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Instinct and Empathy	By : Fenris30 Category: +G through L > King of Fighters Views: 1607 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the King of Fighters fandom, nor anything therein. No money or profit is made from this work.

Chapter List
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The past several nights, Iori's dreams had not been something he enjoyed. On the contrary; they were hellish.
His blood felt like it was boiling and his body was wracked with pain. It was like he was going through the Blood Riot, only he would wake up eventually. One time he had dug his fingers far enough into his palm to draw blood in his sleep; he woke to find it smeared all over.
Iori was no stranger to bad dreams, but these caused him physical pain. He would end up waking in the middle of the night more often than not with the blood rushing in his ears; he would smoke a cigarette or two before trying to sleep again. More often than not, the dreams would hit again-which he would barely remember, except for the horrible feelings they gave.
He could swear that there were people trying to set him off. He could almost sense Orochi's presence, though he thought that would be impossible. He reluctantly had to admit to himself when it came to Orochi and its fanatical followers, nothing was impossible.
He had decided to withdraw some days, not speaking to anyone. He would feed the cat that came, stroking her head as he always would until she left, though he simply mostly sat, ate whatever junk food he had and played his bass, since sleep was unable to come easily. Even drinking wine didn't seem to help; it only got him tipsy and hungry, and then he'd wake up with a headache on top of that same burning feeling he had when Orochi first attempted to wake up the evil side of him.
One thing that was of some minor comfort were cold showers; usually he opted for them as hot as he could take them, but between constantly feeling like his blood was boiling and the stagnant heat, cold tended to calm him a bit more. He would end up in there at least twice a day.
After several days of barely enough sleep, he began to get angrier, his brutal outbursts causing more damage to his walls.
It was one night at around three in the morning-he had slept all of two hours the night before and maybe six total in the past three days-that he happened to glance at the phone on his desk...which held Athena's number.
I don't need help.
He sat there in his chair, stripped of everything except for a pair of his favorite black jeans, simply staring at the phone.
No.
But the blood rushing in his ears again and his quick heartbeat was telling him something else. He remembered how a couple of times-while he would get riled up at first-she somehow could help calm him...even a little.
He was getting desperate. Maybe her psychic power or whatnot could put him out for a day like it did the day she overloaded herself. He wasn't sure how it worked. Iori was not afraid, but his rage was starting to get the better of him.
And this was not good for architecture-let alone people-in his vicinity.
Iori stared at his phone...and the time. Three am. She was probably asleep.
He grabbed the phone, shuffled through until he found her number, and after some hesitation hit 'call'...but hung up after a few rings.
“Stupid,” he muttered to himself. He moved over to the kitchen to throw on more coffee; he was thankful that he had a large amount of it, as he hadn't wanted to leave his apartment to restock anything.
He rubbed his eyes afterward and wandered off to the side of the small counter. With a sudden yell, slammed his fist into the wall again; cracking the stone easily as it landed. As he pulled his hand away, his knuckles bled. This just made him angrier, so he snarled and lashed out with a brutal kick which crushed the stone in where it landed, forming a sort of crater on the wall; the form on his kick was better, however, so he managed to not draw any blood with that one.
His still-manic eyes glanced at the dripping blood on his fist-his own, for once-and trailed outside at the moon shining through the window. He paused to lick some of the blood that dripped off, for reasons he didn't even quite know at the moment. Bit by bit, some of the rage seemed to fall away.
Sighing, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans and slid another into his mouth.
–
Snapping awake, Athena had grabbed her phone. Oddly enough, she wasn't sure if it was the phone that woke her up, or the horrid feeling she had.
When she looked at the number that called, she knew something was wrong.
She had a foreboding type of feeling that had followed her the past few days. It wasn't totally tied to Iori, she knew; he had been in foul moods his entire life and they didn't follow her around, mostly only if they met up. But she had a nasty feeling that stuff was afoot when it came to other things. She supposed it had to do with the various enemies who seemed to track down certain competitors, but she wasn't sure.
Staring at the number, she quickly stood to get dressed.
He may have hung up quickly, but she figured that it wouldn't hurt. He had called for a reason. The last time she had seen him was when they had gone to a noodle shop one night about four days ago; she had run into him in the vicinity and he agreed to go along, though he looked like he was in a worse mood than usual. In fact, he had looked rather short of sleep and did not speak much...even for him. She remembered he paid for both of their meals and left quickly.
