Red Moon

Idea by David Tai/Written by RinoaDestiny

King of Fighters, Orochi, and Iori Yagami belong to SNK

It is the moon that catches his attention – that rivets it.

For the moon is red – a sinister specter crimson as blood – casting its pale and unearthly light against the dark night sky. For the moon is red, aglow with malevolence and the rare sight transfixes Iori, so that he stops and stares, guitar case in hand forgotten.

The moon seems to look back, to acknowledge him, and whispers, "I know who you are."

He shivers, uncertain if he heard the voice or is imagining things again.

The moon stares back – the bloody circle a rictus – and says, words silken like an assassin's cord, "I know who you are, Iori Yagami. You cannot hide."

He almost drops the guitar case, because the voice is familiar. He is not imagining things.

The voice is Orochi's. Which means…

Never seen a blood moon before, Yagami? You know what it portends? What strength I gain from it?

There is a familiar, unwelcome sensation itching across his skin. It reminds him of molting insects, of fake carcasses lying forgotten in the green and dark.

You were always mine, Iori Yagami. Sworn from the womb. Did you think you could escape from me?

It crawls up his throat, spreads along his lips. His hands shake. He puts the guitar case down, steps away and gazes at the dark expanse of water ahead of him. On the other side is gaiety and life. Where he is, he is alone. His throat itches, as if something desires to rip its way out. He coughs and brings his hand up by reflex. There is wetness and heat.

He knows.

I call you, Iori Yagami. I call you by name. You are one of mine. You cannot escape.

A desperate howl breaks forth from him and for now, it still sounds human.

That will soon change.

No! No! You cannot! You will not! I will not –

You will not? Shall I remind you again of your place, Yasakani whelp?

His hands curl into claws. His skin turns cold. There is a haze over his vision, a mist over it turning from sickly yellow into red. Red like the moon. Red like spilled, viscous blood. There is a thickness in his throat. He tries to talk but only a guttural growl resounds from deep within him.

Iori shudders.

Shudders and can only watch as Orochi takes control.

It is so easy, Yagami. Your blood curse. The contract writ within your line. Did you ever think you were free of this? Did you ever think I wouldn't bring you to heel, like the pet needing to be broken by the master's hand?

Fuck you!

It is the last thing he is able to coherently think as a parting shot before the Riot of Blood consumes him whole. It terrifies him. For he is no longer himself, and he is forced to watch. Forced to watch as his body moves in unnatural ways, manipulated as though by invisible strings. For Orochi wants him to hunt. There is bloodlust in the air and it is coming from him.

Coming from his Riot self. Not from him. Not from the one trapped as though behind glass, pounding away, screaming for release from the nightmare.

There is no more coherent thought. Just rage. Rage and despair.

He is moving away from the water. Leaving his guitar behind. He will be back for it later. That is not important. He cannot kill anyone tonight – he does not want to kill anyone right now. He tries to stop himself – his will against Orochi's – and in that split moment of defiance, the Riot redoubles, courses pain through his veins.

He howls. The sound is inhuman. Unnatural.

Orochi taunts him, much like a cruel master to its underling. Even now? Haven't you learned, Iori Yagami? To defy me will just gain you punishment. Why are you resisting?

His body is on the move again, hunched over and legs rushing forward. Orochi wants him to kill. To destroy. Anyone. Man, woman, child or adult. His hands are as claws – fingers are as knives. Bloodthirst and wanton destruction. Just cross over to where there is life and light and…

He cannot. He will not.

He takes those fingers – the nails sharp as blades – and turns them on himself, sinking all five deep into flesh. It is not fatal but it will slow him down. Perhaps drop him before he can reach the nightlife on the other side.

You dare? The god's enraged voice echoes in his subconsciousness. You dare, son of traitors?

He dares.

He has killed before – of his own volition – but he has also killed because of Orochi's influence. This will not be one of those times. Even behind the glass of his awareness, he gazes in defiance and spits upon Orochi's command. Of course, he dares.

Blood on his fingers. The stench of iron in the air.

He pulls his hand free, hears the squelching sounds as his fingers extract themselves from his abdomen. In his current state, he feels no pain. Wetness up to the knuckles. Should he look down, his hand would be stained dark. Only in the ghastly light would he see red.

