The Limits of a Famine

The Gashadokuro wasn’t my only concern, because the shapeshifters’ bodies were reforming from the spots where they died. I set down the box of magical items and picked up the Hama Yumi. I started striking the bowstring again.

The yōkai didn’t react to the noise. They went on with their regeneration; their shape started out as a blur, but slowly became refined into details. They no longer looked like my victims; instead, they were spitting images of Raven. But it wasn’t exactly like looking into a mirror, because they had no ears, thus no way for the sound of the bowstring to reach them.

They both aimed their hands at me. I pulled the jacket out of the box. With my arms outstretched, I held the coat in front of me, crouching down so it could protect my whole body. The bristles pierced the fabric. Normally, the cloth would be too thin to stop the grass needles, but the jacket kept them stuck in place. The surface of the clothing was so riddled with spikes that I surely couldn’t wear it anymore.

Footsteps closed in. The bristles hit the jacket at increasingly skewed angles. The shapeshifters were trying to attack me from both sides. I peeked out from the left side and shifted my fingers to point towards the closest yōkai, before it could readjust its aim. My own magical belt shot grass needles from my hand to the yōkai’s face; the projectiles stabbed into its eyes and cheek.

The creature stumbled and clutched its face. One down. I pivoted the jacket to face the other yōkai directly. My fingers aimed forward, and a swarm of needles blasted out. I wiggled my digits to cover more ground with my projectiles.

This blind firing probably wouldn’t hit any of its vitals. It was merely a distraction. Taking advantage of the chaos, I stuck my head out to glimpse the yōkai’s location, and then changed my aim accordingly.

The creature certainly didn’t expect me to do this. It couldn’t fire at my head in time, as the blades of grass jabbed into its neck and face. It fell onto the ground. I tossed the jacket aside and ensured that the yōkai would die by shooting additional needles at its face.

I turned just as the other yōkai almost recovered. Before it could resume its attack, I unleashed a horde of bristles at its head. And it dropped back to the ground, also dead.

“Wow, no hesitation at all,” Raven said, but that sounded more like relief than criticism.

“I didn’t want you to kill for me again.” Also, I had plenty of frustrations to vent. Those yōkai really should have stayed as my dead victims.

Raven snickered. That irritated me more than it should have. “Do you have a problem with that?” I asked.

“No. I just never realized you were this concerned about me.”

“It’s just a matter of principle. Also, we are on a clock here.” I stared at the open doorway. The sunlight outside seemed to beckon me. Freedom seemed so within reach, even though I knew the dangers that lurked outside. How do I deal with the skeleton?

My eyes flitted around, scanning across the room, until my gaze settled on an object. It might not work on the Gashadokuro, a mythical undead. Still, I had to test it out, as this might exhaust Famine’s offerings. I clasped the object and flung it outside. The earth shook with the rattling as the white skull dropped in to devour the object.

The monstrous head stayed much longer than last time, so motionless that one could mistake it for part of a dinosaur fossil exhibit. Cracks crept onto the surface of the bones, spreading like spilled water. Seconds later, the entire skeleton shattered into white dust. The particles drifted to the ground as if it were snowing.

I had fed the Gashadokuro the metal box containing the killing stone.

In case Famine still had offerings left, I kept my gaze on where the Kitsune and the Bake-danuki had died. Their bodies had vanished again and had yet to reappear. I threw another pillow outside. It landed on the fading bone powder without being intercepted.

With the utmost caution, I reached my arm out of the doorway and retracted it. Nothing happened. No skeleton. No shapeshifting yōkai. I was free.

Then, a fruit fly landed on my cheek. Raven swatted it away. Something clicked in my mind. Something Famine had mentioned to me a few hundred years ago. I spun around and staggered to the box of magical items.

Too late. A swarm of flies rushed in, accompanied by a multitude of buzzing. They piled onto me; thousands of tiny limbs brushed against my skin. Some of them wormed their way into my nostrils.

I snagged the magical headband from the box, sealing all my body orifices with ice. My attention switched to lining the insides of my nostrils and throat with the same frost. This cold sweep caught the flies within me, freezing them in their tracks.

The other flies bit into me. The tiny nibbles on my flesh built up into a feeling that I was being skinned alive. Barely able to think under the anguish, I still managed to push the magical headband to its limits. The chill ran through my skin and overrode the heat of the wounds, devouring any flies in the way with ice.

Finally, the bugs were dealt with, so I could free my nostrils from the frigid barrier. And a breath could flow into my lungs again. Since my airways were still lined with ice and dead insects, each inhale and exhale was cold and heavy. It was as if my whole body had solidified into a statue, leaving only the lungs intact.

As I regained more of my ability to think, my priority wasn’t to search for a solution, but to check how Raven was doing. Maybe I could melt some of the ice near my mouth; the flies there should have succumbed to the cold already. Above all, I should sit up first.

A figure blasted in. Before I could get a good look, it shot up towards me. I felt a twinge in my stomach, accompanied by the sound of ice fractures, and a force thrust me backwards. The crash into the wall demolished the frozen barrier on my back, probably cracking a few bones.

Raven fainted instantly. My spirit left her body and lunged towards the figure.

It was Famine, as suspected. But he was floating in the air, limp. His nonreflective black hair fluttered in the absence of wind; his eyeballs were consumed by darkness. There was a smirk on his face, one that was so clearly strained and forced.

It didn’t matter who the attacker was. I would kill them regardless. But before my hands could reach Famine, blood leaked out of his mouth, and he collapsed onto the floor.

“Huh?” That was the only reaction I could muster.