Chapter 10

Benakrios charged ahead, his legs pumping as he barreled down the grassy causeway.

He held his shield high and ducked low, guarding himself from the rain of arrows. Then, with a yell, he leapt, drew his sword, and drove forward in a sprint once more.

The other army charged as well, thundering toward him and his contingent. Their own barrage dropped a few, but too few—hundreds still bore down on them.

At the front line, Benakrios leapt again, bringing his legs high enough to clear the spear meant to gut him. He watched it slice the air beneath him where his stomach should have been.

But his true focus was elsewhere—on the steel in his hand. With a mighty downward cleave, he ripped the air itself. The sword struck true, splitting through the brass helm of his foe, blood gushing as the man crumpled.

Benakrios turned, blade already sweeping. Another enemy blocked, their steel meeting his in a shower of sparks. He pulled back, saw the man’s diagonal strike, and angled his shield to meet it. His own sword cut across in answer, biting deep into the man’s abdomen. Crimson spilled onto the trampled earth, darkening the soil beneath his feet.

The battle pressed on. A hammer crashed against his shield, slamming him backward. He fell onto the first man he’d slain, the body groaning faintly beneath his weight. There was no time to think, no time to care, or he would join the dying.

He kicked upward, rolled over the corpse, and landed on solid ground once more. The hammer struck again—missing him this time, crushing the body he’d just used to rise. Benakrios thrust forward, his sword punching into the attacker’s gut.

The man’s eyes bulged in shock. Momentum carried him further onto the blade. His gaze locked with Benakrios’s, pleading, pain and fear raw in his stare—until the weight carried him deeper still, impaling him both on the sword in his hands, but also—on Ben’s horns.

His vision changed. He was no longer the human he had been, but something else. A monster.

He stood, the body rising effortlessly in his grip, its weight nothing. He roared—a deep, guttural sound stripped of all humanity. His own hands tore the body apart. Bones cracked. Flesh ripped. His monstrously strong hands pulled the corpse clean in two.

Blood drenched him. His vision went red.

Through the haze he saw the sun setting, floating on a crimson sea. Its reflection wavered on the roiling, viscous fluid, flickering yellow, orange, and white.

Ben was paddling, treading water in the sea of blood.

No—he was drowning in it.

He couldn’t breathe. The blood filled his nostrils—wide, bovine nostrils where once had been a human face.

He kicked and flailed, fighting to stay above the waves. But not all the waves were waves. Some were fins. Dark gray fins, streaked with crimson, circling closer. He was not alone.

The sting came suddenly—teeth clamping around his waist. He was small, drowning, nothing more than prey for the predators in this sea of death.

***

Ben shot upright, eyes snapping open. He blinked, vision still hazed with the bloody sea of his nightmare. His arms thrashed, flailing as if still drowning, his body twisting to cover every angle—searching for the predators that had circled him.

The heat of the crimson water ebbed, replaced by the sting of cold morning air. The nightmare faded, but not cleanly—smoke, damp earth, and dew mingled with the metallic tang of blood that still clung to his senses.

“Ahhh… Chikushō!” A voice, strange—but familiar.

He saw the last embers of the fire, the glade around him, dew-damp leaves and grass glistening in the pre-dawn light—all tinged with red.

He blinked hard, vision swimming, trying to separate dream from reality. The image of dark fins pressed at the edges of his sight, sharp and circling. His muscles coiled tight, ready to lash out at predators that weren’t there.

Movement—his eyes snapped to it, and for a heartbeat the terror returned.

But no. Not gray, not a fin, no predator… just a small, fluffy creature picking itself up, raising its paws, and… shouting at him?

“Ben, it’s okay! It was just a dream!”

His chest heaved, breaths quick and ragged. Cold sweat traced rivulets down his back, setting every nerve on edge. His body twitched with anticipation.

But then he saw the sky, pale with the coming sun—and he forced himself to focus. To breathe.

“Fuku?” His voice cracked.

“Ben… are you okay?” the Tanuki asked, inching closer.

He wasn’t sure. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with Fuku pressed at his side. Then the fear.

