Hito-mane Extermination: Searching For A Man That Might Not Exist

Rain tapped softly against the old sandstone and weathered wooden rooftops of Kokohama.

Enough to wash the town clean.

Just enough to make everything feel heavier.

The rain itself was not enough to be violent, but it was persistent to the point it felt like an omen. It clung to the town’s rooftops, slid down old gutters and cracked pavement, and gathered in the streets like it had been waiting there longer than the people had. The town somehow never looked clean after it rained, just more honest in its own decay. Kokohama was a place that existed in a state of perpetual exhaustion. It was nestled in a valley that seemed to swallow light, where the architecture felt like it belonged to an era that refused to die properly. The eaves of the houses were sharp, like jagged teeth against the dull grey skies, and the narrow alleys were choked with the scent of wet soot and stagnant blood. There was a specific kind of pressure in the air, a density that made the lungs ache if one breathed too deeply.

Tatsuchi hated that honesty. More than two weeks had passed since they entered Kokohama. And more than twelve bodies had been recorded in that time. Even if the town refused to say it like that out loud. That was the part that kept sitting in her chest, not the number itself, the fact that nothing had slowed down. Nothing had reacted. The town just kept breathing like it had decided the deaths were part of its normal routine by now. The residents moved through the rain with their heads bowed, their umbrellas like black fungi blooming in the mist. They did not speak of the blood in the gutters or the way the shadows seemed to move independently of the light.

Like rain.

Like rot.

Tatsuchi stood outside the morgue with her coat damp and her hair slightly stuck to her cheek. The scar that ran across the left side of her face pulled faintly whenever she tightened her jaw. It always did that when she was thinking too hard or trying not to think at all. It was a jagged reminder of a failure she could not outrun, a sliver line of history etched into her skin that throbbed in sync with the heavy atmosphere of this forsaken town.

The building in front of her looked like every other structure in Kokohama: old wood reinforced too many times to count. Stone that had lost its original shape under layers of repairs. A place that refused to fall apart only because something was too stubborn to let it. 

It loomed over the street, a grim monument to the inevitable. The sign above the door was weathered, the kanji for repose almost entirely worn away by years of rain. Tatsuchi pushed the door open and stepped into the morgue. The hinges did not creak; they groaned, a low sound that felt like it was coming from the floorboards.

The smell hit immediately. Chemicals, damp cloth, blood that had been cleaned but never fully removed from the air. The kind of smell that stuck to the back of the throat. It was the scent of a soul leaving a body and leaving only the heavy, material remnants behind. Inside, the room was dim. Long fluorescent light barely held the room together. The flickering light cast long, distorted shadows against the walls, making the jars of preserves and medical tools look like strange, ritualistic artifacts.

A body lay on the central table. Male. Mid-aged. Torn open across the torso in uneven patterns that did not follow anything clean, but it was structured in a sense. The flesh was ragged, the edges of the wounds turning a bruised purple that looked unnatural even for a corpse. Zhenyu stood beside it, silent. His eyes were fixed like he was reading something invisible on the surface of the skin. He looked less like a man and more like a statue carved from cold marble, his presence absorbing the little light the room had to offer. He did not turn when she entered. He didn’t have to. He knew her spiritual signature as well as he knew his own.

The morgue manager lingered near the wall, wiping his hands repeatedly even though they were already clean. He was a small, withered man who looked as though he had spent too much time in the company of silence. His eyes were wide, darting toward the corners of the room as if expecting the shadows to reach out and claim him next. Tatsuchi did not react right away. She just looked. Then she spoke.

“Twelve.”

Zhenyu did not look up. “Thirteen if you include the one from the eastern canal this morning.” Tatsuchi clicked her tongue lightly. “You’ve started counting them like they matter separately.” “They do matter separately.” That answer was too simple, It made it worse. Every life in Kokohama was a thread in a tapestry that was being systematically shredded, and Zhenyu was the only one trying to find the pattern in the lint. The morgue manager cleared his throat. The sound was dry, like parchment rubbing together. “This one was brought in early this morning. Found near the eastern canal like your friend mentioned. Right under the Mesquite tree that hasn't bloomed in forty years.”

Tatsuchi stepped closer. Her shoes made a dull sound against the tile floor, a heavy thud that seemed to echo longer than it should have. The air around the body felt colder, a drop in temperature that suggested the soul had not fully dissipated. Her eyes moved over the body slowly. The wounds did not line up. That was the first thing she noticed. Clean cuts, but not a single focused direction of force.

