The antizois writhed in the tightening chains, their grotesque forms straining against the force binding them. Ooshiba watched their struggles, unmoved by their resistance. The more they fought, the tighter the bindings coiled, digging into their segmented bodies until they were nearly immobilized. Each attempt to break free only served to hasten their collapse.
The space they occupied was suffocating. Ooshiba was no longer in the pneumatic plane, nor in the decrepit apartment building above. He now stood in the basement, an oppressive chamber framed by thick concrete support beams. The ceiling above was unstable, riddled with gaping holes. Dust and debris occasionally sifted down through the gaps, settling in uneven layers on the cold, damp floor.
A metallic tang hung in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of pneuma radiating from Ooshiba’s smokey chains. The faint hum of the chains filled the space, accompanied by the wet, sickening sounds of flesh tearing as the antizois were forced into submission.
Ooshiba tilted his head slightly. Where’s your master, he thought. As the thought formed, the chains reacted. They constricted, slicing through the creatures’ malformed bodies. The sound of tearing sinew and cracking bone echoed through the basement as the antizois were split into uneven, twitching pieces. Chunks of flesh and bone splattered across the floor, leaving dark smears in their wake.
The remains hissed against the floor, their surfaces sizzling from the lingering pneuma of the chains. The pneuma radiated through the bindings seeped into the pieces and prevented the creatures from fully regenerating.
The dismembered pieces began to stir. Fragmented arms, torsos, and heads dragged themselves across the floor, grinding against the concrete as they struggled to reassemble. The grotesque display was disjointed, each piece clawing its way toward another. When they met, their flesh began to fuse with crude, uneven sutures of twisted muscle and jagged bone, creating patchwork forms that were barely cohesive.
“We won’t be having any of that,” Ooshiba said; his voice was steady. Smoke billowed around him, curling and twisting as if it had a will of its own. The dark tendrils slid across the floor, weaving between the scattered remains before plunging into the seams and openings in the creatures’ bodies. The smoke forced its way into every gap, violating the twisted forms and halting their desperate attempts to reassemble.
A voice cut through the scene, calm and measured, yet distinct in its presence. “Please don’t do that.”
Ooshiba’s attention shifted, but he did not immediately turn. His hand remained raised toward the bloated pishachas. With a slight flick of his wrist, the fragmented pieces of the creatures shot across the room, slamming into the concrete support beams with force. The remains clung to the beam chains binding them around the pillars.
He turned to face the speaker. A woman stood a few paces behind him, her posture was exhausted. Her pale skin had a powdered appearance, smooth and unblemished even by the dirtied surroundings.
Her black hair was styled into uneven spikes, the teased strands creating a chaotic, voluminous appearance. Her eyes were framed by thick eyeliner and dark eyeshadow that accentuated the reddish tint of her irises and her eyebrows were sharply defined. Matte black lipstick coated her lips, the color absorbing what little light reached her face. A silver septum ring hung below her nose.
Around her neck were several necklaces, each distinct. One featured an ankh pendant, its polished surface catching the faint light, while others were composed of black beads. Her dress was made of black velvet, its subtle patterns only visible when the fabric shifted. The neckline was adorned with crisscrossed black laces.
Her gaze was fixed on Ooshiba.
“They’re my favorite,” she said in Japanese, her tone even and devoid of emotion.
Ooshiba studied her for a moment before responding. “I figured as much, beast master,” he said in his native tongue.
The smoke around him began to dissipate, retreating back toward his form. The chains binding the antizois slackened slightly but did not release their hold. The remains pinned to the beams twitched feebly, but the pneuma coursing through them kept them subdued.
Ooshiba lowered his hand but did not relax his stance. He shifted his weight slightly toward the woman. “You look tired,” he said, his tone flat.
The woman blinked slowly, her gaze unwavering. “It takes effort to maintain control,” she said. She gestured faintly toward the pinned creatures. “I can feel their pain. Let them go.”
Ooshiba’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And if I don’t?”
