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everything that had happened doesn't really feel real to him.
he has the memory of leaping off that building and raising his sword. has the memory of the crackling of don momotaro's suit splitting apart under his blade. the feeling of slicing through a non-human, a hitotsuki, a fellow cerebran, all too familiar in his hands.
sonoi couldn't see his face behind his fullbody suit and armor and sunglasses, but somehow he could still feel tarou's eyes on him. even as his mortal form fades away into nothingness, the feeling of that gaze was something he couldn't shake off. still is something he can't shake off.
it felt as though his heart had sunk down to his gut and refused to return to its original place.
when he looks down at his palms he thinks he can see blood staining them, stark against his blue nails and blue cuffs. red makes him want to retch.
sononi and sonoza looks at him rather strangely, but they don't ask and he doesn't tell. it's not like they're completely in the dark about what's been bothering him. he schools his face to a neutral expression everytime he passes by one of them, sononi with her knowing stares and sonoza with his unnatural laughter. leaving off on his own when he badly needs rest, away from blood red and brown eyes and split lips.
he doesn't know what this feeling is supposed to be. all he's ever known was the feeling of disgust and righteous anger towards humans. yet don momotaro. somehow, he manages to incite new and foreign emotions inside of him. happiness was easy enough to identify. or something less extreme– contentment. but not this. not this heavy thing, these invisible weights at his feet. invisible weights when he holds his sword. he doesn't think it felt so heavy before when he gripped it by the hilt.
he keeps swinging it, regardless, slicing through more hitotsukis than he can count with both of his hands and purging greed from the mortal world. maybe with time he will feel less of a coward. he can only hope so.
the ghost of momoi tarou trails at his blade.