It took a shaky step forward, the ink-black viscous energy composing its form abruptly switching and contorting into blood-red madness. It tried to speak again, its voice shaky, layered, and confusing.
"D-d-don't listen to h-h-him!"
"What?" I felt a pang of confusion as I observed the figure.
"The o-only reason he's had a hold on you is because you can't let go of him, you've let your own fears, flaws, and failures get the better of you, you damn fool!"
The ink-black wings on its back ruffled slightly, and the tips of its horns flickered with radiant, crimson energy. At this moment, it seemed to enter an immense struggle. The crimson and black dagger in its hands began to tremble before shattering into pieces of radiant, illusory energy.
The balls of illusory energy gravitated in my direction, floating directly in front of my face. My father let out a low growl, swiftly snatching the spheres of energy from the air and bringing them to his lips, biting down as if they were a piece of physical food. The spheres of light melted and contorted as they were digested.
After doing this, the demonic figure looked down at me and smirked with a sharp-toothed grin, remnants of mystical energy protruding in between his teeth.
"That's right, I'm your biggest nightmare; you'll never let go of me," My father sneered, picking me up by my collar, lifting me from my feet to meet his towering visage.
A sudden, sharp, and burning pain suddenly emanated from my forehead as the Apocalypse sigil burst with brilliant light, threatening to melt everything it encountered. The pair of illusory crimson horns formed on my head, now crackling with fiery, crackling energy. My skin washed over as illusory crimson cracks rooted deep into my pale skin, digging into muscles and tendons.
My father's grip on my collar loosened, but before I could fall to the floor, his meaty claws sharply clasped my neck, holding the only thing connecting my head to my body as if it were a small, feeble twig. The edges of my vision turned grainy and desaturated the harder the demon tightened his grip, threatening to rupture my windpipe and cut off air flow. Within his visceral, inhuman pupils, I saw my own face turning unsettling hues of blue and white.
"I thought you'd put up more of an effort considering what you pulled that night, but it seems like even after you're all juiced up, you're still someone I can swat to the other end of the room!"
His next move was sharp and simple, lifting me up even higher and tossing me to the edge of the throne room, landing at the foot of the obsidian-colored throne. My spirit body remained paralyzed, the crimson, worm-hole-like eyes gazing at my form with palpable indifference that contrasted its previous words.
By now, my entire body seemed to hurt. My breathing now came out through a herculean, painstricken effort—it was more like gasping for air under the same premise. My arms and legs were composed of jelly, shaking and trembling at their foundations, struggling to even make the feeblest of movements. My father, now resembling even more of a demonic creature than before, turned his head to look at me with an even brighter smirk.
In the blurry sight that I'd like to call my vision, the towering, barefoot demonic creature walked over to me, his footsteps shaking the floor to its core. The obsidian pillars of the throne room rumbled, and the vast, infinite fog situated above the ceiling swirled and churned like an oncoming storm.
"Get up and fight, coward," My father spat, his voice mixed and distorted, as if two identities were fighting for control over their twisted, macabre host. As he came even closer to my languid, decrepit form splayed on the carpeted floor, the burning of the apocalypse sigil continued to ebb and char away on my forehead, and the crimson cracks all over my body only dug deeper, painlessly splitting flesh and bone into fragmented pieces that could barely be held together by my own muscles and tendons.
Upon seeing this, my father stopped in his tracks and grinned even brighter, crossing his arms and snarling enough to expose his ash-colored gums and golden teeth.
"You can barely keep yourself together, kid—do better—or I'll ensure I do it for you."
My spirit body was still situated in the epicenter of the room, its coporial, illusory form fixated on my body, which was slowly splitting apart.
"What are you d-doing? Get up and fight!" Its layered, complex voice hollered off the walls, almost ringing deep enough to grace the core of my soul.
Another fierce jolt of pain erupted from my forehead, and the gradual splitting of my body persisted like an insistent disease destined to corrupt and malnourish its host. My hands grasped the carpet below me, tugging at it with enough force to almost tear it upwards.
"Backlash is why you have the Demon-Maggot Disease," the Umbridge's brutally honest statement began to resonate in my ears and dissolve into my spirit.
From in between the cracks of my body, I spotted blurry, indifferent creatures scurrying underneath my bones and flesh, slithering in between the finite, inscrutable cracks of my muscles and tendons, finding their ways through the numerous nooks and crannies of my gradually breaking form. It was at this moment when a realization crossed my mind—I needed to find the balance; I needed to merge with my spirit body to restore my form!
"There we go, good job!" My father mockingly put his hands together as I made it to my feet, my legs and arms still trembling violently.
My body rushed forward like a man possessed, tackling my spirit body and holding it close to my chest. I had no idea what I was doing, but I had a feeling this would work.
"What the hell are you doing you bastard? Tryna get back the hugs you mommy never gave you?" Strangely, my father never moved or bothered to attack me, standing on the sidelines and observing this situation.
"Consider yourself immensely lucky, dumpster-boy. Your mother was the perfect host for myself, a perfect opportunity to corrupt and degenerate, to slowly replenish myself on her suffering. Every time she wept and cried in her room, every slap delivered and word shouted at me only made me stronger, only dared to continue to make me the demon you see me as."
He began to walk forward, his smile instantly plastered on his face and refusing to leave. He leaned in a little, enough to feel the radiant, burning heat sizzling off of his skin.
"Your mother may have said I'm 'trying to be better' or whatever that talk was in your room, but you know damn well that neither of you would be able to make an effort against me, because I had already imprinted myself on you since the day we met you, and the day I met that slut."
His lips parted again, licking the contours of his cracked, calloused lips with his ink-black saliva, the viscous liquid running down his cheek.
