Hito-mane Extermination: Wasteland

The training hall was quiet that morning.

It wasn't a peaceful kind of quiet. It was the heavy, weighted silence of a place that had been used too hard and then left alone to catch its breath. The air still tasted like sweat that shifted. High up in the rafters, the dust motes danced in shafts of light, moving with a cautious sort of grace, as if they were afraid to wake up the memory of the violence that usually happened here. The floor told the story of the last two weeks. Long, jagged scuffs marked the wood where feet had been dragged during sparring. 

There were small, spider-web cracks in the planks where too much weight had landed on a single point of impact. Near the far wall, thin black streaks stained the grain. They were faint burn marks where Zyn had slipped out of control and kissed the timber a little too hard. Those marks were a map of failure and growth, etched into the very foundation of the building. Each splinter and stain represented a moment where one of them had pushed past a limit or discovered a new one.

None of it had been fixed.

Signa told them it was better that way. She said the marks were there to remind them what happened when they got sloppy. She said that a warrior who hides their mistakes in a coat of fresh lacquer is a warrior who is destined to repeat them. Nobody argued with her. 

Her words carried the weight of someone who had seen exactly what happened when a mistake was made in the real world, away from the safety of padded mats and wooden walls. Tatsuchi stood in the center of the room and adjusted the red sash at her waist. She pulled it until the fabric groaned before letting her hands fall. She was back in her usual kit. A white button-up shirt, completely open and tucked into her pants. No armor. Just her. 

The yellow kimono hung loose over her shoulders, the sleeves swaying like heavy curtains whenever she shifted her weight. It was a look that screamed confidence, or maybe a total lack of regard for personal safety. She felt the weight of her sword, Shinkoku, resting against her hip. It was a comfort she had missed. It felt right. 

Like she had finally stepped back into her own skin after being a stranger to herself for far too long. The cold air of the mountain bit at her skin, but she didn't mind. It kept her sharp. Across from her, Asumi stretched her arms above her head with a long, tired groan. Her outfit had changed since the training began. 

She wore a white hakama top and black pants, layered with a black kimono patterned in pink spider lilies. Signa had let her keep it after the last session. It fit her better than anything else she had ever owned. Her eyepatch sat clean over her left eye, no longer looking like a bandage or a sign of weakness. There was no hesitation in her posture anymore. No insecurity. The patch was just a part of her now, as much as her arm or her leg. She moved with a feline grace, her eyes scanning the room as if looking for a phantom opponent.

Zhenyu leaned against a stone pillar near the edge of the room. He adjusted the sleeve of his dark trench coat. The fabric was heavy, shifting with a dull thud against the stone as he moved. The white sash around his waist held his sword in a perfect line, parallel to the floor. He did not look like he was at a hundred percent yet. His face was a bit too pale, and his movements were guarded, as if he were protecting a secret wound that had not quite closed. But he looked stable. For a man like Zhenyu, stable was more than enough to be dangerous. He was a shadow in the corner, quiet but present.

Signa stood in front of them with her hands behind her back. Her posture was straight as a spear driven into the earth. She didn't look like a teacher in that moment. She looked like a judge. Her eyes were hard, reflecting the morning light like polished flint.

"Before we begin," she said, her voice cutting through the room and silencing the ghost of the wind outside, "there is something I want to address." The three of them went still. They had learned that when Signa spoke in that specific tone, the world around them stopped being relevant. Her gaze moved between Asumi and Zhenyu, lingering on the hilts of their weapons. "Have either of you named your blades yet?" Asumi blinked, her head tilting to the side. 

Zhenyu just raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "No," Asumi said. "Was I supposed to? I thought a sword was just a piece of metal used to keep people at a distance." Signa did not react to the tone. She didn't look annoyed or amused. She just looked certain. "You carry them like tools. That is your first mistake. A hammer is a tool. A shovel is a tool. A blade is a part of your spirit given form in steel. If you treat it like an object, it will behave like an object. It will break when you need it to bend. It will dull when you need it to bite."

Tatsuchi watched from the side. She knew what was coming. She had felt that connection for years, a humming in her blood that matched the vibration of her own steel whenever she drew it. To her, Shinkoku was more than a weapon; it was a witness to her life. Signa took a step forward. Her footsteps made no sound on the worn wood, as if she were hovering just a hair above the surface. "The bond between a wielder and their weapon is not just physical. It is spiritual. It is emotional. 

The stronger that bond becomes, the more your Zyn will flow through the steel without resistance. When you reach that point, there is no delay between the thought and the strike. You and the blade become one single point of intent. You do not think about the swing; you simply become the cut."

