Ford’s Way

Ford's consciousness slipped into an unexpected peace.

"A-ah!"

The pain in his bruised ribs vanished, the stench of death and ozone dissipated.

"W-what... is happening...?"

He was back, not on the cold cavern floor, but in a bright, warm place: a quiet corner café that smelled of vanilla and freshly brewed coffee.

"What's wrong, Ford? You look lost."

"?!"

In that moment, Ford was stunned to hear a soft, familiar voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Do I have something on my face...?"

"S-Saffi..."

Saffi was sitting across from him, immaculate. Her hair fell over her shoulders with a healthy shine, and her eyes, free from the tension and fear of the cult, looked at him with genuine warmth.

"Of course it's me! Seriously, Ford, are you okay?"

She was wearing her normal clothes, a simple blouse and sweater, and smiling with the sweetness that Ford treasured so much.

"Nothing, Saffi. It’s just... that I’m happy to see you."

Feeling a surge of irrational relief, Ford replied, believing the nightmare had ended and they were now safe.

"Hehehe, you're always like that."

In response to his words, she laughed with a light sound like wind chimes.

"Always with your sweet words. How about we go to the park afterward? They say the cherry blossoms are already blooming."

The image was perfect, comforting.

"I'd love to..."

Ford stretched in his seat, feeling the lightness of a future without demonic threats.

But then....

"Ford..."

Saffi’s face contorted. Her smile twisted into a grimace of silent agony, and her eyes widened in icy horror, whispering with the sweetness of her voice turned into dry sand.

"?!"

A shadow loomed over the café, swallowing the light.

(SLOSH!)

The warmth was replaced by a penetrating cold.

"!!"

Behind Saffi, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, tall and slender, with a sickly smile and nine waving tails.

"Ufufu~"

It was Kagura....

"N-no, please!"

(Thud/Chuk!)

Her hand, wrapped in purple energy, moved with casual precision, piercing Saffi's chest.

"Agh!"

Saffi choked on her own blood. The sound broke the air, and the color of her blouse changed from beige to dark red.

"She's dead~"

Kagura smiled and withdrew her hand, wiping it clean with a gesture of annoyance.

"!!"

Ford tried to scream, tried to move, but he was glued to the chair, trapped in a nightmarish paralysis.

"F-Ford... Why...?"

The café dissolved into darkness and a sweet, metallic stench.

(LIGHTNING!)

Saffi's blood turned into a torrential rain, soaking Ford and the floor, while a crimson wave, dense and warm, struck him with the force of a tsunami.

(BLUUB!)

The water of blood submerged him, sweeping him away, leaving him breathless.

(This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real!, THIS ISN'T REAL!!)

He struggled, but thousands of pale, cold hands rose from the depths to grab his ankles and wrists, pulling him downward.

"Glub-glub."

As he sank, Ford managed to turn over.

"!!!"

And what he saw was Saffi's perforated body floating above him in the darkness, looking at him with eyes now empty, but filled with overwhelming resentment.

"It's your fault."

She spoke with a spectral, deep voice, resonating in the thick fluid.

"Why didn't you help me?"

Then Saffi's head began to swell, her face growing until it occupied all the space, transforming into a grotesque grimace of judgment.

"Why did you let me die?!"

(Whoosh!)

Suddenly, the scene changed again.

"Cough, cough... Gasp... Ha... Ha... Haaaa..!"

Ford was now standing, but not on the ground—he was on Saffi's cold, giant palm.

"You did nothing!"

She was leaning over him, her face, though immense, was still that of the woman he loved, but twisted by anger and pain.

"NOTHING!!"

"?!"

That scream tore through him more powerfully than anything else, leaving him on his knees, feeling how his eardrums shattered. The judgment in that voice pierced his soul, and just like that...

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

... Ford woke up, his body convulsing on the floor.

"Gasp, gasp, gasp... Ha... Ha... Ha...!"

He was back on the cold stone floor of the cavern, the cold metallic frying pan still clutched to his chest.

"I see you woke up."

The Exorcist, Armando, stood a few meters away, amidst the dust and debris, examining the broken ritual circle.

"Ugh, Kugh...!"

The air still smelled of ozone and gunpowder, but the stench of blood from the nightmare clung to him, and his ribs ached with a very real pain, soaked in cold sweat.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Seeing his condition, Armando asked, pointing one of his pistols at him purely out of reflex.

"....."

However, Ford didn't react to the weapon; instead, he remained curled in the fetal position, silent, his gaze lost on a fixed spot on the wall. His mind couldn't escape the scene: the purple hand piercing Saffi's chest, the rain of blood, the ghostly scream.

(It's my fault!!)

The horror mixed with despair, but just beneath that layer of panic, a cold, concentrated fury began to burn.

Then, fragmented memories of the collapse flooded his mind:

(Plaafff!)

He had fallen to the ground with a hard thud. The pain in his ribs was unbearable; every breath was agony.

"......"

However, amid the cracking stone and detonations, his mind caught a fragment of the conversation.

"...if that 'Saffi' was valuable to you and, above all, virgin, then she's probably dead~"

The name. Saffi. Her fate. The casually cruel voice of the demon, Kagura.

"......"

Next, the dolls' panic: (...monster... It's scary...), and the demon's voice charging again: "...letting that human over there take the precious catalyst."

"The frying pan. The key to everything."

Driven by a fury that overcame the pain, Ford had begun to crawl. He slid across the shattered concrete floor, ignoring the dirt scratching against his skin and the unbearable pain, with the sole goal of reaching it.

"......"

