

A material.

Itsuki reached out for it, but lost his balance and face-planted on the ground.

Darkness surrounded him.

It was closing in quickly, so he dragged himself to the crystallized head.

He grabbed it and smashed it against his chest. The yokai’s head was absorbed by his body, his Idolon.

His energy returned, even if a little. Enough for him to fight again.

Itsuki grabbed his sword and rose to the challenge once more. Many Nightmare Eaters, too many to count, appeared.

He was in the Asura Realm.

A fitting end for someone as violent as him.

But now, until he dies, until he becomes twenty-two years old, he will fight.

Deviance, to atone for all of his sins.

There was no comeback to the life he once had.

Itsuki was dead, replaced by a shadow.