Page 19

19

The Inevitable

TATSUYA

I shouldn’t have been there.

But something in me—some dark, impossible pull—dragged me along. My mind was a battlefield, but my body was already moving before I could think it through. I told myself it was the right thing to do, that she was in danger, that I had to protect her, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t that simple. There was an obsession growing inside me, something I couldn’t shake, something I couldn’t explain.

I was supposed to be above this.

But I wasn’t.

And that made the rage burn hotter.

I followed her, keeping to the shadows, careful not to make a sound. She didn’t know I was there. She never did. But I couldn’t help myself. She was a magnet pulling me closer, and I hated myself for it. Every time I told myself to leave, to turn around and go back to the temple, I couldn’t do it. My feet were rooted to the ground, wanting to follow her with a compulsion I had no control over.

The thing was, I didn’t know why I felt this way. Not exactly. All I knew was that there was something about her—something that both terrified and attracted me. It was a bond I couldn’t explain, a connection that was pulling at the very core of my soul.

And it wasn’t just the physical attraction. It was the darkness I could sense in her. The same kind of darkness I had tried to bury in myself.

I kept my distance, watching her from afar.

That was, until I heard it.

A scream.

A woman’s voice.

Momoi.

It felt like a dagger was piercing through my flesh. My heart thudded painfully against my ribcage. Without thinking, my body reacted before my mind caught up. I ran, faster than I ever thought possible. My legs carried me with a power I didn’t know I had. I could hear the distant echo of her scream in my mind, urging me on, spurring me into action.

When I turned the corner, the sight of her stopped me dead in my tracks.

Two men had her cornered. One with a crowbar, the other with a knife. The fear in her eyes—barely hidden under the bravado—was enough to set my blood on fire. The men were taunting her, getting closer, and she was fighting back with all her might, but she was outnumbered. Outmatched.

And in that moment, I felt a switch flip inside me. The rage that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted in an instant.

I saw red.

Every breath felt was fire in my lungs, and all I could think about was destroying them. Protecting her wasn’t enough. I needed to hurt them. I needed to make them feel every ounce of pain they had inflicted on her.

I was no longer thinking. I was moving on pure instinct.

I didn’t even hear the words they shouted at me as I rushed toward them. The man with the crowbar swung at me first, but I was already on him. My fist connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backward. The crack of bone under my knuckles was satisfying, but it only fueled the fire inside me.

The man with the knife lunged at me, but I grabbed his arm, twisting it with a sickening crack. The knife clattered to the ground, but I didn’t stop. I threw him to the ground, kneeing him in the stomach before turning my attention back to the first man.

I was already moving before my brain could catch up to my instincts. Every inch of me screamed at me to turn around, to walk away, to keep my vows of peace. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand there and watch them threaten her.

My fist connected with a jaw with a sickening crack, and I felt the rush of satisfaction, the heat in my chest burning hotter, fiercer. But it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.

None of it was meant to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy this, but when his body staggered back, and his breath hitched as he tried to recover—it felt right in a way I couldn’t understand.

I turned toward the second man, who had rushed to close the gap. He swung a crude punch, but I ducked, spinning around and landing an elbow to his ribs. I heard him grunt in pain, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. They weren’t backing down.

And neither was I.

I wasn’t even trying to protect her anymore. It wasn’t about her anymore.

It was about me.

The next few moments blurred into a haze of violence. My body was moving without thinking, my hands striking, my fists landing with bone-crushing force. I didn’t hear their screams. Didn’t hear their pleas. All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears, the thrum of fury that surged through me. I wasn’t thinking about anything. I was consumed by the rage.

I heard the crunch of bone, the wet slap of flesh hitting the concrete, the sound of their broken bodies hitting the ground. It was primal, savage, and I didn’t care. I wanted to hear it. I needed to hear it.

My hands were covered in blood. My robes were soaked with it. It was everywhere. The men’s bodies were barely recognizable as they lay in pieces on the ground. I had destroyed them. Crushed them. The rage had taken over completely.

I stood over them, chest heaving, hands still clenched in fists, blood dripping from my fingers. I didn’t know how long I had been standing there, but when I looked down at the bodies, I couldn’t even recognize what I had done.

And then it hit me.

I looked down at my hands, covered in blood. The red liquid was smeared across my skin, dripping down my wrists. I wiped my hands against my robes, but the blood wouldn’t come off.

But that wasn’t what made my breath hitch in my chest.

It was the feeling. The power coursing through me.

I lifted my hands to my face, trembling, as I felt the heat radiating off my skin. My fingers felt longer, thicker. My nails sharpened into claws. The veins beneath my skin were swollen, dark, pulsing. The very air around me seemed to crackle with the power I could feel surging inside me.

I stepped back, and that’s when I saw it.

The reflection in a broken piece of glass on the ground.

It wasn’t me.

It was something else.

The face staring back at me was distorted, monstrous. My eyes—no longer just human—glowed with an unnatural intensity, the pupils elongated into slits. My skin had a dark, unnatural tint that reflected my insides. I was something that no longer belonged in the world of men.

I stood there, my fists still clenched, my body trembling with the aftermath of what I had just done. The rage inside me hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t gone . It was still there, still gnawing at me, still hungry for more.

And the worst part was, I didn’t know how to stop it.

I wasn’t supposed to be this man.

I wasn’t supposed to be the one who threw punches.

But in that moment, I realized I’d become exactly what I hated.

I hadn’t just fought them.

I had become something else.

I had become an Oni.

The rage that had consumed me, the anger I had tried to bury for years, had twisted me into this. Into a monster.

An Oni.

The legend of the Oni had always been just that—a story. A cautionary tale whispered to children, a myth, a creature of nightmares. A demon born from rage and violence, its only purpose is to destroy, to slaughter, to feed on the misery of those unlucky enough to cross its path. The Oni was said to be a once-human warrior who, overwhelmed by their own fury, gave in to their darkest desires and became a beast. No longer bound by the rules of man, the Oni's blood ran hot with an unquenchable thirst for destruction.

The eyes were the first sign—eyes that glowed with an unnatural, fiery light, their pupils like a beast’s, narrow and predatory. The skin would change, darken, and take on an inhuman texture of a hardened shell of a demon. But it wasn’t just the outward transformation. The Oni’s true power lay in its rage—the primal, unstoppable force that coursed through their veins, making them nearly invincible, tearing through anything and anyone in their path without thought or remorse.

I had always believed the Oni were just a myth, an exaggeration. A tale meant to scare children into behaving. But now, as I looked down at my own blood-soaked hands, my trembling fingers, the unnatural glow in my eyes, I realized the truth. The curse wasn’t just a story. It was real.

And I had crossed that line.

My body still trembled from the violence, the bloodlust, the primal urge to continue, to destroy. The feeling was intoxicating, a rush I had never experienced before. The adrenaline was still pumping through me, my heart hammering against my chest, but it wasn’t just from the fight. It was something deeper, something more dangerous. Something that fed on the chaos I had unleashed. I could feel it inside of me, crawling under my skin like fire, threatening to burn me from the inside out.

I had embraced it, let it consume me, and now there was no turning back.

I wanted to scream in frustration, to tear my own skin off to rid myself of the curse that had claimed me. But all I could do was stand there, breath shallow, hands covered in blood.

The Oni was no longer a legend. It was me.

And in that moment, I had become a thing of terror, a monster that would never again be allowed to walk in the light. I would never again be able to claim the peace I had fought so hard to protect.

I was no longer Tatsuya.

I was something else. Something far darker. An Oni.

And I was trapped in the very thing I had feared most.