𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 [𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢]

• Chapter 11 •

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❝Y- you killed him...❞
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-- Trigger Warnings: Violence, Blood, Knives, Uncomfortable Imagery --
(Proceed with caution, please! <3)

Staring back at his phone, the only shapes your eyes are able to make out are large blobs of color. Your heart sinks into what feels like a void in your stomach, overwhelmed with dread. You wipe your eyes hurriedly with your sleeve and attempt to blink back your tears to take a better look at the photo, chest tightening. 'I saw it right the first time...'

On your back, directly below the first vertebrae of your spine, was the exact symbol that appeared on the gravestones. The symbol looked to be about the size of your hand-- an identical copy painted onto your back.

Whilst drowning in terror, he takes the phone back and looks back at you, eyebrows furrowed empathetically. Desperately trying not to cry, you choke back the screams of fear buried deep inside your throat. "So that scent is how it marked me?" you ask quietly. Your eyes well up with tears again, but it's too late to blink them back this time. He nods. 'Guess that saves us the effort of searching for the curse...' you think to yourself, trying to stay even a little optimistic. After all, a sorcerer on the verge of breaking down is in no shape to fight a grade one curse.

Bringing your fingers to your tear ducts and sliding them down your lower lid, you wipe away the droplets and brush them on your skirt. Taking in a shaky breath, you stomp your nerves into the ground for the time being. You feel a little guilty for making such a big deal over something the other students would most likely consider 'just another mishap.'

Sliding your knife out of its sheath, you widen your stance and dart your eyes around the landscape anxiously. While scanning the terrain, you meet eyes with the boy. He looks less concerned than he was before, though still cautious about your condition. "I know it must be terrifying-- being the target of a curse-- but I saw your skills during practice. It takes a lot of strength and skill to flip a panda onto the ground, you know." He smiles at you gently, trying not to overdo it. You loosen up a bit from his words. Even if they were somewhat cheesy, it still made you feel better coming from his mouth.

You smile back at him, not letting his sweet action go unrewarded. Somehow even in the short time period, your nerves had almost completely left you-- and in a much more natural way than they had before. You take a deep breath and refocus on the landscape, gazing into the distance for anything that could start sprinting at you. You notice him doing the same, his hand hovering over his zipper. It makes you even more curious to know what's underneath.

Suddenly, you see Inumaki throw his arm out to you. At the same time two ice-cold, inhumanely large hands grab your exposed ankles, tugging you downwards. Now understanding what's happening, your eyes shoot wide and your world seems to go silent. As your brain plays your life in slow-motion, you watch as your hand reaches painfully far away from his, the cold air replacing the tug back to the surface.

Knife in hand, you grip it tightly as you watch the daylight trickle away into a single hole on the surface. Now sucked deep into what you assume to be a domain, your heart jumps as the curse lets go of your ankles, letting you fall until your wrists are where their empty hands are. Grabbing onto them tightly, the blob roughly resembling a human your size stares you dead in the eyes.

Staring back, you wait patiently for the curse to attack you, giving you an opportunity to slither onto the ground just beneath you. The silent terror from before had been replaced with a loud beating in your ear. It felt like your heart was about to burst. "Y- you killed him..." a shaky, patchwork voice accuses you. The unfamiliar sound of a curse's voice makes you shiver. "Mastu!" the curse screeches, it's deafening cry making you squirm in place.

Feeling you writhe, it drops you onto the ground a few inches beneath you. Deciding to waste no time, you grip your knife and dash towards the left side of the curse, prepared to slice its side. The resistance of its flesh you were expecting to feel, though, was instead met with nothing.

Falling forwards, you catch yourself and look around the dimly lit domain frantically. 'That thing is fast!' You're surrounded by solid, black, rock-like walls and floors that form a relatively large space. After another second of looking around, you catch something dashing towards you out of the corner of your eye. Screaming, the angered curse attempts to catch you with it's large hands. You barely jump over it, heart racing as you feel the wind move beneath you.

As the curse turns around, you run around it in the opposite direction, shoving your energy-imbued knife into one of it's blind spots. It screeches loudly as the flesh squelches around its wound-- an unnatural color of desaturated blue blood pouring out. Jumping back quickly from the action, you flick your knife in the air to get rid of some of the rotten-smelling liquid.

You watch as the curse jumps upwards, the wound in its side already slowly stitching together. It lands right in front of you, causing you to jump backwards to avoid an attack. 'I need to make consecutive hits in order to damage this thing,' you think to yourself.

Quickly trying to think of a way to make the curse take more damage, your eyes shoot wide with an idea. Before you're able to execute it though, it dashes towards you again. You let out a sharp breath as you dash to the left to dodge it again, then regret letting your air out when the curse cuts you off.

Appearing in front of you as if it popped out of thin air, it grabs your waist tightly with one hand. The curse's grip reaches to your lower ribs and the ice-cold hands seem to melt through your fabric, making you shiver. You desperately gasp for your lost air as the curse squeezes you tightly, giggling quietly to itself. Your already abused heartbeat seems to speed up even more, your mind making you think the pressure on your ribs is due to the violent pumping.

You wriggle your non-dominant arm around slightly, trying to see how much room you have to work with. Your bones grind against your skin as the two bones in your lower arm lay perpendicular to the curses palm. Wincing from the uncomfort, you decide to get the action over with.

Feeling your hand grip your knife through the rough skin of the curse, you slowly maneuver it so the blade is facing its palm, being careful not to draw attention to the action. You're surprised the curse doesn't notice, since your wrist is standing against its hand. Feeling like you're about to break from the pressure, you close your eyes and wait for the right moment. Making sure to not let the last bit of oxygen in your lungs be forced out, you focus your energy into the blade slowly.

Feeling the pressure of the energy almost completely leave you, you turn your wrist to a ninety degree angle and sharply jab the curse's hand. Your face pales as carbon dioxide leaves your body, exerting all of your energy into forcing the slender metal deeper. You twist the knife awkwardly, feeling the torn up skin touch your fingers.

You shut your eyes tightly as the flesh almost flush to your bones tightens with the curse's ear-ringing cry, before its hand loosens. Dropping you harshly, you yank your combat knife out; the off-putting blood splatters over your upper body. You gasp for air and the cold, dull oxygen of the simple domain fills your lungs. Rubbing your sore ribs and stretching your abused wrist, you eye the surprisingly large hole in its hand, blood pouring over the stretched skin.

Smiling softly, you're content that your plan is working, even if it wasn't going exactly the way you planned.