Witch Hunt

Like a shadow in the fire, the witch disappeared from sight and Arata cursed how his hood stripped him of all peripheral vision. Sword out across his left side, he searched for any exits, padding the room’s perimeter whilst keeping an eye on the entrance. In its charred state, smoke obscured any guess at the room’s original purpose. Whatever type of room is full of corners, Arata answered as the hairs on his neck raised despite the heat.

It must have been watching him as closely as he was looking for it, mirroring him through the flames like a wolf in the treeline. It had the advantage, they both knew it, he had to do something to equalise the fight.

A pre-emptive cut crumbled a block of blackened furniture in two, letting glass crash to the floor from inside. Nothing—but soon there would be no more places to hide. It must have come to the same conclusion, as in the reflection of one of the shards he caught a wall of fire surge towards him from behind.

Arata stepped out, glass crunching underfoot, deflected fast, and surged into a thrust, but the witch wasn't there. Instead, a billow of cloak bounded into the hallway on all fours, leaving him behind.

Even fast in pursuit by the time he passed through the doorway, the witch had already disappeared around a corner. Its head start was impossible to close in a direct chase, his only option was to take a shorter route. And his only option to take a shorter route was to make one.

Treading back into the room, he had to hope the water hadn't completely evaporated from his coat for him to come out alive. Then he charged to the opposite side of the corridor. The wall crumbled as soon as his shoulder connected, a torrent of ash piercing his hood. But he couldn't break stride. Taking the next room in bounds, boots slicing through the flames, he smashed into the further wall.

The witch seemed surprised as Arata burst into its escape with a soot black explosion. He drew his sword as its hands curled into claws one over the other. The fire followed suit, pouncing from both sides, and Arata knew he didn't have the time to parry both. Instead, he closed the distance with a downwards cut that rended only a smatter of ash like blood. The witch jumped back to the hallway wall, disappearing through a crack into the room beyond, and Arata kicked in after.

When he entered, he found the opposite door ajar and beyond it, the witch scrambling across the courtyard. Now in the open, Arata couldn't rely on the trusted strategy of breaking down walls to catch up. But the toolkit of a witch hunter was elegant in its efficiency as he swapped the katana for his hook again. The hilt threaded to the rope tied at his back and it came loose with a tug.

They trained using the rope and hook to pull down buildings but his current target was a little smaller and more agile than a house. Cool wind whipped against his eyes as he dashed towards his target, rope spinning in his hand. Before the witch got too far away, there was only one chance. With a heavy stride, he whipped the hook across his left side and back to his right, took aim, and threw.

The witch almost made it to the opposite end of the house when the hook dug between its shoulders, knocking all momentum out of it. Now came the hard part. Pressing his boot on the rope to keep the witch in place, he wrapped the cord around his wrist to drag it closer. One of the only benefits of losing an arm was the other picked up the slack. This could have been difficult when there were two hands to keep track of but for Arata, he had the grip of a statue. No matter how it resisted, how deep it dug its claws into the sand, he kept pulling.

In the struggle, the wide-brimmed hat had fallen from its head and it looked back to Arata with a snarl. Finally able to see its face, he froze. The witch had braids piled up behind its head, framing a ragged face where the sharp edge of cheekbones cut through graphite-colour skin. She used this pause to her advantage, twisting her hands towards each other to call the flames.

They leapt to her, obscuring her silhouette in brilliant azure. Arata tried to pull her out but he was too late, the rope went slack as the demon fire charred all its fireproofing. It came back with a blackened tip, no hook attached.

He stamped out any remaining embers and in doing so realised it wasn't just the rope. Demon fire had crawled down his left leg and turned his trousers into charcoal scabs. Keeping his eyes on the witch as she fled, he clawed some sand from the ground to smear across the flames. Before he was done, she had disappeared into the blaze on the far side of the mansion. There was no more time to waste.

Without his hook, Arata's only option was kicking down the door. He guessed this must have been the bathhouse judging from the tiled floor and behind the smoke there might even be some water left. She's injured, he thought, ducking past a half-collapsed beam, and there's no escape from here except over the wall.

After months of fires ravaging the city, she was all he needed to stop it. He had two minutes to finish this.

The fire surged from below with unnatural speed. His hood stopped him from noticing until it was already around his shins and he jumped aside too late. It clung thick like mud to his leg but he had time to worry about that later. Now the witch had given herself away, a dark spot of movement amidst the glow.

He soared into three fast slashes, each feeding into the next. The first two missed but the final cut swept across her shoulder, almost sending her back into the near empty bath pit. She danced around the edge like a crane about to take flight, arms twirling as she did. Flames vortexed to him from all sides, forcing Arata to whip his sword from in front to behind and back in a quick-step parry.

Sawatari could have done that with ease but for him, a move of that speed felt like slashing himself with a knife. The maelstrom refused to abate and he felt his stamina draining into clammy sweat across his forehead. Whilst he swung his sword back and forth cutting through fire, the witch only got further away. But as the flames closed in again, he saw the pattern emerge.

Before the next wave hit, he hissed out a breath and channelled all the strength he had left behind one final cut. His blade sang through flame and he dove through afterwards, not caring how much of the fire clung to him. He recovered before the witch could redirect the onslaught, seeing her half-hidden trying to climb to the roof.

One minute.

Tasting the bitterness of revenge for all his comrades lost under charred debris, he charged her down. The hook still protruded from her back and with a reach, he grabbed hold. She scratched up and down his arm as he turned on his heel and jumped into the bath pit.

They landed with a splash, the water only shin height. It was just enough. The order was to kill witches on sight but that wouldn't let them find out their motives. One had to be captured alive.

He knelt on her back, removing the hook and replacing it with rope. She struggled but his grip was firm and his weight heavy. Seeing her like this, she was much smaller than he first thought but he pushed that from his head. None of that mattered. Demon fire roared down to smother him but the rope was saturated, there was no burning it.

The second before her hands were bound, the witch made a final move. Closing them into fists, pulling them to her chest. The ceiling caved in.

No time left.

Even unable to feel pain from the demon fire, it still felt like he was drowning, his lungs filled with so much charcoal dust each cough came out black. From somewhere nearby, he heard the wailing again, although this time it wasn't a man's voice. It was Sawatari's. Every muscle in his body felt heavy, pushing the section of roof off himself was like clawing up from the grave. He gave a small prayer of thanks that it hadn't buried him, only knocked him down, and stumbled to his feet.

"Arata? Nagami? Kajiwara?" It was definitely Sawatari calling from the next room over. "I found him but I need help. Please!" The witch was long gone, his rope trailing off towards a path of handholds to the gap in the ceiling above.

They brought the man out only moments before the other witch hunters tore down the front door. Nagami was already out, arms around her knees across the street. When Sawatari asked where Kajiwara was, she was only met with a far off stare. Arata couldn't mourn though, not after he'd seen the witch’s face.

He'd recognised them but that was impossible. They were already dead.