[ her grandfather dies before her just like her mother, and it's what gives rin the same pain in her chest that she felt back after seeing the mangled limbs resting over the vast pool of blood that was her mother. it's why she releases a shrill cry as she sees kazan bleed and fade into nothing like how victims of this realm would die and be fed to the entity. all that's missing are its claws, and to rin that means the entity has nothing to do with the bloodshed that happened at home.
this triangle-shaped head of a man comes not for her, but for her grandfather for an unknown reason. whatever the reason is however? rin doesn't care with her emotions running wild, actually feeling the heat of rage and sadness course through her body for once in a long, long time. tears immediately stream down her face as she screams, the shattered katana phasing into her hand as she dashes — her form phases realms hurriedly like the onryou she is — to attack the monster in front of her. no one, survivor or killer, has made rin want to kill them since her father.
no one hurts her family and gets away with it! that's why she always aims to kill her father — an illusion that rin doesn't know yet — whenever she sees him in trials. that's why she runs over and attacks the man with the great knife still stained with her ancestor's blood. not even the entity would be able to hold rin back with how much she wants the man in front of her dead despite only scratching him, barely bothering him when she witnesses him turn away. ]
Don't you turn your back on me!
[ her voice unstable as the the grip on the handle of her sword shaking, but like everything else in this world the murderer leaves through the fog as though. rin swipes hoping to mark him for death, but no such chance was given to her. no attempt for revenge, only grieve despite knowing that everyone who dies returns eventually. though rin has yet to die herself a second time, she's witnessed those who has. she understands that everyone here, and not just the survivors, are hostages to the entity.
serve or be tortured.
now, just because rin knows the facts does not mean her the piercing pain in her heart stops. her ancestor — grandfather — still died and she couldn't do anything to stop the stranger. she couldn't save her grandfather, instead, witnessing another corpse of her blood lay dead before it disappeared. it still hurts. she is the result of her emotions wanting vengeance, how her love for her mother and anger for her father strengthens her in the end along with the rage of the yamaoka curse.
that is the reason why rin sobs at the steps of her home, she needs to be stronger if she has to protect her family when they can't protect themselves from... whatever that thing was. upset and angry and alone, not knowing that her grandfather was brought to a trial after his death. this is the reason why rin stands up with her sword out after hearing heavy footsteps coming home, only to see her grandfather arrive back through the fog.
it is also the reason why rin rushes — still phasing, her emotions getting the best of her — towards kazan and hugs him tight while still crying. is it shameful to cry? rin doesn't care, it's how she feels. ridiculous to others perhaps when people come back to life everytime, but family is family and she never wants to lose them ever again. ]
[ Rin's sobbing reaches him well before he sees her. Uninterrupted by the gasps and shudders of the mortally wounded—but a deep pain echoes in it all the same amidst the sounds of cracking bone and glass always enveloping her. He presses on without hesitation.
Within moments, she comes into view. Limbs wrapped tight around herself, pale and pitifully small against the gloomy backdrop of the manor. Every step darkening the ground with more blood, he approaches and extends a hand to help her to her feet.
Or—he would have, if she hadn't rushed forward and hugged him first, apparently heedless of the crimson covering almost every inch of his armor and skin. Kazan hesitates, then carefully wraps his arms around her and cradles the back of her head. At first, nothing comes out when he tries to speak, a sudden pang within his throat—the wires tangled about his neck, strangling, slicing—choking off his words. He swallows. Forces his way past it, his voice low and far hoarser than usual. ]
Rin.
[ even as he embraces her, he feels her shifting, her fragile form fragmenting and fading with each heave of her shoulders as she cries. It's as if a single touch will cause her to shatter into pieces. Yet he doesn't let go. Now more than ever, his strength must be hers. The despair descending in the wake of helplessness—he knows very well the perils of succumbing to that dark fog. And after what Rin has already witnessed, he cannot allow that to happen to her. Lest that demon is tempted to return.
Let it come, some part of him snarls, ever hungry for bloodshed and vengeance. But when he pulls back a little, looking down at his granddaughter's tear-stained face, he silences it. ]
[ blood is no stranger to rin, her spiritual being born of revenge for being shed with the blade of her own father. she has to catch and sacrifice meat, appeasing the being that allows her to give into her anger and avenge her family by killing her father in every single trial since day one. she has killed numerous times with her family's sword many times over.
that is why being covered in blood doesn't disturb rin the slightest as she holds onto her grandfather, with her whole being just thankful that he's back and alive and here again. despite knowing that death is not an escape from the entity — having to sacrifice the same people many times over until they break — it doesn't hurt her undead heart any less.
rin hasn't had a proper hug in a long, long time; she shakes her head as she looks upwards towards her ancestor, still weeping and shifting — a sign of her emotions still unstable despite her trying. ]
No, he left before I could strike, but...
[ a pause as she takes a breath. her voice shaking like her powers: ]
I understand that we'll never truly die in this realm, that I shouldn't cry like this, but watching you die — it was like seeing mother's death all over again. I didn't arrive in time, I couldn't help you.
[ the death of her mother always equates into heartbreak for rin. a tragedy that she wished she could have prevented. perhaps she should have arrived home earlier, perhaps she should have stopped her studies and find full time work to help her family —
rin still dreams of moments that can never be fixed. ]
[ the cuts and punctures littering his body continue to bleed, trickling down in sluggish trails. With each exhale, no matter how shallow, a new wash of blood pours from the gash on—through—his chest. Twists of pain accompany the smallest of motions. no longer numbed by the adrenaline of the trial. Yet with a shake of his head, he dismisses it all. Endures it. He can still stand. Still move. Still fight, if need be. It's enough. ]
They will heal, in time.
