Until Dusk Protocol-Chapter 26: Blossom Against the Inferno

A green bar hovered above his head, its glow reflected in Emiko's eyes—steadily sinking, inching into red. The colour of warnings. Of endings. It flickered, casting its sickly light onto her skin, stretching thin across the crevice beneath her.

Then came the smell. It crept in like a whisper, curling into her lungs before she could stop it—a scent disturbingly familiar. The warmth of cooked beef, seared to perfection, a fleeting comfort amidst the carnage. But layered beneath it, curling through the cracks of her mind, was something raw. Wet. The unmistakable iron tang of fresh blood, thick and cloying.

She knew this scent. It was the scent of a meal interrupted by violence, of men laughing over plates of steaming meat while crimson streaked their knuckles. It was the smell of her father's men, grinning as they wiped their blades clean, as if the blood could ever be washed away.

A twisted noise tore her from the past—a grotesque squelch, the sound of something shifting, of wet flesh peeling apart. The black limb twisted, reshaping itself like a thing alive, meat-clumping together before slithering back. It pulled out of Ji-Soon, taking with it splatters of blood that burst into rainbow-coloured shards. The moment stretched as if time itself was hesitating, but then he collapsed.

Ji-Soon's health bar blinked red.

A sharp breath caught in her throat. Something hot, something unbearable welled up inside, but she didn't cry. She never cried. Instead, small, silent drops slipped down her cheeks, falling before she could understand them. They weren't tears—they were something else. Shock, confusion, the raw ache of a wound she thought had long since scarred over. But it hadn't. It had been waiting, just beneath the surface, for the moment to split open again.

Her lips parted, but the words that came out weren't steady, weren't strong. They trembled, like she did.

"Why... why did you protect me?" she muttered weakly.

Her voice cracked, raw and uneven, the syllables slipping like broken glass.

Ji-Soon stirred. His breath was shallow, but he pushed against the ground, struggling to rise. Blood seeped between his fingers as he clutched his wound, but he still smiled—weak, barely there, but hanging on. And then he spoke, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Because... someone had to."

Something in her stomach twisted violently. The words were different, but the meaning was the same. A shadow of a voice she had once heard. A boy, standing between her and the men who would kill him, murmuring something soft, something she hadn't understood until it was too late.

But Ji-Soon wasn't him. He had no reason to stand in front of her. He had no reason to bleed for her. And yet, he did.

The black limb tensed.

It reared back like a striking snake, the flesh shifting and bulging as it prepared to finish the job. The moment stretched thin, seconds breaking apart, slowing to an unbearable crawl.

Tang-Ji tried to move first.

She dragged herself to their side, her fingers twitching as she scanned her surroundings. Her muscles screamed as she reached for the shears lying motionless next to her. They felt impossibly heavy. Every inch of her body ached, drained past its limits, but she didn't care.

"Ji-Soon!!" Her voice cut through the suffocating air.

Junyo cursed under his breath, fingers flying across the glowing panels on his arm. His eyes darted over the code, over the numbers flashing in warning.

"It's not gonna make it," he muttered, panic lacing his voice as he peeked out from behind a jagged rock. His expression tightened.

The limb struck.

No one moved.

As time seemed to freeze.

Tang-Ji's vision went white.

No, not white—petals. Layers upon layers, unfurling in the air like silk caught in the wind. They bloomed in defiance, standing between Ji-Soon and death itself. The tendrils of black flesh stopped mere inches from their mark, frozen by something unseen.

Ji-Soon exhaled shakily, his fingers pressing against the wound in his chest. Red shards tumbled from between them, glinting like broken rubies as they hit the ground. His breath hitched, his body trembling as he turned, wide-eyed.

No one had moved. Not Tang-Ji, not Junyo, not Kompto, nor Decker. None of them had done this.

A single, pure-white lotus stood in the air, untouched by the chaos around it. The petals, perfect and unyielding, held the grotesque limb at bay.

In the distance, past the curtain of molten light that shot skyward, a figure walked through the glow.

The underworld fell silent once again as they heard a behemoth resurfacing back into the human world.

Like a ghost appearing, a breathless horror gripped them all as they turned to see it.