She stopped in front of Asumi. The height difference was noticeable, but Signa’s presence made her feel ten feet tall."One of the simplest ways to strengthen that bond is to give it a name. A name gives a thing a soul. It gives you something to hold onto when your hands are shaking and the world is falling apart. It reminds the steel who it belongs to." Asumi scratched the back of her head. She looked a little embarrassed, a rare sight for someone who usually radiated a "don't care" attitude. She looked at her sword, really looked at it, for the first time in a long time.

"Well," she muttered. "I guess I am late on the introduction." She reached down and pulled her blade free from its sheath in one smooth motion. The metal caught the morning light, showing off a clean, gray silver finish that seemed to swallow the glare rather than reflect it. The sword itself was simple, built for utility and speed, but the sheath was covered in personality. Pink and white ribbons were wrapped around it, swaying with her movements like the legs of a delicate insect.

She held the blade up, eyeing the edge. "I already picked one," she admitted, her voice getting a bit stronger. Signa looked at the steel. "Oh?" Asumi smirked, that familiar spark of mischief returning to her eyes. "Tsuchigumo."

Tatsuchi tilted her head. "Like the spider yokai?" "Yeah," Asumi said. She spun the blade once, a blur of silver, before resting the flat of it against her shoulder. "It catches things. It doesn't let go. Once you are in the web, the fight is already over. You just don't know it yet. It waits for the right moment to bite." Zhenyu looked at her. "Cringe!" He laughed .

Signa gave a small nod, a gesture of rare approval. "Good. It fits your nature. It suggests a patience you are still learning. And you, Zhenyu?" He did not hesitate. His hand moved to the hilt at his side and he drew the blade slowly, with a reverence that was almost religious. 

The sound of the steel leaving the wood was a soft, singing hiss. Along the length of the metal, faint engravings traced the phases of the moon. It started at the tip with a thin sliver of a crescent and waxed toward the hilt until it reached a full, brilliant circle near the guard. A thin white ribbon was tied just above his grip, trailing down like a funeral shroud. He lifted it so they could see the work. The engravings seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the hall. "Nanpo no Oni," he said quietly. Tatsuchi blinked. "Southern Demon?"

Zhenyu shrugged. "Something like that. My clan was from Southern Makagiri, the land of the demons. It is the part of us we don't want to show the world, but the part that keeps us alive in the end."  Asumi starred daggers at him. "You edgy motherfuc-" Signa stopped her before she finished. 

Signa looked between them and nodded. "Good," she said again. "Names are power. Do not forget that. They are the first word in a conversation between you and the death you carry." Tatsuchi crossed her arms over her chest. "You know only captains are supposed to name their weapons, right? It is a rank thing. In the capital, they would call this heresy. They have councils for this kind of thing, debating for months on what a sword should be called based on the family history."

Asumi looked over with a wide grin. "And?" Tatsuchi shrugged, a small smirk playing on her lips. "I think that rule is stupid. A weapon is a weapon. It doesn't matter what your rank is. If you are the one using it to stay alive, you should be the one to name it. If you are bleeding for the steel, the steel belongs to you, not some council of old men in silk robes who have never held a blade in anger." She paused for a second, her voice dropping. "Mine is named Shinkoku, it means Deliverance."

"Itaka’s brass knuckles are named Tokonatsu. Even though they're separate, she treats them as one weapon." Right on cue, the sliding door opened. Itaka stepped into the room. Her presence changed the air immediately. She didn't do anything dramatic; she didn't strike a pose or shout.  She just stood there. She was fully healed, her posture as rigid and disciplined as ever. It was like the coma had never happened, like she had simply stepped out of a dream and back into the nightmare of reality. Her eyes were clear, focusing on the trio with a sharp intensity. Tatsuchi looked at her, her eyes scanning her rival for any sign of lingering weakness. "Are you staying, or are you coming with us?"

Itaka didn't answer right away. 

Her eyes moved between the three of them, weighing them, measuring the change in their spirits. She saw the new confidence in Asumi and the grim determination in Zhenyu. Then her eyes settled on Tatsuchi. "I am staying." There was no softness in her voice. No regret. It was just a fact, as unchangeable as the mountain itself. She stood like a sentinel, rooted to the spot.

Tatsuchi nodded once. "Got it." She didn't look disappointed. She looked like she had expected exactly that. It was the choice of a captain, even if the title was currently in question. Zhenyu stepped forward, drawing their attention back to the map in his mind. "We have a bigger issue anyway," he said. "The name we pulled from the records. Kyosuke Mori."