If he wants to be let alone, I'll just leave. Won't hurt to check.
She carefully left the dojo where she stayed currently; Kensou's snoring was audible through two sets of walls, so she doubted anyone would hear to inquire. Not that they'd stop her, but she sort of wanted to keep this visit discreet.
The night was clear, though stagnant. Leaving the air conditioning was regrettable, but she could get to Iori's apartment fairly quickly.
Brushing her hair back, she sighed and started to walk.
–
Hearing the knock, he glanced at the time; it was around four.
Iori had been sitting by the window, practically chain-smoking, his foot on the table in front of him. A cup of coffee-which had been filled and emptied at least three times in the past hour-was sitting there next to him along with an empty bowl of ramen; he had decided to eat something to keep his strength up. The stone ashtray was practically overflowing.
Littering the floor around the chair were the remnants of another coffee cup, which he had broken in his hand out of anger. His rage fueled strength was frightening to behold; often he didn't even realize how much force his body would even put out when he was in one of his darker moods.
Pushing away from the table-he roughly kicked aside the remnants of the cup, somehow managing to not cut himself in the process-and threw the door open. He looked down, knowing exactly who it was.
“I hung up, you know,” he grumbled, standing aside to let her in. He had even turned the air conditioner down to a colder setting about a half hour before-he knew she liked it-instinctively knowing she wouldn't let the call go. He sort of regretted calling in the first place.
“You still called,” she said, walking in and breathing a sigh of relief when the air hit her.
He wandered over to the counter and poured her a cup of coffee, shoving it unceremoniously into her hand before walking back over to the chair that he had turned to face the window. He sat over far enough on it-it was fairly wide-for her to squeeze into it as well if she so wanted.
Athena had to crack a smile at this. While he was still being rude and gruff, he was at least being somewhat hospitable at the same time, which was a tiny step forward.
She took him up on the offer, sitting there next to him. He tensed-as he would-but calmed after a moment. After taking a sip of the blindingly strong brew, she turned toward him.
“Iori,” she said.
He looked over at her. His eyes held dark rings, and the whites were somewhat bloodshot. His knuckles were clearly abused from the walls; she could see several cracks and holes in the brick-some parts clawed, some punched-with some blood smeared-and a few of the larger areas she reckoned he kicked in when he had gotten tired of punching them.
“It burns,” he answered, after he realized her gaze would not leave him. “It fucking burns like it did-like it does when...” he trailed off. “They're trying to unseal that bastard again. I know it, even though we just sealed him a few months ago. I'll crush his neck like I did the first time, but...” he stopped, taking a drag of the cigarette.
“Those from the Past.”
“Most of them are still around. We both know it.”
She nodded. She knew after some of the events of the last tournament they wouldn't stay gone.
“I can't find them, else I'd rip their throats out.”
Athena shivered. She knew Iori's threats were not empty. She simply drank the coffee, letting him vent.
He had stopped, going back to stare out of the window. After a long time of silence, he looked back over.
“Why did you call me Mr. Iori those years ago?”
She almost spit her coffee out. “You...remember that?” It was an extremely random question, especially given the topic of conversation about ten minutes before.
“You don't any more. Why did you? You're only three years younger than me.”
Athena had to laugh. “I...I don't know. I guess I was taught to be formal?”
“Hmph,” he snorted, flinging the cigarette onto the concrete floor and crushing it out. He would just sweep up later. The ashtray was full and he didn't feel like getting up to empty it. He turned his head again...and this time, the corner of his mouth held a tiny smile. “Glad you don't anymore.”
“It was sort of silly. I think I was mostly just dumbfounded. Maybe a little nervous.”
He nodded, unsurprised. While he still felt a little off around her, he felt a bit better than he did. He couldn't explain it. Maybe he could sense the heavy empathy she had for him.
She looked around at the shattered cup and his hands. “You have...how much have you slept?”
“A few hours.”
“Last night?”
“Over the past three or four days.”
Athena sighed. She wished she could help, but she wasn't sure how to go about this. She knew he was wary about her power ever since that first incident, so she'd have to approach this carefully.
“Do you want to try?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If I can without feeling like I'm going to wake up and murder people.” He uttered a dark laugh before turning toward her. “What can you do?”