The woman tilted her head, her expression unchanging. “Then you will force me to kill you.”
“How cliche.”
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of pneumatic energy and the occasional crackle of smoke dissipating. Ooshiba considered her words.
She’s serious… Is she the Djinn?
“You’re bold,” he said.
“Are you going to let them go?”
“No,” he said, the chopped up pishachas bursting with a pulse of smoke, guts, and flesh.
“That’s a shame.”
The woman raised her hand, and a scythe began to take shape before her. The weapon’s handle was bright pink, smooth and sleek, contrasting sharply with the black blade that extended from it. The blade pulsed faintly, emitting a pink glow that shimmered along its edges.
In a burst of movement, she vanished from where she stood, reappearing just before Ooshiba. The scythe arced downward in a clean swing aimed at his face.
The blade halted abruptly, mere inches from his eye.
A smoky chain descended from above, wrapping tightly around the scythe’s handle and holding it in place. The chain was taut, vibrating slightly under the strain of the halted strike.
Ooshiba’s gaze shifted upward, meeting the woman’s eyes. Her expression remained calm, almost detached, as if the failed attack had been anticipated.
Without hesitation, Ooshiba clenched his fist, and ashen-gray light enveloped it, swirling just above his knuckles. He drove the punch forward, aiming for her stomach, but the strike halted mid-air, an invisible force stopping it just before it could connect.
The woman reached out, gripping his arm firmly.
With a sharp motion, she twisted her body and hurled him across the room.
His form cut through the stale air of the basement, slamming into the concrete floor with a reverberating thud.
From the shadows, a hulking figure emerged. Its body was tall and broad, its limbs unnaturally long and sinewy. Thick, reddish-brown fur covered its torso, tapering into dark, almost black streaks near its hands and feet. Its fingers were elongated, each ending in sharp, claw-like nails that scraped lightly against the floor as it moved.
Its head was striking, feline in appearance, with a wide jaw and pronounced fangs that jutted out even when its mouth was closed. Its eyes glowed faintly, golden irises surrounded by black sclera, giving its gaze a predatory intensity. A pair of pointed ears twitched slightly as if catching every sound in the room. Around its neck was a necklace of small skulls, each polished to a gleaming white.
The creature stepped forward. In its hands was a staff, intricately carved from dark wood, its surface etched with faint symbols that seemed to emit a faint light.
The staff struck Ooshiba with a powerful blow to the chest, the impact resounding through the room.
Ooshiba grunted loudly as his body was hurled backward once more, hurtling toward the woman who stood poised with her scythe.
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As she readied another strike, Ooshiba extended his hand. Smoke erupted from his form, swirling rapidly to form a thick, impenetrable wall behind him. The cloud absorbed the momentum of his fall, halting him just before he collided with the ground.
Ooshiba’s eyes narrowed as he took in the hulking figure. Its towering presence dominated the dimly lit basement, the faint glow of its golden eyes cutting through the haze of smoke still lingering in the air. Ooshiba clenched his fists, feeling the tension coil in his muscles.
A Rakshasa? Quite the jump up from pishachas, he thought, as his body ached from the last blow. He glanced at the woman, still poised with her glowing scythe, her expression calm and unreadable. What else does she have in here?
His thought was answered almost immediately.
A deep, guttural growl echoed from the darkness to his right. Ooshiba turned his head sharply toward the sound.
Emerging from the shadows was another figure, even larger and more grotesque. Its frame was hunched yet massive, its elongated limbs corded with sinewy muscle that bulged grotesquely beneath pale, leathery skin.
Its head was monstrous: a wide, almost bird-like beak jutted forward, jagged and cracked as though it had been gnawed upon by its own teeth. The top of its head was flattened, sloping into thick ridges that framed a pair of eyes burning with dim, crimson light. Its neck was disproportionately long, bending unnaturally as if the creature’s head were too heavy for its body. Its torso was distended, its abdomen bloated and lined with overlapping folds of skin that resembled the wrinkles of an ancient, withered tree. Thick veins coursed along its exposed belly, pulsing faintly with each lumbering step it took. Its clawed hands dragged along the floor, the sharp tips scraping deep grooves into the concrete with every movement.
