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He wasn’t quite sure where it went wrong.
Perhaps, the moment he took his eyes from the Mononoke?
He thinks about those prior moments of shattered chaos, when blood sprayed the ground and screams echoed loudly throughout the hallowed halls of the old home that they had found themselves drawn to.
The walls flicker, like his vision was rapidly dying and reviving, over and over, and over again.
Something is ringing in his ears, a constant, high-pitched keen that has him flicking an ear tip in irritation to the sound.
He breathes and it catches painfully, fire races down his right arm.
He tries to groan but it chokes in his throat, instead a wet gurgle emits from his mouth as something pools in his cheek to overflow the corner of his lip. He coughs and it sprays the wood in front of him in a wide arc. His eyes, just barely open, trace the splattered pattern it formed with muddled thoughts.
What was happening?
Movement catches his eyes, a flash of purple, red, black, white. It hovers nearby and reaches towards him. An old, buried instinct howls to shove the danger away with threats of teeth and claws but he pulls it back, tucking them away. Now was not the time to lose himself to forgotten instincts like the younglings they nurtured. He tries to scent the air but all he catches is hints of earth and the cloying, suffocating scent of copper.
He’s being shifted and those instincts flare so rapidly he can’t stop the snarl from forming this time, can’t stop the flash of fangs and claws that has the intruder pausing. Another whine slips into his head; whispers of pleading grief that clings to his mind has him pulling back, and the hands continue shifting him.
He’s turned and this time he sees the ceiling. Wood beams crisscross the cover overhead; long abandoned cobwebs hang from the rotting wood and shift in a breeze he can’t feel. He blinks and there is someone there. Amber eyes, bloody and filthy and dark with a storm of emotion meets his. Their mouth moves but no sound comes forth. Hands are roaming his back, prodding, poking, pinching.
The hands graze his right shoulder and the world catches fire. The air pitches, a sound so grating he has to bite his lip to keep the snarl from forming again. The hands hold him down and he has to fight the urge to claw at them as the world beats into and out of focus around him, his body spasms and spasms until it can’t seem to summon the strength to continue doing so. He tries to take a shuddering breath but something thick clogs his airway and he chokes again; the hands are moving more rapidly now.
He’s on his side now, choking, choking, suffocating. His hair falls across his vision before its rapidly swiped away by the figure.
A firm strike between his shoulders and his throat clears, he coughs and more liquid spatters the floor before him. His throat, battered and abused, sucks air through a damaged entrance and he has to fight the urge to swallow the liquid coating his throat, instead he has to put all of his focus on sucking air into his lungs, it catches and clings to his throat but blessedly does not choke him again.
The episode passes, as does his strength, and he finds himself curled limply on his side. The world flickers dangerously again but he refuses to allow it to claim him this time. His eyes dart to the mysterious figure again as they rapidly flit around the area, looking for something.
They seem to find whatever they were looking for, it flashes briefly, a rim of gold with a silver face catches his eyes before its tucked into the sleeve of the kimono. The figure approaches him again and he catches more and more details as they settle beside him, whisps of frazzled white and red hair dance across a bloodied forehead where it catches and sticks. Amber eyes surrounded by splashes of color dart across his form as though considering something. He does not get to make a decision before he snaps around, a snarl pulling at his lip, turning the painted smile into a grimace.
The air tingles and becomes heavier, the keening stops and pitches again, a defensive, angry shock shoots through him, covers him like a blanket, but he feels too disconnected to really track where the feeling originates from. He catches flashes of color from the corner of his eye, when he turns, he sees ofuda surrounding the walls. They transform before his eyes, warping from blank pieces of paper into an all-seeing eye as the walls clatter under an unseen force. The seals fade into an inky display before his eyes. Some deep, lost part of his mind shrieks that it’s supposed to be important.
It whispers and whines they were running out of time.
He fails to connect the hints laid out before him.
The room shivers and quakes under unseen forces, shadows gather and drip in a hazy mess until it feels as though they would drown in them.
Sound erupts and he cringes from the onslaught. Words, muddled and unclear, strike him with the force of a raging beast and the swiftness of a lightning bolt as he all but struggles to understand their meaning.
He hears a shout, shrill with fear and striking in its suddenness, and he catches sight of another figure. A man, bloodied and pale with shredded clothes, is clutching at the feet of the figure from before, the one with the painted face. Tears are streaming down the bloodied persons cheeks as he begged for salvation.