The monster. The one they had been fighting all this time.

A starved connoisseur–once a boy who knew only hunger, now a beast that devoured all.

His body was reforming, his skin shifting, stretching over his frame like kneaded clay. Flesh slithered and twisted, raw muscle folding over exposed bone, patching together like a dish prepared piece by piece. His skull gleamed for a moment, nerves glistening in the firelight before they, too, were buried beneath fresh, glistening skin. It came in layers, each one different, yet blending into the illusion of humanity.

A low chuckle rippled through the air—hoarse, distorted, slipping between the cracks of flesh as Esmeray's jaw twisted back into place. His voice, smooth at first, slithered into the silence.

"Do you know... what kind of meat this is?"

Their eyes clung to him—silent, hollow, unblinking. It was as if the very world held its breath, unwilling to acknowledge the nightmare before them.

Esmeray's smile twitched. His fingers flexed, the sinew in his arms shifting, coiling over his bones like living strands of muscle.

"Tch." His tongue clicked against his exposed teeth. His voice curled, softer this time, coaxing. "Come now. None of you?"

Nothing. Not a word.

The silence gnawed at him.

His smile cracked. His pupils dilated.

"Lamb." His voice dropped an octave, thick with something unreadable.

He lifted his arm—his own flesh still knitting itself back together—and twisted his wrist, watching the skin ripple and reform.

"A lamb's flesh, when raw, is soft. Tender. Unsullied." His fingers curled, nails digging into his palm. He paused as if lost in the thought. "But when you burn it—when the flames lick it clean—it loses that innocence, doesn't it?"

His head jerked slightly, his eye twitching, his smile warping into something that barely resembled amusement.

"A lamb is meant to be guided, meant to follow. A lost one—" his fingers snapped—"—a stray, without a shepherd, what does it become?"

There was no response.

Esmeray's face twitched. His patience was reaching its limit.

"ANSWER ME!" He said in a low growl.

His voice fractured—splintering against the molten air. His body jerked, the weight of his own madness pulling at the seams of his human guise. His lips peeled back, revealing teeth that did not belong to any man.

"Even a lamb that has lost its way...," he continued, laughter trembling at the edges of his words. "If it wanders long enough, if it suffers enough, if it's patient enough—"

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming like wet stones.

"It might find another shepherd."

The group listened on expectedly, wondering whether he was toying with his prey.

Esmeray's shoulders trembled, his body twitching as his own words twisted into something even he couldn't control. He let out a shuddering breath, then exhaled sharply—his laughter bubbling up again, uneven and ragged.

"As long as it refuses to give up living, it will live." His head tilted, unnaturally slow. "Tell me, then... who among you are willing to guide the little lamb to safety?"

Not a whisper could be heard, whether out of fear or confusion. Junyo's breath hitched, anticipating that this was the end of the discussion.

"Then none of you are worthy." From behind Esmeray, black tendrils lashed forward—honing in on Ji-Soon. Level 10 deployment," he mumbled the same enhancement. "Ultimate technique: Main Course—The Heart of Ash."

Without warning, a second wave of lotus flowers burst into existence, intercepting Esmeray's attack once again.

They swayed in the heat, brushing against Tang-Ji's face, tickling behind her eyes. They should have burned. They should have withered. But they didn't. They stood untouched, enchanted in a way she couldn't explain.

永世长存.A phrase she had heard many a time in her childhood. Although she couldn't speak the language well, she was constantly reminded of its meaning.

Eternal. Unyielding.

Her mother had told her once—nothing lasts forever. Beauty fades, and all things wither. But as she watched the lotus blossoms drift through the fire-lit air, she believed, if only for a moment, that these petals would never die. That nothing could take them away.

And for the first time, she wanted to believe it was true.

The remnants of the shattered lotus groaned, its petals—scattered like forgotten prayers—now slowly began dragging themselves back together. They pulsed, folding into one another, merging, swelling, until a single, colossal bloom stood where the fragments had once been. Its petals trembled, white-edged with deep crimson, as if dipped in blood. The glow that emanated from it was not warm, but cold—sterile, surgical, an eerie contrast to the molten light still screaming into the sky behind them.

