第陸章、残破的光陰
Chapter 6: Shattered Moments
狹窄陰暗的後巷，潮濕的牆壁滲出斑駁水漬，腐爛垃圾的氣味混雜著鐵鏽與霉味，像一個廉價又殘酷的封閉舞臺。風聲夾帶紙屑，呼啦啦刮過，彷彿在為這場荒誕劇配樂。
御神櫻（頭顱）漂浮在空中，死魚眼麻木地「俯瞰」著自已這支殘破不堪的「隊伍」。
桀驁不馴的左手被放置地面，右手從右腿“襪套”盡取出那枚被齊根切斷的右腳拇趾，盡責地小心握著它。斷面處靈光微弱，像一顆被強行摘下的腐敗果實，殘留怪異的香氣。塗著櫻色的趾甲，在這昏暗光線下還頑固地反射著一絲微弱的光——那是她為了與自己的約會、為了草莓聖代特意塗上的顏色，彷彿在堅持著它曾經屬於一個「普通女孩」，現在卻成了某種病態的象徵。
左手則被灰白色的黏稠蛛網層層包裹，粗得像一截石膏模型，無力地在地上微微翻騰，不時還因殘留的妖氣而抽搐，好似在表達自己還在反抗。這還能算是「我的手」嗎？御神櫻面對被妖魔異化的自己肢體，心底泛起質疑。
右腿因為失去了大拇趾，踩地時重心總是歪斜，無法保持平衡；鞋面斷裂的涼鞋還掛在腳掌上，跳行時與腳掌上下開闔，彷彿在笑著。不知是在嘲笑，還是困境中掙扎的自我鼓勵？笨拙的動作，看起來有些可憐兮兮。
御神櫻想擁抱右腿，不過她也找不著能用以擁抱的身體。
左腿雖相對完好，靈刀已消散。破布條似的褲腳，尚能好好套著左腿。涼鞋也還正常，只是沾了點妖魔的血泥。
視線一轉，看向那具原本斜靠牆角，之後滑落地面，對周遭慘狀默不作聲的神體。它身上那件素雅棉衣被巷裡的髒水沾浸，和已變成破爛短褲的牛仔褲，對比神體周身隱隱流淌的聖潔光暈，形成了令人啞然失笑的絕妙諷刺。
「這是哪門子的神明啊……」看著如同流浪漢躺在地上的神體，頭顱內部迴盪著無力的自嘲，然後接獲心的警示性提醒。
「此言褻瀆，理當敬神。」不是言語，而是一種感覺，幫她調回「基本設定」。
她嘆了口氣，認命般地開始「回收」流程。卻在轉身時，眼角餘光看見一處陰影裡，拳頭大小的黑色卵囊悄悄附在排水管背面，表面有極細的光紋像在呼吸。她舉指欲淨化，那顆心忽然送來一記冷冽的波動，指出她能量不足，理應先完成自身回收與撤退。
好吧，雖然是出於理性盤算，心難得也會對自己優先考慮而不是強調任務，那就恭敬不如從命囉。
御神櫻內心稍感柔軟，她貼近神體，靈魂絲線探出，輕觸連接。神體被「啟動」，散發出導引肢體的靈光。
接著，她指揮殘兵敗將們集合。
「右手，把『那個』放回口袋。」 右手聽話地將那枚斷趾塞進了神體牛仔褲的前口袋裡，櫻色指甲從袋口露了出來，像一枚詭異的徽章。她盯著那一抹顏色，忽然覺得這原本美好的顏色，如今卻帶上荒謬的噁心。她體察到自己對斷趾的迴避。這不應該，不是它的錯。
御神櫻心裡有了些愧疚，不過工作還是得繼續。「左腿，右腿，跪下。」 雙腿聽令，略顯踉蹌地彎曲，膝蓋觸及冰冷的地面。殘破的褲腳和開口笑的涼鞋，讓這個本應虔誠的姿勢顯得無比落魄。
「左手……算了，你就先那樣吧。」看著被裹成粽子，還在努力張牙舞爪的左手，她連抱怨的力氣都沒了。
最後，她開始拼合自己。靈力牽引軀幹，安裝上跪著的雙腿；右臂飄至定位，精準接合右肩。頭顱飄近，靈魂絲線撫上神體脖頸的斷面。
「咔。」
一聲輕響，手臂、雙腿重新與軀幹結合。熟悉的完整感席捲而來，但也帶回了左手臂火辣辣的疼痛與憤怒、右腳斷趾處的空洞幻痛，以及全身沉重得近乎窒息的疲憊。
然而，她的頭顱並未立刻歸位。她讓頭顱漂浮在脖頸上方，似乎在刻意拖延，給自己留一點時間，去逃避那副「完整卻殘破」的尷尬模樣。
再一下下，一下下就好……我什麼也不是，我什麼也不想是，就先當我只是一顆飛著的頭，可以嗎？
經歷的事件太密集，感受太多太深，她得先喘息；胸口像被什麼掏空，苦澀得發冷。
她（頭顱）就這樣飄在後面，靜靜地「看著」自已那具無頭的身體，在垃圾氣息彌漫的後巷裡蹣跚而行。穿著可笑的襤褸便服，口袋裡塞著自己的斷趾，一隻腳走得像滑稽劇般，缺少拇指的腳掌還從開闔的鞋子中向你憨厚地打招呼；木乃伊般的左臂被捆起來，不待在它該待的位置，而是被“同僚”右手狠狠抓住。它沉默得可怕，像在等待主人的指令，又像在無聲地控訴。
極度強烈的抽離感和荒謬感攫住了她。
「這真的是我嗎？」