It looked like something had started to take control and then lost patience halfway through. It was as if a predator had begun a strike and then devolved into a frenzied, primal hunger. There was a brutality here that lacked the elegance of a trained warrior but possessed a terrifyingly raw power. “This isn't from a naginata,” she said flatly. Zhenyu nodded once. His gloved fingers hovered just inches above the largest gash, tracing the air. “The entry point is too narrow. The exit is too messy. A naginata would have cleaved and dismantled it. This... this bit.” The morgue manager looked relieved that someone else said it first. “That’s what I thought too. I've seen wounds from the other victims, but this is different, this is spiteful.”

Tatsuchi tilted her head slightly. “Then what is it from?” A pause.

The man hesitated like the answer might get him punished. He looked at the heavy wooden door, then back at Tatsuchi’s scar. “A dagger,” he said finally. “Probably a heavily serrated one. Nothin’ too big. Multiple strikes before tearing. Like they wanted him to feel the metal every time it moved.” Zhenyu crouched slightly, eyes narrowing. He was looking at the way the Zyn residue had pooled around the ribs. “The spacing is inconsistent,” he said quietly. Tatsuchi crossed her arms. The leather of her coat creaked. “So the witnesses are wrong.” “Or incomplete,” Zhenyu replied. 

While Asumi headed toward the Sins Weapons Plant to look into old records and speak with the workers there. Tatsuchi and Zhenyu stayed behind and started the investigation in town, talking to neighbors, shopkeepers, and anyone willing to answer. Most people avoided their questions or shut down the moment certain names came up. Tatsuchi pushed through the tension in each answer, while Zhenyu quietly tracked the patterns in what everyone refused to say. In the end, the townspeople seemed to keep pushing them into a loop.

Tatsuchi exhaled through her nose. “They all describe the same man. Tall, brown hair, and a heavily scarred body. They talk about him like they know exactly who it is but refuse to tell us for some damn reason.” Zhenyu didn’t respond immediately. That silence said he didn’t like the conclusion either. If the witnesses saw a man with a scarred body and a large weapon, it should be easy to narrow it down to a few, but the bodies showed wounds from a small, jagged blade, the evidence was fractured. Either there were two killers, or the weapon was something that defied conventional physics.
Tatsuchi glanced at him. “You’ve been getting more quiet than usual.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s what worries me.” Zhenyu ignored that and stood up fully. He brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve with a precision that bordered on the clinical. “The problem isn’t just the weapon descriptions,” he said. “It’s the consistency of what they refuse to say.” Tatsuchi raised an eyebrow. “Explain.” “Every person we’ve questioned stops at the same point,” Zhenyu continued, walking a slow circle around the cooling body on the table. “It’s like they give us enough to form a picture; they give us the hair, the height, the weapon, then they stop. Like something cuts the conversation off before it goes too far.”
Tatsuchi shifted her weight slightly. “Or they’re just scared. This is Harpyra. People here are born scared and die terrified.” “They are,” Zhenyu agreed. “But it feels controlled. It feels like a script they don’t know they're reading.” 

Tatsuchi looked back at the body. The man's face was frozen in a mask of surprise rather than agony. That was the most disturbing part. He had not seen death coming until it was already inside him. For a second, the room felt smaller than it was. The walls seemed to lean in, the smell of formaldehyde and old blood becoming an unbearable weight. She could feel it again. That pressure she hated. The feeling that the situation was moving without her permission. The atmosphere of the town was like a rising tide, and she was standing on a beach that was rapidly disappearing.

Like she was reacting instead of just acting. That was what bothered her most. She was supposed to be the one who dictated the pace. She was the daughter of Yuta Kuroainaru, a name that carried the weight of the world. She was not supposed to be a leaf in the wind; she was supposed to be the storm.

Not this place.

Not a town like Kokohama. Her hand moved slightly toward her face before she stopped herself. The scar along her left side always reacted before she did. A reminder that she had already lost more than once before. Brass, Graham, who was next?  Their names left a bitter taste in her mouth. All it takes is one mistake, one opening, one second she did not fully commit to, and it would carve itself into her permanently. He had been faster than he looked, his blade a blur of silver and malice. She had underestimated the reach of his spirit, and he had punished her for it with a cruelty that still made her skin crawl. She hated that more than the pain. The pain had faded into a dull throb, but the memory of being weak, of being slow, remained as sharp as the day it happened.