“…She was an adulterer…. not my fault…she….” Hazy words, barely discernable from the roaring his ears, can be made coming from the babbling man’s mouth. The painted figure is looking down on the man, hair covering his expression save for the disgusted sneer angled down at the sniveling man.
A glittering shaft of gold and jade is pointed down at him, unheard words are said. The man freezes, and anger contorts his expression.
“She deserved it!”
The room shatters, a wave of ink and color overtakes them all, throwing the occupants from their former positions. Everything flips and he can’t seem to orient himself, the floor is no longer supporting him, instead he tumbles and lands harshly on a jutting stone walkway and the world whites out momentarily. The world has morphed and rotted away, leaving it a void that dripped and folded around those present. Breath comes, heavy and labored, as he struggles to lift himself on trembling arms, only one can fully support his weight. The other shifts like a dead weight that inflames with pain the second he attempts anything more than slight movements. The walkway beneath him seems steeped in grief and unrest, warping and twisting as though it were alive. The air becomes heavier and seems to steep the weight of its unbearable grief on his shoulders.
He chokes on each breath, hunching over as screams ring around him—endless, tormenting, and sharp enough to pierce his thoughts.
The air shifts again, this time he senses its approach. Smells the death that clings to its form like a second skin. Feels the rage that seeps from it so thoroughly it has his hackles raising.
He sees it, a large lumbering beast, adorned in thousands of thousands of jutting needles that shiver and jerk independent of each other. It screeches and black tears drip steadily from a hallowed expression as it swings it massive head around. It turns to him, and it wails, a sound that tries to permeate all the way to his heart. It screams and the sound strikes the match that sets his nerves aflame.
The flames travel from his shoulder, down and up and round and round his throat until he chokes on the embers. It flows beneath his skin, scorching his cells and boiling his blood.
He thinks he screams but the world has fallen silent again. Blissfully, tortuously, silent.
He thrashes but nothing can extinguish the flame.
He thought.
Perhaps it was pity—or mercy—that finally cooled the heat and quieted the screams echoing through his mind.
In truth, it was the man with the painted face, now smeared with blood and dirt, who had somehow soothed the beast’s grief and rage.
Somehow, he had smothered the internal flames that had been determined to burn him down to cinders from the inside out.
His mind, muddled with pain and flame, can only remember bouts of light and large quaking strikes that had sent the tortured beast flying. They had disappeared from sight, and he knew no more from there. He had blinked and the world had shifted again, from and endless void to the desecrated home that had begun the entire affair. The man had returned to his side, face drawn and pinched as he gathered objects just out of sight.
Something is being tucked into the obi at his waist, it rattles and the whining strikes a higher chord. Clumsy fingers raise to try and run down the length of the strange item, but they can only twitch pitifully. He’s being pulled deeper and deeper into whatever haze seemed to be plaguing him. Another spasm shudders through his body but this time he can’t summon the strength to cry out.
The movement becomes more frenzied; their mouth moves but the words are still lost. Wide amber, bright with panic and fear, engulfs his vision. He blinks and the world flashes white, so blinding it would have caused him to flinch if he had the strength. New sights and new sounds slam into his senses like a weighted blow, and he finds that’s his limit as things blink out.
*
*
*
He’s swimming in a void.
It stretches and stretches in any direction he looks.
He would almost consider it suffocating if he could conjure the will to feel so.
Light catches his eye, gold and white flickers just outside the realm of his vision. He turns but it seems he can’t seem to fully catch the source, no matter how hard he cranes his neck to try.
He feels weightless, but some screaming part of his mind feels as though he was drifting, drifting farther and farther into a realm he would not be able to return from.
The light flits closer, still out of sight, but he senses its presence just on the outskirts of his conscience.
Not yet.
A voice echoes, layers upon layers generating a reverberating sound that has his ear twitching, not painfully but in consideration to its words.
He turns around and this time the light does not shift out of view.
A man, adorned with gold paints and flowing, opaline hair sits level with him. Legs crossed, he observes silently, eyes piercing deeper than he thought possible. He knows this man, but the thought slips away just as easily as it appeared.
He blinks and the man is closer now, nearly face to face with him. One clawed hand rises, one claw dots the center of his forehead. His mind is muddled with an onslaught of emotion, sound, smells, touch. He wants to scream but his mouth remains closed. He wants to swat the hand away, but he feels locked in place.
