The phone became dead weight in Mugi's hand, a hunk of plastic and glass that had just delivered the final, crushing judgment.
A hollow, profound feeling settled over him, threatening to buckle his knees. His bloodshot eyes felt the familiar, hot sting of desperate tears.
No. I'll see her.
It's fine. It'll all be fine.
The words were a lie Mugi repeated until they became a truth---a cheap parlor trick to keep the core of him from shattering.
He sniffed, a small, involuntary sound, and violently shrugged his shoulders as if shedding an impossible weight. His expression hardened into a desolate mask of grim, pathetic resolve as he continued walking.
Just gotta round up everything here.
He walked out of the alley and onto a derelict street, stopping before an abandoned bodega.
The window glass was long gone, the heavy shutters behind them sealed tight. But the metal door showed a set of strange, claw-like tears at the bottom. He slid his hands into the jagged holes and bent the sheet metal outward.
The groan of tortured steel echoed in the silent street. With a final, agonizing heave, he created an opening just big enough to slip through. He huffed, his chest heaving, and closed the shutter behind him, the metal groaning back into place.
He put his hands on his waist and wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. He turned, his gaze immediately dropping to the floor. In the center of the rat-infested space, there were counters and cabinets having nothing but dust on sale while five people knelt in a neat, straight line, their mouths brutally gagged with filthy, sweat-stained cloth.
"HMMPH!" One of them, a dark-skinned woman in a torn office suit with a thin stream of blood trailing from her temple, thrashed violently against her restraints.
Mugi watched her with a detached, distant sort of wonder, like she was a character on a screen, unreachable. The others remained terrifyingly still, their heads bowed in silent, broken obedience.
He forced his expression into a grim, focused stare, succeeding only in creating a temporary shield for the heavy, leaden feeling in his chest.
How do they do it? Both Michael and Lerni? How and why do Beast Art Users live normally if this is what they feel?
He savagely pushed the thought away. It was a question he had no right to ask.
He walked toward the woman and squatted before her, his dead, lifeless eyes staring into her terrified, pleading ones.
"I'm actually sorry for this..." His voice shook just a little. "I would've tried to make it better for you."--He briefly looked at the other captives--"All of you."
He looked away, scratching behind his cap. "It's my first time doing... well... y'know. So it's not my fault, okay..."
The woman's struggles ceased. She just crumpled to the ground, her body racked with silent, heartbreaking sobs. Tears streamed from her eyes, rolling down her bruised cheeks and onto the grimy floor.
Mugi watched, his throat dry. Then he tilted his head, a quiet groan escaping his throat as he felt a cold, parasitic weight on his mind.
"Fine. Last words." He rolled his eyes, a theatrical gesture of false boredom, and grabbed her shoulder.
He moved closer and whispered in her ear, his voice a low, ragged hiss. "But please... don't you even think about asking for help. Then I might be forced to actually... y'know."
Not like I'm not already forced already.
He sighed.
The raw terror in her eyes was replaced with a vacant, hollow stare, the understanding of her fate now a silent, monstrous thing. She did her best to avoid eye contact, but it was a harder feat than it seemed.
He removed the gag, and she gasped, a great, heaving breath as if pulled from deep water. He let go of her hair, and she managed to steady herself, a small, minor reprieve.
She licked her lips, her body still trembling. She slowly nodded, sniffing, and a single, broken word escaped her.
"P-please...What do you want with me...D-Don't do this..." She slowly raised her head, her watery eyes meeting his.
She took in his harsh face, the rough texture of his skin, and the disheveled light brown hair under his cap. "I can't die here... I have children... Who's gonna look after them if I'm gone?" she pleaded, her voice nothing more than a broken whisper falling on deaf ears.
"I have responsibilities." She said.
Don't we all.
Her words hit him like a physical blow, a sudden rush of shame and sadness. A memory then appeared, grainy and distorted like old VHS tape, flickered to life: the joyous, gleeful laughter of a young girl. The memory went as quickly as it came.
He lowered his gaze to the floor, sniffing hard, and placed his hands on his head, his fingers tangled in his hair.
Do it. Just do it.
If I don't, I'll never see her anymore… Or she'll never see me again… Or even be able to see anything.
His bloodshot eyes began to shudder as he stared at the hostages.
Can't let that happen… Won't let that happen! So they'll just have to… For her sake.
He raised his head, glaring at the woman who was still crying and bowing, her body shaking with silent pleas.
The other captives began to nod their heads, making muffled noises of desperate hope. Mugi took a heavy dose of air and clenched his fist.
He moved closer to her face.
And before she could say another word...
SRCHPLICK!
Her neck ruptured in a sudden, violent spray of blood. Her face contorted in a silent, final expression of horror as her soul seemed to fly away, leaving her body behind.
The other captives froze, watching in absolute horror. Mugi was already gnawing at her neck, tearing away at her flesh with his teeth. He bit down and drew out an artery, his whole mouth and chest instantly soaked in the warm, crimson fluid.
A look of grotesque satisfaction came over his face as he continued to eat, moving from her neck to her shoulder, then down to her right arm.
Now covered in blood, Mugi looked as if he had just finished a meal at a Michelin-star restaurant. A single, silent tear rolled down his left cheek, mixing with the blood and streaking a clean path down his face.
He looked at the faces of the other captives, their expressions a sickening mix of fear and revulsion. More tears began to stream from his eyes, mixing with the blood, blurring his vision, and washing away the painting of flesh and crimson.
He crawled toward them on all fours, his hands reaching out. "I had no choice." He cried, the words raw and broken. "You'd all do the same if it were any of you..." His voice cracked, an awful, guttural sound.
Mugi's bloodshot eyes deepened in color, turning a horrifying crimson. His canines grew slightly longer and sharper, though still appearing mostly human.
But that actually felt kinda good… No, how can I?
He violently shook his head, starting to feel his thoughts fragmenting.
But… it is good… too good… Is this what Beast Users have been enjoying?
He hiccupped, desperately trying to hold onto the strange, esoteric feeling of what he had just tasted, the sensation of his face going numb.
I feel like… I need more…
His fingernails elongated, becoming long, sharp claws.
Two of the captives began shuffling backward, but the other two were paralyzed by fear. He crept closer, his senses now razor-sharp.
A certain, faint scent caught his nose, immediately followed by the groan of tortured metal---the sound of his hasty lock being forced open.
A dark, consuming shadow then fell over him, blocking out the dim light of the bodega.
Mugi whirled around. His eyes immediately widened, and his body fidgeted in a silent, frantic mix of anger, fear, and a terrifying, bone-deep recognition.
---The End of Chapter 8---