Like the moon.

Like that goddamn moon.

He sees himself rear backward into that hideous arc and howl, screaming. It sounds like Kyo's name but he is no longer certain.

He wants out of this. He wants to return to being himself.

So long as that moon remains, I am in control. Do not even think to…

Cross him? He's already crossed Orochi twice. His concert shirt is sticky and damp. There is wetness on his skin, seeping out. If he drops here, that is fine. If he has to gouge himself again and again until there is no strength left to move, he will do that. He will not die that easily. No one in the Yagami clan just dies because of some minor wounds.

He stabs himself again, fingers buried into flesh and muscle, bypassing critical organs.

Insolent whelp!

His breath comes in huffs and he still doesn't feel any pain. The sensation of wet raw flesh against his fingers isn't new. When he killed before, he got acquainted with the feeling. But it is different when the target is himself – when he knows it's his fingers piercing his flesh. Somehow, that changes how he sees it.

The wet drip-drip of blood. A stronger metallic odor in the air. His nose twitches, nostrils flaring. There is bloodshed. His own. It has to satisfy. It must satisfy.

You think that will stop me? You will kill, Iori Yagami.

Like fuck he will.

He staggers forward, impelled by the force that is Orochi and almost goes to his knees. Blood drips from his coated fingers as he yanks them free. This time, the wetness slicks downward, soaking into the top of his pants. He is bleeding more heavily now, which is fine. There is no one else around. Won't be, if he can keep himself here.

It irritates Orochi, this resistance of his. He feels it in the back of his mind like a weight.

You will obey!

No, he won't.

He didn't obey when they first sealed Orochi away. He will not be obeying this time, either.

It is with this in mind – in his subconscious behind that awareness like a sheet of unbreakable glass – that he proceeds to do what he does next. The Riot descends on him, merciless and cruel – his inhuman screams rent the air – and his body moves again, limbs like an automaton in motion. He foams at the mouth, his blood acrid and metallic on his tongue and teeth, and he knows he is a walking nightmare. If he gets within a crowd…if he even sees someone…

There are no fighters here to stop him. One of those times, it took nearly all of them to do so. Without anyone getting in his way, without any impediment…

Orochi would get him to kill.

That cannot be allowed to happen. Orochi did not own him.

He was himself.

Iori, driven by the forward momentum of the Riot, forces himself to the right. While he was away from the main body of water, there was still water to his right. Shallower, but there. He watches – a spectator to his own fall – as his body loses balance and tumbles over the stone walkway, falling and falling until it makes impact with the dark wetness below. A splash and his arms and legs flail as he tries to find purchase in the water. He will not drown. He will not drown.

The water is shallow. The water is shallow.

Inhaling some is still enough to knock the red haze out of his vision as he surfaces, sputtering and choking. He feels Orochi's hold loosen ever so slightly and it is enough for his subconscious to roar in, pushing back against the accursed god's control. The red veil drops – the sky is dark as freshly ground ink – and he feels pain now. It courses through his body – through the finger-length gouges he made in his own flesh – and he seizes, collapsing.

He allows himself to rest partially submerged in the water. Needs to get out before the tide changes. He cannot allow himself to drown.

Above him, the sky is dark. The sky is empty. He cannot see the moon.

But he knows it is there. The red moon. The moon of blood and misfortune.

It is there and he dares not see it again.

Comments: So all credit for the fic idea/prompt goes to David Tai. When we were discussing my other one-shot 'A Matter of Crests' on Discord, David suggested Orochi Iori's crest as the blood moon. Since I have never written Iori in Riot of Blood mode in-depth before, it was an idea I kept slotted away in the back of my mind. Since it is close to Halloween, I decided my first attempt at horror was appropriate for this month, as well as the subject matter.

So I have a different take on Iori when he goes into Riot of Blood mode. Due to that time in '97 when he actually is lucid enough to attack Orochi instead of the other Sacred Treasures and even has that clear-eyed backwards gaze at Kyo, I have the headcanon that Iori is fully lucid subconsciously during the Riot. The fact that he can't stop it from happening is what terrifies him. So my Iori, with his hatred and defiance of Orochi in full stride, does everything he can to stop Orochi, no matter the lengths he must go to (short of killing himself).