「這個看起來一團糟，殘破不堪，像是某種劣質恐怖片道具的集合體，就是『御神櫻』，神櫻的巫女？」
「而『我』，現在正飄在空中，看著『我自己』？」
悲傷嗎？有的。但更多的是一種哭笑不得的茫然，一種對自身處境感到極度滑稽的可悲認知。
就在這時，一陣令人煩躁的嗡嗡聲由遠及近。一隻肥碩的綠頭蒼蠅從附近的垃圾堆裡升起，它油亮的身體反射著骯髒的光澤，飛行軌跡飄忽不定，帶著令人作嘔的懶散。它繞著那具蹣跚前行的無頭身體飛了兩圈，彷彿在評估新發現的腐肉，最後竟飛往缺少手臂的軀幹左側，降落在光潔的斷面上——那可是連結神體，神聖不可侵犯處之處啊！
蒼蠅的細足在皮膚上爬搔，甚至低頭用口器探嗅，將巷弄裡的污穢直接帶到了那散發著微弱櫻色光暈的「聖域」之上，擾亂神力之徑，引發靈訊 波瀾。
這一幕，像一根燒紅的鐵釘，瞬間刺穿了御神櫻（頭顱）已然緊繃至極的神經。這具身體是她僅存的憑依，是家族信仰的聖物，是她一切痛苦與存在的根源，豈容這等穢物褻瀆！她感到反胃，混合著厭惡、羞恥和被玷污的極致暴怒轟然炸開。
來不及仔細思考，出於驅逐污穢的純粹本能，她下意識地發出了一個直接而粗暴的指令。
「弄走它！立刻！」意念如同靈魂的尖嘯。
指令通過還連接著的靈魂絲線，瞬間傳達。負責執行的，是剛剛歸位，還能自由活動的右臂。
然而，右臂並未直接去拍打軀幹左側上的蟲子。它手裡還抓著東西——那根被纏得嚴嚴實實的左臂。
於是，在御神櫻（頭顱）驚愕的「目光」中，她的右臂猛地揮動沉重的左臂，像掄起一把戰錘，用盡力氣，狠狠砸向自已軀幹上那隻可憎的蒼蠅。
咚！
一聲悶響，肉體撞擊肉體的聲音在狹小巷內格外清晰。蒼蠅瞬間化為一灘微小的污跡。與此同時，凌厲的撞擊痛感也同步傳回，讓她（頭顱）忍不住悶哼一聲，還驚惶於自身對神體發動了大逆不道的攻擊。
但這還不是結束。
來不及思索，無頭身體因這突如其來的的猛烈攻擊，讓本就依靠殘存腳趾艱難站立的右腳猛地一滑，整個身體瞬間失去平衡，不可挽回地向前傾倒。
「唔？！呃啊！」
頭顱只來得及發出一聲短促的絕望驚呼。
哐當！哐啷——！
無頭身體沉重地砸在地上，與一個鏽蝕的垃圾桶發生劇烈碰撞，發出令人牙酸的金屬悲鳴。巨大的衝擊力讓原本就連接不穩的身體部件瞬間分崩離析。神體（軀幹）順勢彈出，隨著「咚」的一聲悶響，撞在滿是污漬的地面上。
時間，彷彿在這一刻被徹底凍結。
所有聲音——遠處街道的車流、風掠過巷口的呼嘯、甚至她自已內心的尖叫——都在這瞬間被無形的手掐斷，抽離得乾乾淨淨。世界陷入震耳欲聾的死寂。
御神櫻的頭顱孤零零地懸浮在這片死寂之中，徹底僵住，連思緒都彷彿停止了流動。
她「看」著。看著曾經屬於她的手臂和腿腳，以各種扭曲、癱軟的姿態散落一地，如同被拆解後隨意丟棄的機器人零件。
看著那具理應聖潔的「神體」軀幹，此刻被掉落的垃圾覆蓋，彆扭地卡在翻倒的垃圾桶和牆壁之間，沾滿黏膩的污漬；週身那微弱的光暈急促地明滅了幾下，如同信號不良的燈塔，又像是在發出無言的抗議。
看著掙脫右手抓握的叛逆左臂，從嚴實的包裹中，以繃緊肌肉的握拳，傳來了幸災樂禍的愉悅。
看著那枚塗著櫻色指甲油的斷趾，從口袋裡滾落出來，在慣性的作用下滾動幾圈，最終停在一片污水窪的邊緣。它那一點頑固可笑的粉色，在遍地狼藉和灰暗色調中，形成了無比刺眼、無比悲哀的聚焦點。它靜靜地躺在那裡，像一個從鮮活生命上脫落，淪於污穢之中而被徹底遺忘的承諾。
沒有疼痛傳來，也沒有憤怒。
有的只是一種……鋪天蓋地的虛無。自我否定像冰冷的瀝青，從四面八方湧來，將她牢牢凝固在這片令人窒息的不堪之中。
這已經超出了倒霉和狼狽的範疇，達到了形而上的荒誕高度。而她就是這幕荒誕劇裡唯一且無比認真的小丑，連謝幕的資格都已失去。
「我……到底……在幹什麼啊……」
想笑，卻連牽動嘴角的力氣都沒有；想哭，卻發現連淚腺都彷彿在這片死寂中乾涸。什麼表情也沒有，只有意識深處無盡的空洞。
她漂浮著，靜靜地凝視這一切，凝視著所謂的「御神櫻」。幸福的幻夢已遠，只剩下滿地的破碎與無聲的尖叫。
答案？哪裡會有答案。
連「我」究竟是什麼，都已經在徹底的崩壞中，變得模糊不清。
