The girls hair flared like a banner behind her as she crossed her arms, chest puffed out with all the exaggerated confidence of someone who believed the world owed her applause.
"Well, well, well," she announced loudly, voice echoing off the nearby walls. "Looks like someone finally got themselves a taste of reality! Honestly, I've seen better lightning shows from a disgruntled cat!"
Judged by Her loud and dramatic demeanor it could only be one person.
Meki staggered backward from the impact of the Sonic Boom, blinking rapidly. "What… what are you?" she hissed, brushing dust from her bare arms, teeth bared slightly.
"Oh, me?" Luna twirled once, landing with a dramatic bow. "I'm the hero this scene desperately needed! The one, the only—Luna! Destroyer of egos, breaker of pride, and—" she paused, tapping her chin in mock thought, "occasional pain in the butt for a certain boy who doesn't appreciate my teasing!"
Meki's glowing eyes narrowed, lips twitching in irritation. "You—" she began, but Luna didn't let her finish.
"Don't even try that scary voice on me! Honestly, you sound like a sneeze pretending to be a roar. And your hair—really, who sleeps in that? Were you attacked by a thunderstorm, or was that just natural chaos?"
Meki blinked, almost stunned. "…You're ridiculous."
Luna bounced on the balls of her feet, voice rising even louder. "Ridiculous?! HA! I'll have you know, I am the pinnacle of perfection, chaos, and absolutely necessary sass! Honestly, the fact that you thought you could intimidate a professional sass wizard is… adorable."
Meki's fingers twitched toward the shan fan, but Luna leaned forward, waggling a finger with a grin. "Back off! Or I'll start counting all your flaws in chronological order, and honey, that list is long!"
For a brief moment, it seemed as if Meki might actually explode from annoyance. She grinned her teeth, eyes flicking around Luna's flamboyant gestures. And then—suddenly—her expression changed.
Her nose twitched.
A faint, sharp pull of recognition glimmered in her eyes.
"…Wait…" Meki whispered, voice low, tense. Her pupils contracted.
The Reborn Demon…. Ta..
Before Luna could even react, Meki spun on her heel with impossible speed, leaving a faint electric crackle in her wake. Dust swirled where she had been, and the shadow of her departure stretched long across the cobblestones.
Luna blinked, tilting her head in exaggerated confusion, then smirked. "Well, that's rude! Running away without even a thank-you for my compliments? Hah! Some people just can't handle the truth!"
Her laughter echoed across the empty street as she twirled dramatically, the sound of Meki's fleeing presence fading into the night.
Part 2
The night air was thick with dust and the faint scent of ozone from Meki's departure. Lanterns swayed gently in the deserted village street, their light flickering over splintered wood and scattered debris.
Around the corner of a ruined house, Ruza and Tatsuya came barreling into view, their breaths sharp and ragged, legs pumping with exhaustion. Dust clung to their clothes, and sweat streaked their faces, but they pushed forward, eyes locked on Luna's confident silhouette darting ahead.
"—Couldn't you wait on us?!" Ruza shouted, voice laced with equal parts exasperation and panic. She skidded to a halt, hands on her knees, trying to suck in enough air to speak again.
Luna whipped her head over her shoulder, smirking with all the dramatic flair she could muster. "Nope! Tatsuya's too slow! You know how I hate to wait for slowpokes!" She struck a pose, one arm flung skyward, the other planted firmly on her hip.
Tatsuya staggered forward, only to collapse flat on the ground with a thud, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The world tilted slightly as his vision swam, and all he could manage was a rasping, "Ugh… why is she… always like this…?"
Ruza groaned beside him, leaning against the wall for support, glaring at Luna's distant figure as she skipped lightly over a pile of rubble. "Seriously… does she even feel tired?"
From the dust and shattered timbers behind them, a faint creak and scraping sound emerged. A hand, trembling slightly, pushed aside broken wood and rubble.
Chika stepped out, her clothes torn, hair matted, and breathing uneven, but her eyes burned with determination. The destruction of the house behind her was evident—splintered beams and cracked walls framed her emergence like a dark halo.
Ruza straightened immediately. "Tatsuya… who's that?" she asked softly, wary but not hostile.
Luna, of course, had no such restraint. She squinted dramatically, hands on her hips. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold on a second! Did the rubble just spawn a pretty girl? Because that's so unfair. I've been standing here this whole time, and no one's materialized for me!"
