The demon wearing a face like his own was crying. Makoto wouldn’t have credited the story had he not seen it for himself. He could not help but think back on another face that had been so like this one. Would Kiyato have looked like that if he had lived long enough? His son had cried too, though it had not been grief that prompted the tears, but frustration. He had been a child, but it was easy to forget the age of a prodigy.

His first star at the age of eight. It was true, that sort of thing was not uncommon in the Middle Kingdom, but in Fringe, where they did not ply toddlers with elixirs concocted from the rarest spirit fruits, Kiyato had been a once in a century genius.

Kiyato had demanded to be allowed to participate in the Reaping, and though Makoto at first refused, for those tears, he had relented.

The young demon had changed. Did his mask he wore make him a human in truth? That was impossible. Inside, the demon was still a demon. Makoto knew that, just as he had known that sending him into Jigoku might have disastrous results.

A part of him had wanted this disaster.

The young man wearing a face so like his own flared gold. Accessing his color affinity this way meant that he qualified for a second star, though he was yet to receive his first. To think, two weeks ago, his core had been so weak Makoto had assumed he would never be a cultivator at all.

But if he had believed that, why save him?

Lead Grasshopper Stance in combination with Xanthous Ascendancy, Makoto noted, assessing his opponents techniques even as he was being attacked. Saffron Ascendancy came to him with barely a thought, a technique he had been using to great effect for many decades. Orange mana flowed out of his hands and wrapped his limbs, giving him the kind of strength he had used to overcome the men of iron not so long ago.

He batted the spear aside with the back of his hand, floating to one side as Sunwhisper charged by.

Gold was such an obvious color, seeking to overcome its opponents with raw power. Cultivators of that brand were often reckless, emotional. Though he hadn’t suspected the young demon of possessing those traits, he supposed the warehouse robbery might have been a hint of what was to come.

Still, while the theft had been rash, it had also been reasonable, if high risk. Sunwhisper had not seemed to make emotional decisions, not like this.

Orange was balance, poise, and consummate skill. Makoto’s movements were effortless and clean as he blocked and dodged strike after strike from the alien spear.

He almost missed the spider.

Sunwhisper had dropped the bag of spirit fruits, and Makoto had assumed that the bulge in his robes was merely another bundle of stolen goods. Then it moved.

The Red Spider lunged, claws extended, and Makoto spun away, lifting off the ground and floating back down as soft as dandelion fluff. The scourge of Jigoku was attached to the young cultivator by a red leash, a tail?

Makoto did not waste time trying to understand the ways of demons.

"Melody of the Prancing Crane," he said, taking a new stance, and beckoning Sunwhisper to attack again.

The boy obliged.

What if Kiyato had lived to be this age? He would be second-star, surely, perhaps even third, surpassing his father as a young man. Then again, if Makoto had kept his son as a sparring partner, he might have continued to advance himself.

Janna was yelling for them to stop. Foolish girl, what did she think this was? A game? And what was she thinking, allying herself with a demon? Not for the first time, he wondered if she was really his daughter. Years after his wife’s passing he had developed a relationship with the Jin family that began with their patriarch begging him for training. Makoto was not a water artist, but he kept scrolls relating to all eight elements, and he had taken pity on the man.

In the absence of his own family, the Jin had given him a sense of community he’d been lacking. They had all been appreciative of him, respectful. The mother had seen his pain, and desired to provide succor, at least that was how he chose to see it now. He cut her off when the father began to suspect, and years had passed by since then. No accusation had ever been made, and if it had, the resulting duel could only have ended one way.

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Janna had an earth affinity, like him. She had shown such ambition, stealing so many fruits in such an industrious fashion. He had given her a chance to redeem herself, and this was what had come of it. Makoto had followed them into the mountains, intending to tell her everything, to give her enough money to travel somewhere a debt to the Soga clan would not matter. Fate had intervened.

Dealing with the Spider as well as the boy made it more of a contest. It was acting as a third arm, though longer and more flexible than any arm had a right to be. At this rate of advancement, if they were allowed to live, these demons might one day prove a real threat, and not just to Fringe.

"Why…are you…smiling?" Sunwhisper shouted in between jabs.

Was he smiling? It was something he did during engaging fights, and admittedly, this was one of the better matches he’d had in some years. Deeper than that, a part of him was pleased at the thought of the demon advancing enough to garner the notice of the clans, the Heavenly Schools.