“Fuku, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” His voice was thick, urgent. He saw the hesitation in Fuku’s steps, the tension in his movements, and knew. “I did. Didn’t I?”

“A… a little. But it’s okay, Ben... I’m okay.” Fuku padded closer, pressing a paw to Ben’s arm.

Ben’s skin twitched under the touch. He hated the reaction. Hated that the truth of it only proved what he feared. He was a monster—dangerous even in sleep. He held still, willing Fuku away, though every part of him wanted the Tanuki's closeness.

But Fuku didn’t hear his inward pleas and didn’t stop. He came closer. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Ben... what happened?”

Ben tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form; it was all too much, too little, and indescribable at the same time. His mind was split half-stuck in the dream, the nightmare, the other cloying at reality, at what was right in front of him.

But Fuku didn’t wait for an explanation. Instead, small arms wrapped around his neck as best they could, and a pudgy face pressed into his cheek.

“You’re okay,” Fuku whispered. “It was just a bad dream.”

He wanted to hold him, to return the embrace, to lose himself in the comfort. But fear kept him frozen. “Fuku…” The knot in his throat swelled, the words difficult to push out. They struggled and cracked and caught in his throat. “I am sorry.”

He pushed his friend gently back, holding him at arm’s length. “I am sorry that I hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” Fuku mumbled. “I barely felt—”

“I am cursed,” Ben could feel the sting of tears in his eyes as each word felt as though it tore out a part of his soul.

“Not just with this body. I am cursed to hurt everyone—even those close to me. I can’t trust myself—

—and I can’t let that happen to you.”

“Ben, what? No—” Fuku’s voice cracked. “I’m fine. It was nothing, just a nightmare. We’ll be fine.”

Ben rose to his feet, still holding him away. Fuku’s eyes began to glisten, sensing something was wrong, that something was happening. “What are you doing? What are you talking about?”

Ben leaned down and nuzzled the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his friend for the last time. His snout gently brushing between Fuku’s ears, tender, aching—hopeless.

Then he turned… and ran.

“Ben! Ben, wait!” Fuku’s cries faded as his long strides ate the distance. Ben’s own tears blurred the path as he crashed headlong through the trees. 

His heart pounded in his chest—not with exertion, but with grief. 

He ran, heedless of direction or destination, desperate to keep from hurting anyone ever again. He ran away from his friend, his rescuer—away from the one person he cared for… and might destroy.

The sea of blood was gone, but its meaning lingered in memory. Every time he blinked he was drowning again, his monstrous self revealed. His fate was clear. He was cursed. And anyone near him would drown in that sea with him.

***

Fuku followed as best he could, but Ben’s form faded quickly into the predawn gloom.

It had been a rude awakening. He’d been dreaming of a table piled high with desserts, of his family gathered close, celebrating his return. Ben had been there too, stuffing his face with confections while Tanuki pups clambered over him, laughing as he tossed them into the air and caught them with gentle hands. Different, yes—but accepted. Welcome.

Fuku knew it was only a dream. His family would never accept him—not for who he was, or for who he chose to be with. But it had been a pleasant lie, and he’d cherished every second.

Until the moment it ended. One heartbeat he was safe in that dream, the next he was airborne, flung by those same gentle hands, crashing back onto cold, damp earth.

He blinked himself awake and saw Ben thrashing, twisting and flinging his arms as if fighting invisible foes. Fuku scrambled up, calling to him, trying to break through the nightmare. Then Ben’s eyes snapped open—wild, desperate, searching, not yet seeing the world around him. Still trapped.

Fuku edged closer, cautious. He knew this territory—he’d had dreams like this himself after the pathway to Kakuriyo closed. He used to wake swinging, sweating, lost. But over time he’d learned. He’d taught himself to shape dreams, to master them. To wake knowing they weren’t real.

“You’re okay,” Fuku whispered, pressing close and wrapping his arms around Ben. “It was just a bad dream.” Comfort was the best remedy—so he gave what he could.

But then Ben pushed him away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his muzzle to rest between Fuku’s ears. For a heartbeat Fuku’s chest warmed—he was showing affection. That was progress. A step forward.