The room went cold again. The mention of the name felt like a draft coming under the door. Asumi’s expression shifted, the playfulness vanishing as she leaned against a training post. "Yeah," she said. "It still sounds crazy. The more I think about it, the less it adds up. Like the name from a ghost story."

Zhenyu shook his head. "It does not make sense. If Kyoga Forest and Kyosuke Mori are the same person, then how did he put a bounty on you from inside a prison in Makagiri? That place is built to keep the world out as much as it keeps the prisoners in. Communication is impossible. They check every letter, every word, every look."

"He shouldn't be able to," Tatsuchi muttered, her hand tightening on the hilt of Shinkoku. The leather of the grip creaked under her palm. "Exactly." Zhenyu folded his arms. "Which means one of two things. Either the information we found is old and the world has moved on without the records catching up, or he isn't in that prison anymore. And if he broke out of Makagiri, he is not just a criminal. He is a ghost that walked out of hell."

Asumi’s grin slowly came back, though it was sharper now. "Oh. That is a lot more interesting. A jailbreak from the bottom of the world? I want to meet this guy just to see how he did it." Tatsuchi looked at her. "You are actually enjoying this. We are talking about a man who wants us dead, and you are treating it like a festival."

"A little," Asumi admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "Better than sitting around here waiting for the dust to settle. At least a bounty means someone thinks we are worth something." Zhenyu exhaled, ignoring the banter. "If someone is bold enough to place a bounty on a noble from Avethryn, they aren't hiding in a normal city. 

They wouldn't be in a place with a police force or a functioning government. They would go somewhere the world government doesn't bother checking. A place where the sun burns the law out of the dirt before it can take root." They all looked at each other. The realization hit them at the same time. Asumi’s eyes lit up with a recognition that was half-excitement and half-dread.

"Harpyra."

Tatsuchi groaned, rubbing her temples as if she could already feel the heat. "You have got to be kidding me. Not the desert. Anything but the desert. The sand gets into everything. Your boots, your clothes, your food." Asumi laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. "What? That is my home. You will love it. The sand is great for the skin, and the sun keeps you honest." "Exactly," Tatsuchi said. "It is hot. It is dry. It is miserable. I will be picking grit out of my hair for three years. The water tastes like salt and the wind feels like a furnace."

"It is perfect for hiding," Asumi shot back. She stepped forward and put her hands on her hips, her voice becoming more serious. "The capital, Pyrrhocore, is one of the safest cities in the country. It is all gold and marble and lies. But the further south you go, into the wastes, the worse it gets. The sun bleaches the morality out of people until there is nothing left but survival." Zhenyu nodded. "I have heard the stories. The Dead Zone."

Asumi continued. "Zyn knowledge is rare out there. Most people just try to survive the heat. So gangs gather anyone who can use it and force them into their ranks. They aren't just outlaws. They run everything. They are the judges, the juries, and the executioners. They don't care about the laws of the North." Tatsuchi’s expression hardened. "And the Tomidoru? Do they just let it happen?"

"Even they couldn't fully control it," Asumi said. "The place is too spread out. You could hide an army in those canyons and nobody would find them for a century. There are tunnels too." Zhenyu looked at her. "What kind of tunnels?" "Old ones," she said. "From a war about 250 years ago, at the height of the slave trade."

"Slaves used them to escape the mines. They call them, Dorei ku Tonneru. The Slave District Tunnels. They go for miles underground. No sun, no law, just a thousand ways to get lost and die in the dark. If you are looking for someone who doesn't want to be found, that is where they go." Tatsuchi let out a long, heavy breath. She looked at her companions, then at Signa, then at Itaka. The path was clear, even if it was covered in dust. 

The choice was made before they even realized it. "Fine. We go to Harpyra. We find this Mori and we ask him why he is so obsessed with my head. And if he doesn't have a good answer, I am going to leave him in one of those tunnels." Asumi grinned wider, her hand resting on the hilt of Tsuchigumo. "Let’s go. I miss the smell of dry earth."

They decided to leave the next morning. There was no reason to wait, and the longer they stayed, the more the mountain felt like a cage. Everyone split off to get their things ready. The training was over; the real work was beginning. The energy in the temple changed from focused learning to restless preparation.

Tatsuchi turned around as she reached the door. "Itaka." Itaka looked at her, her face a mask of calm. "Come with me," Tatsuchi said. Her tone wasn't soft, but it wasn't casual either. It was the kind of request that carried a decade of history behind it. A bridge being offered across a wide gap.

Itaka followed her into the hallway.Behind them, Asumi leaned toward Zhenyu with a smirk. "I am calling it right now. They are going to have a moment. A real heart-to-heart." Zhenyu didn't even look at her as he wiped down his blade with a clean cloth. 

