Chapter Text
Halloween at Shinjuku.
It sounded nice on paper. Right? Right.
To be honest, Aster came here for Halloween because it was traditional for something to happen on this day. Something spectacular, tainted by death and pain.
Ever since she had landed in this dimension, there wasn’t much for her to do. She didn’t have to deal with souls, death or anything, since it was already dealt with by the World. Like, literally, the divinity here wasn’t conscious per see, it was more of a system.
One that was more and more unbalanced, but still. No one in particular had to deal with this. It just… Sorta happened by itself.
Wasn’t that damn great? It felt like a vacation.
Aster was here, and she had nothing to do, except travel here and there. And discover that the wizarding world had been replaced by exorcists that fought cursed spirits birthed by humans.
It was kind of weird, but it… made sense. If you squinted and tilted your head a few degrees to the right. Or the left..? Anyway. It didn’t matter to her.
Here she was, walking among the crowd on Halloween, in Japan—where cursed spirits were the most active, and so were the exorcists.
In a very unsurprising fashion, things went south pretty fast. Humans turned to monsters that killed other humans, barriers were drawn to keep them in…
Aster, in the middle of this chaos… Just looked. What was she supposed to do, anyway? Save them? Don’t make her laugh. Why should she bother?
People die everyday. Why should these people in particular live?
And so, she walked around. While humans tended to ignore her, and exorcists didn’t register her in their radar, cursed spirits weren’t faring any better. It wasn’t that she was invisible, but more that she didn’t want to be bothered.
And so—she wasn’t.
She walked around, observed the chaotic destruction of an entire section of Tokyo, felt thousands of people die… It was another scale altogether compared to what she was used to—and how nice was it, that she wasn’t concerned at all by this conflict?
She could just stay on the side and watch.
She went to the Shibuya train station, walked around more dead people, and some that weren’t yet but would soon be.
So much deaths. It made her teeth ache for some reason. It was like something was stuck between them. She ran her tongue over them as she neared some stairs, a few humans looking around—worried by the noise.
There was a fight going on somewhere close. And it kept drawing closer.
A humanoid cursed spirit ran down the stairs, a huge goofy grin on his face. It made her own lips twitch with amusement. Look at this guy, he looks like a child in the Weasley twins’ store!
His hand landed on a guy next to her, turning him into a weapon—which was kinda cool, she had to admit, manipulating souls like this demanded some skill.
He touched her shoulder—
And froze, turning a confused face toward her.
Two teenagers ran up from the opposite side, one worse for wear while the other was…shirtless? Not that she complained, he was damn packed. He would put to shame any quidditch player.
“Why…” the cursed spirit muttered, pulling his hand before slapping it back on her shoulder—like it would change something.
“Did you just… touch me?” Aster drawled out, unimpressed.
“Run!” the pink-haired teenager cried out.
Aster’s eyes trailed over him, tilting her head. “That should be my line, mate.”
She had to admit, maybe she should have learned to speak Japanese before picking Japan as her vacation destination, but she didn’t feel like it was a pressing matter to communicate with mortals.
“Wait, brother,” the muscular teenager lifted a hand, stopping his—brother?— in his tracks.
“Why doesn’t it work?! Why can’t I see your soul?” the cursed spirit asked, but Aster didn’t understand shit.
She kinda could guess he was wondering why he couldn’t manipulate her soul freely. Which was kind of pathetic. He should take the hint, really.
Aster took his hand, pulling it away from her shoulder. With a smirk at his surprised face—he did try to resist the motion, but how could he resist her?—she transformed him into a cat with the same manipulation he used.
“Cute,” she hummed one of the only Japanese words she knew, patting the cat in her arms. “Do you get it, now?”
She let it go when it jumped, turning back to his humanoid form—she hadn’t locked the form, she just wanted to show off a little. Sue her, she wants to play too.
“What are you?!” he cried out.
She turned her attention toward the two frozen teenagers on the other side of the corridor.
“Do you speak English?” she asked the muscular guy.
“A little,” he replied, walking closer—followed by his so-called brother.
“Could you translate what this guy is saying?” she requested politely.
The teenager eyed the cursed spirit, then her. “He asked what you are.”
