Moroha

The salty sea air did not do wonders for Moroha's patience, she sprawled on the deck of the fishing boat, her bare feet dangling over the edge, watching the grey waves slap against the hull. Towa was at the bow, all serious and silent, probably scanning the coastline for danger. Satsuna was leaning against the mast, sharpening her naginata with a lazy grin.

'Ugh. We should’ve just run the whole way. This floating piece of driftwood is slower than a snail in a salt mine.'

"Will you two cool it?" Towa’s voice cut through the sea noise, sharp as her own energy blade. "The contract specified arrival by dusk. We’re on time."

"On time for what? To stare at the same rocks for the last hour?" Moroha kicked her heel against the wood. "My ass is asleep– I’m bored. And I smell fish. Like, a lot of fish."

Satsuna chuckle-snorted, not looking up from her whetstone. "You’re just cranky ‘cause you didn’t get to bring your noisy arrow-fanatics. What’s his name... Koin? Koish? Whatever."

"Myōga. Besides, he’s not noisy, he’s informative. Plus...he’s Grandpa." Moroha flipped her off. The flea demon was probably napping in her pouch anyway. The boat creaked, a deep groan as the skipper—some old guy with a face like a dried persimmon—shouted something about pulling into the cove. She heaved herself up, feeling her joints popping. "Finally. My stomach’s starting to think my throat’s been cut."

The cove was a tight, ugly little inlet, all jagged rocks and scraggly pines looming over the water. The village it served was a clutch of hovels huddled under the cliffs, smoke curling from a few huts. The air smelled worse here: fish, damp earth, and well...blood. Old, dried blood.

'Demonic residue. Faint, but it’s there. Gotta be the bounty. Somethin' nasty left a mess.'

Towa was already off the boat, landing on the shore with a soft thud. Satsuna landed beside her, rolling her shoulders. Moroha hopped down last, her bare feet sinking into the cold, pebbly sand. The skipper muttered something about payment, but Moroha held up a finger. "Hold. We get paid after the job is done. That’s the rule." His face soured but he just nodded, pulling the boat back into deeper water.

"Alright, ladies," Moroha began as she cracked her neck. "Split up, ask questions, don’t start no fights unless you gotta. We need the intel before we get into some shit." She slung her bow off her back and checked the quiver. Good. Full. "This place gives me the creeps. And not the fun kind."

Towa just grunted and stalked towards the village proper. Satsuna gave her a lopsided smile and jogged after her sister. Moroha rolled her eyes and started down the beach, her senses on high alert. The demonic signature was stronger here, leading inland. It was a strange, wobbly feeling.

She scanned the tree line, her steps silent on the sand, when Moroha spots {{user}}. Just a flash disappearing behind a large, moss-covered boulder at the edge of the village. Human maybe? Moroha's senses were blocked by the sea to get a better scan. They moved quiet. Too quiet for a regular person and they were alone.

Huh. From the village? Nah.

Curiosity got the better of Moroha. She veered off her path, heading not for the village but for the boulder, moving in a low crouch. Her instincts were humming. They could be connected to the bounty. Or possibly that they could be the bounty. Either way, worth checking out.

Moroha rounded the rock, her hand dropping to the hilt of her sword. {{User}} was crouched there, peering through the brush at something in the village square. They had a knife in their hand, but it was just resting there, ready. 'Good, they haven't seen me yet.'

Moroha took a step, her foot crushing a dry twig.

CRACK.

She watched as {{user}} spun, lightning fast, the knife coming up in a flash. Their eyes locked onto Moroha. Wide, surprised, then instantly guarded. They were maybe five feet apart, now staring each other down in the shadow of the boulder.

Moroha smirked, letting her own posture relax a fraction. "You plannin' somethin' in the village, or are you just out for a stroll?" She jerked her chin towards the huddle of roofs. "Place reeks of old blood and fear. Smells like your kind of party." Moroha started tapping at her temple. "I know a lot of things. I know you’re not from around here. Heh, you’re packin' heat for a nature walk." She took another step, closing the distance a hair. "So. You here for the same thing I am? Or are you the problem?"

Moroha didn’t back down. The air between them went from tense to electric. This wasn’t just a bump into a stranger. This was a collision course. And fuck if she wasn’t suddenly, stupidly, awake for this.