Zhenyu spoke again, softer this time. “You’re doing it again.” Tatsuchi didn’t look at him. “Doing what?” “Inner monologuing. Replaying the tapes of all your L’s.” “I’m not.” she smiled a bit. But her voice did not match the answer. It was too tight, too defensive. Zhenyu watched her for a moment before continuing. He had a way of looking through people, as if he were analyzing the flow of their soul rather than the expression on their face. “You’re treating this like it’s something you can outmuscle if you find the right angle. You are looking for a neck to break, Tatsuchi.”

Tatsuchi finally looked at him. Her deep purple eyes reflected the dim fluorescent lights as they flickered violently for a second. “That’s because it usually is.” “No,” he said. “That’s because it usually responds to you. This does not. This isn't a brawl in a back alley. This is something deeper, something fragile.” That landed differently. Not like an insult, more like a correction she didn’t ask for.The morgue manager slowly stepped away, sensing the shift in the room. He could feel the weight of their conversation, the way the air seemed to vibrate between them. He slipped into the back room, leaving them alone with the dead victim. Tatsuchi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I still have a bounty on my head,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. 

“No criminal worth half their salt have forgotten, and I bet you that the local gangs are going to be looking for any chance to turn us in.” Zhenyu didn’t react. He had heard this a thousand times. “And the last time we ran into the Revolutionary Army,” she continued, “we barely walked away from it. Brass had us pinned in that s snow bank across from the gas station. If it weren't for that Mosa girl taking Brass back to whatever place the revolutionaries stay, we would probably be heads on pikes right now.”

The silence was louder than the static coming from the lights above. “That should not have happened,” she added quietly. “I should’ve read his movements, predicted his attacks. I should have felt his Zyn before they were within a mile of us.” Zhenyu’s voice was calm, a stark contrast to her mounting frustration. “But you didn't. We aren't above being knocked down a peg, Tatsuchi. Even the strongest steel can be bent if the heat is high enough.”

Tatsuchi scoffed. “Barely. We got out by the skin of our teeth. What if you had decided to finish us off? What if the Tomidoru hadn't arrived when they did? I don’t like relying on luck.” The silence ran through the room again.

The rain outside tapped harder against the windows, a rhythmic drumming that sounded like marching feet. The sound of Kokohama felt like the sound of something approaching, something inevitable. Tatsuchi’s gaze drifted back toward the body. She looked at the jagged wounds and tried to imagine the hand that made them. Was it a human? A beast? Her voice lowered slightly, losing some of its edge and replacing it with raw honesty. “If I was stronger, I would have already ended this.” Zhenyu didn’t answer right away, he knew this loop. He knew the way she gnawed on her own inadequacies like a dog with a bone.

Tatsuchi continued anyway, the words spilling out like blood from a fresh wound. “I would have found Kyosuke Mori already. I would've forced him into the open. I would not be standing here looking at a corpse that doesn't even match the story we were given. I would be standing over his body, finishing the job the the other Guards could not.” Her hand curled slightly, her knuckles turning white. “I would've taken the bounty off my head. I would have dealt with the Revolutionary Army. I would've already fixed all of it. I wouldn't be hiding in a disgusting place like this, waiting for the rain to stop.”

A beat passed.

Then she added, quieter, almost to herself.“That’s what strength is supposed to mean. The ability to dictate the world's shape.” Zhenyu finally spoke. He stepped around the table and stood directly in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Who told you that?” Tatsuchi blinked once. “What?” “Who told you strength is supposed to fix everything immediately? Who told you that being a Kuroainaru meant you were a god of outcomes? Your grandfather?” Tatsuchi did not answer. Because nobody had told her.

It was just how the world had treated her so far. She had been the prodigy, the one who moved faster, hit harder, and saw the gaps in the enemy's defense before they even formed. Success had been her baseline, and failure felt like a betrayal of her very nature. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders refusing to break. “I come from the strongest clan in the world,” she said instead, clinging to the name like a shield. “That name is not supposed to mean hesitation. It’s supposed to mean the end of the conversation.”Zhenyu nodded slightly. “It drives pressure, It holds the weight of a dark sky, but even the sky has to wait for the clouds to clear before it can show its stars.”
Tatsuchi looked at him. He was being poetic again. He usually did that when he was trying to distract her from a looming breakdown. 

