Masami and Toshiro left early and quietly the next morning. No one save the members of the small night watch was awake yet. In the calm, misty morning, the ruins appeared almost serene. The wispy clouds parted around the pair’s feet as they stepped, and tickled Masami’s sandaled feet. As they reached the old town limits and made their way onto the road, Masami looked back over her shoulder. The thin plumes of smoke from the fires the survivors lit for warmth looked oddly inviting as she left. For a moment, she felt the urge to run back, to stay and help rebuild with Kohaku at her side.
She steeled herself against the impulse. Now was hardly the time for such intrusive thoughts. The sooner she reached her goal, the sooner she would be home, in her bed. Still, the desire to turn around and run home haunted her for the rest of that day and the next. That night as she lay down to sleep, Kohaku’s absence was especially apparent. She shivered in the damp air, longing for her partner’s strong, warm embrace.
The road to Kurume wound through sparse woods and over gently rolling hills. It was not paved, but the dirt was compacted under centuries of heavy use. Masami and Toshiro walked alongside the ruts carved into the path by so many thousands of carts. The land was not hard to traverse, and they made way much quicker than they had in the woods surrounding Amagasaki. When they broke for lunch each day, Masami would teach Toshiro more of the samurai’s martial art. Day by day he improved, until finally, on the seventh day since leaving Ichinomiya, Masami was satisfied.
“Alright. Put that away. It’s one thing to practice all this stuff out of context, but quite another to use it all in a real fight. Catch.” She tossed a smooth, hefty stick his way before snatching up one of her own.
Toshiro fumbled to catch the branch as it sailed towards him. Managing not to drop it, he grasped it in both hands, assuming the far guard stance Masami had shown him not two days prior. Masami shook her head.
“Fine stance, but we’re not starting swords...sticks? Whatever. Today, you’re going to learn how to approach a fight from a neutral position. Stick at your side, no stance, no prep. We’ll start from ten paces. Approach as you see fit, and hold nothing back. But uh, don’t go for the neck or head, please. We don’t actually want to get hurt.”
Toshiro nodded, slipping the stick into his belt. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. When he opened them, Masami was gone. He looked around frantically for her, eyes scanning the thin treeline next to which they had rested. His hand slipped to the stick at his side as he prepared to draw it.
Footfalls behind him. Quiet, and close. He whirled around as he drew the stick up and out, arcing towards his foe. It rose just in time to parry Masami’s blow. She stepped in and under even as he drew his sword back to his chest, assuming his stance and guard out of pure instinct. Despite her age, Masami was fast, faster than him. She struck with the butt end of the stick, and again in a wide sweep as she leapt back. It was all Toshiro could do to ward away the blows. Each rang out with a sickening crack against his wooden blade, jarring his hand.
He stepped away as well, taking the precious seconds the distance bought to center himself and breathe. Then Masami was upon him once more. Her gaze was cold and steely, a piercing stare that drove through to his heart. Toshiro tensed as his mind raced. He gripped the base of the branch tight as sweat pooled between his fingers. Masami carved through the air with murderous intent. A flurry of scything swipes, each with enough force behind it to shatter bone, though she held the stick with only her right hand. No motion was wasted, hardly an opening given. Finally, Toshiro’s hand gave way. He dropped the stick as his joints cried out in pain. Masami stopped her final blow inches from his neck.
“Well, you can sit around and block, I’ll give you that. Not the worst instinct you could have. Now tell me, why did you lose?” Now they had both dropped their makeshift weapons, Toshiro could see Masami was panting.
Toshiro was gulping for air himself, barely able to get a word out. After a few deep breaths he managed “because... whew... because you were better. I couldn’t... couldn’t find an opening. At all.” He dropped to his knees. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he was sure they could hear his thundering heartbeat all the way back in Ichinomiya.
“Not quite the answer I was looking for. You can’t just keep your sword back to defend yourself. You found no opening because I gave you none, and nor would any but a novice fighter. You are in charge of creating your own openings. Parrying isn’t about keeping yourself from getting hurt. It’s a push and pull - I strike, you defend, and then you push my sword away. You take control. Why did you not apply any of the wards I taught you? I’ve seen you follow through properly before. It isn’t enough to just hope that your opponent gets tired after hammering away at you for a few minutes.”