"Don’t."

"They are definitely going to have a moment," Asumi insisted. "Do not finish that sentence, Asumi. Your imagination is a dangerous place." Asumi laughed and hopped off the table. "You are no fun. You are like a walking wet blanket. A very moody, wet blanket." 

Zhenyu walked past her toward the exit. "That's disgusting." Asumi stood there for a second, watching him go. A housekeeper passed by, carrying a bundle of laundry, and leaned toward her. "It was funny," the women whispered. Asumi’s face lit up.

Tatsuchi sat on the edge of her bed in the guest quarters. Her hands rested loosely at her sides, her fingers tracing the patterns in the quilt. Itaka stood behind her, near the door, like a silent guardian or a shadow. Neither of them spoke at first. The silence was comfortable, but it was heavy with the things they hadn't said over the last few weeks.

Then Tatsuchi exhaled. "Kyosuke Mori isn't the only reason I am going." Itaka did not respond. She didn't have to. She was the only one who really knew how Tatsuchi’s mind worked, the only one who could see through the bravado.

"There is something about that desert," 

Tatsuchi continued. "I can't explain it. Ever since we heard the name, I’ve felt this pull. I feel connected to it. Like there is a piece of me out there that I didn't know was missing.  Like my history didn't start in the capital." She looked down at her hands. "Come with us, Itaka. We need your eyes. I need my rival to keep me honest." There was a long pause. The wind rattled the window frame, a cold reminder of the world outside.

"I can't," Itaka said.

The weight of the room shifted as Tatsuchi’s fingers tightened on the edge of the mattress, the wood creaking under the pressure. She didn't look up."I have responsibilities here. As a captain. The mountain is unstable, and Signa can't watch every pass. My place is here, guarding the gate. If I leave, and something happens, I wouldn't be able to live with it."

That was the end of it. No apology. No long explanation about duty or honor. Just the truth. Itaka was a creature of the mountain, and Tatsuchi was a creature of the wind. They were moving in different directions, and for the first time, their paths didn't cross.

Tatsuchi nodded once. "Yeah. I get it. I knew you would say that." She stood up and walked past her. She didn't look back. She didn't want Itaka to see the look on her face, the small crack in her armor. Itaka sat down in the spot where Tatsuchi had just been and stared out the window at the peaks. 

"I'm so lonely..."

Tatsuchi walked down the hallway alone. Her expression was steady and focused, the mask she wore for the world firmly back in place. The wooden floors clicked under her boots, a steady, lonely rhythm.

"I don't need her," she whispered to herself. The words felt hollow in the empty corridor, bouncing off the stone walls. Her steps didn't slow down. "I just need to find Ichirou." She stopped for a second near a balcony. Her jaw tightened as she looked toward the south, where the sky turned a dusty orange on the horizon. "Why didn't they tell me I had a twin brother?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. She didn't stop walking after that. She went straight to her bags and started checking her gear with a mechanical, cold efficiency. She sharpened her blade until it could shave a hair, and she checked every buckle on her pack.

She was a soldier now, preparing for a war she didn't fully understand. Zhenyu’s room was already messy. He was usually organized, but the stress of the journey was starting to show in the way he had thrown his spare clothes onto the chair. Asumi was sitting at a table with a map spread out in front of her, chewing on the end of a pencil.

"Took you long enough," Zhenyu said, not looking up from a coil of rope he was inspecting. He was checking for frays, his fingers moving with practiced care. Tatsuchi stepped in, her boots thudding on the floorboards. "What is the plan? Give it to me straight. No sugar-coating." She looked down at the map. It was a messy sprawl of ink and parchment, filled with names of towns she had never heard of.

"We take the Titan Bridge Train," she said, pointing to the thick black line that crossed the center of the continent. "Straight to Pyrrhocore." Zhenyu stopped for a moment, as if he was calculating the distance 

"It is a three-day trip if the tracks are clear. We find the gangs, we find the people who handle the bounties, and we make them talk. We follow the money." Zhenyu stared at her. "That is a terrible plan. That is how you get stabbed in an alley before you even find a hotel. You can't just kick down doors in a city that size."

Asumi laughed. "I kind of like it. It is efficient. I feel kicking doors is our specialty."

"No," Zhenyu said. "We stay low. We don't use our real names. We blend in with the merchants and the refugees. We move quietly until we have a target. We are not an army; we are a scalpel. We need to listen more than we speak, some more other." He looked over at Asumi.

Tatsuchi sighed, leaning against the wall. "Fine. We go to the capital, we play dress-up, and we move carefully. We figure it out from there. But if someone pulls a knife, I am not blending in anymore. I am ending it."