[ how else, he thinks with no small amount of bitterness, can he continue to sacrifice to the demon in the sky? But with that thought also comes doubt. Whenever a trial comes to an end, he is restored, any injuries he may have received fading away as if they never happened. That these are lingering bodes ill. Is it a punishment from the Entity? A consequence of daring to fight another one of its "servants"? Or—is it that creature itself? He had heard... something in his mind when its knife sank into his flesh. Not the Entity's whispers, but just as wordless and inhuman. A cacophony of cries. Muffled or from a great distance.
He draws a breath, about to ask Rin if she had heard it as well—then changes his mind. No. He won't burden her with more worry. With one hand, he wipes away her tears, leaving dark red streaks in their place. ]
Do not weep, Granddaughter. It was my battle, not yours. For you, it is enough that— [ he grits his teeth. ] —at its end, you still chose to face the enemy with a ready blade, as befitting your name.
[ even if she and the demon never came to blows. And for that, Kazan is—no, not grateful, he isn't indebted to that thing—relieved she hadn't attracted its notice. Yes, the blood of the Yamaoka flows through Rin's veins, granting her power and strength. Yes, he would prefer her to fight rather than hide should it come to that. But even in death, even imprisoned within this dark realm—she's the last of his descendants, and innocent of whatever he brings upon himself. ]
[ he said it was fine. he says that it was his battle to fight — it takes away rins voice for the briefest moment as she purses her lips together, ignoring the taste of iron on her tongue. so long that he says that it's okay, then the guilt in rin's heart lightens just enough. how she wishes she still did something, anything to have saved her grandfather, though the burden does lighten from her shoulders.
the guilt that remains is what fuels her anger: her mother is dead because of her father and she gets to have her revenge in nearly every trial the entity sends her to. though it has always been her focus, rin doesn't release her sword from it's sheathe — her arm — as she takes deep breaths and nods towards her ancestor. right now, her focus is on her grandfather and how he seems to be in pain.
they should go inside. she should help him in the ways she can. rin doesn't miss the way her grandfather speaks as through enduring the pain. that is, of course, familiar. ]
You're hurt. [ she raises a finger and points towards where he was stabbed by the creature that arrived — maybe she should ask trapper about him — and then looks up towards kazan. ] I have something that can help inside home.
[ when survivors get hit or die, they leave their belongings behind. rin always takes their first aid kits when she can, with the first time thinking she could reattach her limbs. of course, it doesn't work. instead she uses it for fresh bandages when the more human side of her says so without bothering sally (not herman, never herman). ]
[ despite his words, it's obvious to Kazan that guilt still lingers about Rin. Irritation flares briefly—but against himself, not her. Pleasantries and words of sympathy come clumsy to his tongue, far more unwieldy and unsure than the grace of his weapons in his hands. Always one for action, he prefers to instead clear the way by force and strike directly at the heart of the problem. But he senses that even if he was as skilled a speaker as his wife, who could soothe tears and rage alike with a few phrases, wouldn't help Rin. Not here. The most she can do—what she must continue to do—is to draw upon the pain within her. Use it to hold herself together, much like the pieces of her blade.
Yet the sight of her downcast eyes still troubles him enough that he doesn't even consider turning down her offer of aid. He's seen her collection of the metal boxes the sacrifices sometimes carry to tend to their wounds during trials. How she puts each one away with as much care as if they contained treasures. He doubts they'll be of much use for his injuries ( and how anger stirs in his blood, knowing she had to scavenge for them like a common beggar ) but the task will occupy her hands. And ward off the darkness of her memories for a little longer.
Kazan nods. With a touch to the shoulder least pierced by glass, he steps away from Rin and starts walking into the house with her. Instead of making her trail behind him, he shortens his paces to stay at her side, a wordless reassurance that he won't leave her if it's within his power to stay. ]
[ it doesn't take long at all for them to walk inside the echoes of their home. there was once a first aid kit beneath the kitchen cupboards, but those are missing now. many treasured belongings and keepsakes are, only being granted by the entity with purpose. some are meant to be used to give them more strength in the end, like the first time rin uses her mother's ring during a trial.
she doesn't remember how long it's been since her first use and when the entity returns it. that is why she collects what she deems important for use (bandages, medical supplies in an attempt to reattach her limbs previously) or keepsake. though, like everything in this strange and dark world, things disappear. so far the ring hasn't, and for that she's thankful.
fortunately, neither has her supplies of first aid kits as rin enters the living room and opens a drawer. from there, it reveals five kits with two unlocked and open already. she takes out one of the already opened ones and checks — good, everything's still here beyond some missing bandages.
currently, rin's bandages are still white. though, now it's stained with her ancestor's blood. ]
Please take off your armor, Grandfather. I understand how it will heal eventually, but this may speed things up.
[ modern medicine. despite them being spiritual beings, rin still has some hope in her. she doesn't want anymore blood shed when they're family. already she wipes off some blood with an old cloth that will surely be cleaned whenever their realm resets — whenever that may be. there's never a given time. ]
[ as familiar as this facade of his former home is to Kazan by now, stepping inside it still rouses a strange feeling within him. His gaze sweeps over the desolate halls and rooms, lingering on the empty spots where furniture and decorations once rested. A grim sight, but he prefers it to that of the debris strewn about whenever a trial ground takes on the estate's likeness. Here, a quiet akin to peace lingers, uninterrupted by the clamor of running footsteps or the loathsome noise of those generators. Even if the Entity intended this place as a cage, it doesn't change the fact that every inch of it belongs to them. To the Yamaoka. They do not—should not—suffer intruders gladly.
