Chapter Text
“What are you doing?” he grouses, stumbling as the body’s knees buckle from the perceived abrupt re-arrival of the consciousnesses which inhabit it. This is far from the first time that they have relived this precise timeframe, and he has long since grown weary of the point which they reenter the body when they’re in complete control.
’Bad outcome.’
He sighs and flicks one finger at the volcanic cursed spirit, severing the top of its head with nothing more than a disinterested glance.
They hold no concern in existing as the cursed spirits may wish them to—ignoring how it chimes that it would not mind, under most circumstances. ‘Most circumstances’ does not apply to their present circumstances, especially considering that it is the one triggering their repeated rewinds.
He ignores the spurting cursed spirit, turning to the two human teens merely to state, “Consider what consequences were promised then, and thus adjust your idea of blame to a segment of understanding.”
With that piece said, he turns away from the trio of functionally irrelevant mortals and semi-mortal, intent on locating a specific cursed spirit.
He need not fight the volcanic cursed spirit—he had determined that on the fifth loop of this particular night, having quickly become bored of repeating the same destructive fight. The cursed spirit may be strong in itself, however its actions barely shift within a triggered fight, even when he engages in his own changes to combat.
’He’s funny, but we’re busy,’ another chimes within their interconnected thoughts, sending a brief image of essentially cradling the unconscious mind of their shared vessel.
The one who had triggered the timeloop which they’re under shares a sense of amusement. He ignores it.
As he strides out into the exterior of the city, he presses for it to take the lower pair of eyes for their search, finding the pair to be as disorienting as ever in his attempt at utilization. He does not understand how it can function so easily with four eyes—he at least understands them, considering what they were prior, yet it does not have such experience.
“Where would it be?”
’Station.’
It is an odd experience, for him to receive such a quick answer from it. Not that he will take it for granted—evidently, even it grows tired of its self-instated loop.
Why it won’t simply stop and allow the world to suffer at whichever outcome occurs, he does not know. Such an outcome would satisfy its inherent desire for chaos, yet it continues to refuse such outcomes.
Their body jolts to a stop, the head turning to one side under its intent. He discards the brief disorientation of having control wrenched from his grasp, focusing on that which has caught its attention.
’Kugisaki-chan!’ they chirp from their spectation, their fondness briefly overwhelming his slight sense of haste.
They are not incorrect, though—Kugisaki is nearby, hammer already in hand even as she is faced away from him. Unaware of his presence, it seems.
She needs to properly develop that sense, if she is to survive in her role. She will survive this night, though—he refuses to allow otherwise. It refuses to allow otherwise, as well—ramblings about technical survival aside, that is. Whatever the technicality may be, it has never deigned to inform him. It never does.
His head turns just slightly, and he immediately cleaves the directed area. The noise of the consequential destruction draws Kugisaki’s attention, of course, yet he pays her no mind as she whips around to face him.
His focus is on the certain cursed spirit who had been pursuing her. The cursed spirit who is repairing the damage which he had dealt with his attack.
Killing it should be of little issue; it is the act of keeping Kugisaki out and alive from the conflict which he needs to complete—stubborn girl she is, getting into fights that she seldom possesses the skill to win.