Tatsuya, still lying flat on the ground and breathing like he'd run ten marathons, groaned. "Please… Luna… can we not do this right now…"
Chika blinked at the group, her gaze landing squarely on him. "You really haven't changed," she said, voice calm but lightly teasing. "Still finding trouble wherever you go."
Tatsuya's eyes widened. He froze.
That voice—he knew it. He'd heard it in whispers in the dark, in quiet escapes and desperate nights.
"Chika…?" he breathed, sitting up abruptly.
Luna's eyes darted between them. "Wait wait wait—hold up! You know each other?!" She dramatically pointed an accusing finger at Tatsuya like she'd just uncovered a scandal. "Tatsuya! Are you cheating on your group of exhausted traveling companions with a mysterious rubble woman!?"
Tatsuya's face turned red instantly. "WHAT—no!"
Ruza blinked, caught between confusion and amusement. "So… you two are… acquaintances?"
Chika tilted her head slightly, lips curling in a soft, knowing smile. "Something like that. I suppose you could say we've been through… tight corridors together."
Luna gasped, staggering backward as if stabbed. "TIGHT WHAT NOW?!"
"Corridors," Chika repeated, deadpan. "We escaped a fortress."
"Ohhh." Luna blinked, then nodded solemnly. "So it was one of those 'escape room bonding experiences.' Got it." Then, in a whisper, "Still sounds suspiciously romantic."
Tatsuya buried his face in his hands. "Please stop talking."
Ruza folded her arms, hiding her smile behind a sigh. "I think I understand now. She was with you… back then, wasn't she?"
He nodded slowly, finally managing to stand. "Yeah… she was."
Chika's expression softened as she looked at him properly—dust-streaked face, messy hair, exhaustion written all over him, yet still that same flicker of stubborn light in his eyes.
"You look like you've had a rough time," she said.
"I could say the same about you," he replied quietly, a hint of warmth creeping into his tone.
Luna groaned loudly, grabbing Ruza by the shoulders. "Ugh, Ruza, do you hear this? He's using his soft voice! The 'I actually care about you' voice! He never uses that voice on us!"
Ruza smiled faintly. "Maybe because you never let him finish a sentence."
"Hey! My interruptions are acts of love!"
Tatsuya shot Luna a look so deadpan it could kill a demon. "Your 'acts of love' give me migraines."
Luna gasped in mock offense. "How dare you! My love is soothing! It's like warm sunlight—"
"More like heatstroke," Chika muttered.
Ruza actually snorted, covering her mouth immediately. Luna spun toward Chika, her eyes gleaming. "Okay, okay, I see how it is! You're funny, rubble girl. You think you can just crawl out of a demolished house and steal my spotlight?!"
Chika shrugged, unfazed. "If the spotlight was this easy to take, you weren't holding it very well."
Luna froze. Tatsuya… couldn't help the
small, exhausted laugh that escaped him.
"HEYYYY!!!!! Stop just standing there and help me already!!!"
Kizutoro's voice broke through the chaos like a dying rooster's cry. He lay sprawled flat on the dirt, eyes half-open, staring at the sky as if reconsidering every decision that brought him to this point.
Everyone turned their heads at once.
"Help meee!" he croaked again, lifting one arm weakly before it flopped back down with a thud.
Ruza immediately darted toward him, her hair bouncing with every step. She slid to her knees beside him and began tracing glowing runes in the air. "Don't move! I'll heal you, just stay still!"
"I am still," Kizutoro groaned. "Mostly because everything hurts."
Luna crossed her arms and tilted her head, expression flat, her golden hair swaying with theatrical annoyance. "I save your life, blow away the scary horned lady, and what do I get? A guy demanding bedside service."
Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. "I haven't even heard an apology from you yet, scum."
Kizutoro didn't seem to hear her. He was too busy groaning something incoherent about "flying teeth" and "never trusting wind again."
Tatsuya—who was still sitting on the ground, panting like he'd just run a marathon through a thunderstorm—turned his gaze to Chika..
He blinked once. "…What are you doing here?"
Chika smiled faintly. "I could ask you the same thing."
they both laughed softly.
"Well," she said, brushing some dust off her shoulder, "our reason for being here isn't nearly as exciting as you'd think. After we helped you escape, the others and I got punished. Thrown into the 'junk jobs.'"