As if in response.

From within the lotus, a shadow stirred, unfurling like something waking from a dream. First, a foot, pale against the darkened petals. Then a hand, fingers twitching slightly as if remembering what it meant to grasp. The figure rose, slow and deliberate, every motion fluid yet robust, like an automaton learning its own weight.

And then, they all saw.

The stance, the familiar way his shoulders squared without hesitation, the weight of his presence—there was no mistaking him. Even without his name on their tongues, they knew.

Tang-Ji's felt her breath catch. Her heart pressed against her ribs, uncertain if it should race or halt entirely. Her voice was barely above a whisper, the sound catching in her throat.

"You...," she whispered, a smile creeping up to her drained expression. "Long time no see... I finally get to see you again..." 

The boy—Kazami—stood in silence.

Observing the scene from afar, a snarl twisted across Esmeray's face, the remnants of his body shifting, skin still stitching itself together quicker in grotesque harmony. Behind him, the pillar of molten light surged higher, its radiance casting jagged shadows across the cavern walls.

And from the darkness, the lamb's meat stirred, pouring out from the pot in succession.

It slithered out in thick, sinewy tendrils, blackened by fire yet still raw, stitched and bound together like something unwilling to die. It coiled and writhed, spilling across the cavern floor in a sickening tide. The air turned acrid, the stench of vinegar seeping from the earth itself as if the very ground had begun to ferment.

Esmeray's book hovered before him, pages turning as if by unseen hands. He reached for it, but he did not need to touch it to command it.

He belonged here. The poison did not repel him—it welcomed him, embraced him, whispered to him like an old friend. With every step he took, the world withered.

Rotting. Choking. Drowning.

The flying eels around him began to shake violently as their bodies bent and flattened back into dough before being smooshed together. Slowly, the amalgamation of dough stuck together before him, its shape molding grotesquely. The mass of dough twisted, bubbled, and expanded, splitting apart and reforming into chunks of bloated, rising bread. The air was filled with the scent of wet flour and spoiled yeast. And then the heads emerged—three in total, jaws gaping, their mouths cavernous openings of unbaked sinew and gnashing crust.

"The gate is now opened," he hissed.

Sufficiently baked, the bread took the form of a beast that guarded the gates of hell. A beast of hunger. A beast of excess. A beast that would devour and devour and never be satisfied.

The cavern groaned under its weight.

And then, the world shifted.

The air split. The storm arrived.

Rain. Sleet. Snow. Hail.

All at once, the elements clashed, each drop lashing against the stone like the teeth of a starving god. The cavern turned white, ice creeping along the walls and floor, reaching for the molten lake that churned beneath it like a boiling cauldron.

Fire and ice.

"This is your punishment for the sin of gluttony," Esmeray announced as he stepped forward, bringing the apocalypse along with him.

They had stepped into the Third Circle of Hell without realising it.

Esmeray exhaled, his breath curling into frost. He lifted his gaze to the boy, to the impossible light he carried.

"... Welcome to Judgement Day."

Kazami continued to stare blankly; he did not speak.

His expression was unreadable, yet something about his presence carried weight—a stillness that pressed against the air.

And then, there was the light.

It bled from his hand, so bright that Ji-Soon, who lay beside him, could not even glimpse its true form. Tang-Ji had to turn away, her eyes stinging as she tried to steal glances through the unbearable glow. It was not just light—it was something more. Something alive.

The handle was glass. A fragile thing, delicate, almost too beautiful for war. But the blade—

The blade was something else entirely.

It gleamed with a brilliance that defied the world around it, standing stark against the ruinous clash of fire and ice. It was not crafted from steel, nor from magic alone. It was clarity given shape. A frozen moment of love, of pain, of memories, poured into glass.

The bandages wrapped around Kazami's right arm—no, they curled from the hilt itself, stretching like pale ribbons of silk, binding him to it. They wound over his skin, layered upon one another like unseen hands tending to old wounds. They whispered of something intimate, something lost, something that had been given and could never be returned.

It was a touch of comfort that every child had experienced in their life.

An unconditional love pressed into every fragile thread.