Not yet. Is repeated and this time it reverberates in his mind, smashing through his thoughts with all the delicate nature of a bull trampling through fine porcelain.
He wants to scream but one smooth motion from the man, one gentle shove with his finger against his forehead, and he was falling, rapidly and uncontrollably descending.
One blink and the light slips from view.
Another and he slams into consciousness.
He inhales sharply, as though he had been held underwater and was finally released to breathe.
Another and awareness comes back to Ri slowly.
Like a steady drip, one by one, his senses return. In the beginning he hears rustles of fabric and low, muttering voices but they fall silent as his conscience becomes sharper. Silently, he explores the surrounding material with feather light touches, fingertips graze over soft futon before dropping down and hitting smooth tatami. Incense wafts in the air, thick and cloying but comforting all the same. Metal scrapes across wood boards and settles again, so silent none but the Kusuriuri would be able to detect the sound. Something shifts and his ear twitches at the sound, he feels the weight of someone watching him, closely observing his movements with careful consideration.
He feels heat radiating around him, smothering and heavy it seems to be trying to suffocate him. It all seems to be coming from his back, a throbbing, intensive, supernova that seems intent on incinerating him. It spreads and rushes through his very veins like a volcanic river
Ri opens his eyes, cracking them only slightly before a hiss escapes him. Even the dim light overhead strikes too sharply, pain flaring behind his eyelids. A gentle palm settles over his eyes, shielding him from it, and a sympathetic murmur rumbles from the person beside him. Ri gathers what little strength he has and forces himself to quiet the frantic instincts screaming at him to recoil from the unknown presence his mind still mistakes for a threat.
The scents of wet earth and sake overwhelm him for a moment, thick enough to blur his thoughts in a cascade of instinct, then recognition settles into place. Ri forces his tightly wound muscles to loosen, one by one, as the voice beside him softens into a low, soothing rumble. It takes another breath before his senses fully gather, but when they do, he reaches up and gently grips the wrist of the person shielding his eyes. Slowly, he lifts the cool hand away.
“Kon.” He says, voice hoarse and harsh under the strain of pain and fever permeating from his very core. His former apprentice meets his eyes evenly. Ri releases his wrist and Kon brings it back to settle on his lap.
“Master,” the young Kusuriuri answers in kind. For the most part, he appears uninjured, though small cuts mark his face and flecks of black stain his normally alabaster complexion. Like Ri, he seems burdened by something unseen, it lingers beneath the skin and festers there. A heavy weight has settled in Kon’s eyes as he meets his master’s gaze with only the slightest tilt of his head. His kimono rests loosely around his shoulders, folds dipping to reveal pale bandages crisscrossing the Kusuriuri’s chest.
Ri’s scrutiny does not go unnoticed. Kon draws the loose fabric tighter around his throat, hiding the bandages from view and the two gauge each other silently. Ri’s gaze sharpens. “Explain.”
“What do you remember?” Kon asks him, voice soft but still like a pounding drum in his ears.
Ri remembers more than his apprentice may believe. The Mononoke; large, poisonous spines and claws that swipes and plunged into anything that moved. Scratches had marred the walls around them, the first victim had been found in a state of comatose, frothing at the mouth before succumbing painfully to the vicious poison.
He had summoned the name not long into their investigation.
Yamaarashi.
Kun and Li had chimed in tandem at the revelation.
Bodies of dead men and woman littered the floor; bones mounted the foundation of the home the beast resided in.
Its truth: A young bride, poisoned and left to die at the hands of the man she devoted her life to. She had died, slowly, painfully, as the unfounded rumors of her adulterous activity was spread as explanation for her disappearance. Her spirit settled there, in their marital home, as the man took on another wife. It had twisted and raged and wailed its grief until became something twisted and malevolent.
Another twin chime from the exorcism swords confirmed the theory.
By this time the humans accompanying them had come to realize the danger the home presented and were intent to flee, far too late. The home had shifted, walls upon walls, coated in blood and gore created an endless maze for the creature to hunt it. They were now at the mercy of the Mononoke. There was only one way to resolve the grudge now.
Try as they might, as hard as they pushed, the human’s infallible habit of concealing their sins had once again led to chaos and tragedy.