Aster couldn’t keep the shit eating grin from her face. “I am Death—or Aster.”
The guy opened and closed his mouth—clearly unsure he wanted to translate this. Disbelief was etched on his face. She just looked at him expectantly, motioning with her head toward the cursed spirit.
When he finally spoke—translating what she said, she hoped—the cursed spirit’s head snapped toward her with the same disbelief.
Huh. Humans and curses were quite similar in the end, huh?
Well, except humans fought for humanity and curses for… Whatever they believed in, she guessed.
She tapped her temple a few times, thinking over her options.
One, she could use a simple spell to learn Japanese—but did she even want to communicate with them? Not really.
Two, she could go look for a vending machine, she felt like drinking a soda right now. Something sweet and bubbly—strawberry flavor?
Three… Huh. She wasn’t inspired, actually.
There wasn’t much left to do around here—most people were dead, and the remaining ones were fighting for some reason—it was kind of boring.
With a sigh, she sent a pulse of magic to learn their language—it wasn’t like Death needed to speak any language to speak with the dead in the first place, they all spoke the tongue of the dead.
And just in time—the cursed spirit finally spoke. “Death? Don’t make me laugh, you don’t even have cursed energy!”
Aster shrugged lightly.
“Your world’s rules don’t apply to me. I’m not one of your…—-” she turned toward the teenagers with a slight frown. “—-how do you call yourselves?”
She made a vague gesture.
“Exorcists? Jujutsus? Sushi warriors?”
The muscular guy blinked. “Sorcerers.”
“Right, that. Not one of those.”
Whatever the teenager was about to say was cut off—quite rudely, if you asked her—by the cursed spirit punching her through a wall.
Which—Ow. Not nice. She was wearing a human costume right now—you know, Halloween— and it was breakable.
She pulled herself out with a groan, her magic fixing the damage to reshape her form with black tendrils.
“That’s quite impolite to punch someone when you’re having a conversation with them, you know,” she informed the cursed spirit plainly, walking back toward them. “Apologie.”
The curse froze.
Which, for a creature made of shifting flesh and malice, was almost impressive.
His expression went through several phases in the span of a heartbeat:
One? Confusion.
Two? Offense.
Three? Something along the lines of WHERE-THE-FUCK-DO-YOU-GET-THE-NERVE.
And four? Pure insulted bewilderment
“…Ap— excuse me?” he hissed, voice cracking like brittle glass.
“Accepted,” she waved her hand nonchalantly.
“That’s not—” the curse choked out in his anger.
“—Enough, enough,” she cut him off, waving a hand. “I don’t really care about what you have to say, to be honest.”
The black-haired teenager snorted—a grin on his face. He seemed to have given up on understanding the situation and enjoy it instead—which was cool, she liked his style.
“Anyway, did you guys pass a vending machine on the way?” she asked the teenagers, walking toward them—ignoring the cursed spirit altogether.
“Err…” the pink-haired one hesitated, destabilised by the sudden question.
“There was one over there,” the muscular one pointed behind his shoulder with a thumb, flashing her a smile.
She smiled back, and bowed—it was something Japanese people did to thank people, right?— dodging the human-turned-sword the curse tried to use to cut off her head.
She glanced at him behind her shoulder, annoyance bleeding in her eyes. “What did I just tell you about interrupting, child?”
She flicked her finger on his forehead—and sent him crashing in the wall she had previously crashed in.
“Well, I’ll be on my way then,” she concluded, walking past the sorcerers in the direction that was pointed to her, her steps faltering as she turned back. “Right, do you guys have some change?”
They looked at each other wordlessly before they pulled out a wallet at the same time to offer her some coins. She cupped her hands, letting them drop the money into it.
“Nice, I’ll repay the favor. Probably.”
She put the money in her pocket—”Oh, here!” She offered each one a strawberry flavored candy. “I stole it from some kid earlier. You can have it.”
And she was gone, whistling happily at the prospect of a well-deserved soda.
Aster walked down the ruined street like she was taking a Sunday stroll in a park.
Bodies, debris, cursed residue—none of it registered past the single-minded craving swirling in her thoughts.
Soda.
