Chapter 45 #2
I reach down and pick up the katana that cut me, feeling its balance, its bite.
One sword in each hand.
I turn toward the stairs.
They’re gathered there now, the remaining Onryō, standing at the top step, blades held low, watching me from below like they’re studying an equation they almost understand.
I plant my feet at the edge of the walkway, blood dripping from my side, chest heaving, both swords raised.
“Come on,” I murmur. “Let’s finish this up.”
And I go to meet them.
The final fury comes fast.
They surge up the stairs toward me, and I meet them head-on, blades already moving as I descend back down into them. The fight compresses instantly. No room for wide swings. No room for pretty.
Just bone and steel and momentum.
An arm comes off at the shoulder and skids down the steps, spinning end over end through blood and bodies before disappearing below. I don’t track where it lands.
I stab straight down through a woman’s throat as she lunges upward, feel cartilage give, feel the vibration as the blade punches through her neck and into the stair beneath. I wrench it free and kick her body aside.
Another rushes me from the left. I pivot and drive my shoulder into her, knocking her off balance and straight into her sister’s blade.
They collide.
I don’t hesitate.
I run my sword clean through both their necks, skewering them together. Their eyes go wide in mirrored surprise as I shove them backward, letting gravity take over.
They tumble down the stairs still joined, hitting hard, rolling until they don’t move anymore.
Above the chaos, I feel her gaze.
Tomoe stands on the landing below, white and still, watching her Onryō fall one by one. She doesn’t intervene. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t flinch.
This is the test.
A whoosh cuts through the air.
I turn instinctively, shoulder twisting away just as the first axe sails past my head. It doesn’t miss its target.
It buries itself in the skull of an Onryō who had worked her way behind me, the impact snapping her head back before she drops bonelessly to the stairs.
Another axe follows immediately, spinning end over end.
I snap my hand out and catch it by the haft.
No pause. No breath.
I hurl it back the way it came.
It hits the thrower square in the face, metal biting deep, and she collapses without a sound.
The last of them hesitates.
Just a fraction.
That’s all I need.
I close the distance in two strides and run her through, blade punching out between her shoulders. I pull it free and let her fall where she stands.
Silence floods the stairwell.
Bodies lie twisted and broken, blood slicking every step between me and the landing below. My breath comes hard now. My side burns. My hands are slick with red.
I turn.
Tomoe waits.
I take one step down.
Then another.
Tomoe finally moves.
She steps onto the stairs with short, measured strides, every motion disciplined, deliberate. No hesitation. No wasted breath. When she reaches the open space at the base of the stairwell, she stops.
The bodies might as well not exist.
She reaches back and draws her katana in one smooth pull, the steel whispering free. She grips it with both hands, blade angled down, posture flawless.
I mirror her.
I adjust my stance, feet sliding slightly on blood-slick stone, and bring my katana up in a two-handed grip. The noise of the building fades. No alarms. No engines. Just us and the echo of breath.
We circle.
No words.
This isn’t a fight. It’s an ending.
Tomoe moves first.
One precise step. Two hands firm on the hilt as her katana flashes toward me, a perfect cut meant to end this cleanly.
I slip just inside the arc, turning my shoulder as her blade passes where my throat was a heartbeat ago.
And I come around.
One sweeping strike.
Steel bites deep and true.
Tomoe freezes.
Her eyes widen, locked on mine, not in fear but in sudden, absolute understanding. For a moment, it almost looks like she’s tilting her head, as if considering something she’s never had to consider before.
Then it keeps going.
Her head slides from her shoulders and drops, thumping wetly against the stone. It rolls once. Stops.
Her body remains standing for a breath longer, perfectly upright, as if refusing to accept the truth.
Then it crumples at my feet.
Silence seals the space.
I stand there, chest rising and falling, blood dripping steadily from my side, the weight of the moment settling into my bones. I give a small nod.
Respect.
I let the katana fall from my fingers. It clatters across the floor and skids away.
My jacket lies where I dropped it earlier. I pick it up, take one look at the blood-soaked leather, and curse under my breath.
“Fuck.”
I drop it back to the ground.
My multitool snaps open. I slice a long strip of white linen from a shattered tablecloth and wrap it twice around my stomach, pulling it tight over the deep cut. Pain flares sharp enough to make me hiss as I knot it in place.
I breathe through it.
Then I walk back to my abandoned bag and shoulder it on.
I press the elevator button.
The earpiece crackles to life.
“Saint? Can you hear me?” Grim’s voice breaks a few times.
I let out a breathless laugh as the doors slide open.
“Oh, now you show up. After I’ve done the hard part.”
“…Did I miss anything good?
I step inside and shake my head.
“Nah.”
I press the button to 115.
The doors slide shut, carrying me upward, leaving the ninety-second floor soaked in blood, silence, and the Onryō Forty-Nine massacre behind me.