The purification circle's light burned. Not with heat, but with a cold, scouring intensity that felt like sandpaper on Yuki's soul. He knelt amidst the glowing symbols, head bowed, waiting for the exorcist's final blow. The pure energy pressed down, revealing every stain, every corruption, every fragment of consumed soul clinging to his spirit like tar. He saw Hana's face in his mind, not as she was, but as she might see him now – a monster wearing her brother's skin. He deserved this. He welcomed the oblivion.
The exorcist raised the etched rod, the symbols blazing like captured starlight. The air hummed with finality.
Then, Kage moved.
Not physically. The demon's presence within Yuki surged. It wasn't a conscious act of defiance from Yuki; it was a primal, instinctual reaction of the bound entity facing annihilation. The black scars on Yuki's forearms erupted, not with controlled crimson energy, but with a wild, chaotic explosion of shadow and crimson light. It was like a bomb detonating in his veins.
The purification circle shattered.
Symbols fractured like glass, the pure light dissipating in a shockwave of concussive force that threw the exorcist backwards. The figure slammed into a rusted container wall with a grunt of surprise, the etched rod clattering from its grasp.
Yuki was thrown too, tumbling head over heels across the grimy warehouse floor. He scrambled up, not with purpose, but with the frantic, animal instinct to flee. The wild energy still crackled around him, making his hair stand on end, the scars on his arms burning with cold fire. He didn't look back. He ran.
He burst out of the warehouse into the labyrinthine alleyways of the industrial district. The night air was cold, but it felt like freedom compared to the exorcist's gaze. He ran blindly, fueled by terror and the residual chaos of Kage's surge, the hum in his bones a frantic drumbeat. He vaulted fences, scrambled over dumpsters, his feet slipping on wet cobblestones. The city's neon lights bled into streaks of color in his peripheral vision.
He didn't stop until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out. He collapsed in a narrow, refuse-choked service alley behind a row of shuttered shops, gasping for breath that fogged in the cold air. He pressed himself against the damp brick wall, trying to make himself small, invisible.
You fled, Kage's voice whispered inside his head, laced with something new – not contempt, but a cold, analytical interest. The zealot's light revealed your fear. Interesting.
"Shut up," Yuki rasped, his voice raw. He looked down at his arms. The scars were pulsing erratically, the dark tracery spreading further up his biceps. The chaotic surge had left him feeling hollowed out, scraped raw. The exorcist's judgment echoed: Filth. Abomination.
He stayed hidden for what felt like hours, listening to the distant wail of sirens, the drip of water from a broken pipe. Every shadow seemed to hold the exorcist's flinty eyes. Every footstep sounded like the deliberate tread of the hunter.
Finally, driven by a need to move, to escape the crushing weight of his own self-loathing, he crept out of the alley. The city was quieter now, the predawn hours casting long, distorted shadows. He kept to the deepest gloom, his senses hyper-alert.
He felt it before he saw it. A prickling on the back of his neck. The hairs on his arms stood up. The hum in his bones shifted, becoming a low, warning thrum.
He froze, melting into the deep shadow of a loading dock. He peered out cautiously.
Across the street, half-concealed by the deeper darkness of a doorway, stood the exorcist.
It hadn't given up. It was hunting him.
The figure was still, radiating that same intense, focused purpose. Its gaze swept the street, missing Yuki's hiding place by inches. It held the etched rod loosely in one hand, the symbols glowing faintly. It moved with unnerving silence, stepping out of the doorway and beginning a methodical search of the area.
Yuki's heart hammered against his ribs. Cat and mouse. He was the mouse. The exorcist was the cat. And this cat was relentless, righteous, and utterly convinced he needed to be exterminated.
He watched as the exorcist stopped near a dumpster, its head tilted slightly, as if listening. Then, it turned slowly, its flinty eyes fixing directly on Yuki's hiding place.
Found.
Panic surged. Yuki bolted.
He ran down the alley, the exorcist's footsteps silent but swift behind him. He dodged left, then right, trying to lose his pursuer in the maze of warehouses and service roads. The exorcist matched him turn for turn, its movements economical, efficient. It wasn't tiring. It was a machine of purpose.
Yuki spotted a narrow gap between two buildings, barely wide enough for a child. He squeezed through, scraping his shoulders on the rough brick. He heard the exorcist stop on the other side. The gap was too narrow.
He emerged into another alley, gasping. He looked back. The exorcist stood at the gap, its eyes burning with cold fury through the narrow opening. It raised the rod.
Yuki didn't wait. He ran. He ran until the city began to stir with the first signs of morning, until the exorcist's presence faded from his senses, replaced only by the crushing weight of being hunted. He was an abomination in a world that had just learned his name. And the hunter would never stop.