1 — Standing Flower in the Evernight

–

The reek of burnt flesh shouldn’t linger for long here. The winds will carry it away from this caved-in room of what was once a riverside home, along with the single beep coming from the device attached to the shoulder of the kneeling man.

“Camellia 3-1 to Camellia Commander, please advise.” Our commander, bearing the twin bars and single star of a major, rises as we hear those words.

Powdery haze still plumes faintly from the barrel end of the borrowed pistol. The crimson patch on his blue-gray trousers continues to spread—thickest at the knee that had touched the floors that flood with blood.

Tender, yet unyielding. It, too, remains.

A sincere smile that perseveres despite her twisted act tonight. A stiff crescent that stays firm despite the absence of everything above her bloodstained eyebrows.

The last symbol of her defiance—of foolishness that even the kindness of a silver-tipped comet cannot erase nor reduce.

“We’re no longer detecting further incursions in the area.” The voice continues—muddled, even through our fortified transceivers.

“Requesting permission to skirmish and eliminate the stragglers, over.”

The major brings himself closer to the opened corner of the second floor. He exhales, clearing his stifled windpipe before drawing in fresher air. A couple more repetitions, and he finally clicks on the flashing brick on his shoulder.

“Necromancer neutralized. Great work on holding the line, Inaba,” Major Tsubaki affirms. “Go blow off some steam—permission granted.”

Another voice comes through the frequency, cheering. Ao Inaba continues to acknowledge, though they are cut short as the major and I both tap our transceivers.

“It’s unlike you to pull the trigger yourself, sir,” I comment.

And it’s unlike him either to be this somber, nor is it like him to not fight back the tremble in his fingertips. I suppose no one’s numb enough to not mind taking the life of a child in that manner—whatever it is they’re guilty of. Limits, limits.

“Does it bother you that much, Tachibana?” He curtly responds as he walks towards the door, offering the grip of my sidearm for me to grab.

I let out a sigh as I holster the sidearm. “Label it a twisted curiosity of mine.”

No immediate quip follows to serve as an answer. None of the attempts at dry humor he usually pulls to diffuse or distract from the issue at hand. Only silence. A pause in the moment that gives the stage to the crackle and snap of our surrounding battleground.

Another breeze passes by; the major’s long, whitened mane flowing at its course as he walks past. And before I can react or interject, he decides on a response.

“Better for her to die here. For the sake of everyone—mainly, hers.”

A faint smile, embittered, forms from the edges of his lips.

“Better to die now—with all her delusions intact. Before she’s given a chance to reflect and atone.” He lets out a lengthened breath mired by resignation, and the major hides his dreary mauves behind his eyelids.

And as he grabs the unstrung length of fiberglass he’d leaned against the doorframe, Major Tsubaki whispers, “Before she sees that the only person that can never forgive her is herself.”

—◃⬥花⬥▹—

“You’re late to the duck hunt, Top!” A blaring voice calls out through the open comms as I take the first step onto the bridge to cross the Sakai river.

Either he’s careless enough to not realize the channel he’s in, or he finds it that important to announce my arrival to the whole company command.

“There’s plenty to share, Leslie!” I respond, taking pauses between my sprints.

I pivot slightly, and my eyes drift to meet the major, hollow and unfocused as he clutches his bow close. And so, I didn’t take back my response—better to double down.

“Major Tsubaki can use some of the practice, so don’t count us out just yet!”

“Right, right! I’ll bring him some small game for him to—” His response is cut short. My guess: our vice-commander manually closed Leslie’s end of the channel. Having been assigned monitoring duty back at base, he seems to have had his fill of the staff sergeant’s yaps for the night. That, or he’s trying to handle the major’s silence in his own way.

Major Tsubaki remains silent, even as I hasten my pace. All in, then. Though I’d like to sympathize with what he feels right now, I can’t be bothered to fight with a walking corpse watching my six.

“You hear that, major? There’s some ducks for you to warm up your ol’ joints.”

His immediate smile to the remark still comes off faint and forced as he huffs sharply with each step. Easy to assume that he’s still trying to stifle back the emotions he’d let slip out. Though, his response tells me that I shouldn’t worry much for now.

“Small game, huh.” With his personal transceiver still inactive, the man sprinting behind me mutters, “If I’m that rusty, how am I still keeping up with you?”