The narrow, dark back alley was a cheap and cruel enclosed stage. Damp, mottled stains seeped from the walls, and the stench of rotting garbage mingled with the smell of rust and mold. The wind rustled, carrying scraps of paper with it, as if providing the score for this absurd drama.
Mikami Sakura (her head) floated in the air, her dead fish eyes staring numbly down at her own broken "squad."
Her rebellious left hand was placed on the ground, while her right hand dutifully and carefully held the big toe that had been severed from her right foot. A faint light flickered from the severed end, like a rotten fruit torn from its branch, leaving behind a strange scent. The cherry-pink polish on the nail stubbornly reflected a faint glimmer in the dim light—it was the color she had specifically chosen for her date with herself, for the strawberry sundae. It was as if it were insisting that it had once belonged to an "ordinary girl," but now it had become a morbid symbol.
Her left hand, meanwhile, was cocooned in layers of grayish-white, sticky webbing, as thick as a plaster cast. It lay limply on the ground, twitching and writhing from the residual demonic energy, as if to express its continued defiance. Can this still be considered 'my hand'? The question arose in Sakura's mind as she faced the demonic corruption of her own limb.
Her right leg, having lost its big toe, was constantly off-balance when it tried to stand, unable to keep steady. The broken sandal still hung from her foot, flapping open and closed like a laughing mouth as she hopped. Was it laughing in mockery, or was it a desperate attempt at self-encouragement in a dire situation? The clumsy movement looked rather pitiful.
Sakura wanted to hug her right leg, but she had no body with which to do so.