At Rin's request, he starts removing his armor without protest. A few minutes of untying and unfastening, and it joins his weapons on the floor, each piece settling with ponderous thumps. Blood slowly drips off metal and wood onto the already dirtied tatami, staining it even more. Unavoidable, unfortunately.
He doesn't remove his mask. Doesn't even reach for it despite the way it presses too tightly upon his face, making the simple act of breathing an ordeal. The ragged scars along its edges speak for themselves of his futile attempts to take it off when he first awoke in the fog and realized just what he was wearing. Each pull and tug tore his skin apart, drenching his face and fingers in blood until the mask grew too slippery to grip. Until the pain threatened to overwhelm him. He hadn't tried again since. The message was—is—clear.
Just like the one from other mask in the room, hanging in the center of the shrine by the far wall. His father's. Flickering lantern light shrouds its features in shadow, but the eyes above its snarling mouth overpower the darkness. The meager glow of the ever-smoldering incense flanking it is no match for its blaze. It glares, and shame burns within him. What worth is a man who allows the enemy to defeat him inside the very heart of his domain? it whispers. Who abandons his own kin for a misguided cause?
Who murders his own father?
Kazan sinks onto his knees, sitting seiza. He tells himself it's so Rin doesn't have to stand to tend to his wounds. When he speaks, his voice is distant even to his own ears. ]
It did. I was patrolling the grounds, and I saw it emerge from the fog, dragging its blade behind it as it walked. It did not heed my commands to leave or explain its presence, but stayed willfully silent. Even as it attacked, it said nothing.
[ did it even breathe? he had wondered. The answer only revealed itself in a brief moment, after he broke through the demon's guard and before its great knife forced him back. He had heard it then. Almost a gurgle, echoing wetly inside that massive helmet, like someone trying to suck in air as they drowned in water or their own blood. A disgusting sound. ]
The way it fought was unlike anything I had seen on or off the battlefield. Yet it does bleed. [ he clenches his left hand, his nails digging into his palm, the bluish-gray flesh bruised with broken veins. ] Should it return, it will not defeat me again.
Just like my first meeting with it, where they have no voice...
[ the way kazan says his words is a completely different tone than what she's used to; something is already off, which catches rin's attention as much as the wound that seems to have been freshly pierced through his chest.
though rin hasn't witnessed the battle in its entirety, she hasn't forgotten how her grandfather became bound by unbreakable steel and sharp wire that makes one bleed as they do. just by seeing all the damage that creature — whatever its name is — has done, the kind of fight she could only imagine that they went through... surely her grandfather has thoughts in mind. a reflection, perhaps.
it certainly sounds like it as rin listens to her grandfather explain the fight. already she senses the same determination he's always had by the last word. of course he would be ready to fight him again, and rin hopes for two things out of it: 1) that a repeat of what happened tonight doesn't happen again, and; 2) that she makes it in time to help him.
rin refuses death upon her family a third time over, with the exception of her father of course.
there's a bottle of water that she cracks open and pours over cloth, making sure to clean the wound first — she hasn't forgotten how to do first aid. as rin gently taps against the opening of the wound, she speaks: ]
Are you okay, Grandfather?
[ she already asked about his injuries previously, so of course rin asks how he feels. family makes sure to care for each other that way. it's a phrase she tends to ask her mother during the time she'd been sickly — and during the time she treats her own wounds herself.
rin always received, "I'm fine, Rin," in the end of their conversations. ]
[ for a long while, Kazan doesn't answer. In the wake of Rin's question, silence settles over the room, hardly disturbed by the drip of water and blood as she tends to his wounds. Despite her gentleness, the cloth still scrapes roughly against ravaged skin, but he bites off each hissed breath, forces down every flinch. It helps that his injuries—while more grievous than any he'd ever received in life—are healing with each passing second, albeit far slower than usual.
Is he okay? He can only say yes, the demands of tradition and necessity clamoring louder in his ears than Rin's worry. He cannot show weakness. To appear as anything other than a source of strength for her to rely upon... would he be any better than that man—not her father, not his descendant—who condemned her to a lonely eternity in this mockery of an afterlife instead of protecting her as he should have done? What good will it do her if he gives voice to the doubts within him?
Kazan looks at Renjiro's mask again. The crimson splatters across its face, against the wall, on the floor before it. Permanently desecrated by an unspeakable act, it's yet another insult from the Entity. From what Rin told him about the night she died, her only warning before she was struck down was the grisly sight of her mother's dismembered corpse. His father, in contrast, must have followed a trail of bodies for days before he met his death. Ties of blood meant to endure for centuries, severed in a single instant. The thought that he has anything in common with Rin's murderer sickens him. But in the stillness, it gains purchase in his mind. Aided by the silence around him, it gives shape to the whispers the demon left.
A curse.
He would never hurt Rin so. He would rather turn his own blade on himself before allowing such madness to overtake him again.
Kazan draws a deep breath. Exhales. ]
What have you been told of the beginnings of our bloodline, Granddaughter? Of my father, Yamaoka Renjiro—his life and his death?
[ of course the answer is yes, she thinks to herself while sinking the bloodied rag into water before twisting it, the clear waters tainted with yamaoka blood.
it's nothing new to come home with injured wounds, but that depends on how the trial goes through. rin recalls the way the entity pierces her body, making her bleed out as if she were a regular human being again. a sharp lesson not to ever fail sacrificing survivors, moreso letting them go, otherwise be taught otherwise once more. the memory of the pain stays put where the entity slashes and scars her in place, rin learns her place.
rin learns to become the onryou she willingly becomes for the sake of punishing her father for eternity, and eventually one to be feared by everyone. just because she's the most humane at home doesn't mean she won't kill anyone that disrupts her peace. their peace now that her ancestor arrives.
more red stains the floor of their home as rin nurses her grandfathers injuries. all her mind can think about now since his answer is the creature that attacks him — the steel helmet, the barbed wire, the blade it has... why? why does it attack her grandfather to the point of death and not her? what did it want from him? why does it just leave as though it finishes its job? why — ]
Ah, our family history?