Sweet, artificial, probably pink.
She deserved it.
She found the vending machine half-buried in rubble, its glass cracked, one corner bent inward like something large had tried to eat it. Which, considering this world, was entirely possible.
Aster hummed, brushing dust off the machine with a delicate swipe of her hand, like she was tidying up a friend.
“Alright, sweetheart. Give me something strawberry-flavored and I’ll forgive the state you’re in.”
She fed the coins inside.
They fell straight through the slot and hit the ground with a sad little plink plink plink.
Aster blinked.
“Excuse me?”
She tried again.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Her eye twitched.
She crouched, picking up the coins, and fed them even more carefully this time.
As if precision might please whatever ancient metallic deity lived in this box of temptation.
The coins slipped through again.
Aster stared at the machine.
The machine stared back.
A silent standoff between an eldritch being and a dead piece of Japanese engineering.
“…You did NOT just ignore me.”
She placed both hands on her hips.
“Listen. I have two rules in this life—one, don’t interrupt me. Two, don’t get between me and my soda.”
The machine did nothing.
Which was bold.
Aster leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against its cracked glass, muttering:
“I really want this to work, you know. I’m trying to behave like a normal person. I’m making an effort. A genuine effort.”
She tried the button.
It beeped—
Then smoked.
She pulled back slowly.
“Well. That’s disappointing.”
The machine sparked once.
And died fully.
Aster sighed, long and dramatic, the kind of sigh a being who outlived universes could only produce out of pure annoyance.
“…Fine. I see how it is.”
She tapped the machine lightly with one finger.
Not enough to break it—
Just enough to let it know she was disappointed in it.
And then, utterly betrayed, she turned around and began walking back the way she came.
Whistling again—but this time, far more annoyed than cheerful.
YuUji forced himself back into stance.
Mahito forced himself out of the wall.
Todo forced the mood back up.
None of it really worked.
Shibuya still felt… heavy.
Nanami was gone.
Nobara—
Yuuji didn’t let his brain finish that thought.
Not now.
He exhaled sharply, shook out his arms, tried to focus.
“Brother,” Todo murmured, “you seem distracted.”
Yuuji answered with a weak, humorless huff.
“Yeah. Kinda.”
Mahito scoffed.
“Pathetic.”
Yuuji braced himself to move—
—and froze.
That same presence again.
Soft.
Wrong.
Totally mundane in the worst way possible.
He turned his head just enough.
She was back.
Aster.
Hands in pockets.
Expression vaguely offended.
Like the world had personally inconvenienced her.
Todo brightened.
Mahito snarled.
Yuuji felt his stomach drop. Not from fear—just exhaustion.
“The vending machine didn’t work,” she announced, as if she were reporting a national tragedy.
Yuuji blinked slowly.
“…oh.”
Todo nodded gravely.
“A cruel fate indeed.”
Mahito shrieked, “WHY DO YOU PEOPLE INDULGE HER—?!”
Aster’s gaze drifted over Yuuji just briefly—
and Yuuji felt something inside him tighten, then settle.
Not comfort. Not help.
Just… a tiny reminder that life was still moving, absurdly, stupidly, relentlessly.
Then she looked past him.
“Child,” she said without looking directly at Mahito, “don’t start.”
Mahito actually hesitated.
Yuuji didn’t know whether to laugh or collapse.
Todo whispered, “Her presence alters the battlefield…”
Yuuji muttered, “Something like that.”
Aster sighed like someone denied a simple pleasure.
“I’m upset now.”
And somehow—
Somehow—
Yuuji’s shoulders felt a little lighter.
Not healed.
Not fixed.
Just… less crushed.
Shibuya was still hell.
His losses were still real.
But the world didn’t feel frozen anymore.
Todo raised a fist.
“Brother… shall we resume?”
Yuuji inhaled, steadier this time.
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Mahito screamed something incoherent in rage.
And Aster?
She just stood there, hands in pockets, watching them fight like someone waiting in line at a store, annoyed that her snack machine was broken.
Aster sat on a fallen timetable panel, legs swinging over the edge like a bored kid in a church pew.
Around her, fluorescent lights flickered violently, sparks raining from smashed cables.
