Blossom Against the Inferno
A green bar hovered above his head, its glow reflected in Emiko's eyes—steadily sinking, inching into red. The colour of warnings. Of endings. It flickered, casting its sickly light onto her skin, stretching thin across the crevice beneath her.
Then came the smell. It crept in like a whisper, curling into her lungs before she could stop it—a scent disturbingly familiar. The warmth of cooked beef, seared to perfection, a fleeting comfort amidst the carnage. But layered beneath it, curling through the cracks of her mind, was something raw. Wet. The unmistakable iron tang of fresh blood, thick and cloying.
She knew this scent. It was the scent of a meal interrupted by violence, of men laughing over plates of steaming meat while crimson streaked their knuckles. It was the smell of her father's men, grinning as they wiped their blades clean, as if the blood could ever be washed away.
A twisted noise tore her from the past—a grotesque squelch, the sound of something shifting, of wet flesh peeling apart. The black limb twisted, reshaping itself like a thing alive, meat-clumping together before slithering back. It pulled out of Ji-Soon, taking with it splatters of blood that burst into rainbow-coloured shards. The moment stretched as if time itself was hesitating, but then he collapsed.
Ji-Soon's health bar blinked red.
A sharp breath caught in her throat. Something hot, something unbearable welled up inside, but she didn't cry. She never cried. Instead, small, silent drops slipped down her cheeks, falling before she could understand them. They weren't tears—they were something else. Shock, confusion, the raw ache of a wound she thought had long since scarred over. But it hadn't. It had been waiting, just beneath the surface, for the moment to split open again.
Her lips parted, but the words that came out weren't steady, weren't strong. They trembled, like she did.
"Why… why did you protect me?" she muttered weakly.
Her voice cracked, raw and uneven, the syllables slipping like broken glass.
Ji-Soon stirred. His breath was shallow, but he pushed against the ground, struggling to rise. Blood seeped between his fingers as he clutched his wound, but he still smiled—weak, barely there, but hanging on. And then he spoke, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"Because… someone had to."
Something in her stomach twisted violently. The words were different, but the meaning was the same. A shadow of a voice she had once heard. A boy, standing between her and the men who would kill him, murmuring something soft, something she hadn't understood until it was too late.
But Ji-Soon wasn't him. He had no reason to stand in front of her. He had no reason to bleed for her. And yet, he did.
The black limb tensed.
It reared back like a striking snake, the flesh shifting and bulging as it prepared to finish the job. The moment stretched thin, seconds breaking apart, slowing to an unbearable crawl.
Tang-Ji tried to move first.
She dragged herself to their side, her fingers twitching as she scanned her surroundings. Her muscles screamed as she reached for the shears lying motionless next to her. They felt impossibly heavy. Every inch of her body ached, drained past its limits, but she didn't care.
"Ji-Soon!!" Her voice cut through the suffocating air.
Junyo cursed under his breath, fingers flying across the glowing panels on his arm. His eyes darted over the code, over the numbers flashing in warning.
"It's not gonna make it," he muttered, panic lacing his voice as he peeked out from behind a jagged rock. His expression tightened.
The limb struck.
No one moved.
As time seemed to freeze.
Tang-Ji's vision went white.
No, not white—petals. Layers upon layers, unfurling in the air like silk caught in the wind. They bloomed in defiance, standing between Ji-Soon and death itself. The tendrils of black flesh stopped mere inches from their mark, frozen by something unseen.
Ji-Soon exhaled shakily, his fingers pressing against the wound in his chest. Red shards tumbled from between them, glinting like broken rubies as they hit the ground. His breath hitched, his body trembling as he turned, wide-eyed.
No one had moved. Not Tang-Ji, not Junyo, not Kompto, nor Decker. None of them had done this.
A single, pure-white lotus stood in the air, untouched by the chaos around it. The petals, perfect and unyielding, held the grotesque limb at bay.
In the distance, past the curtain of molten light that shot skyward, a figure walked through the glow.
The underworld fell silent once again as they heard a behemoth resurfacing back into the human world.
Like a ghost appearing, a breathless horror gripped them all as they turned to see it.
The monster. The one they had been fighting all this time.
A starved connoisseur–once a boy who knew only hunger, now a beast that devoured all.