I feel the edges of my lips coming apart, and the coastal wind hits my bared teeth. Right, back to business. We’ve still got Strangers to kick out.

“That’s because I’m letting you keep up, major!” I snap.

Draw prana. Fortify the constitution of both my legs. Focus the additional force towards my heels, then let it flow down my sole and out. No need to chant; I’ve done this so many times already.

And as I grip my rifle tight to lock it in place, I release the unspoken incantation.

Rush.

The pavement cracks slightly as I launch myself forward. A step to land, and follow the first. The same for the other foot after it, then repeat. Though the length of my strides remain the same, it only takes me a few leaps to bring myself closer to the other end of the bridge in a mere second and a half.

And as I spot those blackened masses on the corner of my eye, I force my right foot to pivot to the left. Sparks fly upon contact with the ground. My fortified legs tear furrows onto the sidewalk as it drags the broken concrete forward—bringing me to a stop with a turn to face those Strangers staring me down from fifteen meters away.

Strangers, Demons, Echoes—it doesn’t matter whatever term one wishes to use to refer to them.

Without a strong catalyst to tether their unwelcome existence in this world, they pose no threat. No matter the size, they’re just mutts straying too far from their pack.

Every mutt still has fangs, but that’s not an issue with a rifle in the equation.

The small-sized Strangers—Whelps—surge forward as I shift my rifle towards their direction. Their form shifts and wanes with each movement they make. Six of them. All quadrupedal, standing around two meters from head to heel.

Despite the lack of a consistent shape, the lilac shadows of their tainted prana allow me to make out a coherent silhouette to aim at. The color’s movement precedes their actual direction—and one is dumb enough to move in a straight line.

I bring my muzzle low, and a single squeeze of the trigger brings one—the one that charged first—down and inanimate. Even if it barely grazed the Whelp, the silver-tipped bullet has already begun to corrode its form from the inside out.

The rest seem to not slow down even at the sight, and it would be foolish of me to not continue and mow them down.

And before I bring my finger back once more, my eyes catch the passing flight.

“I’ll borrow what’s yours, O’ Great Sarutahiko.”

The loosened arrow glitters, then fades—and the heavenly boons take its place.

The first crashes alone, yet the most accurate. The next come in a pair, impaling the Whelps in the middle of the pack. The final two mimic, in both form and effect.

And so, his whispered incantation robs me of live practice this time.

Even as what remains of the Whelps dissipate into thin husks, the five pikes of glowing gold the major called forth remain an odd, misplaced sight that illuminates the avenue.

“Practice doesn’t seem that bad of a proposal, now that I think of it.” Major Tsubaki forces out a smirk in his calm approach. The teal glow of his prana remains to string his bow even as his hand brings the weapon low.

“Maybe I’ll join you guys more often from now on.”

“Your chant’s still too polite for comfort, major.”

The major stays his response, though for good reason. Loud stomps rapidly echo from the north end of the forked junction—our immediate rear. The loud hisses of mechanical joints closing and opening fill the air, preceding a sharp roar that quakes the ground.

The streetlights that survive reveal the four armored figures making haste towards us. Friendlies, as it seems.

“Red!!” One of the figures lets out a booming shout.

And in turn, I yell the countersign, “Jade!”

Their armors, our “standard-issue”, seem to be in bad shape. Exoskeletons clad in plates of nanocomposite—each plate enchanted to protect the user from magical energy that they can’t resist on their own. They’re the non-mages in our company. Oldfolk, as distasteful as the proper term may seem.

Three of them bear the steel blue and red accents of my platoon, which makes the odd one stand out all the more at first glance. Since his armor is the only one painted in gray, urban camouflage—suitable for tonight’s terrain, I already have a guess as to who it is.

And I am proven correct as my bespectacled senior opens his helmet’s visor and salutes our commanding officer.

Not minding the occasional rumble beneath us, Major Tsubaki briefly returns the salute, “Where’s the rest of your men, Inaba?”

“You told us Recon lads to pack light, so I sent them to resupply before joining in on the fun. Suppose they’ve linked up with the main force right about now.”

“It’s not every day that Recon gets the chance to join in on the fun, after all,” one of the regulars adds—the tells of his American accent, even if faint, still noticeable.

