Was it fate or was it all accidental? Were you born only to be raised in a faraway nation by the Electro Archon?
Perhaps it was fate... to be raised in a foreign country and meet a certain person who would, later on, play a big part in your life.
...
Each maiden kicked and fought, struggling against the iron grip of their captors. The soldiers, driven by twisted perseverance, pressed their sharp blades dangerously close to the delicate skin of the maidens' necks, the lethal metal hovering mere centimeters from contact. It was a sinister show, a cruel theatre of intimidation, all directed to bend Yae Miko to their will and establish dominance through fear.
Kujou Takayuki's presence loomed like a hostile force, his sneer a mere breath away from Yae's face, a calculated display of disrespect and pressure. He exhaled a gush of heated air like the fiery breath of a dragon, each word leaking with hate. "Allow me to jog your memory, Lady Guuji. Either reveal the whereabouts of Ayato and Y/n, or these girls meet a swift and bitter end." His tone brooked no negotiation, his willingness to play dirty laid bare. "You're fully aware that their lives hang in the balance, should you remain silent."
The old man backed away, raising his hand in a chilling countdown. "On the count of five..."
"Five... Four..."
Ayato's grip on your hand tightened, the pulse of his agitation reverberating through your intertwined fingers. Breath hung heavy in the charged air, torn between the urge to intervene and the paralyzing fear of witnessing innocent lives extinguished.
"THREE...TWO--"
"Wait!" Yae's voice pierced the tension, desperation lacing her words as she scrambled to muster a convincing plea.
She cleared her throat, summoning a facade of confidence to mask her growing unease. "I've said it before, the ones you seek are not within these grounds." A tremor of anxiety flickered in her eyes, hidden behind her act. "However," she hesitated, buying precious moments, "You are welcome to explore every inch of this place...and satisfy your doubts."
Takayuki's cold eyes narrowed, signaling to a contingent of soldiers to scour the area. You and Ayato exhaled a collective breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Ayato, with a glance around, gently tugged your hand, pulling you away from the approaching confrontation. Your hearts raced as you navigated the risky path, evading the prying eyes of the soldiers scouring every nook and cranny of the shrine and its surroundings.
The old man's shoulders eased, his gnarled hand sweeping through unruly strands of gray hair. Takayuki's gaze wandered briefly to the heavens above, perhaps seeking solace in the sky's expanse, before he retreated to his stoic, heartless self. "Hide all you want," he intoned, an ominous glimmer in his eyes, "Sooner or later, you'll find yourselves like mice ensnared in a trap."
Ayato's features turned with disgust, murmuring, "Tch, lunatic." He cast you a warning glance that conveyed, 'Don't budge until I give the signal.' Then, with the grace of a predator, he slipped stealthily behind the sacred sakura tree.
You maintained a vigilant watch over your surroundings, your senses acutely tuned to evade the prying eyes of the soldiers like a shadowy specter. Your back pressed against the rough shrine building, your movements were careful along the edge of visibility. Glancing back at Yae, you glimpsed the furrows carved into her brow, her worry was a noticeable sight, as Kujou Takayuki wove his elaborate web of words, a tapestry of treachery meant to trap an unwitting target.
Kujou Takayuki's self-satisfied smirk, hidden from view as he turned away from the sacred sakura tree, sent a shiver of unease coursing through your veins. The entire situation felt like a high-stakes game of shogi. Each move was a calculated gambit, where every piece had its place and purpose.
In this perilous match, you all were the unwitting pawns, manipulated by a master hand. It was painfully evident that he held the lion's share of the pieces, while you clung to a dwindling few. It was a contest of wits, a relentless clash of strategies, and it was abundantly clear that you stood precariously close to the ridge of defeat. The board, once evenly balanced, had tilted decisively in Takayuki's favor, leaving you struggling to hold your ground in the face of an opponent who seemed to know your every move before you did.
"Kid, are you curious?" Takayuki spoke, each word was a calculated insult aimed at kindling a fire within a certain someone. "Curious about...what your sister's last words were?" His grin crept wider, spilling cruelty into the air. "If I had to guess...it would be, 'sorry, elder brother'...? or maybe, 'I'm sorry'...?"
Yae remained trapped in a torment of silence, her heart heavy with the weight of an impossible decision. Any rash action could spell doom for the shrine maidens and worse yet, for her beloved shogun.
Ayato's world shrank to a singular, burning point. It was as if the very fabric of reality had collapsed, leaving only the pulsating core of his fury. Every heartbeat thundered in his ears, and each breath scorched his throat. He tasted the metallic tang of his own adrenaline, a bitter reminder of the consuming uproar that swelled within him.
In that fractured moment, the boundaries of reason shattered, leaving only the raw, primal surge of his emotions. His grip on the hilt of his sword was vice-like, knuckles blanched white under the pressure. The blade, an extension of his rage, gleamed with a hostile sheen, poised to strike. Its edge seemed to hum with a sinister hunger, eager to rend through flesh and bone.
He didn't see the shrine, the soldiers, or even Takayuki clearly. They were mere blurs, insignificant specters in the hurricane of his wrath. All that existed was the searing need for retribution, the burning demand for justice to be meted out.
His breaths were ragged, ripped from the depths of his chest in primal roars of anguish. The air crackled with the electric charge of his pent-up fury. His muscles coiled, aching for release, for the catharsis of violence. Each step forward was a testament to the very force of his will, a declaration of intent to obliterate the source of his torment.
Time seemed to warp and wobble, an erratic heartbeat in the symphony of chaos. The world spun a whirlwind of shadows and light, blurring into a vortex of indistinct shapes. Ayato's vision tunneled, the edges tinged with crimson, as though the very air was aflame with his rage.
The weight of his sister's memory bore down on him, a crushing burden that fueled the inferno within. He could hear her voice, a ghostly echo, mingling with the roar of his own blood. Her face haunted his vision, provoking him.
Every fiber of his being screamed for release, for the murderous satisfaction of striking down the one who had dared to violate his sister's memory. It was a chamber of wrath, the peak of vengeance, building to a fierce climax.
In that incendiary moment, Ayato was a force of nature, an embodiment of outrage and retribution. With a sudden violent motion, Ayato lunged forward, heedless of the consequences. His sword gleamed in the light, seeking to split through the heart of the one who had dared to degrade his dead sister. "Perish!"
But in the cruel warp of fate, his vision blurred, time stretched, and reality wavered. In that heartbeat, Ayato's world tilted on its axis, sending him toward consequences he could not foresee.
"Checkmate."
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