[ immediately memories of the past flood in. the way her father schools her of their ancestry, how she must remember these details and be proud of their family heritage. there's a notable pause from rin as she tries to shrug off how her father looks like in her memory despite seeing him in every trial.
it doesn't work, of course. that doesn't mean she has no answer. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro died honorably in battle protecting the people in need, but who he died from has been lost in history. [ a beat. ] He earns his wealth by being loyal to his master, eventually earning his own place in society during his time. He never strays from the Bushido code, a role model for all. He was loved by his family — and family is one of the most important things I've learned the most from him.
[ this is the part where rin begins familiar movement of bandages: she stands on her feet and proceeds to wrap it around his upper body. ]
[ Rin answers, and Kazan listens, still and rigid as the statues surrounding the shrine looming over the other end of the estate. His fists do not loosen. Briefly, he closes his eyes in an attempt to allow her words to ease his inner turmoil like the water washing over his wounds. But as she describes his father's character and life, his brows furrow beneath his mask. What she says with such conviction isn't—wrong. Yet neither is it right.
He doesn't speak. When Rin stands to wind the bandages around him, he shifts to accommodate her, his movements stiff. The blood darkening the cloth pales with each layer added. In this, too, she is careful—but the sensation recalls the jagged agony of the demon's sharp wires as they ensnared him, cutting deep into his flesh. Only when she finishes does he reply to her question. ]
You were taught a story. There is truth in it, but it is not complete. As the last heir of the Yamaoka legacy, you deserve to know it in full.
[ here, seated within their familial home, he could be his father, teaching his son about his origins. He could be himself of a winter long gone by, doing the same for Akito while snow fell thick and heavy outside. But far from the effortless cadence of the past, his words come in a monotone broken by abrupt pauses. Torn out despite his reluctance—as if he's compelled to rid himself of them. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro sailed from Ezo [ Hokkaido, as Rin knows it and named to him. Within the grip of memory, however, its old name comes to him first. ] in pursuit of a life greater than what the cold barrenness of his birthplace could offer him. After he survived the shipwreck in which all others perished, he earned his wealth and renown on the battlefield. He served only those who were worthy of commanding his skills and followed his own code. Ferocious with his blade and wise with his brush, he exemplified all that a samurai should be. And I was to follow in his footsteps.
[ even then, Kazan had no doubt that if he had done so, his name would have been praised, envied, revered alongside Renjiro's. But that knowledge had brought no satisfaction. He wanted more. To have his own legend writ large across history without his father's fame preceding it. To become a Yamaoka in his own right. ]
But there were pretenders. Lowborn warriors and even peasants daring to name themselves samurai without even having shed a single drop of their blood for it. With their impure lineage, they would claim a legacy as great as ours when they and their descendants were fit only to scratch in the dirt. That could not be allowed to endure. I had a son of my own by then. Were they meant to be his equal?
[ he presses onward without lingering. ]
They had to be purged. And it was only right to do so with the very blade which was used to bring glory to the name of Yamaoka. [ with a nod, he indicates Rin's right hand. ] It is the same one that you now wield, Granddaughter. I left the estate to begin this task and journeyed across the land, cutting down those impostors wherever I found them. [ a growl rises in his voice. He remembers it well. The slippery scraps of scalp still clinging to topknots, the strips of skin unworthy of the lions and dragons inked upon them—all ripped away with his bare hands. ] A fool of a lord began to call me Oni-Yamaoka when my deeds reached his ears, an insult which could not go unanswered.
[ some seconds pass as Kazan seethes at the memory. Then he continues, quieter but with no less intent. ]
It was on the road to the town where he dwelt that I met a true samurai. He barred my path, resolved to turn me away, and we fought. He was quick. More skilled than I, turning aside my blows as if he knew where they would land before I did. Yet at the moment when he would have bested me, he did not strike.
So I did. With my kanabō, I shattered his helmet and his skull. And then I saw his face.
It was my father's. I— [ he breaks off with a noise that echoes within the confines of his mask. As forceful as any snarl—yet hollow at the same time, reaching for anger that for once fails to manifest. ] I killed Yamaoka Renjiro. That is why the demon sought me out. Somehow it knew of what I had done, and presumed to judge and punish me for it.
[ which—despite how it swung its great knife with the unhurried certainty of an executioner—it hadn't. It had no right to. But it had overpowered him. That he can admit far more easily than the next words on his tongue. Yet he must speak them to dissuade Rin from seeking out the demon herself to avenge him. From giving it the chance to repeat to her what it told him when he isn't there to show her the vile untruth it is. ]
It spoke within my mind. It said that by cleansing the land of impostors and killing my father, I had cursed our bloodline. Tainted it with a darkness so great, it allowed the Entity to reach through and use the man you called father as its instrument to destroy it centuries later.
[ remembering its last "words," the familiar rage rises within him once more. During the trial, their echoes were all he could hear, drowning out the cries and pleading from the sacrifices. Now, it hardens his voice with an unrepentant defiance. ]
Unsatisfied with its victory, it mocked me. It said—that I am the reason that you are here.