Cool blue eyes turn and meet sharp amber. “We failed to slay the Mononoke before it manifested.” Ri responds to the question that had been hanging in the air thus far.
Kon’s tilts his head at the response, eyes sharpening as he met his mentors’ eyes. He seems uncertain on how to respond briefly. “Yes.”
Ri’s mouth pinches somewhat, a movement not unnoticed by Kon whose ear flicks, as though preparing for scolding from his ailing master. Ri could almost find amusement in the action, if his irritation at his own shortcomings had not been what had led to their failure. Ri braces his left hand beneath him and tries to rise. His right arm remains alarmingly still, heavy and unresponsive at his side.
For one brief moment, he wonders if the damage has left him crippled—perhaps permanently. He forces the thought aside. For now, all that matters is the immediate task: sitting up.
He cannot ignore the tremors shaking through him, or the feverish heat so deep it feels lodged in the marrow of his bones, overwhelming even his own fire. He cannot deny the pain that nearly triples in size as he inches up, just barely making progress. A whine heard in his ear has him twitching the appendage. “Shush.” He muttered to anxious Shingi.
“You shouldn’t-” A scathing glare from the elder has the young Kusuriuri snapping his jaw shut in deferment.
Seconds pass, though they felt so much longer than Ri thought possible, and hands gently help leverage him into a sitting position. He tries not to show the blow to his pride at having to be assisted like infirm elder. Once he was in a position to sit on his own, he is quick to brush Kon’s hands from his frame. He breathes deeply but it seems like nothing he does can sate his desire for air. He gasps, like a fish trapped on land, and trembles under the weight of his own slim frame.
Irritation burns under his skin at the weakness.
Only once his pounding heart settles into a more manageable rhythm does Ri chance a look around the room.
He was in a room in Juuyoku.
The air was heavy with spiritual energy here. The Shingi can be heard, near silently conversing around them.
His sharp ears catch sounds of Kun muttering before Li responds with sharp chimes. The other Shingi responds with titular whines, comforting sounds echoes around them, sounding like chimes in the wind.
Kon, seemingly still against Ri’s insistence to sit up, sighs and turns to the side. “We need to distribute more treatment, in any case.”
“How very astute.” Ri rasps, pulling the kimono tighter around his shoulders as though to ward off an unseen chill. The movement catches painfully on his right shoulder, and he has to fight the grimace that threatens to form.
Kon snorts quietly, amusement coloring the sound, as he gathers the necessary ingredients from the medicine box towering over them. Ri’s eye catches an insignia that belongs to neither he nor Kon. Scales adorned in yellow gold and glittering opals sit perched atop it. When had he stopped by? “Theres no need to be so grumpy, Master.” Kon says over his shoulder as he carefully grinded up the necessary ingredients for his treatment.
“Perhaps not.” Ri acquiesces, reeling in the snappish tone that threatens to taint his words. Kon, for the most part, does not comment on it. Instead, he seems more focused on the brew slowly forming in the bowl before him.
The concoction is poured from one cup to another, mixing herbs and elixirs expertly and occasionally adding splashes of steaming water that rested in a bowl by his side. Ri watches, eyes half-lidded as the young Kusuriuri gathered his ingredients. “Do not forget the charcoal.” Ri rasps. Kon pauses, back still to Ri, before his hand’s dips into the drawer again and another ingredient is added to the potion. Its handed to Ri shortly after, steaming and thick, its pungent smell has his stomach flipping uncomfortably. Even so, he throws his head back to drink it in one swallow. It goes down slowly, uncomfortably, and settles in his stomach like a stone.
Ri holds the cup in his hand after, eyes grazing the leftover remains with a critical eye. Bits of Gambir leaves cling to sides of the stone cup and he catches hints of citrus beneath the sour taste, most likely added in an attempt to hide the pungent taste. They still into a contemplative silence, as Ri tries to gather the scattered pieces of his memory from the home in the outskirts of the city of Nara.
It was clear from the brew given to him that poison was a culprit for his current state. It would also explain the blazing fever plaguing him and the dead weight from his arm. The Mononoke he also remembered, to an extent. Large, lumbering and filled with grief, it had taken countless lives prior to their interference. His memory remains patchy though; visions of conjoined colors and flashes of pain fill his head but nothing more. He sucks in a harsh breath as something sears across his mind like a blaze, reducing his thoughts to cinders, he comes back to himself with his heart pounding and his breath whistling.
