Red wind

At the foot of the hill, a car waits for him. The moment he's inside, it speeds on, headed for the station.

Notebook open, he makes a call to find out who else is coming. He reviews the situation across the region as he writes down the names. Earlier, he had ordered his companions to watch the thugs and secure the perimeter, but not to engage.

Now he redirects a few of them, sending them to nearby family-affiliated locations as precaution.

"There's a problem." The man on the phone says. "The bandits just started tearing through the streets, smashing whatever they find. The police and some of our men have already stepped in. Most of us are still waiting for orders. Should we join?"

"Ye—" Mid-word, his eye catches a small note at the bottom of the page. "Next attack could be a distraction. Keep some reserves."

"What's the situation?" he asks instead. "Can they handle it on their own?"

"With ease. They're just street ruffians. But they're causing a lot of damage, and some will slip away soon if we don't go all out."

"Leave it to the ones already engaged. Anyone who's free should head to the opposite side of the city."

"Where exactly? What's the meeting point?"

"I haven't decided yet. For now, just move. Spread out, cover more ground and stay in contact with me and with each other."

"Got it."

The driver receives new instructions—to change course. If this truly is a diversion, the real attack should start soon.

There are other Munakata members scattered across the city, it's not like Atsunori is directing the entire force. But if the enemy is as strong as he suspects—or if there's more than one Yokai-powered fighter—then they may pull off their plan unless he finds them first and concentrates his people.

His fears are soon confirmed, and the truth is worse than he expected.

Within ten minutes, word comes through of a lone man threatening an entire mall with a bomb—maybe real, maybe a bluff to draw eyes. A nearby building catches fire, almost certainly another distraction. Then the lights go out across a whole district, likely a hit on a substation that forced an emergency shutdown.

This is why the bastard stayed quiet. He's been setting this all up for the past month.

The notebook is filling with so many rushed notes it's getting hard to tell one line from another.

Where is he? The real culprit. The one with the powers—the one orchestrating all of it.

"Sir, where do I go from here? The north business ward? The residential zone? Maybe the industrial one?"

"I don't know! Just wait. If we commit to his bait we're finished. I need to focus on what matters."

Palm pressed to his forehead, thoughts collide and clash in rapid succession—wind magic, explosions real or staged, the way the culprit hid his power the first time, a young brown-haired man set on destroying us. What would hurt us the most, on top of all the shit he's already pulled?

"Go back to the estate!" he snaps.

"Eh? Are you sure, sir?"

"If there's one thing that could sink us for good, it's an attack on the Elders. Move, now!"

The next call goes out immediately: "everyone, return to the estate at once."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

After a few agonizingly slow minutes, he steps out of the car—and his heart freezes.

Fire—its deep red glow staining the black sky above the hill, above the estate.

Mid-transformation, he's already launching himself forward, not waiting for reinforcements. Never had the stairs up the hill felt so unbearably long.

At the entrance, both guards lie on the ground. Heavily wounded, but alive. They're men Atsunori has always considered strong—and seeing them like this twists something in his gut.

Yet he presses on without slowing. Relatives rush past him, fleeing down the path, some shouting and pointing toward the source of their panic. Pushing through the chaos, he makes for the family's core.

Before him, the wide plaza in front of the Main House is littered with the battle's remnants, if it can even be called a battle.

Three other fighters he knows lie defeated among more than a dozen fallen human guards. Amid them, two figures are locked in a vicious clash, and the smaller is clearly losing ground.

He recognizes the one in trouble: a green-scaled, sharp-clawed biped with fins on its ears and along its hips, webbing between fingers and toes. Child-sized, but far from harmless.

A Suiko. A deadlier kin to the Kappa.

And this one is Elder Yorinobu's Yokai form.

The other fighter—the enemy—is a red-skinned, hazel-haired humanoid. His muscles are toned, though his build is lean. Huge, dark and feathered wings flare from his back, and even through the mask, the long, jutting nose is unmistakable.

All this carnage, and it's just a single Tengu?

Blood trails from several wounds, pooling beneath him. At least the others were able to wear him down.

Before the two can clash again, Atsunori charges.

The Tengu's head jolts before he reaches him, their eyes meeting for a split second. Atsunori braces, suspecting his punch won't land.

But it does.

His fist crashes into the Tengu's face, shattering the mask and blasting the creature backward. The red fighter skids and tumbles across the ground before finally coming to a stop, face-down and motionless.

"Elder Yorinobu, are you alright?"

"I've been worse," the Suiko growls. "But don't drop your guard. That opponent is a monster."

He is—no question.

But taking a full hit from Atsunori, on top all those wounds, he should be—

… Where is he?

