Chapter 23 : The Devil's favorite toy : part 1

The air inside the cavernous hideout was damp and heavy, thick with the scent of wet earth and blood. Flickering light from a lone lantern cast dancing shadows across the stone walls, illuminating the makeshift camp in the corner. The faint crackle of a fire offered a fragile sense of warmth, but no safety.

Sora sat near the fire, knees pulled close, arms wrapped tightly around them. His clothes were torn, stained with dust and streaks of dried blood. The last skirmish with Kurogami's soldiers had left them bruised and battered, but alive—barely.

Across from him, on a large stone slab that acted as a bed, sat Mikuya.

Thirteen years old, smaller than most, but with eyes that could silence a storm. She was wiping her blade with slow, precise strokes—an old ritual. No emotion showed on her face, not even fatigue. Her black hair was tied up loosely, strands clinging to her pale, scratched cheeks.

Sora looked at her.

"Mikuya… what do we do now?" he asked, voice breaking the silence.

She didn't respond.

He sighed, staring into the fire. "We can't just keep running. We need a plan, something solid. We're barely keeping ahead of them."

Still, no answer.

He turned to face her fully, desperation in his voice. "Say something. Please."

Mikuya finally looked up, her cold red eyes meeting his.

"Talking won't change what's coming."

Her voice was low, mechanical, drained of any softness. The words felt like icicles falling into fire.

Sora clenched his fists. "So what? We wait here till they find us? Let them surround us and end it all? Is that your big plan?"

She stood slowly, sheathing her blade.

"If I wanted to die, I'd be dead already. And so would you."

He looked away. "I didn't mean it like that. I just… I don't know how much longer we can survive. They keep coming. Stronger each time."

Mikuya crossed the space between them, kneeling beside the fire. For a brief moment, something flickered in her expression. It almost looked like concern. Almost.

"Then we fight. We adapt. And if we die, we make sure we die hard."

Sora managed a bitter smile. "That sounds like something you'd say."

She didn't smile back.

"Because it is."

They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. Outside, wind howled like a distant beast. The world beyond their cave was asleep—or so it seemed.

Until the silence broke.

The ground trembled, just slightly. Enough for Sora to stand up instinctively. Mikuya's hand was already on her blade. Her eyes narrowed.

"They're here."

Before Sora could respond, the wall to their right exploded inward with a blast of force. Shards of stone and flame rained into the room as masked soldiers rushed in like shadows with blades.

Mikuya was already moving. She ducked low, sliding under a spear swipe and slashing upward with precision, cutting across the attacker’s chest. Blood sprayed. Sora leapt back, drew his weapon, and took a defensive stance beside her.

More soldiers flooded in, five, ten—twelve at least. Each clad in black armor, moving in perfect formation.

“This isn’t just a scout team,” Sora gritted.

“They’re testing us.”

Blades clashed. The room lit up with sparks and screams. Mikuya spun like a phantom, slicing through enemies with mechanical grace. Every step was calculated. Every strike was deadly.

Sora fought beside her, not as graceful, but fierce. His heart pounded in rhythm with the chaos, his strikes driven by adrenaline and fear. They were outnumbered, but not outmatched.

Blood coated the stone floor.

By the time the last soldier dropped, gasping and lifeless, the fire had nearly burned out. Mikuya stood panting, her blade dripping red. Sora fell to his knees, breathing hard, clothes torn further, new cuts forming a map across his arms.

"That was… too much," he gasped.

Mikuya looked toward the shattered wall. Her eyes scanned the forest shadows just beyond.

"No," she whispered. "That wasn’t everything."

A slow clap echoed through the silence.

Clap.

Clap.

A tall figure emerged from the smoke and dust, his presence swallowing the air. His dark armor shimmered, cloak trailing like a shadow given form. His eyes—crimson with a gleam of madness—locked onto them like a predator watching prey.

“Well, well…” he said, voice smooth and cold. “I expected nothing less from my toys.”

Sora and Mikuya stiffened.

“Toys…?” Sora muttered, tightening his grip.

Mikuya’s red eyes narrowed. She took a half step back, silent as ever.

“I must admit,” the figure continued, grinning now, “you’ve kept me entertained for far longer than I expected. Especially you, Mikuya. It’s time to play the real game… and you, my dear, are my favorite piece. I’m going to tear you into pieces… slowly.”

Sora stepped in front of her. “Who the hell are you?!”

The man tilted his head, as if disappointed.

“You don’t know me? And here I thought my reputation preceded me.” He took one more step forward. “But I suppose this is your first time seeing me.”

Then, a flicker of realization crossed Mikuya’s face. Her voice came low, sharp: “Kurogami…”

Sora froze. “What…? He’s Kurogami?!”

Kurogami gave a slow, wicked smile. “Now you see. And now you understand what you're up against.”

He spread his arms slightly, dark energy starting to pulse at his fingertips. “Don’t disappoint me, little toys. If I get bored again... I might just end this myself.”

He lowered into a stance. A storm was coming.

And the game was far from over.