She thought it was lame. But, he wasn't wrong. But hearing it said out loud made it heavier. It acknowledged the weight she was carrying, which made it impossible to pretend it was not there.Her fingers brushed near her scar again before she stopped herself. The skin there was cold. “I trained for this,” she said, her voice regaining some of its steel. “I spent years locked away in my family estate training to be better, breathing in the blood that stained the training grounds to be better.” Tatsuchi looked back up from th floor at Zhenyu, now with tears starting to form in her eyes. “Why am I not better?”

Zhenyu replied, “I know. You were practically raised to think you were above everybody else, and for the most part you've been going through every one of our missions with ease. Was something changed whenever that man's name was revealed. And I know it's not my fault but I somehow feel like I'm part of the problem. Just because I hold the same blood of that man.” “It's not your fault, it's just, I’m supposed to be able to handle this. I am supposed to be the one who can solve the impractical. And yet here we are, working in a morgue while the killer walks the streets in the rain.”That line hit deeper than she expected.Tatsuchi looked away slightly, her teary gaze landing on a jar of murky fluid on a shelf. For the first time since they arrived in Kokohama, she did not have a clean answer ready. 

Not a plan, not a retort, and barely any direction, not even one she could lie with. Zhenyu stepped closer to the table again, his attention returning to the mangled corpse. He seemed to have reached a conclusion, his eyes sharpening. “Hold on a minute Tatsu, here’s something else,” he said. Tatsuchi frowned slightly, her internal turmoil pushed aside by her professional instincts. “The town itself doesn't behave naturally, why would the bodies of the people?” She sighed, a long, weary sound. “You already said that. The people are quiet, they're scared, we get it.”

“I mean it differently now.” That made her look back. Zhenyu’s expression was more focused than before. “The reactions are too synchronized,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Not just fear. Timing, silence, when people stop talking, they stop all together. When they avoid a topic, they avoid it in the same way. I don't think It’s just a social habit.” Tatsuchi crossed her arms again. The air in the room felt like it was thickening, becoming like syrup. “So what, you think the entire town is in on it? That they're all part of some grand conspiracy to keep us from finding one man that's been going around killing people with a dagger?”

“I think the town is part of the mechanism,” he replied. “I think something evil might have taken root here. Every street, every house, every body, everything here feels like it's been planned from the moment we got here.” That sounded like Zhenyu again. Too precise, and too detached. He saw the world in grids and flows, while she saw it in strikes and parries. “Haven't you noticed that for the exception of us not finding the killer, everything feels like it's been pointing us into direction to find him and get rid of him? But why?”

Tatsuchi clicked her tongue. “You’re starting to sound like you’re building theories instead of finding facts.” Zhenyu didn’t deny it. He reached down and gently closed the empty eyelids of the dead man. “I’m doing both. In a place like this, a theory is the only fact that matters.” A silence settled again. It was a heavy, suffocating thing. Tatsuchi looked at the body one last time.

Thirteen deaths.

No answers that held.

No clear enemy she could actually put her hands on.

No one to challenge to a duel, or anyone to overwhelm with the sheer force of her will. And worse than all of it, the feeling that she was being forced to move at someone else’s pace. She was a piece on a board she could not see, moved by a hand she could not feel. She hated that feeling more than anything. Because it meant strength was not leading. And for the first time in her life, Tatsuchi Kuroainaru felt something she did not like admitting even internally. It was not the sharp sting of fear or the hollow ache of doubt. It was something more insidious, something closer to frustration with herself. A realization that the world was wider and more complex than what her blade could cut through.

Not strong enough yet.

Not fast enough yet.

Not enough yet.

The words echoed in her mind, timed to the beat of the rain on the roof and and the beating heart in her chest. Zhenyu’s voice broke the silence, pulling her back from the precipice of her own thoughts. “Maybe we should get moving soon. Asumi isn't back yet and the energy residue near the canal might get washed away by the rain.” Tatsuchi nodded thought for a moment, she had an idea but there was no way she was right. So she kept quiet for the time being.
“Yeah.” But she didn't move immediately, her eyes lingered on the body for a second longer than necessary. She looked at the jagged tears in the man's chest and wondered if he had even realized he was dying, or if the town had simply decided his time was up. 

Then she turned away, her coat swishing against her legs. Outside, the rain had not changed. It was still the same grey, persistent drizzle that blurred the lines of the world. It did not wash away the blood; it just diluted it, spreading the stain across the stones until the whole town tasted like copper. It just kept falling like it always had, indifferent to the bodies on the tables or the two shadows moving through the mist, looking for a truth that the town was determined to keep buried for a reason unknown.

