Eidolon

Warning (PG18)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

Reon was done talking, Rei’s butt pink and warm under his hand, his desire dangerously close to surfacing, he rolled her over still in his lap, grabbing her neck and pulling her up to face him. He expected to see tears, the glazed shock of surprise, the final breaking of her will. What he saw instead was a flushed, intensely focused expression. Her eyes were clear, her mind whirring behind them.

As he hauled her up, she didn’t fight the momentum. Instead, she placed one hand on the tatami beside his knee and the other on his shoulder, steadying herself as she was dragged differently into his lap. Her voice was a whisper, calm and unnervingly sincere, “Thank you, Reon. I understand everything better now.”

He was so surprised he loosened his grip. “What,” he demanded, his voice a low rumble, “do you understand?” His other hand came to rest on her hip firmly, making her position in his lap secure, an intimate and dominating claim. Rei met his gaze, her posture in his lap one of strange composure. “I was being self-centered,” she admitted, “I understand the true importance of the collective in the Oni now. The necessity of it.” 

She glanced briefly towards the carved stone columns, as if seeing the weight of the entire syndicate in them, “And I understand that even you, as a Ceremonial Master, are bound by tradition to do this, to lecture us this way. I respect the complexity of your position more now, too”, she offered a small, almost compassionate smile, “It curbs my feeling of injustice, knowing we all share it in some way. That we’re all part of the same… machine.”

Reon’s grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into the lace fabric and her skin. With a powerful shift of his body, he moved her, forcing her to straddle him properly. The motion was deliberate, blocking his own view of Takumi, forcing Takumi to watch only the back of her, her legs now wrapped around Reon’s waist. “Be very careful,” Reon warned, his voice dropping, “with your thoughts on the justice or injustice of Oni traditions.” 

His hands grew bolder, sliding from her hips to the small of her back, narrowly avoiding the tattoo, pulling her flush against him, “Sure, we are all cogs, but cogs have different statuses. In this room, there is me, then Kumi – and at the very bottom… is you.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his whisper so low and intimate it was for her alone, a secret Takumi was forced to watch but could not hear. 

“Besides”, he murmured, the heat of his breath a stark contrast to his chilling words, “seeing me as a pawn, sacrificing myself for these ceremonies… is not accurate. I worked, I fought, to get to this position. And I fought for a reason.” He pulled back just enough to see her eyes, his own blazing with a voracious light, “You said you didn’t desire me. But I, for one, find you utterly enticing”, a slow, wicked smile spread across his face, “Today reminds me exactly why I love my work.”

Rei tensed, the hard evidence of Reon’s desire pressing against her, a stark counterpoint to the icy fury she could feel radiating from Takumi. Her own body, traitorously, was responding to the dominance and proximity, a flush of heat warring with the chill of guilt. She could feel Reon’s breathing slow, his control straining, his pupils swallowing the blue of his irises.

She placed her palms flat against his chest, creating a fragile inch of distance. Her mind raced. How to deflect him without a direct refusal that would be seen as insubordination? Reon read the conflict on her face as if it were written in bold script. A part of him, the part that reveled in his power, wanted nothing more than to tear the golden corset from her and take her right there on the low table, a final, brutal lesson for them both. Takumi’s murderous aura, thickening the air like a poison, only made the prospect more enticing.

But that felt too simple, that would end the ritual too soon. He pivoted, “I was surprised to learn,” his voice deliberately casual as he released his grip on her, easing her off his lap, “that you’re quite skilled in the Chochin style. A mongrel mix, but an entertaining one.” He rose to his full height in a single, fluid motion, the golden belt of his gi a bright slash in the dim chamber, “Spar with me.” It wasn’t a request. Before Rei could process the command, he was moving, pulling her up with him.

The sparring was a brutal ballet. Rei, fueled by adrenaline and a desperate need to defend and prove herself, held her own better than most. She was fast, her instincts sharpened by Shoma’s training and a life spent watching for danger. But Reon was on another plane entirely. He moved with a preternatural economy, his deflections effortless, his holds inescapable; treating her as a genuine, if inferior, opponent. And he was deliberately, blatantly invasive.