Mahito lunged through the dust-filled air, Yuuji parried, Todo clapped—and the entire platform vibrated with each impact.
Aster brightened.
“Ooh! Clap and bam! That’s neat!”
Her voice echoed in the empty station, mixing with the groaning of collapsing metal.
“This tight environment really enhances the acoustics. Very immersive.”
Todo, mid-fight, felt blessed.
Yuuji felt a migraine forming.
Mahito felt homicidal.
Aster hummed thoughtfully.
“But it’s hard to appreciate the choreography with all this dust…”
She snapped her fingers.
Time slowed.
Yuuji’s punch drifted forward like a lazy fish in an aquarium.
Mahito’s face twisted through several expressions in slow motion, each one more offended than the last.
Todo was frozen mid-clap, looking dramatic as hell.
The dust suspended in the air like glitter.
Metal debris floated.
Even the emergency lights flickered… slowly.
Aster clasped her hands, delighted.
“Yes! Much better! Now I can really SEE what’s going on. Look at that—beautiful motion blur. Very cinematic.”
Mahito, mentally screaming at full speed, could only watch himself move like a depressed jellyfish.
Yuuji, mentally screaming in despair, thought:
WHY IS TIME SLOWED WHAT IS GOING ON—
Todo, mentally screaming with joy, thought:
The gods favor our battle.
Aster tilted her head.
“Though the lighting is terrible…”
She flicked her finger.
Half the emergency lamps exploded, showering sparks.
The other half brightened intensely, giving everyone dramatic red backlighting.
Yuuji looked like he was in a war film.
Mahito looked like a demon in a metal album cover.
Todo looked like he had summoned the power of all bodybuilding ancestors.
Aster nodded approvingly.
“Very atmospheric. Good mood lighting.”
Mahito broke free of slow-motion with a horrible wet sound, regained normal speed, and screamed:
“STOP SCREWING WITH REALITY—!”
Aster raised one finger without looking at him.
“Shh. I’m watching.”
Mahito’s body spasmed as only his movement slowed back down again—while Yuuji and Todo returned to full speed.
Todo nailed him with a full-power punch.
Mahito drifted backward like a balloon someone let go of.
Aster clapped softly.
“Lovely impact. Very clean shot.”
Yuuji staggered, confused beyond comprehension.
He tried to jump over fallen pieces of the ceiling—Aster frowned.
“That detail is ugly.”
She flicked her wrist.
The rubbles snapped back in place to form a ceiling, making Yuuji stagger back—close to being stuck in the reformed ceiling.
Yuuji shrieked, “PLEASE STOP FIXING THINGS!”
Aster blinked.
“I’m helping.”
“You’re REALLY not—!”
Mahito dissolved into a mass of limbs and rage.
“You—YOU ARE RUINING THE FLOW OF THE FIGHT!”
Aster gasped, offended.
“I am ENHANCING it! The camera angles were terrible before!”
“There IS NO camera—!”
She ignored him completely.
Instead, she floated up a few centimeters—casually, without noticing—to get a better angle, tilting her head like a director examining a scene.
Todo clapped.
Aster cheered.
“OOOH! Clap and BAAAAM! It looks EVEN BETTER with the echo down here! Wonderful acoustics!”
Mahito was losing his mind.
Yuuji was losing his sanity.
Todo was finding spiritual enlightenment.
Aster folded her hands in her lap, content.
“This is much better than television.”
A fluorescent light fell from the ceiling and shattered behind her.
She didn’t blink.
“You know what? I think something is missing,” she declared—though they didn’t listen, entranced to beat each other to a pulp. She punched an open palm. “Right, music!”
She stood up, appearing a wand—not a wizarding wand, no, one for conductors—and waved it. Unseen instruments started playing dramatically.
A deep, orchestral boom vibrated through the station.
Not from the fight.
From nowhere.
From everywhere.
Mahito froze mid-lunge, eyes wide.
Yuuji flinched like someone had dropped a cymbal next to his ear.
Todo gasped—awed, reverent—as if the heavens had opened.
Violins swelled from the walls.
Drums rumbled from the tracks.