“I figured I’d tag along with dear old Leslie here since he’s already going to pick you guys up anyway.” Ao Inaba takes a pause, glancing towards the direction he came from. “The thing is… that damned Tank appeared out of the blue and decided to tail us all the way here instead of sticking to where—”

The quakes grow stronger. And once again, the roar pierces our ears—before coming to a sudden stop, leaving behind a ring too stubborn to fade.

Then a low growl, followed by the frantic flicker of streetlights as a wave of lilac quickly sweeps across the avenue.

Fill the air with prana—imagine the dome. Thicken the convex; account for overwhelming force. Set it at a distance of fifty meters from the rear—no, that won’t cut it. Reconfigure to thirty-five and forty. Radius: fourteen meters, each.

“Tachibana.” Major Tsubaki signals calmly.

No need to tell me.

I stretch my right hand outward, tightening it into a fist as I release the incantation. “Bulwark.”

Twin barriers bloom from the middle of the avenue, bearing the bright, neon green hue of my prana. Its petals of solid light reach the ends of both sidewalks as a storm of debris hits the first shield.

“Shit!” I hiss softly, out of poor habit. The sting in my right arm is not that bad, nor is the tightness caused by my speeding heartbeat. It’s still safely within my tolerance, but the mere sensations tell me that I’ve exerted myself quite a bit.

Evidently, it was also an overexertion. The impact stopped before it could even breach the first layer, which tells me that it was a taunt or tease instead of an actual attack.

The barriers disperse at my behest, revealing the lone, distant figure.

“Seems like that one is quite fond of Asuras,” The major notes, raising his bow as he conjures another arrow to nock.

True to his remark, the six arms and three heads of that Stranger do mirror the demon’s in terms of features. Its shoulders stand level with the streetlights—six meters, excluding the heads.

“Well, let’s see if it does hate the Devas as much as the real things do.” Major Tsubaki draws the string back in proper form, holding the arrow with the pinch of his thumb. “Hear me, Yumiya of Eight Banners. Rage forth.”

Volleys of gunfire accompany the loosened arrow. All but the ever-calm Ao Inaba, who seems to be conserving his munitions, have taken cover behind the thrown debris to provide saturation fire as Major Tsubaki finishes his chant.

No matter the velocity that those silver-tipped bullets may reach with the support of mere gunpowder, the arrow still proves to be faster. The Great Kami Hachiman blesses its flight with speed, and the litany of commands the major has likely thought into his spell turns the arrow of teal into yet another large pike that parts the street in two.

And surprisingly, that wasn’t enough.

The Asura-like Stranger only raises its upper right arm in response, catching the pike with seeming ease. What amount of force is left within the pike drags its unnatural form back through inertia. Its size and silhouette fluctuate with every inch it moves back, tearing and cracking the asphalt below that supports its manifested weight.

Snaps of its phantom joints echo, followed by the clash of metal against metal. With each twirl of its distorted wrists, the spinning pike easily deflects each wave of the silver bullets bound for him.

And as the gunfire stops, its form again shifts repeatedly. In the blink of an eye, it chooses its next move: to simply return the pike to the sender.

Simple, if you forget that this is an Asura throwing a fifteen-foot long javelin with the technique of an Olympian—and that the sender happens to be us.

“Ao, move!” I shout as I drag the man back by his collar.

The pike slams deep, shattering the ground. Debris of asphalt, concrete, and dirt erupts into the sky.

And as the dust clears, it’s safe to say that I have again overreacted. By a margin, even. The pike landed three meters in front of where Ao and I now lay. Even if I hadn’t acted, it’s safe to assume that it wouldn’t have hit him anyway.

Seems unlikely for it to miss. No, it landed exactly where the Stranger wanted it to land.

Short roars come once more, broken up in a way that sounds unnatural to all. It’s imitating a cackle—laughing at us for reacting the way it wanted.

Setting himself upright once more, Ao barely shows a reaction to the attack. Partly, it’s due to his retraining. Knowing his habits, though, I suppose he has already caught on as to what the Asura-like Stranger intends to do next. As expected of the man in charge of Recon.

“Cocksucker—bah.” Leslie throws his helmet as he goes out of cover, spitting out concrete dust that got through his broken headgear. Evidently, the taste must be foul enough to let out that curse in his native tongue. “Screw this, I’m not waiting for it to kill us—”

“If the Tank wanted to kill us, it wouldn’t have stalked us and toyed with us, Les.” Ao cuts Leslie, his tone flat. “Easier to do that… less rewarding, I assume.”