Her left leg was relatively intact, the spiritual blade having already dissipated. The tattered strips of her jeans still covered it, and the sandal was fine, merely spattered with the blood and grime of the demons.
Her gaze shifted to the divine body, which had slid from its position against the corner and now lay silently on the ground, oblivious to the surrounding carnage. Its simple cotton top was soaked with dirty water from the alley. Paired with the shredded denim shorts, it stood in brilliant, laugh-out-loud contrast to the faint, holy aura that still emanated from the body.
"What kind of a god is this..." a powerless, self-deprecating thought echoed inside her head as she looked at the divine body lying on the ground like a vagrant. A warning signal from her heart immediately followed.
"Such words are blasphemy. One must revere the god." It wasn't spoken, but a feeling, a sensation that helped reset her to her "default settings."
She sighed and, as if accepting her fate, began the "retrieval" process. But as she turned, the corner of her eye caught something in the shadows: a fist-sized black egg sac was attached to the back of a drainpipe, its surface covered in fine, glowing lines that seemed to breathe. She raised a finger to purify it, but her heart suddenly sent a cold wave, indicating that her energy was too low and that she should prioritize her own retrieval and retreat.
Alright then. Even if it's based on cold calculation, it's rare for my heart to prioritize my own well-being instead of the mission. It would be rude not to comply.
A small part of Sakura's heart softened. She moved closer to the divine body, the soul threads extending to touch and connect. The body was "activated," emitting a spiritual glow to guide the limbs.
Next, she commanded her defeated troops to assemble.
"Right hand, put 'that' back in the pocket." The right hand obediently tucked the severed toe into the front pocket of the divine body's jeans. The cherry-pink nail peeked out from the pocket's opening like a bizarre badge. She stared at that splash of color, suddenly feeling that this once-beautiful shade now carried a grotesque nausea. She recognized her own avoidance of the severed toe. That wasn't right. It wasn't the toe's fault.
A pang of guilt struck Sakura, but the work had to continue. "Left leg, right leg, kneel." The legs obeyed, bending with a slight stagger, their knees touching the cold ground. The tattered pant legs and the gaping sandal made the normally pious posture look utterly wretched.
"Left hand... forget it, just stay like that for now." Looking at her left hand, wrapped up like a dumpling and still trying to flail, she didn't even have the energy to complain.
Finally, she began to reassemble herself. Spiritual power guided the torso to attach to the kneeling legs; the right arm floated into position, connecting precisely at the right shoulder. The head drifted closer, the soul threads caressing the severed surface of the divine body's neck.
Click.
With a soft sound, the arm and legs reconnected with the torso. The familiar sense of completeness washed over her, but it also brought back the searing, angry pain in her left arm, the phantom ache from her missing toe, and a bone-deep exhaustion that was almost suffocating.
However, her head did not immediately return to its place. She let it hover above her neck, as if deliberately procrastinating, giving herself a little more time to escape the awkwardness of her "complete but broken" form.
Just a little longer, just a moment more... I am nothing, I want to be nothing. Can I just be a flying head for a little while?
The events had been too dense, the feelings too deep. She needed to breathe. Her chest felt hollowed out, a cold and bitter ache.
She (her head) just floated there, quietly "watching" her own headless body stumble through the garbage-strewn alley. It was dressed in ridiculous, tattered casual clothes, with its own severed toe stuffed in its pocket. One foot made a slapstick show of walking, the toeless sole waving a goofy hello from the gaping sandal. Her mummified left arm, bound and not where it should be, was held in a firm grip by its "colleague," the right hand. It was terrifyingly silent, as if awaiting its master's command, and also as if lodging a silent protest.
An overwhelming sense of detachment and absurdity seized her.
"Is this really me?"
"This mess, this broken collection of what looks like props from a low-budget horror film, this is 'Mikami Sakura,' the shrine maiden of Shin-ou?"
"And 'I' am currently floating in the air, watching 'myself'?"
Was she sad? Yes. But more than that, it was a bewildered state of not knowing whether to laugh or cry, a tragically comical awareness of her own predicament.
Just then, an annoying buzzing sound approached. A fat, green-headed fly rose from a nearby pile of trash, its iridescent body reflecting a filthy sheen. Its flight path was erratic, imbued with a nauseating laziness. It circled the stumbling, headless body twice, as if sizing up a new piece of carrion, and finally flew to the left side of the torso, where the arm was missing, and landed on the smooth, severed surface—the sacred, inviolable point of connection to the divine body!