Ooshiba’s blood ran cold.
A Bakasura!
He barely had time to process its presence before the creature lunged forward, swinging one of its massive claws toward him.
Ooshiba reacted instinctively, raising a wall of smoke between himself and the beast.
The claw collided with the barrier, scattering the thick, dark tendrils but failing to reach him. Before he could catch his breath, the woman was already moving.
Her scythe cut through the air with precision, the pink glow of its blade streaking toward Ooshiba.
He sidestepped the attack, only for the Rakshasa to close the gap with a swing of its staff.
Ooshiba ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the Bakasura was relentless. Its claws slashed at him from the side, forcing him to throw up another smoky shield.
The confined space of the basement worked against him. The three attackers moved with a feral coordination that left him no room to breathe.
The Bakasura’s massive strikes kept him on the defensive, while the Rakshasa’s agility allowed it to exploit any openings in his smoke-based barriers. The woman, seemingly the most controlled of the three, delivered calculated strikes.
Ooshiba wove through the chaos, his movements strained.
He conjured a shield of smoke to block an incoming blow from the Rakshasa’s staff, only for the Bakasura’s claws to tear through it from another angle.
He spun away, using a chain to bind the Rakshasa’s arm temporarily, but the beast tore free with a guttural snarl.
The woman capitalized on his momentary distraction. She flicked her wrist, sending the scythe in a wide arc aimed at his side.
Ooshiba twisted his small body, avoiding the blade by inches, but the effort left him off-balance.
The Bakasura seized the opportunity, swiping its claws across his back.
Pain erupted along his spine as the claws raked through his shirt and into his flesh.
He gritted his teeth, suppressing a cry as blood seeped from the deep gashes.
Staggering forward, he summoned a thick column of smoke that spiraled upward, creating a brief barrier between him and his attackers.
The momentary reprieve was fleeting. The Rakshasa broke through first, its staff slamming into Ooshiba’s ribs. The impact sent him skidding across the floor, coughing as he felt the sharp sting of broken bones.
The Bakasura followed with a lumbering leap, its bloated form crashing down where Ooshiba had been lying moments before.
He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed, and retaliated with a spike of smoke that stabbed at the creature’s exposed belly.
The spike struck, but the Bakasura’s thick, leathery hide absorbed much of the force, leaving only a faint, smoldering mark.
Ooshiba pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping from his wounds.
His smoke defenses were barely keeping pace with the onslaught. The woman was unrelenting, her scythe striking with precision, while the Rakshasa and Bakasura overwhelmed him with sheer force.
His counters were becoming increasingly desperate. A smoke wall here, a lashing chain there—none of it was enough to turn the tide. The three opponents moved faster than he could anticipate, their attacks slipping through his defenses with alarming frequency.
A slash from the woman’s scythe caught his shoulder, the pink-glowing blade tearing through flesh and leaving a searing wound.
He clenched his teeth, summoning a shield of smoke to force her back, but the Rakshasa was already closing in. Its staff struck his leg, sending him to one knee.
Ooshiba’s breath came in ragged gasps as he summoned another chain to bind the Rakshasa, only for the Bakasura’s claw to slam into his chest.
The blow sent him sprawling, blood splattering across the concrete floor.
He rolled onto his back, coughing violently as he tried to gather his strength.
The woman and her creatures advanced, their forms silhouetted against the faint light filtering through the cracked ceiling. Ooshiba’s vision blurred, but his resolve hardened.
“You’re not getting the better of me,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself upright.
Ooshiba staggered, blood dripping from his wounds and staining the cracked floor beneath him. His breath came in uneven gasps, but his gaze remained steady. His opponents advanced, relentless and coordinated, their movements synchronized as if driven by a shared will.