She plopped down next to him. The bloodthirst in her eyes was gone, replaced with sternness.
Toshiro shook his head. “The way you looked at me. It was like I was no more than a twig in the path of a demon.”
Masami flinched at the analogy. “As you would have been, had I truly wished you harm. Perhaps I was too harsh for a first spar. But someday you will have to learn that gaze. The killer’s intent. To see your foe, to promise them death. To follow through on that promise.”
“I - I don’t know if I can be that.”
“I certainly hope you don’t have to. I intend to do everything I can to ensure you need never raise your blade at all. But should I fail, you must know how to do more than protect. You will learn to kill when you must. Or you will be slaughtered.”
Toshiro shivered. “M-maybe it’ll be easier with a monster staring me down. Right?”
“One just did.”
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Masami let the bitter words linger in the air. Seeing Toshiro had no reply, she stood. “Come. We’ve dallied long enough.”
They did not spar the next day. Instead Masami had Toshiro practice more wards. Guard, parry, riposte. Guard, parry riposte. The repetition drilled into his mind until finally he could perform any on reflex alone. He stopped only when his arms could no longer lift the sword. By then, midday had turned to late evening. The sun cast amber rays over the hills, and they decided it best to find a camp for the night.
Masami awoke to a deep rumble in the distance. She looked up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight.
Jiro! Anything?
Not sure. Let me touch the ground.
She obliged, allowing the arm to fall from its sleeve. It pressed its hand to the earth and felt.
Oh ho ho. Well that isn’t something I thought we’d see so soon.
What is it?
Ōmukade has come out to play.
Oh fuck. Let’s go I guess.
“Toshiro. Get up.”
The boy stirred with a grunt. “Wha - ?”
“Pack the camp, and be ready to run. You can’t fight what’s coming. I’m not sure I can either. Make for the trees back the way we came. You can evade it better there.” She spoke sharply, leaving him no time to protest or ask questions before she dashed off in the direction of the noise. She glanced back once to ensure he was packing up, but no more than that.
As she crested the hill, she saw it. A mass of orange chitin and writhing legs three dozen feet long. Its head bore two pairs of terrible mandibles. Poised near them, a pair of fat claws dripped with venom. Its whiplike antennae probed the ground as it skittered forth. Masami saw its head snap up towards her as it sensed her from across the hill. A massive pair of bulging, lidless eyes swung to stare into her. And then the beast screamed. Its cry of rage and hunger split the midnight air and rattled in Masami’s bones.
She stood unfazed. Jiro. I’m going to try this my way first. But if it doesn’t work -
I get to help.
Yes.
The tengu cackled with glee. Masami groaned as she drew her katana. Though such a creature would have stilled the hearts of many a seasoned soldier, she charged it headfirst. She spit on her blade as she ran, a toxin of her own, for though such monsters ate humans with much glee, saliva was poisonous to them. A fitting irony, given the creature’s venom.
Within moments she had reached the thing. She lashed out with a bestial fury tempered with her stony resolve. The beast coiled about and blocked her blows with its spiked legs, wielding them as though they were a hundred swords. Always Masami kept her sword between her and the creature’s jaws, one eye on its envenomed pincers. But for all her rage, all her strength, her efforts were futile. Though the creature before her bled, it fought on still, and never did she land anything more than a superficial blow. With each snap of its head, the thing got ever closer to taking a bite out of her.
She pressed the attack further, hacking off the tips of two of its legs. A dozen more curled in to defend the new opening. She leapt up to its back, but it arched over, looping back on itself to strike down at her. She barely got out of its way in time. Its venom-coated claws snapped at the air where her head had been not a second before.
By now, her robes were drenched in sweat and her breathing was heavy. She clung to her sword as she stepped back, knees threatening to buckle. The thing screeched a twisted version of a laugh and rushed her. Sensing its advantage, it bore down on her with its mandibles and front legs. Masami flicked her sword this way and that, swiping limbs out of the air as they fell upon her.
