“Woah woah woah — what was that just now?!” Akane’s tone cracked with disbelief. “I could probably, literally give you reasons why he’s not going to apologize for your first meeting, but you are being dodgy as hell, Ichinose. Seriously, you—”
She stopped mid-rant.
A beat of silence.
“...Huh,” Akane muttered, voice lower now. “Well...okay, whatever. I’ll meet you in the IT lab in ten minutes.”
The call cut off with a soft click.
The room shifted in atmosphere the moment her voice disappeared — quieter, somehow. From one corner of the chamber, a PA speaker crackled faintly to life. It was mounted on a floating, gilded tentacle near the ceiling, its eye blinking with artificial light.
"I messaged her that Zenkichi-san is in a break room, so they will leave us alone for now."
The voice that followed was unmistakably Maruki’s — calm, warm, measured — but there was something tight in it. A pause. A subtle hitch before the next words slipped through, seeing and feeling through Azathoth’s many eyes what Kuon had done.
She touched it. And it responded like a cat curling into a sunbeam.
Azathoth let out no sound, but its entire form shifted — massive limbs coiling inward, folding into themselves with a content, organic shudder. One tendril curled gently around Kuon’s wrist, cradling it like an offering, like a limb returned to a shrine. From the wound in its spine-like appendage, a smaller feeler emerged — glowing bright, the tip sharp like a glass needle glinting under fluorescence.
Maruki’s voice returned, softer now.
“Azathoth.. can heal people, you know. It regenerated my arm once. It will only leave a little smudge of green after.” “It can sense when someone is in pain. So relax. You've earned it, Kuon.”
The spined tendril around her wrist constricted ever so slightly — not threatening, just holding. The fine-tipped feeler hovered, paused, then made its choice.
With the precision of a surgeon, it pricked the edge of her bruising.
Just a pin of pain — sharp, but fleeting. The kind of discomfort that came with resetting a bone, or pressure applied to swelling. Not cruel. Not gentle. Just exact.
A glow spread across her skin, subtle at first, then overtaking the bruising in faint ripples of light. The soreness ebbed away, replaced with a sense of numb, humming warmth — like pins and needles dissolving into calm.
Leaving behind the slightest green smudge on her skin.
Azathoth’s core pulsed in answer, almost proudly, like a beast pleased with its offering.
no subject
She stopped mid-rant.
A beat of silence.
“...Huh,” Akane muttered, voice lower now. “Well...okay, whatever. I’ll meet you in the IT lab in ten minutes.”
The call cut off with a soft click.
The room shifted in atmosphere the moment her voice disappeared — quieter, somehow. From one corner of the chamber, a PA speaker crackled faintly to life. It was mounted on a floating, gilded tentacle near the ceiling, its eye blinking with artificial light.
"I messaged her that Zenkichi-san is in a break room, so they will leave us alone for now."
The voice that followed was unmistakably Maruki’s — calm, warm, measured — but there was something tight in it. A pause. A subtle hitch before the next words slipped through, seeing and feeling through Azathoth’s many eyes what Kuon had done.
She touched it. And it responded like a cat curling into a sunbeam.
Azathoth let out no sound, but its entire form shifted — massive limbs coiling inward, folding into themselves with a content, organic shudder. One tendril curled gently around Kuon’s wrist, cradling it like an offering, like a limb returned to a shrine. From the wound in its spine-like appendage, a smaller feeler emerged — glowing bright, the tip sharp like a glass needle glinting under fluorescence.
Maruki’s voice returned, softer now.
“Azathoth.. can heal people, you know. It regenerated my arm once. It will only leave a little smudge of green after.”
“It can sense when someone is in pain. So relax. You've earned it, Kuon.”
The spined tendril around her wrist constricted ever so slightly — not threatening, just holding. The fine-tipped feeler hovered, paused, then made its choice.
With the precision of a surgeon, it pricked the edge of her bruising.
Just a pin of pain — sharp, but fleeting. The kind of discomfort that came with resetting a bone, or pressure applied to swelling. Not cruel. Not gentle. Just exact.
A glow spread across her skin, subtle at first, then overtaking the bruising in faint ripples of light. The soreness ebbed away, replaced with a sense of numb, humming warmth — like pins and needles dissolving into calm.
Leaving behind the slightest green smudge on her skin.
Azathoth’s core pulsed in answer, almost proudly, like a beast pleased with its offering.
"How are you feeling?"