Chapter Text
Tap—tap—tap
Frantic footsteps run down the mountain.
“Nggh…hahh…”
A silver-haired girl clutches her side, blood seeping through her fingers.
Tap—tap—tap
Footsteps flee into the forest; an empty bottle and dead body lie abandoned on the mountain.
Tap… … … tap…
The footsteps are too far to be heard, leaving behind the revealing light of the moon.
“Huffh… ugh,” Mokou groans, the pain sharpening as her adrenaline drains away. Pushing onward through the searing pain, her destination finally comes into view: a dilapidated shack; its roof riddled with holes, the wood rotting away.
“This elixir”—she stumbles into the shack, heading toward a mat on the floor—“better fucking work.” She falls onto the mat, uncaring of the wet squelch it makes as she lies there.
Staring up at the tattered ceiling, Mokou finally has a moment to rest.
Mind clouded with pain, she curses herself for her earlier error—letting the general pierce her side before she could sink her blade into his neck.
His final gasps, the blood splattering her hands…
He was an innocent man following orders, killed to satisfy her greed.
“Damn bastard… really had to make it hard for me,” Mokou mutters to herself. He was going to die either way; stabbing me wasn’t going to change anything. Spiteful bastard.
She dwells on the thought, spiteful toward the general, oblivious to her own transgressions.
Eventually, her anger gave way to a growing concern as her attention shifted to the wound on her side. Tilting her head to the left, she grimly observes as a red stain begins to sprawl across the mat.
I’m not healing… isn’t the elixir supposed to heal me? Does the elixir even work? Have I—maybe I—could I actually die here?
The sting of her own ignorance gnawed at her, setting her mind ablaze with fear. I… I have to find something to bandage myself with, but… ahh damn it.
Mokou knew the contents of the shack too well; there was nothing suitable for a proper bandage. She had placed every item in this decaying shack herself—meant for a brief rest before she paid a ‘visit’ to Kaguya, not to treat a fatal wound.
Though still scouring her brain for ideas, Mokou understood the hopelessness of her situation; truthfully, even with bandages, at best, they would only prolong her suffering. Helpless, all she could do was hope the elixir saved her—that she hadn’t been misinformed.
Mokou bled there for what felt like hours. The fear of death corroded her mind, the wound on her side radiated pain across her body, agonizing her as she lay dying on the bloody mat.
…
…
…
And so, body limp on a scarlet mat, Fujiwara no Mokou had slowly bled out—experiencing death for the first of infinitely many times.