The glass did not shatter. It did not bend under the weight of its own existence. It simply was.

Kazami held it with his right hand, standing in a neutral stance. No aggression. No fear.

Just purpose.

And in that moment, as the storm raged, as fire clashed against ice, as Cerberus loomed and Esmeray grinned through his fury.

The blade did not waver.

And not before long, Kazami had engaged in a battle to escape hell.

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Shards of ice rained down like shattered glass, their jagged edges glinting under the violet moonlight. They struck the stone floor in bursts, exploding into a mist of cold vapour as dozens of writhing black limbs surged towards Kazami.

He didn't move much. He barely needed to.

A subtle shift of his feet. A minimal tilt of his wrist. Each motion guided his glass-like blade with unnatural precision, deflecting every strike before the limbs could so much as graze him.

Esmeray moved. No, he hunted.

His form blurred, dashing from side to side, erratic and unpredictable. His limbs contorted, his movements no longer human—his hands scraped against the ground, his posture hunched, a beast prowling through the bloodstained ground of ice and shadow. With every step, the ground beneath him blackened, stained with the poison seeping from his form.

Yet Kazami's blade never faltered. His counters were exact, almost mechanical. It wasn't just technique—it was something else entirely. Something unnatural.

Esmeray narrowed his eyes. He slashed at Kazami's throat—only for him to step precisely one inch back, leaving the attack to slice empty air. The next instant, Esmeray pounced from above. Kazami tilted his blade just slightly upward, catching the descending claws from the three-headed dog and redirecting them without a single wasted movement.

"You're different," Esmeray snarled, dashing low, twisting mid-air to slash at Kazami's side with elongated flesh. His words came between strikes, each syllable punctuated by a violent movement. "What—" A swipe from below. "—happened—" A lunge from above. "—to you?"

Kazami sidestepped, blade flashing as he deflected each attack. He remained silent.

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Esmeray's movements became more erratic, his speed increasing as he completely dropped onto all fours, his body a blur as he circled Kazami, striking from impossible angles. Overhead, the three-headed beast—its grotesque form composed entirely of dark, charred bread—rushed forward, its gaping maws snapping with razor-like crusted fangs. Claws slashed, teeth lunged, yet Kazami merely sidestepped, raising his blade with a calm flick of his wrist. The creature's claws scraped against the glass edge, but it did not shatter. Instead, Kazami guided the beast's own momentum away, letting its charge collapse into empty space. A sidestep. A slight pivot. A downward cut that split the air like a seam unravelling. Each movement was just enough, nothing more.

"Dam pest, I'll kill you all!" The behemoth growled before unleashing a tidal wave of writhing limbs that exploded outward, crushing the cavern walls with a monstrous force. The blackened meat slammed into stone, fracturing it, sending shockwaves rippling across the earth chamber. The impact was cataclysmic—jagged rock and dust filled the air, the very earth trembling under the assault.

The deadly tendrils didn't stop with Kazami; they extended further, spiralling behind him, behind where everyone was still in a daze. Kazami's eyes flared as he whirled his head back to see the unstoppable tide of destruction was about to sallow his friends.

But before they could reach—

The fabric of space split apart.

A gash in reality itself swallowed the oncoming projectiles whole, the limbs vanishing into the void as though they had never existed. Tang-Ji stood firm, her hands raised, manipulating the unseen threads of existence. The gravity around her distorted, warping and pulling against the force of Esmeray's attack. The debris that had been hurled toward them froze, then collapsed inward, compressed into a singularity before dispersing into nothingness.

"Just keep fighting, I'll take care of everyone else." Tang-Ji said.

Kazami nodded at her without saying a word as he turned back to his foe.

At the cavern's edge, Junyo's glasses glowed as data flooded his vision. His voice broke through the tense silence. "He's getting faster." His fingers moved swiftly, channelling his ability to mend Ji-Soon's wounds. The hole in Ji-Soon's stomach slowly closed, flesh knitting itself back together. "That monster is getting stronger."

"Stronger?" Decker's eyes bulged with astonishment. "How the fuck is that possible?"

Ji-Soon, still lying on his back, stared past them at the sky above, his gaze locked onto the violet moon. The flames reflected in his eyes as he pointed towards it.