She thought for a moment. “I...don't know. I don't know if my powers work that way. How do you feel now?”
“I don't know,” he grumbled. The questions were starting to agitate him. “I'll go lay down. If you can figure something out, do it.” He stood, wandering over to the bed and collapsing on it, turning onto his side.
Athena blinked, finishing her cup of coffee before walking over to sit next to him, her back against one of the pillows which sat against the wall. She placed her shoes off to the side and crossed her legs in front of her before looking over at him as he lie there.
For some reason, she wanted to curl up next to him, to slide her arms around him. She shook her head, not knowing where that thought came from. The empathy she knew she had?
Or was there something more? Did she want to help him because it was the right thing to do...or were there some sort of...underlying feelings there?
It can't be.
Iori?
This Iori? Tries to kill Kyo anytime they meet unless they're fighting Orochi?
Iori, the forever enraged fighter with about a hundred deaths to his name?
She thought it may have just been the way she worked; she felt for people who were in distress, and that was where the want to try to comfort him came from. But she had started to think about other things.
She made sure to chase those thoughts away...or tried to. She wasn't sure if she was successful. He turned over, putting a hand behind his head as he looked at the ceiling.
He was tense, that was for sure. At first he wanted to tell her to go sit in the chair or something, but then another part of him liked her presence there. It was confusing to him; it tore him one way, and then another...but for him, it was better than being shoved completely in the direction of 'enraged.'
Closing his eyes, he decided to try to sleep. He spared her one exhausted glance before he did so; the look in his eyes was that of a man trying to keep the strings of his very self intact.
Athena slid down, putting both of her hands behind her head as she eventually heard his breathing adjust to that of someone who was sleeping.
Sure enough, in about fifteen minutes, he was out.
She randomly started thinking about the curse of his clan.
Does his entire clan really deserve to pay for something an ancestor did over six hundred years ago?
–
Iori snapped awake, snarling.
She could feel the malice again; she felt it off and on during the rest of the morning and into the afternoon; Iori had slept for roughly eight hours, all the way to about one pm. He sat up, breathing heavily, his face in his hands. He pulled them away.
“How long was I out for?” It was the first thing he said.
“Eight or so hours.”
He nodded, panting and looking angry. “Felt it again.”
“You...struggled a lot. I let you sleep, though.”
He blinked. “You stayed the whole time?”
She nodded. “I looked at a few of the books on your shelf.” He had a few classics lying around, as well as things like musical history which she had found interesting.
There was also a not-insignificant collection of porn she had come across, but she only chuckled and slid that back on the shelf.
He looked a little surprised. “I...thanks,” he said, not really knowing what else to say. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes he had thrown on the table next to him and lit one. He had a slight headache. Glancing at the window, he noticed an empty tuna can and bowl there. He actually cracked a tiny smile. “She was here?”
Athena nodded. “She looked hungry.”
“Still funny how she doesn't run from you,” he said, rubbing his head and standing. The burning began to seemingly scratch around the underside of his consciousness again, almost taunting him.
You still listen to me, it seemed to say. You will always listen to me.
He suddenly slammed his fist into the wall next to the bed, snarling, the few moments of a lighter mood having disappeared. Athena jumped, noticing the crack that appeared. His power always surprised her.
“I need to go," he said after some moments. "Need to be alone for awhile.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes, I'm sure,” he snapped, though looked a little regretful at his tone immediately afterward. He calmed down a little. “I just need to go. I think I need to drink a few tonight. They're still out there. I just want to get away from them.” He stood to try to find some of his clothes and his boots; he hadn't gone out for several days and he had forgotten where he threw them. He had apparently just tossed everything into a corner.
He glanced over at her, exhaling heavily as he adjusted his shirt; the one with the crescent moon. He didn't bother buttoning it. “Sorry.”
She nodded; she knew that was in regards to his generally foul mood. “It's okay.”
“Look...” he said, absently checking his pockets, “Thanks. I...slept better than in awhile. Still had the nightmares but...” he trailed off. He had slept longer than he had in days. He looked around. “Stay however long you want.”
“I'll head back now. Just...if you need anything again...call. Like you did.”
Iori nodded, turning quickly. I need to get out of here. Drink. Forget.
It was trying to get him again, he felt.
Athena watched as he slammed the door behind him without another word. She looked around at the forlorn apartment, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. It was not from the cold.
I don't like this feeling I have. What's happening?