Once he catches his breath, Ri is quick to take assessment of his own injuries. His kimono had been discarded and replaced with a white nemaka that hung loosely from his shoulders. His hair had been freed from its place tucked securely into the folds of his bandana and was spread like a sheet over his back. Whisps cling to his clammy forehead as he bends foreword to prevent gravity from shoving him back down. His sword arm—the one meant to wield Li—lies useless at his side, palm turned upward, fingers curled loosely beneath layers of talisman paper. Ri drew his eyebrows together at the sight, curiosity and an overwhelming unease bubbling inside him.
Still trembling as though the mere motion was enough to kotow him; he weakly lifted his good arm and began tugging the white fabric from his shoulder. It caught briefly and his sight whited out as the fabric caught painfully on inflamed skin. His breath snagged painfully in his chest, and several long moments passed before his senses returned to him. Li’s and Kuns nervous whines threaded through the air as Ri struggled to steady himself. When his awareness sharpened again, he realized Kon had caught him and was still holding him upright, as though he had nearly folded in on himself. Ri brought his good arm up to grip the youngers arm around his waist.
“You should focus on recovering your strength right now.” Kon whispered, voice like a thunderclap next to his ear, as Ri’s labored breathing slowly stuttered into something more manageable.
“Perhaps.” he rasped, sweat forming across his brow but doing nothing to cool his enflamed body. “But I would like to see the extent of the damage.”
I need to know if this is fixable. The thought hangs between them, heavy and unspoken. Ri motions with his good arm for the young Kusuriuri to release him and waits patiently as he does, slowly backing away as though ensuring Ri won’t collapse without his support. Ri’s body has erupted in a fresh wave of shivers as fatigue strikes him harder than ever, but he steels his mind and gathers his strength to raise his head and meet the concerned gaze of his former apprentice.
Kon’s mouth presses into a thin line, the imprinted smile permanently formed on his lip disappearing as he considered his former master. Ri’s gaze sharpens, ever so slightly, and that pushes Kon to make a decision. With gentle fingers he pulls the loose material from Ri’s shoulder and folds it down to his elbow. Even that is enough to send sparks of pain down the length of his arm and up to his throat, but he holds any emotion that may betray the pain the movement is causing.
Several moments pass before his entire arm is exposed. Every inch of his skin is covered in talisman starting from the very ends of his longest finger to the top of his shoulder and even spreading out onto his chest somewhat.
“We had to wrap it as soon as we could.” Kon explained as Ri ran his eyes down the length of the lame appendage. Ri sees him swallow nervously as he tapped long fingers across his folded legs. “There was so much negative energy engulfing it…we weren’t sure if you would…”
“Live?” Ri finishes the sentence.
Kon flinches. “Keep your arm.” He corrects.
“I suppose that it means the same either way.” He blithely responds as he runs a nail down the carefully folded paper coating his arm until it catches on the edge of one. Carefully, he begins pulling the sheet up, only to be halted as Kon lays a hand across his arm and finger, pinning it down lightly. Even that gentle pressure is enough to send stars across Ri’s vision.
“No, it doesn’t.” Kon stresses the first word, stating it more like a fact than a subjective opinion. “And we handled it regardless. I still wouldn’t remove the seals for now though.” A low whistle in the air confirms Li’s agreement with the sentiment and he has to stop from glaring into thin air.
Instead, Ri cocks an eyebrow at Kon. “How do you expect me to fully analyze the damage?”
“I expect you to trust we took proper care of it, though.” Kon drags his finger down the length of his arm and stops between Ri’s wrist and elbow. “This part should be at least partially healed by now. Where you were attempting to remove the seals was the worst of the damage.” Slowly, Kon peels the talisman up, layers upon layers folded across his arm until, finally, skin peeks through the red and white.
Skin, normally pale and free of blemishes, coated in lines of black that spreads beneath his skin like cracks across porcelain. Ri cannot keep the surprise from crossing his face. He tries once more to move his arm, but it remains stubbornly unresponsive. Kon helps settle the dead weight across his lap, and Ri lowers his gaze, continuing his evaluation in silence.
“Despite how bad it looks.” Kon spoke quietly as Ri inspected the scarred flesh with morbid interest. He’s only able to rotate it by using his other hand and even that minor movement sends shards of glass down his arm, even so, he continues scrutinizing the damage critically. “It has been receding. Slowly.”
