The chase was brutal. The exorcist moved with relentless, silent speed, its presence a physical weight of pure, scouring energy pressing at Yuki's back. The etched rod was a beacon of hostile light, illuminating the twisting tunnels, making shadows leap and twist. Yuki ran, fueled by adrenaline and terror, the burns on his arms screaming with each jarring step.
He burst out of the undercity into a rain-slicked alleyway. The cold rain was a shock, plastering his hair to his forehead, running in icy trails down his neck. He didn't stop, plunging into the labyrinth of the city's nightlife district, hoping to lose his pursuer in the crowds and neon.
He dodged through throngs of people, their laughter and music a jarring counterpoint to the silent terror chasing him. He risked a glance back. The exorcist was still there, a dark, implacable figure moving with unnatural grace through the crowd, parting it like a knife. The rod was lowered, but its presence was unmistakable.
He needed to disappear. He needed somewhere the exorcist's pure light couldn't easily follow. Somewhere dark. Crowded. Anonymous.
A seedy, neon-lit pachinko parlor caught his eye. The cacophony of bells and electronic music was deafening. The air inside was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of sweat and cheap cologne. Perfect.
He slipped inside, immediately swallowed by the noise and the press of bodies. He moved quickly, weaving between hunched figures staring intently at the flashing machines, losing himself in the sensory overload. He found a dimly lit corner near the back, beside a malfunctioning machine that spat out tokens uselessly. He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He watched the entrance. Minutes ticked by. The exorcist didn't enter. Perhaps the sheer chaotic energy of the place repelled it. Perhaps it was biding its time, waiting for him to emerge.
He needed a moment. Just a moment to think. To assess the damage.
He pushed his way into the cramped, filthy men's room. The stench of urine and disinfectant was overwhelming. He went to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. The water was brownish, but it felt good. He looked up.
And froze.
His reflection stared back.
But it wasn't his reflection. Not quite.
The face was his – the gauntness, the dark circles, the exhaustion. But the eyes…
They weren't his flat, hollow eyes. They were glowing. A deep, intense crimson, like embers banked in a fire. They burned with an unnatural, predatory light that hadn't been there before. And they weren't reflecting the dim, flickering fluorescent light of the bathroom. They were glowing from within.
Yuki stumbled back a step, his hip bumping against the sink. He blinked. The reflection blinked too.
He raised a hand. The reflection raised its hand.
He touched his face. The reflection touched its face.
But the eyes… they remained crimson. Burning. Inhuman.
Interesting, Kage's voice whispered, laced with dark amusement. The fire rises. The mask slips. The vessel shows its true nature.
"No," Yuki choked out, his voice trembling. He looked down at his hands, then back at the mirror. The crimson eyes stared back, unblinking. They held no warmth, no humanity. Only cold, calculating power. A predator's eyes.
He remembered the fire in the junction. The homeless people screaming as they burned. The Spider's shriek. The exorcist's wound. He hadn't felt regret then. Not really. He'd felt… satisfaction. Power. The dark thrill of the chaos he'd unleashed.
Was that what this was? The physical manifestation of that corruption? The demon's influence, no longer hidden beneath his skin, but burning in his eyes for all to see?
He splashed more water on his face, rubbing his eyes fiercely. When he looked back at the mirror, the crimson glow was gone. His own hollow eyes stared back, wide with terror.
But he knew. He'd seen it. It was real.
He stumbled out of the bathroom, back into the noise and smoke of the parlor. The crowd felt threatening now. Every glance, every flicker of neon light, seemed to hold the reflection of those crimson eyes. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. The exorcist might not be able to follow him in here, but his own corruption was on display for anyone who looked closely enough.
He needed to get out. To somewhere truly dark. Somewhere he could hide, not just from the exorcist, but from himself.
He pushed his way back out into the rainy night. The rain felt like needles against his skin. He pulled up the hood of his jacket, hiding his face as much as possible. He walked quickly, aimlessly, lost in the city's neon labyrinth.
He found himself in a quieter district, lined with darkened shops and apartment buildings. He needed shelter. Just for a few hours. To rest. To think.
An unlocked basement window in an abandoned shop offered refuge. He pried it open and slipped inside, landing on dusty concrete. The air was stale, thick with the smell of dust and mold. Perfect.
He found a relatively clean corner and sank to the floor, leaning against the wall. Exhaustion washed over him. The burns throbbed. The hum in his bones was a constant drone. But the image in the mirror wouldn't leave him. The crimson eyes. Burning. Inhuman.
He closed his eyes, trying to block it out. But when he did, he saw the fire again. Heard the screams. Felt the dark thrill of power.
He was changing. Not just physically. The corruption was spreading inward, twisting his thoughts, his feelings. The line between Yuki and the monster was blurring. The crimson eyes weren't just a reflection. They were a warning. A sign of the monster he was becoming.
He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to generate warmth, trying to hold onto the fragile memory of Aoi's kindness, of the moment's respite. But the cold was too deep. The crimson glow was too bright behind his eyelids. He was alone in the dark, haunted by the reflection of the monster in the mirror.