Chapter Text
Sento's blade sears through flesh, landing between bones to meet the demon's shoulder, and its single stumble is enough to give him the time to force the katana through its heart next.
It falls alongside the others, and he takes the break to breathe. He's been fighting too long, and the hordes seem unwilling to stop any time soon.
Behind you.
Despite the warning, there's no worry in the soul's tone. He cranes his neck to be met with a familiar sight.
The amalgamation of a soul shows her kneeling next to the body of one of the fallen devils.
"Dead dead?"
"Unless they return." He returns Sento to their sheath as a peace offering, letting her image dissolve.
"Need a hand?"
"Unfortunately." It's not a shame to admit, truly. The bad part is that there are enough of them for help to be an encouraging idea.
He hears Tigra grunt as she steps back up, her claws scraping against concrete as she corrects her position.
"Been hunting more of them all week."
"Correct me if I am wrong," He hums, "but it feels like their numbers have increased this time."
"I wish I could correct you." She scoffs, and he catches the slight wind of her tail flicking in irritation. "They disappeared for a bit then came back worse. What the hell?"
"Hell indeed." He mutters humourlessly, flicking Sento off their sheath again at the sound of a distant shriek.
So tiring.
The invaders don't seem to cease.
The next demon doesn't get to him. Before it even gets to be within Sento's reach the jaws of the beast have closed down on its wing, the werewoman ripping through the membrane with an inefficiency marked by anger. He doesn't make any attempt to stop her, instead snapping his head in the other direction to possibly catch another adversary.
He tries not to grimace at the sounds of the struggle, which is clearly not in favour of the demon judging by the strangled screeches it lets out. They cut off abruptly and with a wet sound, and he makes a guess that she went for the throat.
Strong woman. The image of an old warrior seems to perk up.
Desperate one. Someone else shakes their head.
The sounds of carnage last a beat longer, the squelch of flesh an undignified thing to catch. Unfitting to the finesse of the woman who had snuck into his room, who had chosen her words carefully and coated her actions with warnings.
It was almost night and day. Worryingly so.
"Tigra." He dares to say her name after a moment of silence.
Another follows, then he hears her spit something out before answering hoarsely.
"Yeah?"
"Have you encountered this situation before?"
She wipes what he assumed to be blood off her face, considering her answer in the process.
"No. Not with demons, anyways. Vampires once. Why?"
Vampires?
There's many tales to be shared, then.
He notes that for later. Another time, with more trust, he might ask for details.
"You are defensive." He cuts to the point. "Not as simple as being territory defensive. You are prepared to fight for your life, yet you are still on edge."
Panicked. The voice of an old woman offers, and he shakes his head. He doesn't think he has the right to make that claim.
Quiet follows, and for a moment he brushes his hand against Sento again, seeking whether or not the woman had simply walked off. But no, that unintelligible mosaic of a soul is still before him.
He barely hears the sharp breath she takes.
"Let's walk." It's presented as an offer, but he knows it's not. "I don't wanna have to look at this thing."
He has no reason to decline. With a nod, he puts out a hand to motion for her to lead the way, the other still resting on Sento.
Tigra does just that.
Her tail flicks restlessly as they move through the empty streets, another late hour away from the business of night life the other side of town boasts. He sees the souls stepping by his side, Sento's chorus eager to hear what he is about to be told.
Now and again, he catches flicks of other figures with that same feeling, but they are gone by the time he turns. He doesn't seek them out further. Ghosts prefer their peace, and he will not disturb it.
"You must have lost people while fighting." She finally says.
The souls go silent as his grip on the sword tightens.
"Countless."
The admittance is quiet. She picks it up anyways.
"It never gets easier." Tigra continues, her claws clicking against the pavement as she goes along the path. "I keep losing people, and I try to tell myself that this time I'll be ready, that I won't care."
"And you never are."
That is what this is for. An understanding hum of a young man in the clothes of a noble. He can't begin to guess how long ago this one would have lived. It is fear that conquered her, made her seek you out.
The clicking is brought to an end. The beast has stopped moving. He does the same.
"And one day you love someone. Someone who technically, should be immortal. Finally, someone you can spend your life with without being afraid, right?"
He thinks of a woman with a quicker trigger finger than his and a crooked smile. He thinks about running his hand through her hair, her hand in his. Her laugh that was loud and she thought was ugly and he thought was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"And one day," Tigra's voice cracks, "one day everything that can go wrong goes wrong at the same time. And you lose them too. And suddenly, that bubble of safety bursts, and your world crumbles in front of you."
And he thinks about her death.
"My condolences." Is all he can offer.
This time, her breath is easily audible.
"I just got my world back. I just got him back. And I'm not allowing no demon nor God to dare take my happiness away from me again."
He knows her eyes are trained on him now. He feels the way he's being sized up. Sento is warm in his hand.
"Even if it means being defensive. And even if it means that either you choose to be my ally, or I see you as my enemy."
It's a threat.
It's a plea.
He takes his hand away from Sento.
"You will not find an enemy in me."
He thinks of losing what he has now, and the idea of fretting over his fighting technique seems so silly compared to it.
The cat's tail flickers again, but her stance is no longer that of a feral animal prepared to strike. It's that of someone tired. Of someone desperate.
He wonders what emotion his own matches, and if it's far from hers at all.
"We have a hunt to continue."
She changes the subject, and he lets her, simply nodding as she leads the way once more towards the sounds her ears pick off easier than his own.