“Bullseye, Inaba.” Major Tsubaki lowers his hand, dusting his combat jacket from the noticeable patches of dust as he turns his attention. “For an Oldfolk, you always pick up on a mage’s fundamentals quickly. On that note, what do you feel right now?”

“Fully focused on wanting to kill that bastard.” Ao answers.

“No, bloodlust won’t cut it. Try to see it another way, Inaba.” The major then turns his attention to my men. “And if any of you feed it any longer… well, I’ll think of a punishment that the dead can still take.”

Most demons in myth are believed to thrive on fear, desire, anguish, and other emotions of similar nature. The more that they can instill in a human being, the more that they grow in power.

Though by virtue of experience, our company has discovered that the theory is one of cycles.

The more they feed on those emotions, the more powerful they become. The more powerful they are, the more that they can get—and want to get.

In small part, it’s often chalked up to their greed—or even lust. But mostly, their unwelcome nature in this world means that they can only survive on those emotions—tainted prana. The more powerful they are, the longer they can sustain themselves without a source—allowing them to hunt bigger and more sating prey.

The simplest solution is to cut them down while they’re still weak. If they’re stronger, then one only needs to bring a bigger stick. Humanity’s biggest problem is that we’re running out of the big sticks. And if things don’t get better quickly, soon we won’t even have a single stick.

Duck hunt, my ass.

Although, on second thought, this… it might still be a duck hunt after all.

“Seems we’ve gotten a lucky break tonight, major.” I shake my head as I remember what I saw earlier. “If it hadn’t shown anything to us, we probably would’ve vacated the sector, leaving it free to go somewhere easier to hunt.”

“As expected of my first, only, and most beloved disciple.” Major Tsubaki concurs. “Though, Tachibana, if you can still only see from what it shows you… I suppose we need to do more work on your sight.”

Those flickers every time that Asura-looking thing exerts itself, even if only slightly, tells it all. It’s reckless, wasteful—desperate. Despite its bravado, it’s still too weak to sustain itself. Or at least, it thinks it’s too weak to face us head-on.

Despite all, I can see it for what it truly is.

A prey posturing to seem bigger—a duck. A big fucking duck, but still a duck.

And in this new world where magic trumps all—whose limitations lie only in rationalization and visualization, seeing the truth of its weakness means two things.

I can understand how to kill it, and I can visualize the only outcome I need—the one where it dies.

No need to overthink or convince myself that I can end it—I know I can.

The Stranger stands still, confused by our lack of response—afraid that we’ll call its bluff. One thing’s for sure, though—we can’t risk it running away.

“Let’s keep it simple, then, shall we?” I crack my fingers back. “There’s no need to call Countermagic for suggestions or wait for Ao Inaba here to complicate it.”

“Oi, I know you’re the mage here but salute the damned rank,” Ao remarks, clicking his tongue. “But I’ll allow you to take the lead this time. Don’t want to let whatever plan you have go to waste.”

“Ah, how lucky I am to have such a kind senior,” I quip in response. “Leslie, Michitaka, Yuuji—give your M-Chaffs to Ao and provide saturation down range. Ao, put your launcher to use. I’m counting on you for this one. And Major—”

“Bind the Asura in place and give you room to charge in, right? I’ve gotten that much.” The major restrings his bow in teal. “And how do you plan to end it? Your rifle? Ritual banishment?”

I flash him a smile. “I need to use that.”

“That… what? This? The bow?”

“No, that thing you nicked from the shelf back at base. Lend it to me for a bit, and I won’t tell Kamiya about it.”

His breath hitches, and one can practically hear his head spin. Had it not been for that Stranger, it’s safe to say that he’d already be frozen in primal terror right now.

“Fine, Tachibana.” He lets go of his breath, reaching into his coat’s inner pocket to toss me the bladeless hilt. “Just pay It the respect It deserves.”

A single nod serves as my answer as I make my way past the fading pike and pile of debris. The Stranger seems to have noticed my presence already, but that doesn’t guarantee that it will see me as a worthwhile prey. I’m not leaving it up to chance—more will suffer if it’s allowed to retreat.

I draw in air, and I release it alongside the fear I’m feeling at this moment. Just enough for it to sense and make it want more. All too easy. Hell, there’s no need to fake it. The truth is I am afraid.