At that moment, he only had one objective in mind: for if he couldn't save Saffi, he could at least take revenge on that monster by ruining its ritual.

That's how he crawled slowly and deliberately, using the column of debris and battle smoke as a makeshift shield.

"That's right... In that moment... I..."

Once he finally arrived, his trembling fingers closed around the cold iron handle, and the instant the frying pan touched his skin, he heard a voice.

Not in his ears, but directly in his mind, weak and barely a whisper:

("Stop... now. This must end...")

It was the voice of the frying pan, his silent ally, but it sounded exhausted, on the verge of breaking.

"How... do I stop... this..."

Upon hearing that, Ford, on the verge of fainting, asked, ignoring everything else.

("Give me... a name...")

Ford stopped, confused, with pain and fury swirling.

"How...?"

("The bond. The true one... Tell me. Now...")

And right after that, his memories blurred. Only the cold grip of the metal and the sensation of a psychic anchor forged in desperation remained.

"....."

Just like that, the memory cut off, and Ford blinked, feeling the instinctive grip on the frying pan's handle.

"What... what happened?"

It was only then that Ford finally asked, his voice hoarse and broken.

"Have you finished assimilating the situation?"

Seeing his condition, Armando waited, his weapon still aimed at the boy in front of him.

"Is she gone?"

In response, Ford straightened slightly, still on the floor, his face pale and covered in sweat, looking at the man pointing the gun at him.

"If you're talking about the thing that was here, yes, she's gone."

In response, Armando did not lower the weapon. His eyes, hidden by the shadow of his hood, scanned Ford and the object he was gripping.

"......"

"......"

The underground chamber was now filled with a different kind of tension: the silence after a storm.

"...I see."

Thus, Ford merely nodded weakly, sinking back into silence. His body trembled, not from cold, but from exhausted adrenaline and the horrible vision of Saffi, gripping the handle of the frying pan, seeking comfort in its cold solidity.

"Haaa..."

Finally, Armando lowered the gun barrel, but kept his finger near the trigger, evaluating his own actions: he had been rash, driven by an ancient rage, and the Demon Lady of Greed had escaped.

(But there is something more.)

Armando used his energy detection to inspect the area, as being near Kagura should have caused intense mental pressure for any ordinary human, leaving them incapacitated by fear or madness. Yet, Ford had managed to crawl and act in the middle of their fight.

(They didn't show up in combat...)

The shadow on Ford's legs was the key. Armando could vaguely see the tiny silhouettes of the straw dolls clinging to the darkness, perceiving the residual cursed energy.

(They must not have offensive abilities. They must be support, acting as a shield or psychic anchor.)

He didn't sense they were particularly strong or dangerous, despite being curses. They were... harmless, yet incredibly effective at protecting their bearer from direct demonic influence.

"....."

His gaze then focused on the frying pan. The object no longer just radiated corruption; it was now imbued with a strange, latent power, freshly awakened.

"That object is imbued with power."

Armando approached, his heavy boots crunching over the debris.

"You need medical treatment, and I must confiscate that artifact. It's too dangerous for a civilian."

The Exorcist extended a gloved hand.

"Give it to me."

Ford, still traumatized, nevertheless shook his head instinctively.

"No... I can't."

"Fuff..."

Armando sighed and grabbed the handle of the frying pan with the intent of pulling it away.

(Impossible!)

But it was useless. The metal was cold, but it felt as though he were trying to lift a ten-ton anchor.

"Tch..."

The Exorcist withdrew his hand, frustration running across his hidden face.

"You've bonded to that object."

Armando then crouched down to be at Ford's level.

"It looks like my attempt to confiscate it has simply sealed the deal."

"......"

"Now, answer my questions. Where did you get those straw curses and that frying pan? I need to know what the hell you are to have survived this."

Ford blinked, Armando’s hand having withdrawn from the pan, and the pain in his ribs was a constant reminder that he was not invincible. The image of Saffi still burned in his eyelids.

"Something... something honestly that I don't understand gave it to me,"

Ford replied, his voice a muffled whisper. His gaze was vacant, reflecting the trauma and confusion.

"....."

Armando fell silent, assessing the answer. The Exorcist wasn't sure if Ford was lying or if his mind, under the shock of the massacre and the confrontation with Kagura, had simply blocked the truth. His current state was a difficult truth to ignore.

"Look, kid."

With a fluid motion, Armando pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a small snap.

"I can't let you go after all that happened here."

Blue smoke rose in the cold air of the cavern, signaling the broken circle and the debris around them.

"Your memory cannot be erased. You are bonded to that object and those curses, which for some reason, chose you and protected you from madness. You are a blind spot in our system, an anomaly I cannot afford to ignore."

Armando stood up, his tall figure casting a shadow over Ford.

"I give you two options. The first is to be isolated and protected. You will live a safe life, closely monitored, but like a caged bird. We'll keep you off the monsters' radar."

He then paused, allowing the gravity of that isolated life to sink in.

"Or the second, if you have a goal to accomplish... you become an Exorcist. You'll be trained, armed, and directed. You'll have a place to channel that... fury I sense boiling under your skin, and you can hunt those monsters."

Ford, who had been listening with his head bowed, remembered the fox woman's twisted smile, her casual admission that Saffi was probably dead.

"....."

The rage, once icy, turned into a burning wave of vengeance.

"I..."

He clenched his fists, the frying pan tight between them.

With a silent scream that only he and the straw dolls could hear, Ford lifted his gaze. His eyes, now focused, burned with brutal determination.

"What is your final answer?"

Armando, looking down at him, questioned him one last time.