[ ezo — it raises rin's brows as she tries to recall where that is for the briefest moment while her ears still listen to her grandfather's words.
so this is the hidden story of their family. the parts that disappear in pieces throughout history from each person within their bloodline. already she wonders what else there is about the legendary renjiro that her father hasn't mentioned to her before — what else is there to tell her when her father has drilled everything he knew in her mind since she was a young girl? the reason why she has to learn the art of the sword even when she didn't?
(right, ezo is hokkaido.)
there's a smile on rin's face with how she imagines the great renjiro rise from rags to riches. how amazing he must have been have made their family famous back in the day — and how clear it is that he loves his family as well. so kazan gains a wonderful childhood, and surely that means he's given his family that as well.
they are yamaokas however, and life is not always beautiful even if they value their family.
had rin been human, her face would have gone pale as kazan's story takes a darker turn. pretenders? the need to purge them — murder. when she looks at her hand, the sheathe of her sword, the source of constant pain and reminder that she made a contract with the entity... this is the same sword that her ancestor used to kill them all?
she takes in a sharp inhale as fingers curl up into her palm so tightly. ]
... so it's you who ended my my mother's life.
[ when the story is over, rin stays silent until she breaks it with words from her heart that's laced with the cursed rage within her blood. it may have been her father who sliced her into pieces, but if it weren't for the man in front of her — ]
If it wasn't for you, then my father may not have hurt us.... [ right? wouldn't they have been happy? ] Your pride influenced him like it did me when I relished the violence.
[ the boys that fought her on the street after school. their taunts, the fury she unleashed — and it felt good. as though she let the souls of her ancestors guide her movements and deal with her terrors. this time, however, she knows better. this time it's her own words and thoughts despite being laced with the curse.
her scarred hand — the sheathe of her shattered sword — raises over her dead heart. there are no beats and yet she takes in deeper, harsher breaths as though she had a living heart that races. nails dig into her cold skin before she glares at him with those glowing white pupils of hers. ]
You — this is all your fault... your selfishness. Your desire for blood that you disguise as justice... [ she takes in a sharp, shaky breath. ] IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU I WOULDN'T BE HERE!
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this triangle-shaped head of a man comes not for her, but for her grandfather for an unknown reason. whatever the reason is however? rin doesn't care with her emotions running wild, actually feeling the heat of rage and sadness course through her body for once in a long, long time. tears immediately stream down her face as she screams, the shattered katana phasing into her hand as she dashes — her form phases realms hurriedly like the onryou she is — to attack the monster in front of her. no one, survivor or killer, has made rin want to kill them since her father.
no one hurts her family and gets away with it! that's why she always aims to kill her father — an illusion that rin doesn't know yet — whenever she sees him in trials. that's why she runs over and attacks the man with the great knife still stained with her ancestor's blood. not even the entity would be able to hold rin back with how much she wants the man in front of her dead despite only scratching him, barely bothering him when she witnesses him turn away. ]
Don't you turn your back on me!
[ her voice unstable as the the grip on the handle of her sword shaking, but like everything else in this world the murderer leaves through the fog as though. rin swipes hoping to mark him for death, but no such chance was given to her. no attempt for revenge, only grieve despite knowing that everyone who dies returns eventually. though rin has yet to die herself a second time, she's witnessed those who has. she understands that everyone here, and not just the survivors, are hostages to the entity.
serve or be tortured.
now, just because rin knows the facts does not mean her the piercing pain in her heart stops. her ancestor — grandfather — still died and she couldn't do anything to stop the stranger. she couldn't save her grandfather, instead, witnessing another corpse of her blood lay dead before it disappeared. it still hurts. she is the result of her emotions wanting vengeance, how her love for her mother and anger for her father strengthens her in the end along with the rage of the yamaoka curse.
that is the reason why rin sobs at the steps of her home, she needs to be stronger if she has to protect her family when they can't protect themselves from... whatever that thing was. upset and angry and alone, not knowing that her grandfather was brought to a trial after his death. this is the reason why rin stands up with her sword out after hearing heavy footsteps coming home, only to see her grandfather arrive back through the fog.
it is also the reason why rin rushes — still phasing, her emotions getting the best of her — towards kazan and hugs him tight while still crying. is it shameful to cry? rin doesn't care, it's how she feels. ridiculous to others perhaps when people come back to life everytime, but family is family and she never wants to lose them ever again. ]
no subject
Within moments, she comes into view. Limbs wrapped tight around herself, pale and pitifully small against the gloomy backdrop of the manor. Every step darkening the ground with more blood, he approaches and extends a hand to help her to her feet.
Or—he would have, if she hadn't rushed forward and hugged him first, apparently heedless of the crimson covering almost every inch of his armor and skin. Kazan hesitates, then carefully wraps his arms around her and cradles the back of her head. At first, nothing comes out when he tries to speak, a sudden pang within his throat—the wires tangled about his neck, strangling, slicing—choking off his words. He swallows. Forces his way past it, his voice low and far hoarser than usual. ]
Rin.
[ even as he embraces her, he feels her shifting, her fragile form fragmenting and fading with each heave of her shoulders as she cries. It's as if a single touch will cause her to shatter into pieces. Yet he doesn't let go. Now more than ever, his strength must be hers. The despair descending in the wake of helplessness—he knows very well the perils of succumbing to that dark fog. And after what Rin has already witnessed, he cannot allow that to happen to her. Lest that demon is tempted to return.
Let it come, some part of him snarls, ever hungry for bloodshed and vengeance. But when he pulls back a little, looking down at his granddaughter's tear-stained face, he silences it. ]
Did it hurt you?
