Divine Move

They won. Once again, they defeated the evil that threatened them. An evil that threatened their families and friends. They won. So why did Stiles feel defeated? Because despite standing on the side of the winners, they were defeated. Allison was gone. The coach was injured. Ethan lost his brother. They won, but they were not winners. At least Stiles wasn't. How could he, if he was the one to blame? When did the treacherous fox wear his face? How could he show himself to others? Just looking at him will bring them suffering. He could go straight and pour salt into their wounds, and maybe it would hurt less. Physical injuries usually heal, but do mental injuries? Can they ever look at him again without his face hurting them from the losses they have suffered? A week had passed since the unfortunate incident, and Stiles couldn't get rid of his guilt. He felt so sorry that he wasn't strong enough to end it. He should sacrifice himself for others. He should sacrifice himself for his friends, for his family. But he was a coward, so others get injured instead.

"I admit that move with the change was good. I underestimated you. But I still won, didn't I? Oh, Stiles, the fox changes its coat, but not its nature. I told you. It does not matter who wins, but who makes the divine move. And there is a problem here, am I right? Your friends think they made a divine move when they changed me, but we both know the truth, don't we? We know that I made the real divine move because the real game took place only between you and me," a slimy voice hissed in his ear.

Stiles clenched his fists and was about to say something when there was a knock on his door. He took a deep breath. Nogitsune was gone. It was just a figment of his imagination, of his madness. Nothing more. He had to calm down. It wasn't real. He may have been doomed to be left alone for the rest of his life, but he certainly didn't want to spend that time with a vivid image of the rotten fox.

"I'm not ready to go to school yet," he shouted at the door as he recovered, realizing that someone had knocked on the door. Not someone, but his dad. He did it every day, and Stiles told him the same thing every day.

"It's a shame, we miss you there," a girl's voice came from across the door, and the door creaked to indicate that it was open.

Stiles's breath caught in his throat. He looked at the girl with strawberry-blond hair with a surprised expression. Maybe it was just a figment of his imagination. What else would she do here? He terrorized her. Her best friend died because of him. Her boyfriend died because of him. She had no reason to come here. She had no reason to come to see him.

"Stiles?" she addressed him in a hoarse voice as he said nothing and just stared at her. That wasn't like him, and Lydia was really starting to worry. She told herself all week that he was probably not feeling well. After all, he was on the verge of death, which was something Lydia certainly didn't like to think about. She thought he just needed to gain strength, get a good night's sleep, and so on. But now she saw that there was something else behind it. Something much more serious and her heart cracked. Again. Just as it cracked when he picked up the katana and aimed it at himself. At that moment, her whole world collapsed. She hadn't even handled the loss of Allison yet, and she had to watch another person, who had so big a role in her life, almost dying.

"Go away, please," he muttered, looking down at the floor.

Lydia frowned. This was definitely not his usual behavior. He never sent her away. And to tell the truth, her heart pounded lightly. Now they should stick together more than ever. So what was wrong? Why did he distance himself from them all?

"I told you to go away!" he shouted suddenly and got out of bed. "You won! Are you satisfied?! Go to hell, or at least show me your true form!" he was yelling furiously as his whole face flushed red and tears welled up in his eyes. "Just not her, please," he spoke softly again and sat back on the bed. He put his head in his hands as if it would help him hide from the fox. From his own mind.