As he twisted her arm into a lock, his other hand would brush against the side of her breast. When he swept her legs, his grip on her thigh was lingering. He would grab the curve of her hip to steady her after a throw, his fingers digging in for a moment too long before releasing her. It was a different kind of violation, one performed under the guise of combat.

She impressed him with a few near-misses, her feints clever enough to make him adjust his stance. But it was a futile effort. When she was finally spent, her muscles screaming and her breath coming in ragged gasps, she dropped to her knees on the tatami, her head bowed in capitulation. Reon dropped into a crouch in front of her, his breathing barely elevated.

He reached out and tilted her chin up, his touch now one of clinical appraisal. “You did better than expected,” he conceded, a note of genuine respect in his voice, “The best concubine I’ve fought in years.” His blue eyes scanned her face, then dropped to the way her hands trembled with exhaustion on her knees, “You might even be worth teaching the Iron Oni Fist.”

From across the room, there was a sharp intake of breath. Takumi had stirred, the statement hitting a nerve so deep it threatened to shatter his enforced silence. The offer was more than a compliment; it was a potential shift in the balance of power, a threat wrapped in the guise of an honor. Reon had found a new, more subtle way to get under his skin.

The Iron Oni Fist was the syndicate’s most guarded martial art, a discipline Takumi had spent years proving himself worthy to learn. The training required complete isolation with a Ceremonial Master. For Reon to offer it to Rei, a novice, was a profound insult to Takumi’s own journey and a blatant provocation. But the true sting for Takumi was the implication of future, intimate contact between Rei and Reon, a prospect that made his jaw clench so hard the sound of grinding teeth was faintly audible in the silent room.

Reon’s smile was a knife twist of knowing satisfaction. He gave Rei a vague, dismissive wave, “The secret technique is part of a whole other ritual, for another time.” He circled her as she remained on her knees, “An important aspect of your trial remains. Giving you your Oni Concubine name. Since you are not from within the Oni, this name will also be your future name within our ranks.”

He gestured for her to stand, “The question is, what to call you?” She rose, somehow managing to look elegant even as she was still catching her breath, her body humming with exhaustion and adrenaline. Reon’s eyes wandered over her, lingering on the sheen of sweat on her skin, the way the golden corset accentuated her curves.

“Bijo,” he mused aloud, the Japanese word for a beautiful woman. He shook his head, “Too literal, too reductive for one so smart.” His gaze sharpened, a spark of inspiration lighting his blue eyes, “Kitsune, fox. That is a better name. Kitsu for short.” Rei inhaled unsteadily. The name was a haunt from her past, Karasu’s old, private pet name for her, spoken now by the man who shared his cousin’s eyes. The coincidence, or perhaps the deliberate choice, sent a shiver down her spine. She bowed her head, the gesture one of acceptance, “I welcome the name.”

Reon closed the distance between them. “You are only to use this name within the Oni,” he instructed, his voice low, “It’s forbidden to use it when non-Oni are present.” The rule suddenly clarified why Takumi was ‘Kumi’ here, and why he had forbidden her from ever using that intimate shorthand.

Rei dared a glance at Takumi, a flicker of hope in her eyes that this meant the ordeal was finally over. Reon stepped directly into her line of sight, blocking her view. “There is one last trial,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument, “For this, Takumi stays, while you and I go to the hot spring.” A faint, predatory smile touched his lips, “You need a bath after that workout, Kitsu.” He turned and walked towards a side entrance without looking back, expecting compliance. After a heartbeat of paralyzed hesitation, Rei followed, the new name feeling like a second tattoo.

The heavy wooden door slid shut behind them, leaving Takumi utterly alone in the vast, silent chamber. The stillness was worse than the confrontation. Now, he was left with nothing but his own imagination, picturing what Reon might demand of her in the steamy, secluded intimacy of the hot spring. That particular powerlessness was a more exquisite torture than any he had endured up until then.