They spent the rest of the day packing. It was a quiet, somber affair. They packed weapons, extra clothes, and as many dried supplies as they could carry without being weighed down. They checked their Zyn reserves and made sure their equipment was in top shape. By the time the sun went down and the mountain air turned biting cold, everything was ready.

Tatsuchi couldn't sleep. She lay on her back in the dark and stared at the ceiling. She thought about the mission and the heat she was about to face. She thought about the man with her name, the brother she had never met. Her chest felt tight, a physical pressure that made it hard to breathe. It was not fear. It was a hunger for answers.

"Whatever," she muttered. She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her. "We move forward. That is all there is. One foot in front of the other until we get there."

                                    ...

Morning came fast. The sky was clear and the air was light. It was a beautiful day, which felt entirely wrong. It didn't feel like the right weather for a mission that might end with them in shallow graves. The birds were singing, oblivious to the gravity of the departure. Signa was standing at the main entrance as they approached. She looked smaller in the morning light, but no less formidable. Her eyes were fixed on the path down the mountain.

"You are leaving," she said.

"Yes," Tatsuchi replied.

Signa nodded. "Good luck. Remember your training. The desert will try to choke you with its heat and its lies. Don't let it. Stay centered. Keep your eyes on each other."

They turned around and started the long walk down the mountain. The gravel crunched under their boots, a harsh sound in the morning quiet. "Wait!"

They stopped and turned. Itaka was standing at the top of the stairs, her silhouette sharp against the rising sun. For a second, a little bit of hope showed on Asumi’s face, a hope that they wouldn't have to do this alone.

"You changed your mind?" Asumi asked, her voice hopeful.

Itaka didn't answer. She tossed something instead. It was a large glass vial that caught the light like a diamond. Tatsuchi caught it with one hand. Inside, a thick green liquid swirled around a small, glowing gem.

"Healing water," Itaka called out. "From the hot springs. It will knit bone and seal flesh. Use it only when you have no other choice. It is a gift from the mountain."Tatsuchi looked at the vial. It was a king’s ransom in medicine. "Thanks. I will keep it safe." She held it close to her chest and smiled a little. "Don't worry. We are rivals, right? I am not letting a desert take the win from you. I will be back to challenge you again."

Itaka laughed, a small, genuine sound. "Yeah. I am starting to remember why we don't get along. You are too arrogant to die. Go on then. Get out of here before I change my mind and spar with you again." Asumi nudged Zhenyu hard in the ribs. He ignored her, though his expression softened for a brief second. They turned and started walking again. They went down the mountain, past the shrines and the ancient trees, and into the thick bank of clouds that clung to the slopes. They left the peace of the manor behind, descending into the unknown.

Signa stood beside Itaka and watched them go until they were nothing but ghosts in the mist. "That desert is dangerous," she said quietly. "It eats people like them. It feeds on their dreams." Itaka didn't say anything. She just gripped the hilt of her sword. "There are two men out there," Signa continued, her voice sounding older than the mountains. "One will guide them toward the light. He will offer them power they think they want. The other will drag them into the pith of darkness and offer them the truth."

She watched the three figures finally disappear completely into the white. "I just hope they choose correctly. For all our sakes. Because if they don't, the world will burn."

Far away, across the ocean of sand and the jagged teeth of the mountains.

In a small desert town where the buildings were the color of dried bone and the streets were paved with dust, a sign rattled in the hot wind. It read: Kokunura. The town was quiet, the residents hiding from the midday sun. The air was thick with the scent of dry earth and old secrets. Three people stood on a hill overlooking the town.

Harley Graves was at the front. He had long green hair that moved like seaweed in the wind and crimson eyes that looked like wet blood. His white jacket shifted, revealing the scars on his neck. A Zyn scroll sat at his side, humming with a low, dangerous frequency that made the air around him vibrate.

Behind him, Mosa Saint adjusted her straw hat. She had a heavy backpack on her shoulders, the contents clanking softly. She looked tired, her skin tanned dark by the sun, but her eyes were sharp. Next to her was another girl with braided brown hair and dark sunglasses. She wore a black sundress that looked out of place in the dirt, and she held a long, heavy case in her hand with practiced ease.

Harley didn't look back at them. He was looking at the horizon, where the heat shimmered and turned the world into a hallucination. He could feel the change in the air.

"Stay put," he said. His voice was cold, as if the desert heat couldn't touch him. "We are here for one thing. No distractions. No games. We wait until the moment is right."

He narrowed his eyes, seeing something in the distance that only he could understand. He felt the pull of the Zyn, the connection to someone coming from the North. "And she is walking straight into it."