"Junk jobs?" Ruza repeated from beside Kizutoro, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Chika continued, her tone halfway between dry humor and weary amusement. "Cleaning monster guts, carrying supplies, escorting merchants—basically anything nobody wants to do but someone has to." She exhaled, then smirked lightly. "But… turns out 'junk' can get interesting when it involves corrupted mana zones and mysterious disappearances."
Luna suddenly leaned in, her face far too close to Chika's for personal comfort. "Nice to meet you! Name's Luna, self-declared hero and destroyer of dinner plates everywhere!"
Chika blinked. "I… see?"
"Don't worry, you'll get used to her," Ruza sighed, healing light still pulsing from her palms over Kizutoro's chest.
"Used to what?" Luna said, feigning offense. "My magnetic charm? My angelic voice? My impeccable aim?"
"Who the heck was that girl I just punched into next week? The one with the creepy horns."
Chika's expression darkened, "she is…"
"The Demon Of Gluttony."
Part 3
"Kiome's perspective."
Dust rose from Kiome's footsteps, curling around his ankles as he ran, weaving through the scattering of merchants and villagers hastily packing their stalls.
He wasn't wearing his black-and-light-blue checkered kimono, instead he wore a black
threaded with faint streaks of light blue like rippling water—fluttered around his legs.
"Why me?" he muttered under his breath, breath catching in the chill that had begun to creep along the alleys.
Rock-paper-scissors—the stupidest, most childish method to decide a matter of life and death.
Yet Aoi's gaze had been immovable, unyielding, and somehow it had carried the weight of command even without a word.
Aoi's task was to vacuate civilians, ensure no one remains exposed to danger. And now, because luck—or lack thereof—had chosen him, Kiome was to investigate. Alone.
He had gone out there because of an explosion they heard.
Where are the others? He questioned, Kizutoro wasn't in our room and Aoi said she hadn't seen Chika since after the bath?
His mind raced, are we getting attacked? But why? This village doesn't seem to have anything valuable in it.
On the right side of his face he wore his kitsune mask, pristine and unreadable, a stark contrast to the tension pressing his chest into tight knots. The sharp edge of his katana felt cold against his thigh with every step, a steady reminder of the duty he could not refuse.
He slowed as he reached the village square. The chatter of frightened villagers, the clattering of overturned carts, and the low rumble of distant rolling clouds pressed against him. Every sound was a potential clue—or a threat. His mind worked in sharp, precise cuts, measuring angles, listening for anomalies. Nothing seemed out of place… and yet, the air carried a subtle dissonance, a vibration of something waiting, watching.
Kiome's eyes narrowed. His hands clenched the hilt of his katana. "There," he whispered to himself, barely audible. A shadow moved differently from the rest. A figure—or something masquerading as one—slipped between the buildings, avoiding light and attention.
He gave chase, silent on the stone streets, like a predator studying the wind.
The villagers had long vanished into safety, and the village seemed to shrink into quietness around him, almost holding its breath ready to respond to the slightest flicker of danger.
And somewhere in the distance, a voice carried faintly on the wind. Aoi, commanding, precise, her words laced with quiet authority: "Everyone, move. Leave nothing behind but what you can carry."
Kiome's lips pressed into a firm line. "Then I must be their eyes… their shield."
Kiome arrived at the narrow alleyway, the kind that seemed to suck in light and sound alike—perfect for trouble to hide in its shadows. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone, a rhythm that seemed far too loud in the quiet, dust-filled air. He scanned the walls, the corners, the overhanging eaves, but nothing stirred.
Did I lose it? he wondered, a faint frown forming beneath the clean curve of his kitsune mask.
And then—he looked up.
A single figure perched atop a roof, casually resting against a chimney, as though the village below were nothing more than a stage for her amusement.
Her presence struck him like a silent bell tolling at midnight. Orange eyes—bright, almost unnaturally so—caught the faint starlight, glittering with a serenity that belied the chaos that clung to the air around her. Her hair fell like liquid fire, framing her horns that curved elegantly from her head, the very image of a Tharokai.
She must be far from home… The horned race, native to Kyoei on the southern continent, rarely ventured here. And yet here she sat, aloof and untouchable.
"Hey… it's not safe out here," he called out, keeping his voice steady despite the growing unease. "Come down. I'll show you—"
The words died on his lips.