He was telling the truth; Ri can see that even from this minor assessment. Even the worst of the lines at the end of his wrist are dimmer, as though they were patching slowly. “Hm.” He hums as he traces a particularly dark line with his thumb. It twists as though it were alive and squirms as he presses harder. “How did it come to this?” He ponders out loud. He catches sight of Kon’s head dipping, shame coming off of him in waves; he considers the movement from the corner of his eye but does not fully turn to face him.
Instead, he lifts the mug again. He swishes the residual brew around the bottom with quiet consideration. He clicks his claws one by one down the length of the mug contemplatively before turning to meet Kon’s gaze. The room blurs further at the edges, its full breadth slipping beyond what his muddled mind can hold. Even the fever feels distant now, reduced to a faint, faraway sting beneath the haze. He peers into the cup. Interesting. “You have yet to fully explain what transpired.”
Kon blinks, surprise evident as he seemed to try and find the correct wording. A pinched mouth, a nervous lick across his lip. “The Mononoke managed to fully form.” He says slowly. “And it caught us unaware.” Ri catches his ear twitch, a movement so subtle most would miss it, but he has known this pup for years upon years now.
His gaze narrows dangerously, his mouth quirks, pushing the serene smile painted across his lip into something sinister. “And?”
The younger Kusuriuri seems to deflate slightly, a flash of guilt and something else flashes across his eyes before he drops his gaze all together. “You were injured.” He offers.
“Obviously.” Ri responds, tone dry. “But you are still leaving something unsaid.”
Kon seems at a loss there, words do not come for long enough that it seems Ri will have to prod the younger into answering. “You were nearly killed. Nearly extinguished altogether, because of my own faults.” Shame is painted as clearly across Kon’s face as the markings he adorned.
Ri slides one claw down the length of the mug, eyeing the quickly cooling brew sitting at the bottom of the ceramic. He remembered the decision now that Kon’s words shook loose the tightly held memories. Things had been going badly nearly from the beginning for a multitude of reasons. They had found bodies of previous victims, each on various states of rot, each taken out by the same means.
Slashes that stripped skin like paper. Gouges that ruptured organs and left them spewing like rope across the floor. Poison that left them frothing at the mouth, tainted pink and thick as it sloughed from every pore.
That had only been the beginning, and things did not become any clearer the more bodies found strewn about the home. The dead could not tell them their story, after all.
The living, on the other hand.
“The man did not seem keen on revealing his secrets.” Kon admits quietly. “Even after his wife had been slain by the creature.”
Ri has to keep from snorting. “Since when are humans ever so willing?”
Kon hums in response, not wanting to delve into old arguments it seems. “He had killed the woman before. She was his first wife.” Ri nods, allowing him to continue. He remembered this as well. Kon traces one claw against the grain of wood he was kneeling on. “He had taken another wife it seems. Brought her to the same home he had slayed the previous.” Kon’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “He had accused her of adultery, but it was he who was prowling the streets like an uncastrated cat.” His claw pauses in its movements. “She could not take seeing another bride so happy, could not bear the sight of couples so happy when she was left to despair.”
“That is why she slew the others?” Ri asked. So that had been her reason for residing as long as she did in the home. A heart torn asunder for betrayed love was a heart that could inflict a great amount of pain in return.
Kon nods, gaze contemplative as he seemed to struggle with his next words. Ri allows him to gather his thoughts.
He opts for a question instead. “Why did you take the spine meant for me?” Ri straightens; ear pricked at the question and turns. Kon has a brew of emotion on his face but the one most clear is agitation. He remembered very little after the fact, but he clearly remembered the decision to move in front of his former apprentice. The impact and how it seared straight through his shoulder at the point where the poisonous barb had skewered him. He shivers, despite himself, remembering how it had thrown him into Kon from the weight of the shock. His thoughts became much blurrier from there.
“You were intent on protecting the man the Mononoke was targeting, as little as he deserved your protection, I fear you did not have enough time to properly react to such an attack. Besides,” Ri hums quietly. “It is the duty of the elders to protect the young, no?”
Kon’s mouth twists. “I am not so young anymore, Ri.” His claws click in agitation. “And I am no longer the young pup you were tasked with training a century ago.”