She decided to go inquire to a few people about any particular goings-on around the city. Perhaps finding out something, anything, about some of the weird stuff that had been happening with spirits and multidimensional rifts and whatever else had been twisted out of shape after the defeat of the last entity that attacked the tournament could shed some light on things.
–
It took awhile, but it eventually happened.
Iori had finally reached the point of being drunk. Wasted was too extreme a word, but his mind was finally clouded; the bartender had been a bit alarmed on how long it took him.
It sort of helped...but not really. The blood was still rushing in his ears, and he felt almost like he did that night all those years ago where he turned on Orochi, his hands clenching around his neck in a death-grip. Had Orochi been an ordinary human, he would have easily torn his head off. He could actually see the fear and anger in his eyes as he dug his fingers into his neck with all of his immense strength; Orochi-who even had better leverage at first-tried to pull them apart, but it was in vain.
Iori's strength was greater than that of a divine entity. He had held him up as if he were a doll as Kyo finally delivered the hit.
He had no memory of what happened after that. All he remembered was waking up in a temple at least a week later. May have been more.
But that didn't matter now.
He had no idea why he started remembering that again. He shuffled in one of his pockets, sticking a cigarette in his mouth.
It was drizzling outside, though still hot. The bar he had been at was some no-name joint; Iori preferred those when he would go out to drink. Given they tended to be more sparsely populated, he was able to sit in a corner, drink, smoke, and do whatever else that caught his attention at the time.
He threw his shirt back on-he hadn't even worn it in the bar, but it was not one of those bars that particularly cared as long as you weren't naked.
Considering stopping by some fast food place on the way back to stave off his quickly growing appetite-no doubt caused in part by the alcohol-he began to move over to an area where he knew there were some places that he could eat. There were some people; mostly drunks, addicts, and other people who crawled around the areas. No one really lived in the dilapidated apartments in this zone. The food joints about a half mile away were generally sparsely populated as well, just how he liked it. He tended to be left alone, due to the murderous glare that he usually had on his face.
He crushed the cigarette out under the heel of his boot, looking around for a moment. Shaking his head, he moved on...but only for a few steps.
Iori suddenly grew tense; he did not like the feeling he got from the way a couple of people looked at him. One was a short, dark haired female, and the other a tall, very willowy male; he could have easily been mistaken for a woman in the loose sweater he wore...despite the heat. Soft blond hair framed his face, though his eyes were cold flints. The girl didn't particularly look like she had any sort of care about anything.
They did not look like the rest of the people here.
His left hand forming into a claw, he kept walking.
Their gaze continued to burn into him, and he felt his heart start pounding harder again...and the blood rushing into his ears even more. His head pounding, he snarled and pushed forward.
More eyes fell on him from the shadows. Were they enemies?
Weapons. They have weapons.
He snapped his head around to glare at the two; the blonde man had gotten closer to him. He was about Iori's height, but very slim. His expression was neutral.
“You're still weak,” he whispered. He chuckled, though he did not smile.
Iori snarled. “I'll rip you in two if you don't get away.”
The man-whom Iori finally began to recognize-simply shook his head. “You could kill me, yes. I doubt me or my colleague could do anything about you. If you laid a hand on us, you could tear us to bloody pieces...like you have so many. But...” the man nodded to his partner...who simply held up her fingers in a strange arcane shape, making a few motions.
“We have a bit of a trump card there.”
The feeling Iori had was not one he had expected to feel.
It burned.
It burned like it did some years back when he murdered Mature and Vice, when he held Orochi at bay, when he nearly killed Kyo and Shingo, and several other times where he had murdered large numbers of people in his vicinity.
He knew he was falling to the Riot of the Blood again.
H...How...he thought, as he spat blood onto the ground in front of him. He held his hand up to his mouth, wiping it off and staring at it. He could feel the saliva in his mouth growing thick, almost like it was foaming.
They were trying to set him off, he knew. He didn't know why.
But they had a plan.
While Iori under the Riot of the Blood had inhuman power, Those from the Past decided to attempt a gambit.
By setting him off, they know he did not bother defending himself. Sacrificing foot soldiers was nothing to them. Eventually, they figured, they would do enough damage to bring him down.
He was more resilient, yes, but they figured Iori not under Blood Riot was far too cunning. He was not an intelligent or strategic fighter, but he knew how to defend himself and could handle a fight against dangerous opponents far too well, even large numbers of them.