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that is why being covered in blood doesn't disturb rin the slightest as she holds onto her grandfather, with her whole being just thankful that he's back and alive and here again. despite knowing that death is not an escape from the entity — having to sacrifice the same people many times over until they break — it doesn't hurt her undead heart any less.
rin hasn't had a proper hug in a long, long time; she shakes her head as she looks upwards towards her ancestor, still weeping and shifting — a sign of her emotions still unstable despite her trying. ]
No, he left before I could strike, but...
[ a pause as she takes a breath. her voice shaking like her powers: ]
I understand that we'll never truly die in this realm, that I shouldn't cry like this, but watching you die — it was like seeing mother's death all over again. I didn't arrive in time, I couldn't help you.
[ the death of her mother always equates into heartbreak for rin. a tragedy that she wished she could have prevented. perhaps she should have arrived home earlier, perhaps she should have stopped her studies and find full time work to help her family —
rin still dreams of moments that can never be fixed. ]
What of your wounds, Grandfather?
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They will heal, in time.
[ how else, he thinks with no small amount of bitterness, can he continue to sacrifice to the demon in the sky? But with that thought also comes doubt. Whenever a trial comes to an end, he is restored, any injuries he may have received fading away as if they never happened. That these are lingering bodes ill. Is it a punishment from the Entity? A consequence of daring to fight another one of its "servants"? Or—is it that creature itself? He had heard... something in his mind when its knife sank into his flesh. Not the Entity's whispers, but just as wordless and inhuman. A cacophony of cries. Muffled or from a great distance.
He draws a breath, about to ask Rin if she had heard it as well—then changes his mind. No. He won't burden her with more worry. With one hand, he wipes away her tears, leaving dark red streaks in their place. ]
Do not weep, Granddaughter. It was my battle, not yours. For you, it is enough that— [ he grits his teeth. ] —at its end, you still chose to face the enemy with a ready blade, as befitting your name.
[ even if she and the demon never came to blows. And for that, Kazan is—no, not grateful, he isn't indebted to that thing—relieved she hadn't attracted its notice. Yes, the blood of the Yamaoka flows through Rin's veins, granting her power and strength. Yes, he would prefer her to fight rather than hide should it come to that. But even in death, even imprisoned within this dark realm—she's the last of his descendants, and innocent of whatever he brings upon himself. ]
Come. Let us go inside.
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the guilt that remains is what fuels her anger: her mother is dead because of her father and she gets to have her revenge in nearly every trial the entity sends her to. though it has always been her focus, rin doesn't release her sword from it's sheathe — her arm — as she takes deep breaths and nods towards her ancestor. right now, her focus is on her grandfather and how he seems to be in pain.
they should go inside. she should help him in the ways she can. rin doesn't miss the way her grandfather speaks as through enduring the pain. that is, of course, familiar. ]
You're hurt. [ she raises a finger and points towards where he was stabbed by the creature that arrived — maybe she should ask trapper about him — and then looks up towards kazan. ] I have something that can help inside home.
[ when survivors get hit or die, they leave their belongings behind. rin always takes their first aid kits when she can, with the first time thinking she could reattach her limbs. of course, it doesn't work. instead she uses it for fresh bandages when the more human side of her says so without bothering sally (not herman, never herman). ]
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Yet the sight of her downcast eyes still troubles him enough that he doesn't even consider turning down her offer of aid. He's seen her collection of the metal boxes the sacrifices sometimes carry to tend to their wounds during trials. How she puts each one away with as much care as if they contained treasures. He doubts they'll be of much use for his injuries ( and how anger stirs in his blood, knowing she had to scavenge for them like a common beggar ) but the task will occupy her hands. And ward off the darkness of her memories for a little longer.
Kazan nods. With a touch to the shoulder least pierced by glass, he steps away from Rin and starts walking into the house with her. Instead of making her trail behind him, he shortens his paces to stay at her side, a wordless reassurance that he won't leave her if it's within his power to stay. ]
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she doesn't remember how long it's been since her first use and when the entity returns it. that is why she collects what she deems important for use (bandages, medical supplies in an attempt to reattach her limbs previously) or keepsake. though, like everything in this strange and dark world, things disappear. so far the ring hasn't, and for that she's thankful.
fortunately, neither has her supplies of first aid kits as rin enters the living room and opens a drawer. from there, it reveals five kits with two unlocked and open already. she takes out one of the already opened ones and checks — good, everything's still here beyond some missing bandages.
currently, rin's bandages are still white. though, now it's stained with her ancestor's blood. ]
Please take off your armor, Grandfather. I understand how it will heal eventually, but this may speed things up.
[ modern medicine. despite them being spiritual beings, rin still has some hope in her. she doesn't want anymore blood shed when they're family. already she wipes off some blood with an old cloth that will surely be cleaned whenever their realm resets — whenever that may be. there's never a given time. ]
And — how did it happen? What provoked the fight?
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At Rin's request, he starts removing his armor without protest. A few minutes of untying and unfastening, and it joins his weapons on the floor, each piece settling with ponderous thumps. Blood slowly drips off metal and wood onto the already dirtied tatami, staining it even more. Unavoidable, unfortunately.
He doesn't remove his mask. Doesn't even reach for it despite the way it presses too tightly upon his face, making the simple act of breathing an ordeal. The ragged scars along its edges speak for themselves of his futile attempts to take it off when he first awoke in the fog and realized just what he was wearing. Each pull and tug tore his skin apart, drenching his face and fingers in blood until the mask grew too slippery to grip. Until the pain threatened to overwhelm him. He hadn't tried again since. The message was—is—clear.
Just like the one from other mask in the room, hanging in the center of the shrine by the far wall. His father's. Flickering lantern light shrouds its features in shadow, but the eyes above its snarling mouth overpower the darkness. The meager glow of the ever-smoldering incense flanking it is no match for its blaze. It glares, and shame burns within him. What worth is a man who allows the enemy to defeat him inside the very heart of his domain? it whispers. Who abandons his own kin for a misguided cause?