Tatsuchi stepped out into the wet street, the cold air hitting her face. She adjusted her collar, the scar on her face feeling like a cold brand. She did not look back at the morgue. She looked forward, into the gloom of the town, where the buildings huddled together like mourners. "Zhenyu," she said, her voice barely audible over the rain. "Yes?" "When we find him... do not get in my way." Zhenyu, once again, didn't answer, he didn't have to. He just walked beside her, his footsteps making no sound at all on the sodden sand.
The town of Kokohama watched them as they walked. From behind shuttered windows and cracked doors, the feeling of a thousand eyes followed their progress. No one spoke, no one waved, they just waited. 

 

Tatsuchi tightened her grip on the hilt of her blade beneath her coat. She could feel the pulse of her own heart, a steady, burning ember in the cold. It was not enough to light up the town, but it was enough to keep her moving. For now, that would have to be enough.

The further they walked, the more the town seemed to warp. The streets became narrower, the sandstone darker. The weeping willows hung their branches like tangled hair, dripping with the grey tears of the sky. Tatsuchi didn’t speak. She was focusing on the rhythm of the rain. If she could find the gap between the drops, maybe she could find the gap in the killer's defense. 
They crossed the bridge and slid into the canal where the thirteenth body had been found. The cement was slick and treacherous. Below, the water of the canal was black and thick, moving with a sluggish, unnatural energy. It did not splash against the corpse; it thudded, a heavy sound that matched the beating of a slow, giant heart.

“Stop,” Tatsuchi whispered. She stood still, her senses straining. The rain had not stopped, but the sound had changed. The tapping on the roofs was gone. The splashing in the gutters had vanished. There was only the silence of the canal, and the sound of a single pair of footsteps approaching from the mist ahead. Slow but deliberate. Each step ringing out like a bell in an empty cathedral. The pressure of the sky flared slightly, a sudden wave of heat that pushed the mist back a few feet. Zhenyu slowly crouched near the edge of the canal, his fingers hovering over the black water without touching it. His expression tightened almost immediately.

“…That’s wrong,” he muttered.

Tatsuchi kept her eyes forward. “You finally narrowed it down?” “I’m serious.” His voice had changed. Less sarcastic, more focused. Tatsuchi glanced down toward him. Zhenyu’s dark hazel eyes were narrowed now, tracing the flow of energy drifting off the water like smoke. “There are two signatures here,” he said quietly. “One has to belong to the killer.” “And the other?” asked Tatsuchi. Zhenyu stayed silent for half a second too long. “The victims.” Tatsuchi frowned slightly. “That’s normal, so what's the issue?”

“No,” he replied. “It isn’t.” He finally touched the surface of the water. The black liquid trembled. For a brief second, Tatsuchi felt it too. A pulse. Something rotten hidden underneath the current. It brushed against her senses like wet fur dragged across skin. Her face tightened immediately. The energy coming from the canal was violent.

Not desperate.

Not afraid.

Hungry.

The sensation hit her hard enough that her hand instinctively moved toward her blade. “…That’s not human, it can't be.” she said quietly. Zhenyu nodded once. “The killer’s energy is sharp and fueled with intent.” His eyes drifted toward the corpse further down the canal. “But the victims…” He looked disturbed saying it. “They’re worse.”

Tatsuchi looked back toward the water. Now that she focused properly, she could feel it clearly. The energy leaking off the corpse was thick with bloodlust. Violent. Animalistic. Like the body itself wanted to keep killing even after death. The canal water suddenly made sense. It was contaminated. Whatever was leaking out of the corpses was poisoning the water itself. The black sludge moved beneath them, carrying traces of that murderous pressure through the canal veins of Kokohama.

Zhenyu slowly stood back up. “…The killer wasn’t hunting normal people, This energy slightly matches up with the other twelve corpses.” But before Tatsuchi could answer, something let out a low, wet growl. Deep enough that they felt it in their ribs more than heard it. Both of them turned instantly toward the sewer tunnel connected to the canal wall.

Darkness.

Nothing at first. Then two glowing white eyes appeared far inside the tunnel like static. That was the only way Tatsuchi could describe them. They looked like old television screens filled with white noise, flickering endlessly inside hollow sockets. Then the teeth appeared. Rows of them. Long and jagged. Dense enough to look unnatural. Each tooth, almost the size of a banana. The creature slowly leaned forward from the darkness.