Because tonight—like all nights before—no sane man can truly be fearless of the dark, let alone the things that thrive in it.

“THAT’S RIGHT, TAKE MORE!! YOU CAN’T KILL ME!!”

Inaba follows my shout with his trigger. Two grenades fly down the street in quick succession, with a third and fourth to follow suit. Soon, the chaff will cover anyone’s—and anything’s—ability to sense prana.

Rounds of silver-tipped lead fill the sidewalks ahead. Not to where the Asura stands, but at the gaps it may use to evade or escape. My men have probably figured out that the Stranger can tear off a lamppost should it need to deflect their bullets away.

“On my mark, Tachibana.” Major Tsubaki nocks another arrow. And as he lifts his bow, I lock my eyes forward.

Draw prana. Let it flow into both of my legs. Fortify them, make it so that they may survive. Strengthen my mortal form, so that I may survive. Launch me true, so that they all may survive. Distance to go: 250 meters. Focus all force towards my heels, then drive them to the ground. No need for sustained running—I only need to do this once.

As I tighten the sling of my rifle, I hear the major’s words.

“O’ Great Sarutahiko, listen. Don’t you dare disappoint me.”

My heartbeat speeds. And with the bladeless hilt in hand, I chant forth.

“Launch.”

What surrounds me turns into a blur—flashes that streak past. The arrow once again soars past its challenger, calling forth the heavenly boons as it fades into the night. Eight crashes upon a place I cannot yet see past the smoke and chaff. Time slows into a crawl once more as blood continues to surge throughout my body.

And with my fate in their hands, I turn to seek solace in the piece of the divine.

Hear my earnest plea, O’ Grand Gift to Man—Children of the Gods.

Look upon this wretched earth. Evil takes tight berth. Gaze at Your people’s plight. Terror shades them from light. Night has fallen upon us.

I command naught of you. I impose naught on you. I take naught from you.

For this soul only calls for the remembrance of oaths—taken past; forevermore:

“Protect this land You serve, O’ Kusanagi of the Clouds!”

The smoke and chaff clears with the call of the wrathful blade, and the Stranger’s heads turn to face its fate.

All of its six arms, in its arrogance to stop the Heavenly, are bound by chains that struck deep into the ground. Its two legs, in its stubborn refusal to flee, are punished by spears that root the unwelcome Stranger in place.

As it nears its end, its three pairs of hollow eyes meet mine.

The blade of white lightning meets the Stranger's neck, and my eyes see flashing stills of the things it fed from.

The smile of a bleeding saint crowned in violet. A shadow, gray of veil, walking away from love for the sake of love. A white-haired sinner, determined to walk forth.

All imitations of the truth, twisted only so it may survive longer.

It wants mercy, perhaps. It wants vengeance, perhaps. That will never matter.

My wrist turns. And as I push to the earth, the imitation is cleaved in twain.

Lilac bursts from its seams as I land. My ears catch the phantom whisper as I greet the ground, and I can’t find any reason to accept them as I rest my eyes.

“Please don’t hate me.”

Do you even know what it means?

—◃⬥花⬥▹—

Katase-Enoshima, Kamakura Frontier
Kanagawa Sector, Greater Tokyo Administrative Zone
Saturday, 2094/07/26.
D+1302.

Morning has arrived. The crimson that hangs over the horizon to the west remains for yet another day. Its eerie light refuses to yield, even as the true sun rises from the east. As the blue morning sky strengthens its domain still, so does the purple that borders the two shades—the unnatural from the natural, the strange from the mundane.

What a view to have a cigarette with—and what a time to have one indeed. I never really got to have my fix before this, so that’ll be my excuse for chainsmoking.

The alarms intended for the mobilization of a Quick Response Force blared just before the turn of midnight. Such an incursion happening less than five miles off of our base is not exactly rare, hence the QRF lived to its name this time around.

And as Ao Inaba walks closer, my mind briefly wanders back to wonder.

For such an act to draw out so many Strangers… just how strong was her determination—her dreams and delusions—must have been?

“Any hold-ups on the evacuation?” I cast the thought aside as the man returns to my side. No longer clad in his plated exoskeleton, his steel gray uniform is now layered with a red combat jacket. His length of black hair sways with the seaside breeze, and I force my sore arms to tighten my ponytail so as to not suffer the same nuisance.