"It must be that."

Junyo followed his gaze. "Yeah. That makes sense." His voice turned grim. "Esmeray isn't just getting stronger—he's drawing power from the Husk. The monsters that rained down during Dusk Protocol. The moon's giving him a buff."

"We need to figure out how to stop him," Kompto interjected, his mind racing. "No matter what we do, he keeps healing."

Junyo exhaled sharply. "That's the problem. His regeneration is off the charts. We can't just whittle him down. We can't keep this up; he will burry us alive here."

Kompto's eyes narrowed. "Burry us alive? Then why has he been trying to widen the gap in the ceiling?"

Everyone exchanged glances.

Kompto continued, "When those rocks hit him from earlier, I noticed that his body was ripped apart from just mere rocks despite being invincible to our attacks. There has to be a weakness in his Leere."

"He's trying to expose more of the cave to the moonlight," Junyo muttered, piecing it together. "But why—"

Tang-Ji stared up at the violet moon. The cave was flooded with its light... except here.

Her gaze drifted forward. Kazami is fighting in the moonlight. But we're not.

Her breath hitched.

"I get it now..."

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Kazami, once on the defensive, now moved differently. His parries became sharper, his counters more precise. Esmeray noticed. His own attack was becoming wilder, yet Kazami adjusted seamlessly as if matching his tempo step for step.

Esmeray felt it.

It infuriated him.

"No," the beast growled, his voice laced with disbelief. He struck out furiously, but Kazami met him with silent defiance. "Impossible!"

He bared his teeth, snarling like a beast. "You... You're nothing but a bland imitation! A dish made with no love. A pre-packaged meal without any depth—" His attacks came in a furious flurry. "You think you can serve me this uninspired slop? You're just throwing together bland, borrowed flavours, hoping they'll somehow taste refined!"

Kazami remained silent as Esmeray closed in.

Their clash sent waves of embers spiralling through the air, but it was not steel that struck against Kazami's blade—it was Esmeray's grotesque appendages, charred-black, sinewy limbs writhing like the grasping hands of the damned. They lashed and coiled, seeking to smother him, to strangle and crush, yet Kazami's movements remained unfaltering.

Slowly, but surely, Kazami was pushing back against him. Esmeray grits his teeth, his body shifting, his breath misting in the frigid air. The poison coating the ground hissed beneath his feet, the three-headed beast lunging once more, its ashen maws snapping toward Kazami's throat. Ice crystals formed along the cavern walls, jagged and razor-sharp, amplifying the bone-deep chill.

In a burst of strength, Kazami pushed himself away from Esmeray, narrowly ducking under the bread creature's open jaw. Esmeray grunted, his frustration reaching its tipping point. "You're just a pale imitation of my skill, my speed, my strength!" Esmeray growled. "And a mockery of power like you can never outshine the original!"

Esmeray raised his free hand above his head, muttering in an incomprehensible language. "Rush Technique, deployment level 9: The Heart of Ash, act 2, Ashen Fury." He pointed at Kazami.

The walls around him pulsed, slick and grotesque as if he had been swallowed whole. Esmeray's tendrils had formed a dome of putrid flesh, its surface twitching like overcooked meat clinging to bone. Then came the black rods—spiked and rigid—piercing down from above and wedging themselves deep into the rock like obsidian stakes. They locked him in, surrounding him like an iron cage.

A thin, acrid mist crept up from the cracks in the ground, biting into his throat. Vinegar? No—poison. His skin prickled from the cold, his breath visible in the sudden chill. Shards of ice took form in the air, spearing toward him from all sides, their edges glinting, hungry.

Then there was the beast.

The three-headed dog that almost looked too cartoonish to even exist. Its fur matted with black crust, its many eyes glistening with something neither animal nor human. It slavered, its three mouths frothing with toxin, the muscles in its hind legs coiling like steel cables. Waiting. Waiting for the command to rip him apart.

Kazami stood at the centre of it all.

A prison of seared flesh. A deathtrap of ice. A beast waiting to pounce.

And yet, he smiled.

'This reminds me of that game.'