His body was reforming, his skin shifting, stretching over his frame like kneaded clay. Flesh slithered and twisted, raw muscle folding over exposed bone, patching together like a dish prepared piece by piece.
His skull gleamed for a moment, nerves glistening in the firelight before they, too, were buried beneath fresh, glistening skin. It came in layers, each one different, yet blending into the illusion of humanity.
A low chuckle rippled through the air—hoarse, distorted, slipping between the cracks of flesh as Esmeray's jaw twisted back into place. His voice, smooth at first, slithered into the silence.
"Do you know… what kind of meat this is?"
Their eyes clung to him—silent, hollow, unblinking. It was as if the very world held its breath, unwilling to acknowledge the nightmare before them.
Esmeray's smile twitched. His fingers flexed, the sinew in his arms shifting, coiling over his bones like living strands of muscle.
"Tch." His tongue clicked against his exposed teeth. His voice curled, softer this time, coaxing. "Come now. None of you?"
Nothing. Not a word.
The silence gnawed at him.
His smile cracked. His pupils dilated.
"Lamb." His voice dropped an octave, thick with something unreadable.
He lifted his arm—his own flesh still knitting itself back together—and twisted his wrist, watching the skin ripple and reform.
"A lamb's flesh, when raw, is soft. Tender. Unsullied." His fingers curled, nails digging into his palm. He paused as if lost in the thought. "But when you burn it—when the flames lick it clean—it loses that innocence, doesn't it?"
His head jerked slightly, his eye twitching, his smile warping into something that barely resembled amusement.
"A lamb is meant to be guided, meant to follow. A lost one—" his fingers snapped—"—a stray, without a shepherd, what does it become?"
There was no response.
Esmeray's face twitched. His patience was reaching its limit.
"ANSWER ME!" He said in a low growl.
His voice fractured—splintering against the molten air. His body jerked, the weight of his own madness pulling at the seams of his human guise. His lips peeled back, revealing teeth that did not belong to any man.
"Even a lamb that has lost its way…," he continued, laughter trembling at the edges of his words. "If it wanders long enough, if it suffers enough, if it's patient enough—"
His grin widened, his eyes gleaming like wet stones.
"It might find another shepherd."
The group listened on expectedly, wondering whether he was toying with his prey.
Esmeray's shoulders trembled, his body twitching as his own words twisted into something even he couldn't control. He let out a shuddering breath, then exhaled sharply—his laughter bubbling up again, uneven and ragged.
"As long as it refuses to give up living, it will live." His head tilted, unnaturally slow. "Tell me, then… who among you are willing to guide the little lamb to safety?"
Not a whisper could be heard, whether out of fear or confusion. Junyo's breath hitched, anticipating that this was the end of the discussion.
"Then none of you are worthy." From behind Esmeray, black tendrils lashed forward—honing in on Ji-Soon. Level 10 deployment," he mumbled the same enhancement. "Ultimate technique: Main Course—The Heart of Ash."
Without warning, a second wave of lotus flowers burst into existence, intercepting Esmeray's attack once again.
They swayed in the heat, brushing against Tang-Ji's face, tickling behind her eyes. They should have burned. They should have withered. But they didn't. They stood untouched, enchanted in a way she couldn't explain.
永世长存.
A phrase she had heard many a time in her childhood. Although she couldn't speak the language well, she was constantly reminded of its meaning.
Eternal. Unyielding.
Her mother had told her once—nothing lasts forever. Beauty fades, and all things wither. But as she watched the lotus blossoms drift through the fire-lit air, she believed, if only for a moment, that these petals would never die. That nothing could take them away.
And for the first time, she wanted to believe it was true.
The remnants of the shattered lotus groaned, its petals—scattered like forgotten prayers—now slowly began dragging themselves back together. They pulsed, folding into one another, merging, swelling, until a single, colossal bloom stood where the fragments had once been.
Its petals trembled, white-edged with deep crimson, as if dipped in blood. The glow that emanated from it was not warm, but cold—sterile, surgical, an eerie contrast to the molten light still screaming into the sky behind them.
As if in response.
From within the lotus, a shadow stirred, unfurling like something waking from a dream. First, a foot, pale against the darkened petals. Then a hand, fingers twitching slightly as if remembering what it meant to grasp. The figure rose, slow and deliberate, every motion fluid yet robust, like an automaton learning its own weight.