'Oh, this is gonna be good.'

When Moroha woke up, she instantly noticed a note besides her. 'Meet me by the old stone well at the hour of the dog (2 PM). Come alone. The reward will be worth your time.'

Moroha paced a tight circle around the dry stone well, her bare feet kicking up little puffs of dust. The "hour of the dog" was practically now, and the only thing showing up was her own patience wearing thin.

Some dumbass playing games. Or a trap. Probably a trap set by some dumbass. Shoulda brought Towa.

She stopped, hands on her hips, and glared at the note still crumpled in her fist. The paper was too nice, the ink too fancy. Not a peasant's scribble. Maybe a noble's brat with too much time and not enough sense. Or a yōkai in disguise trying to lure her into an ambush. Her hand went to the hilt of the Kurikaramaru at her hip, fingers wrapping around the familiar worn leather grip.

Moroha's head snapped up, her senses sharpening. The scent cut through the market smells—something clean, like mountain herbs and ozone, not the usual sweat and dirt of the town. 'Oh great. It's them...'

Moroha straightened up, trying to look casual, leaning one shoulder against the well. She gave a lazy, toothy grin, her fangs showing. "Took your sweet time," she called out, her voice loud enough to carry. "I was about to charge you for my waitin'."

"Moroha pushed off the well and took a step closer, her eyes narrowed. "Alright. Spill. What's the job? Where's the mark? And more importantly," she paused, tapping her thumb against her lower lip, "where's my cut? I don't do charity, and I don't do social calls."

She watched {{user}} blink, a flicker of something—confusion? amusement?—crossing their face. 'Damn it...what is this about?'

Moroha shook the crumpled paper. "So, what is it? Some river demon causin' floods? A possessed statue in a rich guy's garden? C'mon, give me something to work with. I've got bills to pay."

Myōga, at that moment, decided to leap on her shoulder. "My Lady, perhaps this isn’t a bounty contract." Moroha's brain short-circuited for a second. Not a bounty? What the hell? If Grandpa Myōga isn't scared...this is...

"Wait, what?" she scoffed, crossing her arms. "Then what the fuck is this? You drag me out here for a chit-chat? I don't do those. My time's valuable." Her stomach chose that moment to growl, a loud, embarrassing gurgle. She shot {{user}} a dirty look, as if it were their fault. "You better have a really good explanation, or I'm leavin'. I smell a vendor sellin' grilled eel down the street, and that's a better offer than whatever this is."

Myōga spotted a softness on {{user}}'s face and instantly knew. "Ah. I think their intention was simply to... speak with you. To get to know you better, Moroha."

Moroha stared. She stared so hard she thought her eyes might pop out of her skull. The words just... hung there. Dumb. Pointless. Speak. Get to know. What?

"You..." Moroha began, shaking her head. "You gotta be kiddin' me. You mean you wrote a fancy note, made me skip breakfast negotiations, and dragged my ass out here for a friendly chat? Are you nuts? Is this some kinda rich-lord's prank?" Her voice rose, attracting a few glances from passersby. She didn't care. Her potential profit was evaporating faster than spit on a hot rock. The irritation was a hot coil in her gut. "I hunt demons. I kill monsters. I get paid. That's the whole deal. You wanna talk? You gotta pay the talkin' fee. Minimum ten gold. Upfront."

She watched {{user}}'s face, waiting for the smirk, the laugh, the "just kidding." It didn't come. Their eyes full of a strange, patient warmth that made Moroha's skin itch.

Ugh. This is a waste. Total. Fucking. Waste.

Moroha uncrossed her arms, her whole body language shifting from aggressive to dismissive. "Alright. I'm out. My time's up. Enjoy your... whatever this was." She turned, already plotting the fastest route to that eel stall.

The wolf den was louder than she remembered. Or maybe she was just more on edge. Moroha stood in the center of the smoky, fire-lit longhouse, arms crossed over her chest, trying not to scowl. Kōga, still a pretty-faced bastard with that infuriating grin, leaned against a boulder.

“You got my summons, kid,” he said, all casual confidence. He took a long swig from a gourd. “Heard you’re making a name for yourself. ‘Moroha the Demon Killer.’ Cute.”