He clenched his teeth and brought two fingers to his neck, dragging them deliberately across his skin, tracing a path to the nape of his neck. The motion was slow. Smoke coiled around his fingers, thickening as it followed the path of his touch. When his arm extended upward, the smoke trailed after it, twisting into a tangible form. It solidified into a dark, chainlike noose that hovered around his neck, pulsing with pneuma.
“Seishin-Tekina Kaihō: Yomi-no-kuni!” he yelled, his voice was deep and resonating with authority.
A massive burst of pneuma exploded outward, the force of it shaking the very foundation of the room. The oppressive basement walls and crumbling support beams disintegrated into nothingness, their forms replaced by a dark, shadowed expanse. The ground beneath them shifted and warped, transforming into soil that felt coarse and dry, almost lifeless.
The air grew heavy as they found themselves in a forest, though it was far from natural. The trees were blackened husks, their trunks twisted and gnarled as if tormented by centuries of fire. Their branches reached upward like skeletal hands, devoid of leaves, silhouetted against a sky obscured by thick ash.
The ash blanketed the forest like a dense fog, drifting in slow, deliberate swirls. It burned as it touched the two monstrous beasts, searing their skin and fur. The Bakasura let out a guttural roar, its distorted voice echoing through the lifeless forest. Its claws raked at the ash, but it passed through like smoke, leaving behind fresh burns on its already grotesque frame. The Rakshasa hissed, its movements growing erratic as it struggled to shield itself from the unrelenting ash.
From the ground, the forest stirred. The earth itself convulsed, cracks splitting open to reveal shadowy figures clawing their way out. Hands reached through the ashen soil first, pale and skeletal, their surfaces appearing to crumble into ash even as they moved. The figures pulled themselves free with jerky, unnatural motions, their forms thin and elongated. Their bodies, composed entirely of ash, shimmered faintly in the dim light of the forest.
Their faces were blank and featureless, save for hollow depressions where eyes might have been. Ash cascaded from their forms like sand slipping through an hourglass, yet they remained whole. They moved in silence, their heads tilting unnaturally as they turned their attention toward Ooshiba’s opponents.
The ash figures multiplied, rising from the earth in droves. Their numbers grew until they surrounded the woman, the Bakasura, and the Rakshasa, enclosing them in a tightening circle. The Bakasura lunged at the closest figure, its claws tearing through the ash, but the wound immediately closed, the ash reforming as if untouched.
The Rakshasa swung its staff in wide arcs, attempting to clear a path, but its strikes passed harmlessly through the ash figures, leaving them unscathed. The figures continued their advance, their featureless faces turned upward as if observing their prey.
Ooshiba stood at the center of the forest, his breathing labored but his stance firm. The chain around his neck pulsed with energy, anchoring him to the dominion he had summoned. He raised his hands, and the ash figures responded instantly. They surged forward, their forms dissolving into swirling clouds of ash that enveloped the two beasts and the woman.
The Bakasura howled in frustration, its massive claws swiping at the encroaching ash. The sound of its rage was swallowed by the oppressive weight of the dominion, its form flickering as the ash burned away at its sinewy flesh. The Rakshasa’s movements grew sluggish, its strikes faltering as the ash overwhelmed it, seeping into its fur and skin.
The woman stood amidst the chaos, her scythe glowing brighter as she fended off the relentless assault. Her expression remained calm, but her strikes were growing slower. Each swing of her scythe dissipated the ash temporarily, only for it to reform and press closer, creeping along the length of her weapon, at points walking through it, and threatening to engulf her entirely.
Ooshiba clenched his fist, and the chain around his neck tightened, drawing more pneuma into the dominion. The ash figures swirled faster, their forms becoming less distinct as they merged into a singular storm of ash and smoke. The oppressive heat of the ash burned brighter, its glow casting shadows across the forest.
In mere moments the two large beasts causing Ooshiba the majority of his trouble had crumbled under the overwhelming might of his smokey Yūrei. But remaining tall, more annoyed than tired was the woman, a faint glow resonating from her.