Tall.

At least ten feet. Its arms dragged against the sewer floor behind it with a slow scraping sound. Long ears stretched upward above its skull like twisted antennae. Neither Tatsuchi nor Zhenyu moved a single inch. The thing stared at them. Growling softly. Not cautious, angry. Tatsuchi felt her muscles tighten automatically, but something stopped her from drawing her blade. Instinct. A deeper part of her brain screaming not to break eye contact. Beside her, Zhenyu spoke without moving his eyes.

“...Skinwalker….”

It was the only logical conclusion. Even though they haven't been seen in over a thousand years, both knew without the shadow of a doubt that this was a skinwalker. The beast’s static-filled eyes flickered slightly at the sound of the word. Then it slowly began stepping backward into the darkness. One step at a time. Never turning around. Never blinking. Never taking its eyes off them. Its long arms dragged through the shallow sewer water with a horrible scraping sound as the growling continued deep in its throat. Tatsuchi’s grip tightened around her weapon. The thing disappeared inch by inch into the tunnel until only the glowing white eyes remained. Then, those vanished too. 

Silence returned immediately.

Only rain. Only the thick black canal. Zhenyu exhaled slowly for what felt like the first time in minutes. “…Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “The killer definitely isn’t the biggest problem in this town, do you think that could have been it?” Tatsuchi looked back at Zhenyu. 

“The killer? Or the victims?”

From the grey curtain of rain, a figure slowly emerged. Tall, with brown hair that shifted softly despite the still air. His face carried the same history of violence as Tatsuchi’s, scars and old wounds carved into him like records of war. A man known only by one name.

Ryuzuki.

In his hand rested a black dagger. As he moved, the metal flickered strangely, its edges blurring into thousands of tiny serrated points that seemed to vibrate against the rain itself. Now, it felt like the town was waiting for the show to begin. Tatsuchi stepped forward, her shoes splashing in a puddle that felt like blood. She didn't feel the weight of the rain anymore. She didn't feel the heaviness of the town. She only felt the edge of her own soul, sharpening itself against the coming dark. "Thirteen," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. The man with the dagger stopped. He looked at her, his eyes empty of everything but a cold, predatory curiosity. Nobody saw him. It was as if he blended into the storm itself.

"The numbers don't matter anymore," she said, her voice like the grinding of stones. Tatsuchi drew her blade. The sound of steel on scabbard was the only honest thing left in the town. The rain kept falling, but for the first time in two weeks, it felt like it was finally washing something away. Zhenyu stepped back. The air between Tatsuchi and the stranger began to hum. The spiritual density reached a breaking point, the atmosphere vibrating with the promise of violence. The world held its breath. The killer had not believed he had been seen. Then, Tatsuchi turned around and slashed her sword.

“Lirio Ardiente!”

The first strike was a blur of silver, a horizontal arc intended to test the stranger's reach. He did not flinch. He raised a massive slab of metal, and the collision rang out with a force that shattered the nearby sand. The shockwave rippled through the rain, momentarily clearing a circle of dry air around them. He was heavy. He was solid. He was exactly the kind of wall Tatsuchi loved to tear down. "A Kuroainaru," the man spat, his voice rang with a familiar tone. "You think your pedigree protects you here?" Tatsuchi did not answer with words. She gave chase to the masked man, her movements fluid and predatory, using the momentum of the first strike to launch a flurry of vertical slashes. Her blade was a streak of lightning in the storm, each blow aimed at the gaps in his heavy stance. But he was faster than he looked. The dagger moved with a lightness, shifting from a broad shield to a serrated edge in the blink of an eye. He was not just blocking; he was parrying with a precision that reminded her, painfully, of Brass.

The memory of the scar on her face burned. She pushed harder. Her energy surged, a dark, oppressive weight that mirrored the name of her clan. The ground beneath her feet cracked as she channeled her Zyn energy into her legs, launching a thrust that carried the force of a falling mountain. The stranger caught the tip of her blade between two of the serrated teeth on his weapon. He twisted his wrist, the metal screeching as he tried to snap her katana.