Who murders his own father?
Kazan sinks onto his knees, sitting seiza. He tells himself it's so Rin doesn't have to stand to tend to his wounds. When he speaks, his voice is distant even to his own ears. ]
It did. I was patrolling the grounds, and I saw it emerge from the fog, dragging its blade behind it as it walked. It did not heed my commands to leave or explain its presence, but stayed willfully silent. Even as it attacked, it said nothing.
[ did it even breathe? he had wondered. The answer only revealed itself in a brief moment, after he broke through the demon's guard and before its great knife forced him back. He had heard it then. Almost a gurgle, echoing wetly inside that massive helmet, like someone trying to suck in air as they drowned in water or their own blood. A disgusting sound. ]
The way it fought was unlike anything I had seen on or off the battlefield. Yet it does bleed. [ he clenches his left hand, his nails digging into his palm, the bluish-gray flesh bruised with broken veins. ] Should it return, it will not defeat me again.
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[ the way kazan says his words is a completely different tone than what she's used to; something is already off, which catches rin's attention as much as the wound that seems to have been freshly pierced through his chest.
though rin hasn't witnessed the battle in its entirety, she hasn't forgotten how her grandfather became bound by unbreakable steel and sharp wire that makes one bleed as they do. just by seeing all the damage that creature — whatever its name is — has done, the kind of fight she could only imagine that they went through... surely her grandfather has thoughts in mind. a reflection, perhaps.
it certainly sounds like it as rin listens to her grandfather explain the fight. already she senses the same determination he's always had by the last word. of course he would be ready to fight him again, and rin hopes for two things out of it: 1) that a repeat of what happened tonight doesn't happen again, and; 2) that she makes it in time to help him.
rin refuses death upon her family a third time over, with the exception of her father of course.
there's a bottle of water that she cracks open and pours over cloth, making sure to clean the wound first — she hasn't forgotten how to do first aid. as rin gently taps against the opening of the wound, she speaks: ]
Are you okay, Grandfather?
[ she already asked about his injuries previously, so of course rin asks how he feels. family makes sure to care for each other that way. it's a phrase she tends to ask her mother during the time she'd been sickly — and during the time she treats her own wounds herself.
rin always received, "I'm fine, Rin," in the end of their conversations. ]
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Is he okay? He can only say yes, the demands of tradition and necessity clamoring louder in his ears than Rin's worry. He cannot show weakness. To appear as anything other than a source of strength for her to rely upon... would he be any better than that man—not her father, not his descendant—who condemned her to a lonely eternity in this mockery of an afterlife instead of protecting her as he should have done? What good will it do her if he gives voice to the doubts within him?
Kazan looks at Renjiro's mask again. The crimson splatters across its face, against the wall, on the floor before it. Permanently desecrated by an unspeakable act, it's yet another insult from the Entity. From what Rin told him about the night she died, her only warning before she was struck down was the grisly sight of her mother's dismembered corpse. His father, in contrast, must have followed a trail of bodies for days before he met his death. Ties of blood meant to endure for centuries, severed in a single instant. The thought that he has anything in common with Rin's murderer sickens him. But in the stillness, it gains purchase in his mind. Aided by the silence around him, it gives shape to the whispers the demon left.
A curse.
He would never hurt Rin so. He would rather turn his own blade on himself before allowing such madness to overtake him again.
Kazan draws a deep breath. Exhales. ]
What have you been told of the beginnings of our bloodline, Granddaughter? Of my father, Yamaoka Renjiro—his life and his death?
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it's nothing new to come home with injured wounds, but that depends on how the trial goes through. rin recalls the way the entity pierces her body, making her bleed out as if she were a regular human being again. a sharp lesson not to ever fail sacrificing survivors, moreso letting them go, otherwise be taught otherwise once more. the memory of the pain stays put where the entity slashes and scars her in place, rin learns her place.
rin learns to become the onryou she willingly becomes for the sake of punishing her father for eternity, and eventually one to be feared by everyone. just because she's the most humane at home doesn't mean she won't kill anyone that disrupts her peace. their peace now that her ancestor arrives.
more red stains the floor of their home as rin nurses her grandfathers injuries. all her mind can think about now since his answer is the creature that attacks him — the steel helmet, the barbed wire, the blade it has... why? why does it attack her grandfather to the point of death and not her? what did it want from him? why does it just leave as though it finishes its job? why — ]
Ah, our family history?
[ immediately memories of the past flood in. the way her father schools her of their ancestry, how she must remember these details and be proud of their family heritage. there's a notable pause from rin as she tries to shrug off how her father looks like in her memory despite seeing him in every trial.
it doesn't work, of course. that doesn't mean she has no answer. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro died honorably in battle protecting the people in need, but who he died from has been lost in history. [ a beat. ] He earns his wealth by being loyal to his master, eventually earning his own place in society during his time. He never strays from the Bushido code, a role model for all. He was loved by his family — and family is one of the most important things I've learned the most from him.
[ this is the part where rin begins familiar movement of bandages: she stands on her feet and proceeds to wrap it around his upper body. ]
Why do you ask?
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He doesn't speak. When Rin stands to wind the bandages around him, he shifts to accommodate her, his movements stiff. The blood darkening the cloth pales with each layer added. In this, too, she is careful—but the sensation recalls the jagged agony of the demon's sharp wires as they ensnared him, cutting deep into his flesh. Only when she finishes does he reply to her question. ]
You were taught a story. There is truth in it, but it is not complete. As the last heir of the Yamaoka legacy, you deserve to know it in full.
