Chapter Sixty-Two: Confrontation

Sakunae Mashiro was sent far from Lilith and Nidhogg, distance stretched like cold lakes under moonlight; the fox had planned this thread of escape.

She knew Eternal Life would hunt her first, like a hawk drawn to one bright prey, not Lilith or Miss Nidhogg.

She understood this vicious Reaper Fragment, a shard with pride sharp as glass.

Eternal Life craved every strand of the world in her fist, like a puppeteer tugging every string.

A conceited god would never let a pet of her own betray her, like a leash snapped on a winter street.

The fox knew only one of them would walk away from this, like two shadows fighting at dawn.

And the odds weren’t hers, a chill truth like frost on bone.

“You came back on your own?” Eternal Life drifted in front of Mashiro, like smoke that knew its path.

“I even sent that devourer out to chase you, yet you trotted right to my door, my naughty little dog.”

She toyed with her hair, ink strands coiling between pale fingers, her smile a painted mask of winter.

“I’m not your little dog.” The feeling hit first—iron-hot defiance—then her words landed like a blade.

“I’m the adventurer who came to end you. Call me Sakunae Mashiro.”

“Eh? Since when does a dog have a name?” Eternal Life waved lazily, like a cat batting a moth.

“Good dogs apologize on their own. Be good, or the owner gets angry,” she chimed, honey laced with needles.

“I’m not your pet, and you’re not my master.” The fury surged like storm-tide; her fists followed, knuckles white.

“I owe you nothing, and we can never coexist, like fire and river refusing to mix.”

Her voice sank low, a drum in a cavern, while her sharp fox teeth brushed her tongue like cold ivory.

“Stop treating me like a toy. I came for vengeance, like a winter knife drawn at last—

for my former teammates, for myself, scarred for years under your heel,

and for her—the princess of the Undead.”

“Boring.” Eternal Life yawned, a crescent mouth in a painted sky.

“I thought you’d finally come home to my arms, like a lost lamb.

Yet you’re still so naïve, like my adorable little sister who won’t grow up.”

“I hear she found ‘that one’s’ fragment lately—a child too, all fumbles and sparks.

Did you learn from her? No wonder you think you can beat me alone—dreams spun like cobwebs.”

“You’re the child who won’t grow up.” The burn rose first like noon sun; the words struck after.

“Huh?” For the first time in this chamber of hush, the Reaper Fragment met her eyes, red as wet embers.

Mashiro throttled her fear like reins on a bolting steed, then she forced the truth out, crisp as winter air.

“You feed your vanity by yanking others’ feelings, like a puppeteer carving tears.

You smear your elder sister and your younger sister with every breath, thorns thrown in a garden.

It’s because you didn’t inherit much of the Grim Reaper’s power, not like them,

and that lack gnaws at you, a worm inside ripe fruit.”

“As a Reaper Fragment, your strength is lower than your sisters’, so your inferiority curdles into hatred, like milk turned sour.

Your thirst for pride is a desert that needs kneeling shadows, so you push me to submit, like pressing a head into sand.”

“In your heart, everyone should kneel, a field of grain bent by one wind.

So you used Moonswallow Mist to bind them all, fog twined like vines around minds.

But mindless husks can’t sate you, so you let some Undead keep their thoughts,

then seeded them with whispers, until they believed you were their ruler, a crown forged from fog.”

“Reverence from the Undead couldn’t fill your hollow, a drum with no beat.

So you found me and made me your toy, a leash stitched from humiliation.

You thought you mastered me, but it was you who wore the bit and bridle.”

“I’m done playing.” Calm settled first, like snow; then she raised her gaze like a drawn bow.

“Childish games end now. This dream wakes. You’ll pay for what you’ve done, coin for coin.”

“Shut up!” Eternal Life roared, her voice a cracked bell.

She swung her hand; Moonswallow Mist whooshed in swarms and wrapped Mashiro like wet silk.

Blue fog poured into the fox’s mouth, cold river into a cave.

“Shut up! How dare a brat shake my resolve!” Her shriek splintered like porcelain.

“I’m not that base. I only want a pet to stay at my side.

I want you, I don’t need you—carve that into your bones!”

Her hysteria clawed through her grace, a mask slashed open, no dignity left in the shards.

She stepped lightly toward Mashiro, a dancer crossing thin ice, while the mist stuffed nose and lips like clay.

She felt control seep in, like cold ink through paper.

Relaxed now, the Reaper Fragment reached out, seized Mashiro’s throat, and lifted her, a doll in bad hands.

“Heh, all that pretty talk, and you still choke on my fog.” Her smile glittered like broken glass.

“You overreaching fool. See? I’m right. I’m the best. I’m not some stunted child. I’m not.”

“And you—my bad dog—I’ll punish you.” Her face twisted, a mask heated in a kiln.

She tightened her grip; red rings bloomed on Mashiro’s pale neck like early poppies.

Mashiro didn’t flinch; the stillness came first, like a pond at night, then she waited and sighed.

“How base, that I ever lost to you.” Her sigh drifted like ash; then red lightning surfaced on her forearm, thin as veins.

The flash pricked Eternal Life’s eyes; she recoiled, hands up, a step scraped back across stone.

Mashiro rolled her shoulders; the blue fog spilled out of her, a tide retreating from shore.

Moonswallow Mist flowed away, and fine gray powder peeled from her face, a mask flaking under dawn.

“Just as expected.” She touched her cheek, fingers cool as rain, and didn’t need a mirror to know.

She was only a fox. No creature survives decades in the Grand Mausoleum without eating, not under that endless tomb-sky.

As she’d foreseen, she had become Undead—

a zombie with her own mind, a candle still lit inside bone.

“This is troublesome,” she said, voice steady as winter stone.