Yoru staggered through the labyrinthine alleys of Kuromachi, his vision blurring as he fought to stay in control. The remnants of the underground chamber still echoed in his mind—the blood, the screams, the relentless pull of the beast within. His body ached from the violent transformation, and his skin still felt like it was crawling with the darkness that had tried to consume him.
The city around him seemed to twist and warp, as if the very streets were mocking his attempts to escape. Kuromachi was a reflection of his own internal torment—broken, decaying, and filled with shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. The neon signs overhead flickered like dying stars, casting sickly hues of red and green across the cracked pavement.
But the worst part was the hunger.
It gnawed at him, a deep, primal need that he couldn't satisfy. It wasn't just a desire for food or rest—it was something darker, more insidious. The beast within him demanded blood, violence, destruction. No matter how much he fought it, the hunger persisted, whispering in the back of his mind, urging him to let go, to give in to the darkness.
Yoru stumbled into a narrow alleyway, his body finally giving out as he collapsed against the cold, damp wall. He could feel the rough brick digging into his back, grounding him momentarily in the physical world, but it wasn't enough. The beast was still there, clawing at the edges of his consciousness, waiting for him to slip, to lose control.
He doubled over, clutching his stomach as waves of nausea and pain washed over him. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his vision darkened at the edges. The hunger was unbearable, like a black hole inside him, pulling everything else into its void. Yoru wanted to scream, to tear at his own flesh, to do anything to escape the agony that was tearing him apart from the inside.
And then he saw it.
A movement, just out of the corner of his eye. Something small, something fragile—a glimpse of humanity in the midst of the darkness. Yoru's senses flared, his vision sharpening as the beast took notice. He turned his head slowly, the air around him thick with anticipation.
At the end of the alley, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a child, no more than eight or nine years old, dressed in ragged clothes that hung off his thin frame. The boy moved cautiously, his eyes wide with fear as he clutched a small bundle to his chest. He was alone, wandering through the ruins of Kuromachi like a lost soul.
Yoru's heart pounded in his chest, the hunger surging to the forefront of his mind. The beast roared within him, demanding that he act, that he feed. It didn't matter that the figure was a child, that he was innocent and defenseless. All that mattered was the hunger, the overwhelming need to consume, to destroy.
Yoru's hands trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, his claws elongating as the transformation began to take hold. He could feel the darkness wrapping around his mind, clouding his thoughts, turning everything into a haze of bloodlust and rage. The boy was so close, so vulnerable. It would be easy—so easy—to take him, to tear him apart, to silence the hunger, even if just for a moment.
But somewhere, deep within the swirling chaos of his mind, a small voice called out to him. It was faint, almost drowned out by the roar of the beast, but it was there. A voice of reason, of humanity, of the boy he had once been before the darkness took hold.
No. Not this. Not him.
Yoru hesitated, his claws retracting slightly as the voice grew louder, more insistent. He could see the boy's face now, illuminated by the weak glow of a nearby streetlight. The child was scared, his eyes wide and filled with tears, but he was still alive, still fighting to survive in this broken city.
Yoru's breath hitched, his vision blurring as he fought against the beast. The hunger was still there, still clawing at his insides, but he couldn't—he wouldn't—let it take this child. Not like this.
The boy's eyes met Yoru's, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The beast recoiled, its power wavering as Yoru clung to the last vestiges of his humanity. He could feel the darkness retreating, shrinking back into the depths of his soul, but it wasn't gone—not completely.
With a shuddering breath, Yoru forced himself to take a step back, then another. The boy watched him, still frozen in place, too terrified to move or cry out. Yoru's claws retracted fully, his monstrous form receding as he regained control, though the effort left him weak, trembling.
"Go," Yoru whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible. "Get out of here."
The boy hesitated, but then, as if understanding that he had been given a second chance, he turned and fled, disappearing into the darkness of the alley. Yoru watched him go, his heart heavy with a mixture of relief and despair.
He had won this battle, but the war was far from over. The beast was still there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its next opportunity to strike. And Yoru knew that as long as it lived within him, he would never truly be free.
He slumped against the wall, his body shaking with exhaustion and the aftershocks of the transformation. The hunger still gnawed at him, relentless, unyielding, but he had resisted—if only for a moment.
Yoru closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The city around him was quiet now, the chaos and violence of the night finally giving way to an eerie stillness. But Yoru knew that it was only a temporary reprieve. The darkness would return, stronger than before, and when it did, he would have to face it again.
And he wasn't sure how many more times he could win.
The abyss stared back at him, and Yoru knew that one day, it would claim him.