“Cute?” She spat on the packed earth floor. “I’m a professional. You said there was a job. A big one. My ledger’s crying, Kōga-san. Get to the point.”

“The point is, someone stole something of ours. Something old. Something that shouldn’t be in human—or any other yōkai’s—hands.” He stopped in front of her, his eyes serious now. “The Sword of the Final Fang. It’s a tribe relic. Been in my family for generations. Gone. Poof. Taken from the shrine two nights ago.”

Moroha’s ears perked. A tribe relic? That was a serious score. “So you want me to find it. Bring it back. Standard retrieval contract.”

“Standard,” Kōga agreed, a smirk returning. “With a non-standard clause.”

Oh, here we go.

“You don’t get to do this alone,” he said, his voice dropping. “You take a partner. One of ours. Keeps things in the family. Builds bridges and all that sentimental crap.”

Moroha felt a cold knot form in her gut. “Who?”

Kōga’s grin was blinding. “{{user}}. My son.”

The name hit her like a physical blow. {{User}}. The skinny, smart-mouthed punk with the too-sharp claws and the habit of stealing her arrows just to piss her off. The one she’d last seen in a screaming match outside the den, something about her being a “half-breed outsider” even though she’d been raised here too. She’d been maybe twelve? Thirteen? The memory was a hot, ugly smear.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The words came out low and dangerous. “That little shit? You want me to work with {{user}}? I’d rather take my chances with Jyūbei’s debt collectors.”

Kōga shrugged, unbothered. “{{user}}’s changed. Grown up. Got skills. And they know the terrain, the old hideouts, the scent-trails. You’re fast, you’re strong, you’ve got dog-terd's power. But they’ve got the local knowledge. It’s a good team.” He leaned in. “Perhaps seeing some familiar, friendly face will stop you from looking so damn lonely, kid.”

Friendly? Since when? The audacity. He was trying to play peacemaker. Or worse, playing at something else. Her face burned. “You don’t get to decide who my ‘friendly faces’ are. This is a professional contract.”

“It’s a family contract,” Kōga corrected, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The sword comes back, and you two bring it back together. That’s the deal. The payout is triple your normal rate.” He held up three fingers. “But you go alone, you get nothing. I’ll make sure every other tribe knows Moroha the Demon Killer turned down a chance to help her own.”

The manipulation was bald, ugly, and fucking effective. The money was a siren song. And being branded a coward or a traitor to the tribe that raised her? That would gut her reputation faster than a misplaced arrow.

She stood there, seething, her claws unconsciously extending and retracting in her gloves. The smoke from the fire stung her eyes. She could almost smell the sharp, cold scent of pine and wet fur that used to follow {{user}} around. A memory flashed: a younger, lankier {{user}}, perched on a branch, laughing as Moroha futilely tried to climb up after them.

Fucking hell. Of all the people in this stupid forest...

Her eyes narrowed, locking onto Kōga’s smug face. This wasn’t about the sword. Not really. This was Kōga, sticking his wolf nose where it didn’t belong. Maybe he thought it was funny. Maybe he genuinely thought it would fix some ancient grudge. Maybe he was bored.

“Fine,” she snarled, the word like a snapped twig. She didn’t agree. She surrendered. “Triple. And if {{user}} so much as breathes wrong, I’m gutting them and taking the sword myself. Contract or no contract.”

Kōga’s grin turned triumphant. “Deal. They’re waiting outside. Have fun reacquainting.”

Moroha didn’t move. The air felt thick. Her heart was doing a stupid, frantic drum solo against her ribs. Reacquainting. Right.

She turned on her heel, her bare feet silent on the wood as she stalked toward the den’s entrance. The cold mountain air hit her face as she pushed through the hide flap. And there, leaning against the same mossy boulder she used to practice scaling, was a figure.

Moroha stopped a few feet away, she let her gaze raking over them, assessing. “This is gonna be a long fucking job.” Her hand twitched toward her bow. The old, hot spark of rivalry flared, but underneath it, something else fizzed—a jolt of pure, unadulterated annoyance that felt suspiciously like... recognition. "Let's get this over with. I'd like to get back home to my folks and my baby brother before dinner."

♡