Bright, sharp pain blossomed in her shoulder as a knifelike leg pierced her guard. Sweat mixed with blood and stung in the wound. She carried on parrying, but her arms lacked the strength to strike back. Another eruption of pain as the monster tore open her leg. She staggered back, using all her strength to keep her balance.
My way?
Masami gave no reply to Jiro. All her focus and strength were now spent on keeping the deadly venom away from her. Her robes and skin were torn under a dozen cuts, but still she stood. Her arms burned like molten lead, but still she swung her blade.
My way.
An assertion this time, not a question.
You’re so stubborn. What good is strength you never use? Come, let us carve this beast to pieces and feast on its flesh.
Jiro flashed a wry grin as he poured energy into Masami. Her left arm came alive, not just glowing red but burning with power. One of the beast’s legs struck out at her shoulder. But the left arm snatched it out of the air and ripped it free of the beast. Beneath Masami’s tattered robe, her flesh blackened and began to glow much as her arm did. Her eyes narrowed, her pupils forming into wide slits. A pair of black wings sprouted from her back, and talons erupted from her feet.
Into the air she leapt. Her wings buffeted the Ōmukade with a blast of wind strong enough to shear stone. Before it could recover she dove down blade first, scoring a gash down its back which split the chitin and revealed the stinking flesh within.
All thoughts left Masami’s mind save shrieking, burning rage. She hacked and tore at the thing, carving away even as it struck her. Its legs broke on her iron flesh. She kicked and punched and slashed until its body broke beneath her. It writhed and lashed, but nothing could shake Masami in her bloodlust. Though it stabbed her, she tore into it more, ignoring the pain even as it pierced her back. Finally it stopped writhing, yet still she ripped through its flesh.
When she was done, nothing identifiable remained of the creature. Its remains lay strewn across the ground in so many mounds of ruined flesh. She stood, panting, drenched in a mixture of sweat, her own blood, and the black sludge that had once coursed through the monster’s veins. A guttural cry that rattled the trees escaped her, no less monstrous than the shrieks of the creature she had felled.
The glow of her flesh faded as the demonic influence receded from her body until all that remained was the arm. She strode towards the monster’s remains and plucked the stone of concentrated Dust from its core. As she had done so many times before, she took the stone in her left arm and shattered it. “Creature...of the...oh fuck it. Go back to hell. There.”
And then her legs finally gave way. She fell to the ground as the monster’s body dissolved around her.
Shit Jiro. You really had us go all out, huh.
Anything less and we would’ve been centipede food.
I’d forgotten what it was like... It’s no wonder the others leaned so heavily on their power.
You could stand to call on me more than you do.
Ha. Funny. Not a chance, Jiro. You know as well as I do why.
You’re no fun.
Suddenly, a terrible pain shot through Masami’s back. She cried out as the world faded to black.
Toshiro had seen the entire fight. He’d waited just beyond the crest of the hill, watching his teacher as she tore into the monster. Hearing her cry, he ran to meet her. He found her face down in the torn up dirt where the creature had been. A pair of punctures split her back. Sickly green liquid dotted the wounds, and the skin around them was swollen and beginning to blacken, though not with the gnarled appearance of her demonic arm, but that of rotting flesh.
Toshiro could feel bile rising in his throat. He swallowed hard to keep back the nausea as he rifled through the bags for bandages and water. “Sorry Mrs. Hisakawa, I think this is going to hurt, and I’m going to have to take off your robes. What’s left of them anyhow,” he murmured. He uncorked the waterskin and poured it over the deep punctures in turn, washing away the venom. Then, with a small knife, he cut away the remnants of the top her robes and began bandaging her numerous wounds. He started with the punctures themselves before moving to the dozen other gashes and cuts that marked her skin.
When finally he had seen to all of Masami’s injuries, Toshiro wrapped her in all of the blankets they had. He rested next to her that night, though when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the twisted form of the old samurai, glowing bright atop the hill as she carved through the centipede. A monster in her own right.