At the spot where the Tengu fell, only blood and a gouge in the dirt remain. Pulse hammering, he scans the area.

A sharp whistle cuts through the air.

He whirls, ready to block—but the attack isn't aimed at him.

Wind like a blade tears into the Suiko, spraying blood across the ground.

"Elder Yorinobu!"

"I'm fine!" Coughing, the Elder sinks to one knee. "Focus!"

Obeying, Atsunori snaps his gaze toward the source of the spell. A few meters away stands the Tengu. No mask now—only scraps of cloth hiding his face.

The enemy lifts his arm. Wind coils around, spinning faster with each second. Without hesitation, Atsunori steps in front of the Elder to block the line of fire.

Come on. Waste the rest of your magic on my regeneration.

With a slow descent of his hand, the Tengu lets the gathered wind dissolve. After a delay, his body shifts into a fighting stance.

"I like that better," Atsunori says, settling into his own.

They advance one careful step at a time. A few meters shrink to one… then less. Close enough to strike, Atsunori holds back, waiting for his enemy to make the first move.

When he does, he vanishes. A flicker of sound passes by Atsunori—pain thrusts in his abdomen, then another punch cracks against his head before he can even turn.

Instinct drives him to swing, but his fist cuts through empty air. A second hit lands on his face before he can retract his arm.

Too fast. Too skilled.

Atsunori shoots a quick jab—only to take two counterstrikes square in the face.

A different approach: feint left followed by a kick. Yet the moment his foot lifts, the other leg is struck, sending him sprawling to the ground. The Tengu raises a hand. Air gathers around it in a violent spiral.

Atsunori braces, arms up—but again, the spell doesn't target him.

It shoots straight to the Elder.

"No!"

The wind slash hits Yorinobu, but it's blocked by his arms. The Suiko's hardened scales keep the wound shallow.

Atsunori lunges, his hand shoots out—and he clamps onto the Tengu's leg.

"No more running."

He yanks the leg to pull him down and drives a fist towards his gut. The hit is interrupted by a grab on his forearm, twisting hard, locking him in place.

Atsunori's superior strength is overwhelmed by the opponent's better leverage. His arm is forced back until a sharp crack splits the air.

"Agh!"

Gritting through the pain, Atsunori twists even harder, wretching himself free—but the moment he breaks loose, the enemy flips away and jumps back to his feet.

Fuck! He got away.

Rising, Atsunori grabs his broken arm, and tugs it back in place. Feeling returns to his fingers almost immediately.

This Tengu is tougher than any ordinary one—but everyone has limits. The cloth over his face is soaked in blood, and his breathing is ragged.

Maybe he can create bomb level magic. But not like this. Not in that condition.

A sudden fit of coughing shakes the Tengu. Atsunori seizes the moment. His strike grazes the man's shoulder—so close. He presses his advantage, but every follow-up misses.

Frustration builds, and he overcommits—punished with a crunching strike to the throat. Were it not for his regeneration, he'd already be finished long ago.

I can't keep taking these hits much longer.

A measured retreat, guard lifting.

Forget beating him, I just need to hold on long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

"I-I… enough, please," a pathetic voice gasps.

"What!?"

The Tengu leaps back, wings spreading wide—and shoots into the air, out of reach.

"Come back, you coward."

But instead of obeying, the craven raises both arms.

Shit. He's preparing a stronger spell.

A glance at Yorinobu shows the Elder struggling to conjure water under his palm. It loses form, splattering uselessly.

Elders' aren't meant to fight at their age. Yorinobu is probably the only one who can even transform—which is why he joined the battle.

Atsunori quickly steps between him and the flying Tengu, who is gathering a small tornado between raised hands.

Focusing on the ground beneath, he commands it to elevate—not in front of him, but behind, encasing the Elder.

"What are you—?"

"My body might not be enough to stop the attack. Stay still please."

"You plan on taking the hit? Even as an Oni—"

"His time and strength are both running out. If you survive this, he won't be in a state to finish the job quickly, and reinforcements will arrive any second."

His gaze lifts to the enemy. The wind held in his hands is so intense it snips strands of his own hair.

What are you waiting for?

For a moment, it almost looks like the Tengu is about to cancel this spell too, but then…

"I'm sorry." The murmur barely finishes before the swing begins.

A tornado lunges forward like a single, singing blade.

It strikes in a blink. The next moment, Atsunori loses all feeling below the waist, and it sounds like a fountain pouring beneath him.

Did I… stop it?

A slow turn of his head reveals that the wall of earth is crumbled. Inside, Elder Yoshinobu pants heavily, a deep cut across his chest. Behind him, a long fissure splits the ground.

And in the next breath, the floor tilts, moving towards Atsunori's head.