They looked down on his work guarding the border because it was a task that could be trusted to a lowly two-star. Little did they know the service he provided by killing the visitors early and feeding them to the crop.

He grabbed the spear, ripped it out of Sunwhisper’s hands, and tossed it aside, following up with an open palm strike to the young master’s chest.

The blow sent them reeling, but didn’t knock him senseless. The spider twitched, and the spear flew back into Sunwshisper’s hand even as he rolled end over end, coming back up on one knee at the ready.

The webbing, how interesting. All this time, the spider had been sending out lines and the battlefield had changed, the road fenced by glistening silk. They were trying to box him in.

"Impressive," Makoto said. "I am saddened to cut this short, but I must return to my duty at the border before long. Shall we bring it to a close?"

If the demon wanted to die this way, he could be obliged. Makoto launched himself forward, or intended to. His right foot sank into the ground where a small patch of earth had become as soft as quicksand. It was nothing to him, he could run on water if he chose, but it had been unexpected, and the moment of hesitation cost him.

The spear flew out of Sunwhisper’s hand like a missile, stabbing Makoto in the shoulder as he turned to avoid it. It was like a punch, the spear hitting and withdrawing almost in the same instant, pulled back by a shimmering string.

More of the ground softened, and a part of it rose to suck at his feet like a creature of the swamp.

Makoto stomped, canceling the technique with one of his own, and then rose into the air, and floated away. Janna, she was ready for her first star. He sent her a look so stern that she froze, her hands caught in mid motion, stopping the technique. Now, of all days? She was much older than Kiyato had been, but then, she had been raised by the Jin family. It was understandable that she would bloom late.

Makoto took the Heroic Destiny stance, a technique that allowed him to sweep greater and greater rewards from environmental mana. The more graceful he was, the grander his motions, the more energy he would absorb. It was a good technique to use when he needed to manage a wound.

Focusing on the flow of mana in his meridians, he slowed the bleeding on his shoulder and banished the pain. It was difficult to maintain his concentration while fending off Sunwhisper and the Spider, but balance was central to Saffron Ascendancy, and the more tasks he had to juggle, the more proficient he became.

He felt a twinge as a thin wire cut into one of his ankles. He had missed that one, but it was broken now, and it was barely a scratch. Makoto slipped under the oncoming spear, bending like children did trying to duck under a festival stick, and jabbed his rigid hand into Sunwhisper’s belly.

The demon lost a step, and Makoto pressed in, spinning even as he straightened, and subjecting his opponent to a series of sidekicks as he spiraled.

The spear rang like a bell as it took the blows, it was amazing it did not break. He had to be using an enforcement technique, but he would certainly be out of mana soon. No matter how fast Shishio had learned to use his color, his core simply could not have expanded that much in such a short time, and even in the midst of battle Makoto could sense that Sunwhisper was not able to draw upon the world soul as fully someone using an Ascendancy technique should have been able to.

Such potential. Such a waste. It would be better if he went with Janna out into the world, as they seemed to have planned. Makoto knew he needed to stop pulling his punches, but it was such an interesting fight, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the demon to die. The spider, surely, but not Shishio. He would separate them first.

The raven was an unexpected inconvenience.

She dove at his face with claws like knives, battering him with three sets of dark wings. He was loath to kill her, as she belonged to the town, but he was sorely tempted. Makoto grabbed Karasu by one slim leg and threw her into the nearest web trap, where her frantic flapping only served to ensnare her more completely.

He turned in time to backhand the Spider. Its claws were angling for his eyes, and then the spear came, but the boy’s aim was off. It shot past him. Sunwhisper was tiring, and Makoto drove the edge of his hand into the young demon’s ribs even as he jumped to the right. It was a solid blow. He felt the crack when it landed, and Sunwshiper was moving strangely, jerking his arms as he came down into an ugly landing. There was webbing around his hands.

Makoto felt the speartip enter his lower back, pass through his gut, and jut out of his stomach. It felt cold. He went to his knees, Saffron Ascendancy fleeing his limbs as mana poured out of him like blood. His awareness of the world grew dim.

He blinked. Kiyato? What was Kiyato doing here? His boy had grown, and he was taking his revenge on the father who had sent him to his death. There were tears on his son’s face, a proper tribute, recognition that he was killing the man who had given him life.

Makoto relaxed. It was over. The spear had pierced his vitals.

He could be with his son.