"Since such a connection has been established, do you want to know how your mommy's doing?"
...
The first sloppy swing of the creature sent Mr. Ryujin tumbling back, tripping over the sidewalk and into the snow. Before he could make an effort to recover his equilibrium, a sharp stabbing sound rang out through the frigid night air. Although Mr. Ryujin's vision was blurry, he could make out that something had penetrated the chest of the creature from behind, impaling its still, unbeating heart.
Ayumi clenched the wooden stake with trembling hands, her eyes clenched tightly as she forced the weapon deeper. As obscene, repugnant sounds of mottled, rotten flesh tearing burned away at the air, Ayumi dared to hold her breath and endure. The entire time, her stomach twisted and knotted, trying with haggard effort to hold back a torrent of vomit or an exaggerated reaction.
The undead creature clad in farmer's attire snapped its head back way beyond the normal capacity of a human being—its neck had snapped—but it kept walking, and living. Its mouth opened in a silent scream as it bit and chomped at the air, trying feebly to attack and disarm Ayumi.
Mr. Ryujin leapt back up to his feet, jumping into the air with enhanced agility and landing a direct hit to the neck of the undead creature. A bloodless pop sounded as the creature's head flew off its body and neck, rolling onto the snow-covered sidewalk, its mouth still agape as if still trying to eat whatever it could.
Ayumi let out a sigh of relief, but her composure was short-lived as the body of the creature began to move without a head to guide it. With a messy, languid swing, it took hold of the hem of Ayumi's blouse and sharply tugged it towards the head lying on the sidewalk. The creatures' empty sockets suddenly ignited with a small crimson flicker of energy. Its mouth opened once again, letting out a low, almost satisfied groan as it chomped and bit at the air.
"D-damn it!" Ayumi tugged and pulled at the creature's grip, which continued as unrelenting as before. At this moment, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. And with a precise, pinpointed kick to the back of the monster's knee did it finally let go, crumbling to the ground. Ayumi opened her eyes and gazed down at the disoriented, headless body with a small, confident smirk.
She then turned back to Mr. Ryujin with a small smile. "Your training taught me that."
"Always go for the knees."
"Always go for the knees," The duo clarified in unison, before chuckling to themselves.
Suddenly, a low humming sound permeated the air, alongside a dim, yellow flicker within Ayumi's eyes. Although her stomach didn't undergo any feelings of symptoms, meaning she hadn't just digested her potion, she still felt as if something was amiss.
Her vision slowly became more saturated, the dull grays and browns of the Victorian-style kingdom slowly gaining a new sense of vibrancy and color. Ayumi's palms began to flicker and buzz with illusory, bright-yellow bursts of energy that drifted in between her fingertips and coursed up her arms.
Ayumi's gaze drifted to the crimson moon in the air, surrounded by dark clouds that had begun to spew crimson-colored lightning into the distance, just beyond the evergreen trees. An illusory figure flew past her vision, then another, and another. Her body tensed as she instinctively leapt back, narrowly avoiding a phantom-like creature that dove into the opened bar.
At this moment, the patrons within the bar, who had already been heavily indulging in their beverages—boardering on drunkenness, suddenly burst into laughter, their movements becoming more eccentric and unpredictable. Some of them—the more bulky ones—either partook into heated fights or locked elbows, bursting into song.
The woman and children also began to laugh, though they habitually drifted away from the anarchy ensuing in the bar to indulge in delicacies like root beer and a wide assortment of cakes and pies. Around the entire bar, phantom-like creatures cackled and laughed, souring into the bodies of those left unarmed and taking a hold of them.
To the average passerby this looked like a slightly average scene, to Ayumi, it appeared as distorted chaos—gluttonous and wrathful.
"What the hell!" She stepped back, her illusory vision continuing to beam and pulse with bursts of radiant yellow energy. She observed the phantoms and spirits circling the bar, their laughter layered and mocking the helpless humans within their clutches.
"Ayumi?" Mr. Ryujin called out, running over to the girl.
"I-I see phantoms and stuff, they're possessing the people inside that bar!"
Mr. Ryujin cocked his head, a fresh rush of confusion coursing over him. Although the scene looked slightly normal for the bar chaos he had seen, he didn't have any valid reason to assume Ayumi was lying or seeing things—they had just defeated an undead creature!
Without saying anything else, Mr. Ryujin took a hold of Ayumi's arm and pulled her away from the chaos.
"It's best we get away, we don't know how to deal with them if I can't see them!"
"But I can!" Ayumi protested, wiggling free of his grip and turning to face him.
"The hell are you saying?" The dragon-like consular turned back to the bar, his eyes widening.
"I can see them, you can't! Just trust me, I can handle myself!"
After a short period of silence, Mr. Ryujin let out a long, shaky sigh. "I don't want you to get hurt! We don't know what the hell those things are!"
"Wraiths," a voice suddenly sounded behind Ayumi. They both turned around, catching sight of Raymond, clad in a gentleman's vest and matching trousers.
Raymond's emerald eyes flickered with a shimmer of excitement as he turned to the chaos ensuing within the bar, and he burst into laughter.
"I haven't had this much excitement in a long time!"
Without saying anything further, Raymond's palms exploded with ink-black energy that quickly snared into fibrous tentacles that coiled around the doors of the bar, ripping them off their hinges. Raymond adjusted his rounded glasses with a refinement that deeply contrasted the current situation, and he tucked his hands behind his back like a gentleman ready to greet a princess.
"Oh boys, why feast on the souls of mortals when you have someone astronomically better!" He hollered out across the restaurant.
At this moment, every face in the bar turned to him, curling into inhuman, terrifying smiles in half-a-second.
"Care to join me in a dance?" Raymond turned back to Ayumi, offering her a hand.