[ here, seated within their familial home, he could be his father, teaching his son about his origins. He could be himself of a winter long gone by, doing the same for Akito while snow fell thick and heavy outside. But far from the effortless cadence of the past, his words come in a monotone broken by abrupt pauses. Torn out despite his reluctance—as if he's compelled to rid himself of them. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro sailed from Ezo [ Hokkaido, as Rin knows it and named to him. Within the grip of memory, however, its old name comes to him first. ] in pursuit of a life greater than what the cold barrenness of his birthplace could offer him. After he survived the shipwreck in which all others perished, he earned his wealth and renown on the battlefield. He served only those who were worthy of commanding his skills and followed his own code. Ferocious with his blade and wise with his brush, he exemplified all that a samurai should be. And I was to follow in his footsteps.
[ even then, Kazan had no doubt that if he had done so, his name would have been praised, envied, revered alongside Renjiro's. But that knowledge had brought no satisfaction. He wanted more. To have his own legend writ large across history without his father's fame preceding it. To become a Yamaoka in his own right. ]
But there were pretenders. Lowborn warriors and even peasants daring to name themselves samurai without even having shed a single drop of their blood for it. With their impure lineage, they would claim a legacy as great as ours when they and their descendants were fit only to scratch in the dirt. That could not be allowed to endure. I had a son of my own by then. Were they meant to be his equal?
[ he presses onward without lingering. ]
They had to be purged. And it was only right to do so with the very blade which was used to bring glory to the name of Yamaoka. [ with a nod, he indicates Rin's right hand. ] It is the same one that you now wield, Granddaughter. I left the estate to begin this task and journeyed across the land, cutting down those impostors wherever I found them. [ a growl rises in his voice. He remembers it well. The slippery scraps of scalp still clinging to topknots, the strips of skin unworthy of the lions and dragons inked upon them—all ripped away with his bare hands. ] A fool of a lord began to call me Oni-Yamaoka when my deeds reached his ears, an insult which could not go unanswered.
[ some seconds pass as Kazan seethes at the memory. Then he continues, quieter but with no less intent. ]
It was on the road to the town where he dwelt that I met a true samurai. He barred my path, resolved to turn me away, and we fought. He was quick. More skilled than I, turning aside my blows as if he knew where they would land before I did. Yet at the moment when he would have bested me, he did not strike.
So I did. With my kanabō, I shattered his helmet and his skull. And then I saw his face.
It was my father's. I— [ he breaks off with a noise that echoes within the confines of his mask. As forceful as any snarl—yet hollow at the same time, reaching for anger that for once fails to manifest. ] I killed Yamaoka Renjiro. That is why the demon sought me out. Somehow it knew of what I had done, and presumed to judge and punish me for it.
[ which—despite how it swung its great knife with the unhurried certainty of an executioner—it hadn't. It had no right to. But it had overpowered him. That he can admit far more easily than the next words on his tongue. Yet he must speak them to dissuade Rin from seeking out the demon herself to avenge him. From giving it the chance to repeat to her what it told him when he isn't there to show her the vile untruth it is. ]
It spoke within my mind. It said that by cleansing the land of impostors and killing my father, I had cursed our bloodline. Tainted it with a darkness so great, it allowed the Entity to reach through and use the man you called father as its instrument to destroy it centuries later.
[ remembering its last "words," the familiar rage rises within him once more. During the trial, their echoes were all he could hear, drowning out the cries and pleading from the sacrifices. Now, it hardens his voice with an unrepentant defiance. ]
Unsatisfied with its victory, it mocked me. It said—that I am the reason that you are here.
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so this is the hidden story of their family. the parts that disappear in pieces throughout history from each person within their bloodline. already she wonders what else there is about the legendary renjiro that her father hasn't mentioned to her before — what else is there to tell her when her father has drilled everything he knew in her mind since she was a young girl? the reason why she has to learn the art of the sword even when she didn't?
(right, ezo is hokkaido.)
there's a smile on rin's face with how she imagines the great renjiro rise from rags to riches. how amazing he must have been have made their family famous back in the day — and how clear it is that he loves his family as well. so kazan gains a wonderful childhood, and surely that means he's given his family that as well.
they are yamaokas however, and life is not always beautiful even if they value their family.
had rin been human, her face would have gone pale as kazan's story takes a darker turn. pretenders? the need to purge them — murder. when she looks at her hand, the sheathe of her sword, the source of constant pain and reminder that she made a contract with the entity... this is the same sword that her ancestor used to kill them all?
she takes in a sharp inhale as fingers curl up into her palm so tightly. ]
... so it's you who ended my my mother's life.
[ when the story is over, rin stays silent until she breaks it with words from her heart that's laced with the cursed rage within her blood. it may have been her father who sliced her into pieces, but if it weren't for the man in front of her — ]
If it wasn't for you, then my father may not have hurt us.... [ right? wouldn't they have been happy? ] Your pride influenced him like it did me when I relished the violence.
[ the boys that fought her on the street after school. their taunts, the fury she unleashed — and it felt good. as though she let the souls of her ancestors guide her movements and deal with her terrors. this time, however, she knows better. this time it's her own words and thoughts despite being laced with the curse.
her scarred hand — the sheathe of her shattered sword — raises over her dead heart. there are no beats and yet she takes in deeper, harsher breaths as though she had a living heart that races. nails dig into her cold skin before she glares at him with those glowing white pupils of hers. ]
You — this is all your fault... your selfishness. Your desire for blood that you disguise as justice... [ she takes in a sharp, shaky breath. ] IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU I WOULDN'T BE HERE!