A choir hummed above them, soft and ominous, like the station itself had become an orchestra pit.
Aster beamed, conducting with enthusiastic little flicks of her wrist.
“Yes! Much better. A proper soundtrack! You can’t have action without music.”
Mahito mouthed something like:
WHAT DID YOU DO.
It was drowned under the triumphant brass.
Todo’s entire soul ignited.
“Brother!” he yelled over what sounded like the climax of a fantasy epic. “Our battle now has a SCORE!”
Yuuji shouted back, struggling to keep his footing as the ground vibrated from the bass,
“I DON’T WANT A SCORE— I WANT HIM DEAD!”
Mahito tried to reassemble himself into something threatening, but the music did not help.
A swell of strings made his movements look like a dramatic villain introduction.
A sudden timpani roll made him stumble forward.
A heroic horn blast synced perfectly with Todo decking him in the jaw.
Aster clapped her hands mid-conducting.
“Ooh! Excellent timing! The soundtrack responds perfectly to your choreography—you’re very in sync.”
Yuuji kicked Mahito through a ticket gate.
The violins rose.
Mahito screeched.
The trumpets answered triumphantly.
Todo struck a pose he absolutely did not need to strike.
The choir swelled.
Yuuji grabbed Todo’s shoulder and shook him violently.
“STOP POSING AND HELP ME—!”
Todo pointed dramatically toward the floating girl.
“She is guiding the rhythm of battle, brother—trust in the flow!”
Yuuji looked like he wanted to die.
Mahito, covered in metal shards and humiliation, roared with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling—
the music immediately shifted to dark, ominous chanting that made him sound like a final boss.
His eye twitched.
“I SWEAR TO—”
Aster raised her baton cheerfully.
“Shush. New track.”
The orchestra cut out for half a heartbeat—
—and then a bright, absurdly upbeat tune blasted into the station.
Mahito’s jaw dropped.
Todo gasped.
Yuuji physically recoiled.
Aster swayed happily.
“Yes! This fits the mood better. Very slice-of-life. Very… ‘we’re just having fun with friends’ energy.”
All three fighters screamed in unison:
“WE ARE NOT HAVING FUN—!!”
And the music only got louder.
Yuuji staggered as the jaunty, cheerful tune bounced off the station walls like the soundtrack of a sunny school anime.
Mahito looked personally offended by the flute section.
Todo was somehow on-beat, throwing punches with perfect rhythm.
Yuuji couldn’t handle it anymore.
He whirled around toward Aster, dodging a silent scream from Mahito.
“PLEASE—TURN—THE MUSIC—OFF!” he shouted, voice breaking.
Aster paused mid-sway, eyes sparkling with delight.
“Oh! You want a different track?”
Yuuji’s soul left his body.
“NO—NO, THAT’S NOT WHAT I—”
But Aster was already nodding wisely, as if she deeply understood his artistic direction.
“Yes, I agree. This one lacks emotional depth. You want something darker?”
Yuuji slammed his fist into a pillar, despair flooding his veins.
“I WANT LESS MUSIC, NOT DARKER—”
Too late.
She flicked her baton.
The music cut.
Mahito actually sighed in relief.
Yuuji sagged in relief.
Todo looked disappointed.
Then—
BWOOOOOOOM.
A deep, horrifying bass vibrated under their feet.
The lights dimmed.
A distorted choir rose from the walls like a mass grave singing in Latin.
Yuuji’s face went white.
“Aster—Aster, NO—THIS IS WORSE—”
Aster’s smile widened.
“Ohhh. You DID want darker! Excellent choice!”
Yuuji screamed into his hands.
Mahito tried to open his mouth to yell back but the bass was so strong it vibrated his body like a cheap massage chair.
Todo stood tall, bathing in the apocalyptic soundtrack like it was his birthright.
Yuuji sprinted toward her, dodging chunks of cursed flesh and flickering lights.
“ASTER, PLEASE—STOP—CHANGING—THE MUSIC—”
Aster gasped suddenly, eyes shining.
“Oh! You want something more dramatic!”
Yuuji tripped, fell face-first, and screamed into the floor.
“No—NO—THAT'S THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I MEAN—PLEASE LISTEN TO THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY—”
Aster twirled her baton.