“None so far, most of the survivors are keen to leave this place after what happened here. ‘The girl cursed the air,’ they say.” Ao fishes a cigarette out of his own pack as he explains, pausing as he lights it.

A single inhale lengthens the pause, and he lets the smoke escape after it has served its purpose. “Some of the stubborn old farts still refuse to move, though. Apparently, necromancy does not trouble them more than leaving their home… even if it’s just for a month or two.”

“What happens to them, then? Are we moving them across the Benten and into the island proper for the meanwhile? I’m sure the shrine there can shelter them.”

“No need for that.” Ao takes another drag. “There’s only five people who objected to the move. With Cathedra moving in to reinforce the Katase church, they’ll have enough protection here.”

My eyebrows twitch as I hear the mention of that group. They’re not all bad—especially those from the Buddhist and Shinto roots. Hell, our base is practically a facility we share with a bunch of shrinekeepers. But hearing “Cathedra” and “church” brings up the image of fanatics that go livid at the slightest reference of magic.

“Right… the necromancer came to the graveyard near the church. They were caught off-guard. Must be hell to go that way… knowing no one can come in time.”

“That ‘necromancer’ was just a girl trying to revive her parents. Foolish and deluded as she was, we’re no better if we forget what made her mistake human in the first place.” Ao lets out a sigh, still stubborn when it comes to his way of viewing things.

“You’d do well to keep that in mind, First Sergeant Rikka Tachibana.”

“Right, right. First Lieutenant Ao Inaba.” I relent. “Why the name and rank?”

“That aside, I’ve got a much better question to ask.” He closes his eyes, letting his fingers bring the cigarette low. A flick sends the ashen tip of his cigarette along the coursing wind. And so, he steels his nerves to ask: “Why does your name repeat itself?”

“Mhm?” I ask, letting him finish the bit.

“It’s read differently, sure. But at the end of the day you still write ‘Standing Flower, Standing Flower’ every time you sign a report. Not to mention that ‘Rikka’ is very much a girl’s name. Your parents forgot to fill in the form or something?”

“Go for another joke if you want to change the subject, douchebag. At least, change the punchline a bit.” I mockingly grin. “How long has it been since you first came up with that one now?”

“About fifteen years, I reckon. Three and a half, if you leave out the bits from elementary up to the airborne days—the good old days. Hells, man. It feels so wrong to think that Narashino is now practically heaven by comparison.”

Silence takes over briefly, and I remember that the object is still in my pocket.

“Hey, Ao. You’re the wise one. What am I supposed to do?” I ask bluntly. Rummaging around, I can still clearly feel its repeated rattle in the front pocket of my combat jacket.

“Live, fight—hope you’ll still make it ‘til tomorrow.” Ao takes a last drag from his cigarette, throwing the filter to the sandy beach below. “Hope hard enough, and maybe we’ll see ourselves through.”

“I don’t know if there’s hope for me this time, though.”

“Then let me give you a piece of my wisdom, O’ Blooming Boy Named Rikka.” The man, my senior by a mere two-year difference, shakes his head as he changes his tone. “We’ve been through thick and thin for years now, and I know for a fact that I won’t ever let an idiot cover my six. You save my ass, and I save your ass. Keep it tha—”

His nonsensical rambling comes to an abrupt stop as his eyes catch the objects I’ve brought out into the open palm of my right hand. He checks the fitting of his glasses, as if a rogue reflection is to blame—as if the act can change reality itself.

“Still going to save my ass?” With a light shake of my hand, the hilt rattles again. Metal against metal, as the sacred artifact repeatedly clacks against the broken half of its pommel. “What’s your verdict, my dear senior? My wise, dear senior?”

Straight silence serves as his chosen answer.

“Kamiya is going to kill me for it, isn’t she?” I lifelessly ask.

“Kamiya is going to kill you for it, yeah,” Ao lifelessly responds.

And so we both made the ten-minute pilgrimage to search for a third opinion in silence. From the beach and into the makeshift outpost, nestled inside the neighboring Enoshima station across the river.

Past the resting and wounded, and into the former employee’s lounge that’s been turned into Major Tsubaki’s command post for this morning, and this morning only.

“Kamiya is going to kill us for it, for sure,” the major lifelessly agrees.