He then turns back to face the angel, his expression one of resigned defiance. The creature's many-eyed gaze bears down on him, unrelenting and cold.
Back to Reality...
...Obinai's hand...
...is still touching Nurikabe...*
His body trembles violently, muscles spasming as if caught in a brutal electrical current. His breaths come in short, ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggles to pull air into his lungs. His eyes roll back completely, leaving only the whites visible, their unsettling blankness underscoring the unnatural scene unfolding.
A low, guttural groan escapes his lips as his body begins to shift. His locs, once black and tangled with the grime of the day, seem to grow of their own volition. The strands elongate rapidly, cascading down just below his shoulders like a flowing river of white, each strand glinting faintly in the dim light.
At the same time, intricate patterns begin to etch themselves into his skin. The tattoos emerge as though alive, twisting and spiraling up his arms in elegant yet unnerving designs. They glow faintly as they form, their lines pulsing momentarily before stopping.
Obinai's hands darken, the skin turning an obsidian black that seems to absorb the light around it. The transformation spreads slowly, creeping up his fingers and enveloping his palms and fading into his forearms, the charcoal-black hue stark against the pale, shimmer of his hair.
The air grows heavy with a strange energy, pressing against the space like an unseen weight. Then, with a sudden shudder, Obinai's eyes snap open—but they are no longer his.
The sclerae have turned a deep, endless black, as if the void itself has taken root in them. His irises and pupils now shine a brilliant gold, the light emanating from them pulsating softly.
Obinai's erratic convulsions cease abruptly, and his body straightens unnaturally, as though held upright by invisible strings. The tension in his frame dissolves into a chilling calm. His head tilts slightly, an unfamiliar expression settling over his features—curiosity...
...and some sense of satisfaction.
Slowly, methodically, the being that now inhabits Obinai's form raises a hand, its charcoal-black fingers flexing experimentally. It studies them briefly. A faint cold smile, plays across its lips.
Without hesitation, it extends a single finger toward its temple. The digit plunges inward with a sickening squelch, the sound echoing unnaturally in the stillness. Blood dribbles down the side of its face, thick and dark, but the creature remains unfazed. Its golden eyes close briefly, and it tilts its head as though listening to an inaudible voice.
In a voice that is both Obinai's and something far older, far darker, the being begins to speak. The tone is detached, as if reciting facts from a list, each word deliberate and precise.
"Obinai Nobunaga. Age: fourteen."
Its head tilts slightly in the other direction as though processing the information before continuing.
"Connections: Darren. Angel. Maria. Amos. Mya."
There is a pause, the being's golden eyes snapping open with an unnerving brightness. A flicker of something crosses its face—not quite recognition, not quite understanding. It speaks again, this time slower.
"Status: Blank state. No aspirations. No future."
The being withdraws its finger from its temple with a sickening squelch, dark blood dripping lazily down the side of its face. It doesn't flinch as the wound begins to knit itself together, the torn flesh moving with an unnatural precision, sealing itself as if the injury had never been. Its charcoal-black hand flexes again, fingers curling and uncurling, testing the range of motion. A faint hum of satisfaction escapes its lips as it lifts its head to the night sky.
The stars, brilliant and distant, seem to reflect in the golden glow of its eyes. It takes a deep breath, closing its eyes briefly as if savoring the stillness of the moment. When its eyes open again, they gleam with a chilling intensity. A smile spreads slowly across its face, both serene and malevolent.
"This will do," it says softly, its voice carrying a weight that seems to ripple through the empty space around Nurikabe.
The silence that follows is broken by a laugh—low at first, but growing in resonance until it vibrates through the air. The sound is medium-pitched, unnatural, and filled with an unsettling joy. It reverberates through the vast emptiness surrounding the wall, carrying an echo of something ancient and terrible. The being's body shakes slightly as the laughter subsides, its head tilting to one side, a gesture that feels both curious and mocking.
"What a blessing it is to be here now," it muses, its tone reflective yet laced with dark glee. "At such a pivotal moment, to breathe this air, to walk this ground... it's exquisite."
The being glances around, its eyes flickering over the unfamiliar terrain with a predator's calculation. The city line is just up ahead, silhouetted against the night sky. The faint glow from the many light sources make the setting seem almost alive.
"My path has been set," it continues, its voice smooth, almost reverent. It raises its hands, palms open, as if addressing an unseen audience. The charcoal-black skin of its arms glistens faintly under the dim light, the intricate tattoos that snake up its limbs glowing faintly as if alive.