Then the tears came.

Ben let go. He rose, turned, and ran.

“Ben! What is going on? Ben!” Fuku shouted, stumbling after him. His legs pumped, but they were too short, too slow. He stopped, breathless, and watched as his friend—his protector, his companion—vanished into the trees.

He didn’t understand. Not the why, not the how. He only knew the hollow ache that filled him as the darkness swallowed Ben’s form. He felt small, and helpless, and utterly alone.

***

There was no time to think. He had to act.

Fuku ran back to the camp and swept their belongings into his Ever-deep Tail. Then he dashed to the stream and used his skill Mystic Paw, pulling the water up over the small cliff to douse the remnants of last night’s fire. It crackled and hissed, steam billowing skyward.

Then Fuku ran to the leaf, which was still enlarged, and climbed atop. He had wanted to use it as a quick way to get to the next area where the dungeon should be, with him and Ben riding together, so he had kept the skill active all night. Now he was both glad he had, and sad that he was alone.

With a word, “Jōshō,” the leaf shot upward into the sky. The blast of wind pushed him upward—but wouldn’t last long. So he scanned the area, focusing on the direction Ben had run, hoping to see Ben’s form in the distance.

Unfortunately he couldn’t see the Minotaur. He wondered if he’d actually gotten that far away, or if he were just hiding. But there was no time to ponder. He used his skill Greater Gust, aiming the leaf in the direction he remembered Ben running. 

The torrent of wind rushed in from behind and caught the tail end of the leaf, launching it forward.

The land blurred beneath him. That was the flaw with this way of traveling: swift, but imprecise. A one-way ride with no control.

Fuku leaned into the rush, eyes scouring the landscape for the reddish-brown form of his friend. As the Greater Gust ended and he began to float downward, he saw neither hide nor tail of his friend.

When the leaf touched down in the tall grass, he slumped. The ache in his chest burned—the Keiyaku. The bond tugged at him always, a tether he could use to command Ben. The thought sickened him. But what other choice was left?

He had never wanted to be that kind of Yōkai, one who enslaved others by magic. Yet with Ben running—from himself, from them, from safety—there was no other way. He would carry the shame if it meant Ben survived.

“Ben… why?” His voice cracked as tears welled. “Why did you run away? You aren’t a monster. You’re not going to hurt me—

—Leaving me… that’s what hurts.”

He lingered, waiting for some sign, some answer. Hoping Ben would show up, or feel the call as he did, returning of his own accord.

But as the sun climbed higher, no comfort came. Only silence.

Fuku wrestled with it all. Ben had not been what he’d expected when he’d freed him. He hadn’t been what he’d hoped either… but that was what made him special.

But now Ben was by himself and he knew so little of this world. He was in danger if he was found. Granted, it would take quite a few humans to bring him down… but that was beside the point. That was something that could happen, one of many, and Fuku felt responsible for Ben now.  

They were supposed to stay together—Ben had promised to help him. They were friends now. How could he run away?

Fuku’s thoughts circled endlessly. He wrestled with doubt, with guilt, with the sick weight of what he must do. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he invoked the Keiyaku, but he knew he never wanted to try. Especially with Ben.

A heavy weight pressed down on his shoulders, the gravity of the burden pressing down solely on him. There was simply too much to lose, too much that could go wrong. Even when they were together things had gone strange.

“I have to protect him, he has to protect me. He will probably hate me though…” Fuku whispered softly.

At last, drained, he made his decision.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Your debt is not yet paid. You must return to my side until the Keiyaku releases you—until your debt is paid in full.”

With those words, Fuku felt the pact stir within him. He felt it pulling, reaching, searching. And then—resistance. It had found Ben, but he was fighting it.

“Ben, please…” Fuku pressed a paw to his chest. “I need you to be safe… I need you to keep us safe, but mostly… I need you beside me.” He hoped the words would carry through the tether, that somehow Ben could hear the truth in them.

The struggle went on, a painful tug-of-war across the bond, until finally the resistance faltered. And then Fuku felt it: Ben’s presence drawing nearer.