He used to watch from the sidelines as the other kids played—bounding between chalk-drawn circles, dodging, feinting, predicting their opponent's movements in a frantic game of "Stone and Shadow." It was a simple playground game: one child played as the "stone," able to hold their ground and block attacks, while the "shadow" had to weave between them, slipping past their grasp.

Kazami was never allowed to play. Too weak. Too fragile. He could only watch. But watching meant learning. Watching meant understanding.

'If I can't overpower it... I'll outmaneuver it.'

The Cerberus lunged first. He waited. Just a second. Just long enough for the ice shards to hurtle toward him—then he moved.

A step forward. A twist. A pivot.

The moment the ice struck, Kazami shifted his weight and dragged his sword against the rocky ground, carving a deep gouge in the stone. His blade skimmed the surface, lifting a fine layer of loose dust and debris into the air—a veil of obscurity between him and his attackers.

The Cerberus snapped at empty space, its jaws crunching down on shards of ice instead. The beast reeled, momentarily staggered.

Kazami moved again, using the rods piercing the ground as leverage. A foot on one. A push.

He vaulted over the beast just as another rod slammed down where he had been standing. The impact sent a shudder through the prison, shaking loose chunks of rotting flesh from above.

He landed in a crouch. The smell of vinegar and decay burned in his nose.

Not enough. He needed an exit.

Instinctively, his eyes flicked upward—his vision overlay pulsed faintly, displaying his health bar in the corner. It was dropping. Slowly, but steadily, the poison gnawed at his health like invisible fangs. Junyo's healing was keeping it from plummeting, but just barely.

He didn't have time.

Then he saw it. The rods. The way they had embedded themselves into the rock—deep, unmoving. With a bit of luck, they might give him the perfect out.

In that instant, he dashed forward, blade dragging behind him, carving another deep line in the ground. The Cerberus lunged again, but this time, Kazami was already moving, twisting just out of reach. The beast's paws skidded over the carved-out ground, its balance shifting—just enough.

Then Kazami struck.

Not at the beast. Not at the flesh.

At the rods.

His sword slammed into one, hard enough to wedge it deeper into the stone. The force sent a ripple through the rock, causing stress fractures to spread beneath their feet. The ground—previously solid—became a war zone of shifting terrain.

"Lucky me. There' another cavern underneath." Kazami ducked low, watching as the cracks spread and split apart. "When did I become a gambling man? Kang must have rubbed off on me," he winced.

Esmeray's voice, once mocking, now held a sharp edge of confusion. "Such boldness. What the hell are you—?"

Then it happened.

The Cerberus, mid-lunge, landed on a section of rock weakened by the fractures. The moment its weight pressed down, the stone gave way.

With a sickening lurch, the ground beneath the beast caved in, swallowing it in a cloud of dust and debris.

Kazami didn't wait. He turned to the wall of flesh, already sagging, already rotting from the unstable terrain. With a single, precise slash, he carved through it like cutting through dead sinew.

The cold night air rushed in.

Emerging from the melting dome, Kazami exhaled, turning to see the damage. The crude cut in the wall sagged grossly, its surface peeling, collapsing into itself.

From the shadows behind it, Esmeray's voice trembled—not with fear, but something far worse. Disbelief.

"You... You're supposed to be an imitator. A copycat. A sickly, pathetic child not meant for anything!"

"And yet, you're defying your fate?" Esmeray's voice cracked, bitter. "How are you doing this?"

Kazami didn't answer. Not right away.

He only stared.

The thing before him was no longer a man. The hunter, once precise and calculating, had dissolved into something feral. Black flesh swelled and coiled around him—a pulsing mass, shifting and twitching as if it breathed on its own. It clung to him, encasing his form like something hatched too soon, something that had forgotten where the host ended and it began. A parasite of the past, desperate, starving, unwilling to let go.

But Kazami saw past it.

For just a second, the shadows peeled away. Not a beast, not a monster. Just a boy. Small. Trembling. Curled in on himself, hiding from a world that had never been kind. A skinny little thing, knees drawn to his chest, shaking as if the cold had sunk so deep it had made a home in his bones. Crying, but making no sound.