Outnumbering him-and bringing him down through sheer damage-was something they would attempt. He would eventually bleed out, even if he kept fighting until the end...or even if he slaughtered them all, he would likely collapse afterward.
Looking around-the blood rushing in his ears as if he were standing next to a waterfall, burning in his veins...there were many. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Weapons.
Nn...no...
There were a few bystanders as well. He tried to tell them to run, but the words wouldn't come out as his eyes began to turn red.
H...How...
O...Orochi...
The two seemed to be focusing on him...they had discovered a way to channel the being's power as it tried to reform itself from whatever netherworld it was in. A being who had a particularly nasty attitude toward Iori and his entire clan.
Of which he was the only one of left alive, but that didn't matter.
One more burst did it.
The last thing Iori remembered was spitting out an all too familiar word.
“Die...!”
The assassins for Those from the Past were basically on a suicide mission, though some of them did not look particularly willing. After taking a look at just how terrifying and feral Iori looked under the Riot of the Blood, even the braver ones were having second thoughts.
The first man took a shot, clipping Iori's arm. He barely felt it, charging; grasping his shoulders in his hands and digging his fingers in, he tore the man in two where he stood; blood, viscera, and everything else inside of him flew out.
The bloodcurdling scream that Iori emit after this was enough to send anyone that wasn't an assassin running.
Their blades and bullets tore into him, though he felt nothing. His hands tore out, catching arms, torsos, heads...anything they swiped had pieces torn out or were just torn straight off, blood getting everywhere in the vicinity.
It was enough of a horror show a couple of the men tried to call it off; they had no idea it would be this bad.
They were caught. Anyone that ended up in the grip of his deadly 'claws' were torn to pieces; his kicks shattered bone like glass. His boot caught a stumbling assassin's face as he threw a straight kick; it was caved in instantly from the force.
Iori never realized how badly he was injured at this moment as several bullets and knives hit home. He grabbed a gun before a man could fire again, crushing it in his fist along with his hand. The man screamed until it was stopped short from Iori's clawed hand thrusting into his face and through his head. Iori's fevered, insane strength caused their bodies to be no more difficult for him to dismantle than a wet paper bag.
A man who fell to the ground tried to crawl through the bodies to try to escape, but he felt Iori's boot on the back of his head after a few moments. His stomach dropped, though he only had time for a muffled cry as Iori uttered a truly terrifying laugh and crushed it into the pavement, adding the man's own contribution of gore to the collection that had formed on the ground.
Luckily, any bystanders escaped...though given they were bums in various states of inebriation, they were mostly concerned with getting out of there as quickly as possible, and hoping that it was just some extremely bad hooch causing the hallucinations.
Iori's blood continued to burn in his ears; the assassins were nothing but sacks of meat to him.
He grew slower as the blood drained from his body from dozens of wounds. His shirt was soaked through, and he looked like he had bathed in gore. Most of it was not his.
They were all dead long before he stopped and snapped out of it; the last man was torn asunder by a gigantic leaping attack that he performed with both hands.
No one else had come there; this part of town was not oft visited by authorities, which tended to be thin in the lousiest parts of South Town anyway. Mostly they patrolled the better areas and ended up letting the criminal enterprises deal with each other, so long as they kept it to their seedy part of towns. They did not even know about the scene of utter butchery that had just taken place.
His eyes scanning the gore, he grew dizzy and collapsed by the wall, the pain still not registering, though his brain starting to recognize what happened.
Is it over?
–
Athena, in the middle of her training, suddenly grew dizzy.
Blood. So much blood.
Her powerful psychic abilities had the tendency to pick up if there was a whole lot of negative energy close by. It was a form of psychic empathy that many people who learn to control the power learn very early on; before one can form it, one has to be able to sense it, after all.
Screaming. So much. Some in fear...but there was another voice...a voice full of rage.
She knew only one person could end up like this.
Oh, no...
She stopped, looking around the dojo. She was alone at the moment.
Quickly trying to zero in on where the terrible feeling came from, she left.
–
When she came across the sort of wide alley that connected the two condemned buildings, she was nearly sick.
She had to turn around the corner to keep from retching.
Something moved. She took a deep breath-trying to forget about the horrible stench of blood that was everywhere-and went over.
