Komori's Watchful Eyes – Seven Days Later
The Underworld's sky stretched endlessly, a dark expanse where the air shimmered like liquid obsidian. The only light came from the crimson glow of the distant horizon, flickering like dying embers in a void.
Perched atop the highest spire of the Demon King's castle, Komori sat with one leg dangling off the edge, his coat fluttering in the dry wind. The world below stretched into an ocean of blackened dunes, where jagged cliffs and eerie rock formations stood like the remains of a forgotten war.
Above, the endless herds of two-headed birds and swarms of bats moved through the sky, filling the air with their hollow cries. Their shadows danced against the castle walls, moving like ghostly specters beneath the dim, starless heavens.
Komori exhaled slowly.
A thin trail of emerald-green fire ignited at the tip of his cigarette, casting an unnatural glow against his sharp features.
He took a long, deliberate drag, letting the smoke curl within his lungs before releasing it into the air.
The smoke didn't just disperse—it moved.
It slithered, twisted, and coiled, forming itself into a shape.
A face.
Taurus. The Demon King.
Even in smoke, the grinning expression remained, his golden eyes burning with their usual carefree amusement.
Komori narrowed his own eyes.
"Why is he always like that?"
He leaned back against the spire, letting the cold stone press against him.
"A Demon King should be strong. Calculated. Cunning. But Taurus? He laughs in the face of danger, plays around like a fool. Something's wrong with that guy. Has to be."
The smoke shifted again, morphing into fanged creatures, their jaws snapping open and shut before dissolving into nothing.
Komori smirked to himself.
"Let's see if I still got it."
He exhaled another long plume of smoke, watching as it coiled into the forms of various creatures.
A bat with jagged wings. A serpent with gleaming eyes. A panther with curling horns.
They flickered and swirled, taking shape before slowly fading away.
"Shadowfang. Smokeclaw. Whisperstrike," he muttered, naming them as he always did.
He chuckled. A little habit from childhood that never left him.
But then—his mind wandered somewhere else.
He let out another breath of smoke. This time, the face that formed was Naomi's.
---
The Memory of Battle – Naomi vs. Komori
The smoky image of Naomi hovered in the air, his expression frozen in that defiant, confused glare he always had when facing Komori.
Komori stared at it for a long moment.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, he let the image shift.
The smoke moved like a living thing, morphing into scenes of their battle—the clash of fists, the desperate dodges, the raw survival instinct in Naomi's movements.
A smirk tugged at Komori's lips.
"That brat actually had fire in him."
He watched the fight play out in smoke—the moment Naomi barely avoided Komori's claws, the way he stumbled yet refused to fall, swinging back with everything he had.
The image flickered. Then it changed.
Now, the smoke shifted into a different shape.
Aiko.
---
Aiko in the Smoke
Komori's smirk faded.
The swirling smoke formed her delicate features, her golden eyes staring into the void. Her long, silky pink hair flowed like a river of smoke, her expression unreadable.
She seemed distant.
Almost like a memory slipping between his fingers.
"That girl..."
Komori let out another slow breath, watching as the image of Aiko twisted, then shattered like glass.
The pieces reformed into something new.
---
Veronica's Face and the Arrival of Piero
The image of Veronica's sleeping face flickered in the smoke, her eyes closed, her body unmoving.
Komori clicked his tongue, shifting his posture.
"Still hasn't woken up."
Then, the smoke changed again—this time forming the moment Piero entered the throne room.
Komori watched as the scene played out, the mocking posture of the clown, the magic tricks that concealed his true intent.
He cracked his knuckles.
A bat landed on his shoulder, tilting its head.
Komori exhaled, the smoke accidentally curling into the bat's nose.
The bat sneezed.
Komori raised an eyebrow. "My bad."
He went back to watching the smoke, replaying the moment Piero vanished.
"He's human. That's the part that doesn't make sense. No human should be able to enter the Underworld just like that."
He frowned.
"So what the hell is he doing here?"
---
Taros on the Throne – The Past and the Present
The scene shifted.
The throne room was silent, lit only by the flickering torches casting elongated shadows on the obsidian walls.
Sitting alone, Taros rested against the throne, golden eyes half-lidded.
His fingers drummed idly against the armrest, his expression unreadable.
A memory surfaced.
---
Taros' Flashback – Aiko as a Child
The air smelled of flowers.
The castle gardens stretched endlessly before him, bathed in a golden glow. The scent of silver-leafed roses mingled with the distant chirps of two-headed birds.
And there—a small girl ran ahead of him, laughing.
Aiko.
Her pink hair swayed behind her, her tiny hands outstretched as she chased a tiny dragon no bigger than her palm.
Taros, watching from a distance, was taller than her.
But then—his mind shifted.
He wasn't just taller because he was older.
No.
Something was wrong.
The memory felt reversed.
Like he had once been an adult, but now… he was regressing.
His hands. His body.
They were younger than they had been before.
The realization unsettled him.
"Why am I going backward?"
---
The Human World – Naomi's Family Searching for Him
The scene shifted violently—this time, to a world far away.
---
Naomi's Mother – Crying in His Room
The air was heavy with silence.
In Naomi's small bedroom, his mother sat on the edge of his bed, clutching one of his school shirts in her trembling hands.
Tears streamed down her face.
"He's gone…" she whispered. "My son… where is my son?"
The room smelled like him. His books. His games. His life was here—yet he was not.
And that absence felt unbearable.
---
Naomi's Father – Searching the Streets
The city was alive, but his father was blind to it.
Walking down the crowded streets, Daichi held up a missing person's flyer, his deep voice hoarse from asking the same question over and over.
"Have you seen this boy?"
Strangers shook their heads.
No one knew anything.
No one had seen Naomi.
The world moved on without him.
---
Hina – Calling Every Contact
Hina sat at the kitchen table, phone in hand, her normally composed expression breaking.
She had called every friend, every classmate, every distant acquaintance.
No one knew anything.
Her fingers trembled as she dialed another number.
Another dead end.
She slammed the phone onto the table, biting her lip to hold back tears.
---
A Photo of Naomi – Surrounded by Candles
The chapter closed on a final, heartbreaking image.
A framed photo of Naomi, smiling.
Beside it, candles flickered, their flames swaying in the silent room.
A family waiting for a son, a brother.
A family who feared he was already gone.