“No, but you are still young.” Ri counters. “Young enough losing you would be a great injustice.”
“And that was reason enough to let yourself die in my place? You are supposed to be wiser than that!” Kon snaps, mouth twisted in a snarl. For a moment, anger flares through Ri at the disrespect in the young Kusuriuri’s voice. Kon seems to realize he has gone too far; he reins in his own emotions, and silence settles between them. The Shingi had long fallen silent as the two wielders stare at each other for a long beat. Then Ri’s anger fades as quickly as it came, dissolving like mist beneath the sun when he sees the stricken look on his former apprentice’s face. He sighs. “You are right. Perhaps my lapse in judgment only made an already calamitous situation worse. I could have determined a different path that would have prevented both of our current states.”
“That wasn’t what I was implying.” Kon says, eyes downcast as he seemed unwilling to meet Ri’s eyes again.
“No, but it does not mean it is any less true.”
Kon scoffs, claws tapping a steady rhythm against the wood. “You would not have been in that state had I been paying more attention.”
“Perhaps not.” Ri agrees. “Would it have changed your decision to save the man? Would you have abandoned him in order to evade the attack?” The tapping stops and Ri smiles, eyes still tracing the cold mug held in his hand. “I know how you are Kon, you would have rather bore the attack than leave the human to take it instead. Though I will never agree with it, I understand how you believe there to be potential in each of them. Just as I believe there to be untold potential in you.” Ri takes his eyes off the rim to meet his former apprentice’s eye. The young Kusuriuri looks caught off guard by the words and seems even more at a loss for words than normal.
His head dips. “I’m sorry, Ri.”
Ri waves off the apology and turns to set the cup within Kon’s reach. It clatters against the wood as he clumsily releases his hold. He frowns slightly but continues, his words beginning to slur with worrying softness. “You acted according to your morals, just as I acted according to mine. You made your choice, and I made mine. Nothing would have changed the outcome.”
“Perhaps.” His claws catch and twist on his trousers as he needles with the fabric thoughtlessly. An old habit of his that seems to still plague him. “I will need to increase my own focus and decrease my latency to ensure something like this does not occur again.”
“That would decrease the chances of this happening again.” Ri once again agrees. “Though, perhaps you should instead put more focus on resolving the Mononoke’s grudge instead of conversing playfully with the humans involved.” He tells the other pointedly. He hears Kon huff quietly, can feel the rebellion stirring beneath the young Kusuriuris skin, and decides not to push the argument further, lest the two fall into an argument over it. He sighs. “This was not your fault, Kon. We follow our instincts, and yours was to protect the man despite what his nature.” He turns. “Mine was to ensure you survived the ordeal. Do not mistake my decisions for your burden. Ever.”
Silence rings between them with the only true sounds being the ringing of the Shingi around them, trilling and whining as the conversation unfolded. It sounded mournful, but any Kusuriuri could hear the gratitude and care beneath them resonating through the sounds. Quietly, almost lost beneath the sound of their Shingi, Ri hears the quiet words uttered. “Thank you, Master.”
He does not acknowledge the words, instead opting to let the issue rest between them from there on. “Could you help in rewrapping this?” He asks, tilting his head to indicate his limp arm still sitting in his lap. “I fear I may be at the end of my strength today.”
“Of course.” And that is that; the issue is laid to rest as Kon begins applying talisman paper over his arm again before pulling the loose nemaka sleeve back over Ri’s back, shutting out the chill that had been beating at him relentlessly since it had been slid from his shoulder.
Once he finishes, Kon rocks back on his knees to collect water from the nearby pail. He offers it to Ri, who takes it without a word. A wave of dizziness has him nearly dropping the cup and Kon is quick to snatch it before it can spill over him. He blinks and the room seems to shift around him. He grimaces as the room settles again. “Strange.”
A hand on his shoulder calls his attention. “Are you alright?”
“Mm.” Ri hums and considers the way his mind keeps slipping further and further from coherency, how even simple movements seem to be eluding his normal graceful aptitude. He thinks back to the brew, steeped with bitter ingredients but also a zing of citrus that was used to try and hide the bitter aftertaste. The pieces fall into place so easily he almost curses himself for taking so long to figure it out. “Did you drug me?”