She already knew who it was before she even saw him.
“Iori!” she yelled, seeing him collapsed by a wall close to the front of it. There was not as much actual human wreckage in this area; most of that was further back, but the blood had flowed out to here. There must have been twenty men in that alley, she thought, as she grit her teeth and closed her eyes. She was thankful that the lighting was bad enough that she could not see the worst of the details.
He was hurt terribly. Stabbed, shot, and she had a feeling that he had no idea what had even happened.
This was not Iori.
This was Iori under the Riot of the Blood.
She could feel the taint on him; Orochi was a being powerful enough that she had gotten familiar with the feeling from past tournaments.
He was covered in blood and dirt. She didn't even hesitate as she reached a hand out to try to wipe some of it off of his face.
Iori stared blankly at her, his breath shallow. “A...Athena...” He started to move, though this caused a few of his wounds to spew blood. Blood that he could no longer afford to lose.
“Don't,” she said, her voice shaking, having never heard him sound like that before. She pushed back his hair, sticky and matted with blood. She knew what she would have to do, even though she knew what it likely meant.
Concentrating, her hands began to glow a soft purple as she touched his face with one hand and his chest with another.
Athena's power could not instantly heal things, bring the dead back to life, regrow limbs, or anything like that, but it could have some healing properties to it; enough to speed along Iori's natural healing and to help deal with the worst of the wounds.
But doing so caused him to throw his head back, grit his teeth, and snarl...and suddenly, Athena found herself entwining once again with his own power...and heading to a familiar place. She could barely hear Iori in the background, though he did not push her away. There was an instant that she began to fear that if he enraged again she would be the only person in the way...and given what he had done to Kyo, that was a frightening prospect...but she did not stop.
Flashes of violence passed through her head; past and present. She ignored them. She was not trying to pry; this was something that apparently just happened with them. Perhaps it was Orochi's influence-she had no idea.
She saw the familiar child in her mind's eye as she continued to pour the psychic energy into him. He looked the same, despite it having been so many years. Given that he was just an apparition, he had no memory of her; he was more symbolic, she figured.
And she felt the same overwhelming grief.
Pushing through, this time she said nothing. She reached down and wiped the boy's tears away with her hand as she knelt in front of him. Tears-caused by said grief just like the first time-slid down her own cheeks. Despite the first incident happening years ago, seeing it again made it all come back in spades.
I don't know what's causing this. But this is all I can do.
The boy looked up, sniffling. She stroked his hair for a moment as he looked up at her; he still looked sad-immensely so-but his tears stopped. He looked around, seemingly confused.
Right after this, he simply turned to walk away, the apparition fading as he did so.
Athena looked up at Iori, who was tensed up and gritting his teeth hard as he slammed his bloodied fist into the ground, causing a hole. When she finally stopped, she was exhausted, both mentally and physically; her hands were bloody, and she had it spattered a few other places due to simply touching him and having him cough it out everywhere.
She looked over the wounds on his body; they were not bleeding anymore and did not look as severe.
Iori looked at her, his rage gone...for the most part. Oh, he was always enraged, like Kyo had said, but he was no longer under the Riot of the Blood. He looked over his body, over at the horrific alley, and then at her again, seeing how she was bloodied and exhausted, clearly having came there to pour any psychic energy she had into him. His heart still pounded, though he felt slightly different.
He wasn't sure if he liked the feeling...but he lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment.
She reached up to take it, showing that she was not afraid of any of the blood or anything.
Pausing, he touched one of the tears on her face, more out of curiosity than anything. He seemed somewhat confused at the moment. He then slid his hand around her head and pulled it to his chest, keeping it there. She could hear his heart pounding; his breathing was extremely heavy as well. He was clearly not very comfortable, yet he seemed to be trying...something. Anything.
She didn't move at the moment. Partially because she was too exhausted, and partially because that despite the stench of blood and the fact they were in an incredibly disturbing place of death right now, Iori had actually attempted to reach out to her again.
She wasn't about to turn him away.
---
A/N: Leaving a note about the feminine looking man I described. For those who missed the parts in the games where he popped up, his name is Shroom, one of Those from the Past, not an OC. Those from the Past are not exactly deep characters, and one could miss the ending where they're in, so I wanted to point this out if someone was curious. You did have to play through a story mode and a couple of endings to ever see him.
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Instinct and Empathy