“Drama it is!”
Every light in the station exploded in a shower of sparks.
The soundtrack shifted to a full-blown tragic opera, violins crying out with ten tons of emotional trauma.
Yuuji froze, halfway to his feet, staring into nothing.
“…why,” he whispered.
Aster fluttered both hands in excitement.
“Oh! This one is perfect for your character arc!”
Mahito tried to slash Todo—
but the opera crescendo hit, and Todo immediately struck a heroic pose.
Yuuji let out a tiny, defeated noise.
“We’re going to die,” he whispered. “We’re actually going to die.”
Aster beamed, vibrating with satisfaction.
“I knew you’d love it!”
Yuuji screamed into the void.
Todo shouted something triumphant.
Mahito shrieked something hateful.
Aster conducted joyfully.
And the tragic opera intensified—and in a bout of inspiration, she linked them to it.
Todo felt it before he understood it.
A shift.
A pull.
A pulse.
As the tragic opera swelled through the ruined station, vibrating through metal beams and shattered tiles, something deeper reverberated inside him—
not in his ears, but in his soul.
His body… responded.
Not by choice.
By inevitability.
He pivoted mid-step, foot landing exactly on the beat.
Yuuji stumbled beside him.
Mahito screeched in confusion.
But Todo—Todo knew.
He gasped, eyes widening with reverence.
“…I see.”
Yuuji, mid-panic, blinked at him.
“Huh?! WHAT DO YOU SEE?!"
Todo placed a solemn hand over his heart.
“Brother… the music commands us.”
Yuuji froze.
“What—”
Todo demonstrated by attempting to punch Mahito.
But his fist refused to move until the violins rose—
and then shot forward on the exact swell of the orchestra.
Yuuji and Mahito stared in horror.
Todo sparkled.
“It controls our timing! This is a divine force! A choreography woven by destiny!”
Yuuji kicked at Mahito—
except his leg refused to lift until a cymbal crashed,
and then sent him flying with perfect, ridiculous form.
Yuuji shrieked,
“WE’RE SYNCHRONIZED AGAINST OUR WILL—!!”
Mahito flailed helplessly, unable to twist his limbs except when the choir gasped dramatically.
“This is WRONG—WHY CAN’T I MOVE OFF-BEAT—?!”
Todo nodded gravely.
“It is because… we have entered a higher state of existence.”
Yuuji wanted to cry.
Todo grabbed Yuuji’s shoulders, shaking him with inspirational fervor completely out of sync with his face (but perfectly in sync with the horns).
“Brother! LISTEN TO ME! Aster has blessed us with a BATTLE OST SO POWERFUL it has overridden our free will!”
“That’s NOT A BLESSING—!”
“It is! It absolutely is!”
A sudden tempo change hit.
The opera stopped—
and a bold, triumphant adventure theme burst from the tunnel speakers.
Todo jerked left.
Yuuji stumbled forward.
Mahito flipped backward entirely against his will.
Todo’s eyes sparkled like two suns colliding.
“A change in tempo… A test from the gods!”
Yuuji screamed,
“A TEST OF WHAT?! COORDINATION? MUSICALITY?! MY SANITY?!”
Todo didn’t hear.
He was too busy entering a martial stance dictated entirely by the new rhythm—arms sweeping out heroically when the brass section blared, feet stomping when the drums hit.
He felt alive.
He felt destiny.
He felt… choreography.
“This—THIS is the essence of battle!” he yelled, spinning like a dramatic actor on a kabuki stage every time the melody flourished.
Yuuji was dragged into a cartoonish spin too.
“STOP—SPINNING—ME—AROUND—!”
Todo gave him the most serious, emotional stare imaginable.
“Brother. Listen carefully.”
Yuuji panted, dizzy.
“What—”
Todo spoke with absolute, earth-shattering conviction:
“The rhythm chooses the worthy.”
Yuuji screamed.
Mahito screamed.
Todo embraced the music like it was divine revelation.
And Aster?
She continued conducting happily in mid-air, unaware—or simply unconcerned—
that she had just turned the battlefield into a full-blown musical number with forced choreography.