"There are so many unsuspecting souls," it says softly, a cruel smile tugging at its lips, "oblivious to the purification that awaits them. To pry them open… oh, to see what spills out. It is my duty—no, my sacrosanct purpose—to cleanse this world of its rampant imperfections."
Its voice grows fervent, the golden glow in its eyes intensifying. The creature's head tilts back, its expression a twisted blend of ecstasy and malevolence. "To watch them struggle as they are stripped of their excesses," it whispers, its voice dropping to a near-hiss. Its blackened fingers twitch, mimicking the act of grasping. "To see them crawl after their lost limbs, to hear the wet sound of their breaths as they try to keep themselves together… it is art. Pure art."
The being's eyes roll back into its head briefly, the golden light of its irises vanishing. Its hands tremble slightly, its breathing deep and measured, as though savoring the imagery playing out in its mind.
It lowers its arms slowly, taking a step forward. The ground beneath it seems to respond, faint tremors rippling outward with every movement. It outstretches its arms again, its voice rising as it rejoices. "To see it all break down, to watch as everything crumbles… what joy."
Tears glisten on its brown skinned cheeks, whether from genuine emotion or mockery impossible to discern. The being throws its head back, its laughter bursting forth again, louder this time. The sound is otherworldly, a distorted echo that seems to amplify as it bounces off the expanse of Nurikabe behind it.
The creature's body shudders, a ripple of barely contained energy coursing through its form as it straightens. Its head lowers slowly, golden eyes narrowing into slits as it gazes toward the distant lights of the city. The faint glow of humanity's last stand against the night flickers far away, small and insignificant. Another cruel, sharp smile cuts across the creature's face.
"This world will bend," it murmurs, the words low and venomous, each syllable a quiet promise of destruction. Its voice carries the weight of inevitability, as though the statement were less an intention and more a foregone conclusion. "And when it does, it will know that it has become me… for that is my purpose."
The smile grows wider, revealing perfect, gleaming teeth. Its voice drops further, a guttural resonance echoing through the empty space around it. "To consume," it growls, the word drawn out like a predator savoring its prey. " Consume all...for my hunger yearns for it. "
The air around the creature seems to shift, thickening with an oppressive energy that presses against the space. The distant sounds of the world—a faint breeze, the rustling of debris—fade into silence as though nature itself holds its breath in anticipation.
The creature tilts its head slightly, the smile fading into a contemplative expression. Its golden eyes flicker, the glow pulsing in time with some unspoken rhythm. "The first six minutes," it remarks softly. "Are always the most important."
Its laughter dissipates into an eerie stillness, leaving the air heavy and charged. The creature's golden eyes shift downward, their glow casting faint, dancing patterns on the fractured ground below. Its lips begin to move, forming guttural, alien words:
"Ka'lith zenorra, thraak ulem zorrith. Ka'lith zenorra, vorath ul'marr."
The syllables are harsh, their cadence deliberate, each sound vibrating unnaturally as if resonating with the core of the earth itself. The space around the creature seems to ripple, the air growing dense, almost suffocating.
As it speaks, faint tendrils of light seep from beneath the tattered jeans clinging to its legs. The glow begins as a faint pulse, spreading downward like ink bleeding into water. Intricate spirals bloom across the cracked ground, pulsating with a rhythm that matches the cadence of the creature's words. The light deepens, darkening into a vibrant, menacing purple, its hue shifting and swirling as though alive.
The ground trembles beneath the creature, the cracks widening and radiating outward, but it doesn't waver. With a sudden, explosive force, the creature leaps into the sky, leaving a shockwave in its wake. The impact sends debris flying, and the earth groans under the strain, the glowing runes scorched into its surface like a brand.
Propelled high above the city, the creature hovers effortlessly, its body silhouetted against the starry expanse of the night. From this vantage point, the sprawling urban landscape below spreads out like a living, breathing organism.
A smile creeps across its face, slow and deliberate, both beautiful and terrifying. "Ah, to see it all burn away, layer by layer," it murmurs, its voice soft, almost wistful. The words float through the still night air, heavy with anticipation.
"And then, on to the next, and the next," it continues, its tone gaining a fervent edge. "Each cycle brings renewal. Each destruction births creation. How sublime it is—the endless cycle of decay and rebirth."
The creature takes in the city below, its eyes narrowing as its smile widens. Then, with supernatural speed, it moves. Its form blurs, a streak of dark motion against the lights of the skyline. It leaps effortlessly from building to building, each landing silent despite the immense power it exerts. The chaos below—blaring sirens, distant arguments, and the crackle of nighttime club music— allow it to move unnoticed.
