The predecessor of bloodshed is a child’s hearty laugh, and its existence stirs something inside. Something I see reflecting in Douji’s hateful eyes as we meet dead-center on the fading garden of turquoise and scrawny shadow hands, the cursed blade slashing into a raised wrist. Invisible flesh isn’t pierced, yet the blade stops all of its momentum, feet biting the formless ground and a great pressure exerted in my mind. Douji knows this body and mind better than I do—she was born into them; I took over after Watanabe no Tsuna delivered freedom—, her melee oppressive and ruthless, Danmaku homing into her in massive quantities ignored with lightning-fast slices of the cursed sword, no openings that I could slide a fist through or compel Hermit arts into being.

Yet Sekai laughed.

… Why?

Such a question blossomed into a parasite unrevealed, for the reflection I saw in Douji’s eyes was of nothingness. Body invisible, identity stripped away and a mere ghost. She sees me; those pink slits follow with too much precision my dodges and weaves to get off the range and bite of that cruel sword—but I’m just not there.

In Douji’s eyes, I am nothing.

Sekai’s makeshift Gohei explodes in a downward motion and, as if guided, that behemoth of ominous fengshui descends upon Douji with wild movements. The oni dodged and cut the snake’s flesh to a lackluster result; the thing coiled back as it stitched itself together—protecting the sapling. “You’re so speedy, Mother Kasen…” The girl mutters with a dreamy tone, Danmaku rolling off in waves of moons and stars without a breath of end. “That won’t win us anything! Fight fire with fire!” Eyes narrow at those words, a sinking feeling drowning this formless form my body had taken. Douji is never off my vision, every sense blistering on my skin.

Only one attack is needed to bring this battle to an end.

“Wrong side of history, girl,” the oni berates, calculating eyes sweeping the garden. She’s planning something, and my heart lashes against my mind that cannot fathom it. “That lesser version of myself couldn’t fight to save anything—throw a few punches, dish out a pompous sermon, what does it even matter? Has your milquetoast approach to your every problem done you any favors? What do you have to call yours, Kasen? Do you have an empire; do you have kin?! I ate and supplied myself with the flesh of that dragon, was that the endgame you envisioned when you enshrined it into your pathetic life? No, of course not, but it’s what you’ve gotten! What you’ve reduced the name of Ibarakidouji into—a sex-crazed and easily swayed fool! What have you built with the life you’ve stolen from me that you do not regret?!” She points the blade's tip at me, and her tone festers with rage… Rage that makes my heart clench, the memories of those deeds and inaction that fed the destruction of the Hakurei family reigniting old guilt, which blurs my view for but a moment.

One thousand years—what have I to show but failure…?

A moment Douji exploits, the mindscape shaking at her every motion. My body reacted a second too late, and she’d already sunk the blade into the rancor beast’s flesh and, effortlessly, deadlifted its body off the garden, spun around and threw it at me and Sekai, hundreds of kilograms of cursed flesh saturating the atmosphere with decay. Insurmountable fear echoed and Manipulation of Explainable Phenomena acted on its own—Sekai had called me her Mother—bringing me to the small sapling, fists loaded and Hermit arts ready to meet Ibarakidouji—

—she’d ignored the sapling and aimed at me, a sudden burst of pink electricity blinding me, Explained Phenomena rendered useless faced with the surprise attack—

Red blade, however, bit a golden stick.

“She's got me!” Sekai shouts, holding tight to the stick with both hands over my head, her body leaned over for greater purchase. But it was her tone that deafened the world.

Why is it so gleeful? Why is she enjoying this—why can I hear her smile?

I don’t know the answer to those, nor to why Sekai reminds me so much of Reimu when she was little and had bright eyes and would happily lay responsibilities on my shoulders. An emboldening, almost addicting, trust… and one I’ve failed.

I haven’t failed Sekai yet.

The body moves fueled by an ancient, raging fire, and the clenched fist shatters the sound barrier as it slams against Douji’s chin, the exchange of sword biting into sacred wood not lasting half a second. Vomited blood sprays and coats my face; Douji’s body flung away, yet she immediately regains her tenacity, demonic pink slits on me and the sword ready. Ahead, the blue sapling bobbed, unbothered by the pressure.

Smoke sizzled from my closed hand as her blood gushed.

… And in Douji’s eyes, I saw slivers of my reflection. Where the blood had bathed, flesh and features got revealed, like condensation cleaned off a mirror's surface.

Dread stirred without a proper understanding of what’s happening.

Sekai giggled, her eyes hidden from me.