He sees Kon stiffen slightly and knows his suspicions are true before his apprentice utters a sound of apology. “Ah.” Is all Ri responds as slowly he realizes the stupor he had been experiencing had been the effects of the drugs Kon had slipped into his drink. He briefly considers snapping at the young Kusuriuri for the underhanded move, but lets the thought pass; anger would require more energy than he has to spare right now. He sways dangerously and feels hands quick to grab his shoulders and ease him down. Overhead he hears strikes of broken glass and recognizes the laughter of the Shingi. This time he does not hold back throwing a scathing look overhead but all that’s met with his ire is the laughter pitching higher.
“Sorry.” Kon says quickly, as Ri fumbles clumsily with the blanket at his lap. “We thought you could use more rest.”
Ri’s ear twitches and he turns his head to meet Kon’s eye. “We?” he thinks for a moment, brain wracking for the other suspect and his eye catches the familiar medicine box towering over the two and the scales balanced atop it, gilded in gold and spotted with opals. “Ken.” He sighs.
“Yes.” Kon confirms as Ri tries to summon the energy to at least be annoyed. He can’t quite seem to achieve the level of emotion required and instead settles for mild irritation. “You were in a bad state when we fell into the Juuyoku. He was the first to help with treatment.”
“Oh~” A smile forms despite himself, sharp at the edges as plans for revenge already begin taking shape. “I am sure he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to test his latest batch of sedatives once I woke up.”
“We weren’t sure if you would wake at all.” Kon mutters, palm pressed against his mouth as his brow pinched with distress taking in the ailing figure of his former teacher, thoughts still plagued with images of spattered blood and blackened limbs it seemed.
“But I did.” Ri tells him, softening, if briefly, to cut into his former apprentices colliding thoughts. His eyes feel heavier now, drooping lower and lower until only slits remain. “Though, it seems you and Ken were plotting long before I did so.”
“Only out of concern, Ri.” Kon says as Ri slowly succumbs further.
“Make sure to inform Ken I will be visiting him for his meddling.” He utters quietly as his eyes slip closed.
Kon laughs, its light and airy. The sound settles something within Ri. “He only wished you would rest, he knew you would insist on escaping the Juuyoku as soon as we took our eyes off of you.”
“Yes, well. Retribution will be dealt swiftly.” Ri yawns and he finds his words slurring embarrassingly as the drugs begin to seep further into his system. “For both of you.” He adds pointedly.
He hears Kon suck a breath in sharply and can’t quite keep the amused smile from forming as he slips into a deep slumber.
It will be hours upon hours later when he awakes and finds his apprentice resting nearby, exhaustion clearly having overtaken him from his vigil and earlier strife with the Mononoke. He drapes the quilt over Kon’s sleeping form and, with quiet satisfaction, finds his arm capable of a small measure of movement—though not without spikes of pain. He inspects the young Kusuriuri closely and found the taint spotting his face had dissolved over the period of his rest. Satisfied, he turns and began preparing his own tincture to help with the still present fever he was still experiencing, pillaging herbs from the medicine box that was still present from Ken.
It would not be much longer after Ri would have his revenge on the two Kusuriuri for their plot to drug him without his consent in the form of his own inaction. He had never truly planned a form of revenge against them, how could he, when they were simply acting out of concern?
That did not mean he needed to tell them that though.
His earlier threats had hung like a dark cloud over the pair, resulting in the two avoiding him and throwing furtive glances at him when he entered the room when they believed he was not paying attention and carefully inspecting any brew they were handed. It was amusing, at the very least.
He was sitting nestled on the Engawa by the main building in the Juuyoku with his opium pipe sitting nestled comfortably between two fingers. Despite the worry from the other Kusuriuri that he would slip back into the human realm before he was prepared, he had taken his time resting, much to the surprise of those that loitered around the expansive realm. He supposed he could understand their surprise; he was not known to remain in the Juuyoku for long periods after all. But even he understood that returning to his wanderings so soon after such a strife would be detrimental to both his health and the work put in to ensure he survived the ordeal.
So, he would deal with it for now.
The door slides open behind him and is shut quietly, thumping softly against aged wood. Wafts of sake and earth strike his nose, and he does not need to turn to see his former apprentice settling next to him. The two fall into a companionable silence.
“Thank you, for your assistance.” Ri says, striking the silence with a gentle murmur.
Kon shifts beside him. “Always.”
He smiles and takes another breath of opium before puffing a plume of blue smoke overhead.