The dying song

Chapter IX: Blue is the color of fate

2020.

Utahime.

The monsters aren't gone yet when she opens her eyes again.

She fell asleep, prey to pain and exhaustion, waking up to the screechy sounds of the curses' voices still around. It's like they are looking for something, prowling, hunting, and sniffing to get any smidge of the victim they are so eager to find.

She wonders if it's her.

But there wouldn't be a specific reason for that to happen. Or so she thinks. Why would they look specifically for her when there's no trace of her cursed energy flaring around? Back when the world was normal, she never stood out for being one of the strongest sorcerers; on the contrary, she was always reminded to avoid fighting unless it was strictly necessary, working as support for her colleagues most of the time. And now she has shut herself off, knowing those monsters are starving to find the tiniest speck of cursed energy to feed on, killing their prey in the most savage way possible as soon as they're done.

She forgets the stinging pain in her thigh if she doesn't move around. But as soon as she shifts her weight, the pain flares intensely. It forces her to bite her lip and restrain even the smallest sound from shaking the glass structure that shelters her, making it almost impossible for her to contain all her cursed energy from flaring out of her body.

Utahime closes her eyes shut, memories playing in her mind over and over again in an endless loop, keeping her hold on sanity, saving her from contemplating too much of her pain and danger: keeping her alive. She catches herself daydreaming in the middle of the surrounding curses and the rumbling glass that barely protects her. Sometimes it works, sometimes not, but it helps her lessen the scorching ache that keeps her from thinking straight.

The horde is getting further away now, that's for sure, and the maddening cacophony of the grumbling ground grows weaker with every passing minute. Something big and heavy climbs onto the ruins of the Tokyo Tower, and she thinks she can feel it descending shortly later, able to hear it through the vibrations of the spot she's stepping on. But her thoughts can't linger on that fear any longer, not when the little sanity she's been trying so desperately to keep is long gone now—feeling a tickling row of tiny feet running over her bare, wounded thigh. A damn big centipede has decided to attack her lacerated limb, piercing sharply the edge of the bleeding wound with its forcipules before she can shake it off her leg against the elevator door, quickly stepping on it to death in a sudden move. Its ripped corpse lies against the glass as she clenches her throat to hold a scream: the bite and its venom already doing the trick, making her shake in pain, her lip wobbling under her faltering breath.

Utahime starts swinging back and forth—a childish, desperate attempt to forget her now-amplified burning soreness. She needs to get out; she needs to contact the base and call Shoko and tell her about this. It's too much; it's agonizing. She has to wait: the horde keeps moving on, but she has to make sure they won't come back. They're slow, and so are her tears. She's still feeling this weird, heavy vibe around her—the hunch that one of those curses' energy is disturbingly familiar—but the centipede bite starts itching, setting her limb on fire, and she can think no more.

The pain is grueling, and she squirms as if it could help her get rid of the harrowing torture, forced to wait until the curses are far enough away to make her come out of the suffocating shelter. Utahime can't catch sight of the head of the horde—the biggest, loudest curse—but she's too busy with her torment to care. A few seconds later, she's getting ready to slide the door open, the curses already further away. She's safe; she's sure of it. Struggling with pain and her swelling wound, she goes out, the agonizing motion boosting a primitive groan out of her throat as she crawls on sand until she's totally out, crying out with effort, her body facing a dark sky full of stars.