A stench hit him then, carried on the wind—a suffocating, choking miasma of death, of pain, of suffering. It clawed at his senses and draped itself over the alleyway like a suffocating fog. He knew the smell. Had felt it before.
The scent of the Devil…
His hand went to the hilt of his katana. Every muscle tensed, every sense sharpened to a pinpoint. The girl, however, didn't flinch. She merely tilted her head,
"Orange horns that resembled fire. Hair like the flames of hell, eyes that reflecting nothing but hunger."
A shiver ran down Kiome's spine.
Is she…
There was no hesitation in his next movement. Sword drawn, blade humming faintly as it cut the air, Kiome channeled his focus, his training, the calm discipline that kept his instincts alive even when his stomach roiled with fear.
"Sword Art Of Water, Aqua Torrent!"
A beat of water, strong enough to cut through steel blasted at the girl.
In a flash she dogged the spell.
Kiome didn't gave her any time to breathe, he jumped after her on the rooftop.
Meki stopped at the edge, not out of fear or any intent of escape but purely out of curiosity.
"Got something you want to say?" She asked.
Kiome eyes darkened, his brows curled up in a frown.
His breathing was slow and steady, to him nothing else matters anymore. Only the girl in front of him.
"Why do you eat people?"
"Why the once who are not even born?"
"Why do you ruin them?"
That were the questions that that made his heart ache. The unforgivable nature of the Demon Of Gluttony.
"Why collect power in such a cowardly way?"
Meki's lips curled into a smile, slow, deliberate, and unnervingly sweet. Her orange eyes glimmered, reflecting both fire and madness, the starlight catching the horns that arched like crowns above her head.
"You… don't understand at all, do you?" she murmured, tilting her head, the faint wind tugging at her hair, giving her an almost otherworldly grace. "It's not about fear. Not about killing. Not about power… though, yes, power is delicious in its own right. But all of that—" she waved a hand, as if dismissing the village and the world below—"all of that is just… preparation. Just seasoning."
Kiome's katana remained leveled, unwavering, though his heart pounded in a way he didn't fully expect.
Her smile widened, teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Do you see… Gluttony? My Master? Everything I am, everything I want, comes from Him. He… gave me everything." Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper, but the intensity burned hotter than any shout. "I idolize Him. I worship Him. Every meal, every soul, every scream—they're offerings to the one who made me. And I love it. I love it. Don't you get it? I was chosen. I was molded. I am… perfect because of Him. And to reject it… to deny it…" Her gaze snapped toward him, piercing and possessive, "would be… betrayal."
Kiome's chest tightened. This was no ordinary enemy. No mere Demon of Gluttony. This was someone who had enshrined obsession itself as her lifeblood.
Meki's tone shifted, playful yet dripping with malice. "And you… are so cute, standing there, trying to judge me. Trying to stop me. Don't you see, Kiome?" She leaned forward, her horns nearly brushing the brim of his mask. "I do everything for Him. I do everything… for the one I love. And if someone tries to interfere…" Her grin split into something darker, teeth bared, "then that… person becomes mine. Mine to mold, mine to cherish, mine to feed."
Her voice softened suddenly, almost tender, whispering in a way that made the air itself shiver. "Do you think I care about the world? About morality? About lives? No… not when the only thing that matters is Him, and my devotion to Him. And anyone who comes between me and that… anyone, will taste my love."
Her hands twitched, curling like claws, yet her stance remained light, predatory, and impossibly elegant. "Do you understand now? Do you see why I do what I do? It's not cruelty. It's… love. Pure, absolute, obsessive love. Love given… and love demanded. And if I cannot have it?" She paused, eyes narrowing with a wicked gleam. "Then I'll take it. I'll take it all. Every last fragment. Every last soul. Everything."
Kiome's grip on his katana tightened. Even beneath the mask, he could feel the weight of her intent, the danger pressing in like a tide he could not hold back. This wasn't a fight for life or death alone—it was a confrontation with someone who had transformed obsession into an art form, and cruelty into devotion.
Meki's gaze softened again, but only slightly. Her voice lowered to a melodic, almost intimate tone. "So tell me… Do you understand now? Do you see the beauty in… my Gluttony? Or are you… going to try to stop me, too?"
The wind carried her words, sharp as blades and sweet as poison, twisting in Kiome's mind like a slow, mesmerizing nightmare.
Kiome regained his breath, eyes focused on her.
And the next moment.
He spoke.