Within moments, the creature arrives at its destination: the apartment complex Obinai once called home. Perched on the roof for a moment, it looks down at the familiar building, the faint glow of windows framing slices of lives untouched by the carnage outside. A chuckle escapes its lips, low and mocking.
"Oh, to have loving ties," it muses, its tone dripping with scorn. "So fragile. So fleeting."
It descends swiftly. Its form blurs again as it lands outside the complex and strides toward the revolving doors with a familiarity.
The interior of the lobby...the lighting warm and the space eerily calm. Mr. Thompson, the elderly doorman, sits at his desk, flipping through a worn magazine. He looks up as the creature enters, his face breaking into a friendly smile.
"Obi… did you dye your hair?" Mr. Thompson chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he takes in the stark white locs cascading down the creature's shoulders. "That's some look, kid."
The creature pauses, tilting its head slightly, its glowing golden eyes narrowing as they lock onto Mr. Thompson. The doorman's chuckle falters, the warmth in his expression replaced by uncertainty.
"You feeling alright, son?" Mr. Thompson asks hesitantly, leaning forward as if to get a better look. The unease in his voice grows as he notices the faint, pulsing tattoos creeping up the creature's arms and the faint glow of its irises.
The creature steps closer, its movements slow, deliberate, each step a calculated threat. It tilts its head slightly, the smile on its lips almost mocking in its familiarity. "Mr. Thompson," it says, its voice a dissonant blend of Obinai's boyish tone and something ancient and predatory. "You've always been so kind, haven't you?"
The doorman's brow furrows, his warm demeanor cracking under the weight of unease. His instincts scream at him to move, to run, but his legs feel like lead. "Obi," he says, his voice trembling as he tries to mask his growing fear. "What's going on, son? You're… you're not acting right."
The creature's smile widens, its golden eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam. It leans forward slightly, the motion smooth and unsettlingly fluid, as if gravity were merely a suggestion. "Acting right?" it echoes softly, its tone dripping with mock amusement. "Mr. Thompson… I am beyond right."
Before the doorman can respond, the creature flicks its wrist with an almost casual gesture. The air ripples unnaturally, followed by a sickening wet pop. In an instant, Mr. Thompson's head explodes, a grotesque eruption of blood, bone, and brain matter. The walls and floor of the pristine lobby are painted in shades of crimson, the warm light overhead casting stark reflections on the slick, viscous mess.
The headless body slumps to the ground with a heavy thud, folding in on itself like a discarded doll. For a moment, the lobby is silent save for the faint drip of blood pooling beneath the lifeless form.
The creature's smile twists into something feral, its eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction as it crouches beside the fresh carnage. Slowly, almost reverently, it dips its charcoal-black fingers into the blood pooling around the remains. It lifts its hand, watching as the thick liquid drips languidly from its fingertips. Its golden eyes glint as it brings the blood closer to its face, inhaling deeply.
"Ah," it murmurs, its voice low and almost tender. "The cooling caress of fresh blood. It has indeed been too long." It tilts its head, a soft sigh escaping its lips as it savors the sensation. But then, a flicker of annoyance crosses its expression, and it clicks its tongue in irritation.
"Yet," it says, shaking its head, "such waste. This one cannot be consumed. A pity… a true pity." It wipes its hand across its chest, smearing the blood into the tattered fabric of Obinai's shirt, the gesture more ritualistic than practical.
Rising smoothly to its feet, the creature casts a final glance at the ruined remains of Mr. Thompson. "Quite beautiful," it says with a derisive chuckle.
Shaking off the momentary distraction, it strides toward the elevator, leaving crimson footprints in its wake. Reaching the panel, it presses the button with a force that causes the thin metal to dent slightly beneath its blackened finger. The button flickers uncertainly before the elevator chimes, its doors sliding open with a mechanical hum.
The creature steps inside, its presence filling the small space with an oppressive weight. It selects the floor where Obinai's family resides, its finger lingering on the button for just a moment too long, as if savoring the act. The elevator begins its ascent, the soft hum of the motor accompanied by the faint creak of cables under strain.
As it rises, the overhead light flickers sporadically, casting shifting shadows across the creature's face. The interplay of light and darkness accentuates its sharp features and the eerie glow of its golden eyes. It smiles faintly, almost wistfully, as it leans against the mirrored wall, leaving a streak of blood where its shoulder touches the surface.
"Oh, to return home," it murmurs, its voice soft and almost nostalgic. "How quaint… and how utterly final."