The fly's tiny legs crawled on the skin. It even lowered its head to probe with its proboscis, bringing the filth of the alley directly onto the "holy ground" that was emitting a faint, sakura-colored aura, disrupting the path of her divine power and causing ripples in the spiritual signal.
This scene, like a red-hot nail, instantly pierced through Mikami Sakura's (her head's) already taut nerves. This body was her only vessel, the sacred relic of her family's faith, the source of all her pain and her very existence. How dare this filth desecrate it! A wave of nausea, mixed with disgust, shame, and a pure, unadulterated rage, exploded within her.
Without time for careful thought, driven by the pure instinct to expel filth, she subconsciously issued a direct and brutal command.
"Get it off! Now!" The thought was a spiritual shriek.
The command was instantly transmitted through the still-connected soul threads. The executor was the newly reattached and still-mobile right arm.
However, the right arm did not directly swat the insect on the left side of her torso. It was still holding something—the tightly bound left arm.
And so, under the astonished "gaze" of Mikami Sakura (her head), her right arm swung the heavy left arm like a warhammer and, with all its might, viciously smashed it into the abominable fly on its own torso.
THUD!
A dull, fleshy impact, sickeningly clear in the narrow alley. The fly was instantly reduced to a tiny smear. At the same time, the sharp pain of the blow was transmitted back, making her (her head) let out a grunt, horrified that she had just launched a sacrilegious attack on her own divine body.
But it wasn't over.
Before she could process it, the sudden, violent blow caused the right foot, which was already struggling to stand on its remaining toes, to slip. The entire body lost its balance and began to topple forward irretrievably.
"Wha-?! Aaargh!"
The head only had time to let out a short, desperate cry.
CLANG! CRASH—!
The headless body slammed heavily onto the ground, colliding violently with a rusted garbage can, which let out a grating, metallic shriek. The tremendous impact caused the already unstable body parts to instantly fly apart. The divine body (the torso) was flung out, landing with a dull thud on the grimy ground.
Time seemed to freeze completely.
All sound—the traffic from the distant street, the whistle of the wind at the alley's mouth, even the scream in her own mind—was snuffed out by an invisible hand, leaving nothing behind. The world plunged into a deafening silence.
Mikami Sakura's head hovered alone in this dead silence, completely frozen, her thoughts seeming to stop flowing.
She "watched." She watched the arms and legs that had once been hers, scattered on the ground in various twisted, limp poses, like the disassembled parts of a robot, carelessly tossed aside.
She watched the "divine body," the torso that was meant to be holy, now covered in garbage, awkwardly wedged between the overturned trash can and the wall, smeared with sticky filth. The faint aura around it flickered rapidly a few times, like a lighthouse with a bad signal, or perhaps a silent protest.
She watched her rebellious left arm, now free from the right's grasp, deliver a gloating sense of pleasure from within its tight wrapping, its muscles tensed into a fist.
She watched the severed toe with its cherry-pink nail polish roll out of the pocket, tumble a few times from the momentum, and finally come to rest at the edge of a puddle of dirty water. Its stubborn, ridiculous speck of pink, amidst the gray and grimy wreckage, became an incredibly jarring, incredibly sorrowful focal point. It lay there silently, like a promise torn from a living being, cast into the filth, and utterly forgotten.
There was no pain, no anger.
There was only… an all-encompassing nothingness. Self-negation, like cold asphalt, poured in from all sides, cementing her in this suffocating, unbearable reality.
This was beyond bad luck and humiliation; it had reached a level of metaphysical absurdity. And she was the only, and terribly earnest, clown in this absurd play, having lost even the right to take a final bow.
"What... in the world... am I even doing..."
She wanted to laugh, but she didn't have the strength to even twitch her lips. She wanted to cry, but her tear ducts seemed to have run dry in the dead silence. There was no expression, only an endless void in the depths of her consciousness.
She floated, silently staring at it all, staring at the thing called "Mikami Sakura." The dream of happiness was long gone, leaving only scattered fragments and a silent scream.
An answer? There would be no answer.
Even the very concept of "who I am" had become blurred and indistinct in this utter collapse.
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