And then, they all saw.
The stance, the familiar way his shoulders squared without hesitation, the weight of his presence—there was no mistaking him. Even without his name on their tongues, they knew.
Tang-Ji's felt her breath catch. Her heart pressed against her ribs, uncertain if it should race or halt entirely. Her voice was barely above a whisper, the sound catching in her throat.
"You…," she whispered, a smile creeping up to her drained expression. "Long time no see… I finally get to see you again…"
The boy—Kazami—stood in silence.
Observing the scene from afar, a snarl twisted across Esmeray's face, the remnants of his body shifting, skin still stitching itself together quicker in grotesque harmony. Behind him, the pillar of molten light surged higher, its radiance casting jagged shadows across the cavern walls.
And from the darkness, the lamb's meat stirred, pouring out from the pot in succession.
It slithered out in thick, sinewy tendrils, blackened by fire yet still raw, stitched and bound together like something unwilling to die. It coiled and writhed, spilling across the cavern floor in a sickening tide. The air turned acrid, the stench of vinegar seeping from the earth itself as if the very ground had begun to ferment.
Esmeray's book hovered before him, pages turning as if by unseen hands. He reached for it, but he did not need to touch it to command it.
He belonged here. The poison did not repel him—it welcomed him, embraced him, whispered to him like an old friend. With every step he took, the world withered.
Rotting. Choking. Drowning.
The flying eels around him began to shake violently as their bodies bent and flattened back into dough before being smooshed together. Slowly, the amalgamation of dough stuck together before him, its shape molding grotesquely.
The mass of dough twisted, bubbled, and expanded, splitting apart and reforming into chunks of bloated, rising bread. The air was filled with the scent of wet flour and spoiled yeast. And then the heads emerged—three in total, jaws gaping, their mouths cavernous openings of unbaked sinew and gnashing crust.
"The gate is now opened," he hissed.
Sufficiently baked, the bread took the form of a beast that guarded the gates of hell. A beast of hunger. A beast of excess. A beast that would devour and devour and never be satisfied.
The cavern groaned under its weight.
And then, the world shifted.
The air split. The storm arrived.
Rain. Sleet. Snow. Hail.
All at once, the elements clashed, each drop lashing against the stone like the teeth of a starving god. The cavern turned white, ice creeping along the walls and floor, reaching for the molten lake that churned beneath it like a boiling cauldron.
Fire and ice.
"This is your punishment for the sin of gluttony," Esmeray announced as he stepped forward, bringing the apocalypse along with him.
They had stepped into the Third Circle of Hell without realising it.
Esmeray exhaled, his breath curling into frost. He lifted his gaze to the boy, to the impossible light he carried.
"… Welcome to Judgement Day."
Kazami continued to stare blankly; he did not speak.
His expression was unreadable, yet something about his presence carried weight—a stillness that pressed against the air.
And then, there was the light.
It bled from his hand, so bright that Ji-Soon, who lay beside him, could not even glimpse its true form. Tang-Ji had to turn away, her eyes stinging as she tried to steal glances through the unbearable glow. It was not just light—it was something more. Something alive.
The handle was glass. A fragile thing, delicate, almost too beautiful for war. But the blade—
The blade was something else entirely.
It gleamed with a brilliance that defied the world around it, standing stark against the ruinous clash of fire and ice. It was not crafted from steel, nor from magic alone. It was clarity given shape. A frozen moment of love, of pain, of memories, poured into glass.
The bandages wrapped around Kazami's right arm—no, they curled from the hilt itself, stretching like pale ribbons of silk, binding him to it. They wound over his skin, layered upon one another like unseen hands tending to old wounds. They whispered of something intimate, something lost, something that had been given and could never be returned.
It was a touch of comfort that every child had experienced in their life.
An unconditional love pressed into every fragile thread.
The glass did not shatter. It did not bend under the weight of its own existence. It simply was.
Kazami held it with his right hand, standing in a neutral stance. No aggression. No fear.
Just purpose.
And in that moment, as the storm raged, as fire clashed against ice, as Cerberus loomed and Esmeray grinned through his fury.
The blade did not waver.
And not before long, Kazami had engaged in a battle to escape hell.