Tatsuchi did not pull back. She leaned into the tension, her face inches from his. "You talk too much for me." she hissed. She released her grip on the hilt with one hand, slamming a palm-strike into his chest. The impact was boosted by a concentrated burst of Zyn, a spark of white energy that sent the man stumbling back into the mist. His movements were strange. Too light for somebody who should be carrying that much killing intent. It felt more like… revenge, or regret. His feet barely seemed to touch the flooded stone as he sprinted through the sands. Tatsuchi immediately chased after him. “Get back here!” she shouted. Water exploded beneath her shoes as she launched herself over the canal railing and down into the path above. Zhenyu followed close behind, his blade, Nanpō no Oni, already drawn at his side. 

Ryuzuki glanced back once. Then he slammed his dagger against the wall beside him. “Firework Impact!” The blade erupted. Almost in slow motion, orange sparks burst outward like fireworks detonating in the night sky, scattering across the narrow path with enough force to crater the hardened sand beneath their feet wherever they landed. Tatsuchi’s instincts screamed.

CLANG.

She swung immediately, knocking one of the sparks away with her katana. The impact nearly twisted her wrist sideways. Her eyes widened. The sparks had weight. Like, actual weight. Like somebody had thrown a full grown man directly into her blade. Another spark tore toward Zhenyu’s arm.

CLANG.

Nanpō no Oni intercepted it cleanly, but the force shoved him half a step backward through the shallow water as he ran. “They’re compressed sparks with a delayed impact!” Zhenyu shouted while sprinting beside her. “Do NOT try to tank them!” Ryuzuki kept retreating deeper down the path, never slowing down. He was getting closer and closer back to the town. Every few steps, his dagger screeched against the walls or ground, sending another violent spray of sparks behind him. The entire canal flashed an array of colours. Tatsuchi pushed forward anyway. “You’re annoying as hell!” she snapped, batting aside another spark that shattered a support beam behind her.

“Filo del Viento!”

The sands between them melted into glass. Fire sprayed into the air. Each glowing ember carried heavy amounts of mass behind it, turning every collision into a miniature cannon blast. Zhenyu’s eyes narrowed as he deflected three more in rapid succession.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

“His Zyn is converting friction into kinetic force,” he realized aloud. “The sparks are physicalized momentum!” “Nerd! Talk that fancy crap later!” Tatsuchi yelled. Ryuzuki suddenly vaulted over a collapsed section of the path's wall, disappearing briefly into the rain ahead. Tatsuchi followed without hesitation. The second she landed, another burst of sparks exploded directly into her face.

“Firework Impact!” She crossed her blade instantly.

BOOM.

The impact launched her backward across the wet sandstone hard enough to leave trenches behind her shoes. Her arms vibrated violently from the force. Ryuzuki still did not stop moving. He was trying to escape. That realization hit Zhenyu immediately. “He’s not trying to kill us,” he said sharply. Tatsuchi spit rainwater onto the ground. “No shit, don't you I've noticed!” “No. Listen to me. He’s creating distance on purpose. He’s leading us somewhere. ”That made her expression darken instantly. Ahead of them, Ryuzuki vanished deeper into the mist filled streets of Kokohama while sparks continued exploding through the darkness like distant fireworks during a funeral.

He did not fall. He skidded across the wet stones, his heavy boots carving deep grooves in the sandstone. He laughed, a dry, hacking sound that had no joy in it. "Strength," he mocked, echoing her own thoughts from the morgue. "You think strength is a hammer. You think you can just pound the world until it fits your shape." He stood upright, his brown hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. He held his weapon aloft, and the pressure in the street shifted. It was not just coming from him anymore.

It was coming from the houses. From the people, from the very ground they stood upon. "This town doesn't fit your shape, Tatsuchi Kuroainaru," he shouted over the rising wind. "It fits mine!" The serrated edges of his blade began to spin. Not physically, but spiritually, a vortex of tearing energy that shredded the raindrops before they could touch the metal. He charged, no longer running. Tatsuchi braced herself. She could feel Zhenyu's eyes on her, watching the flow. She knew he was seeing the patterns she was too busy fighting to notice. She knew he was seeing the way the town's energy was feeding the killer, a constant stream of darkness flowing from the architecture into the man's soul.

She didn't care. They met in the center of the town, the impact of their blades sending a spray of rain water back into the air. The wood beneath them groaned and splintered. Tatsuchi felt the serrated edge of his weapon catch the shoulder of her coat, tearing through the heavy leather and grazing the skin beneath. It was not a clean cut. It was a jagged, burning sensation that felt like ice and fire at the same time. She did not flinch. She ignored the pain, focusing on the narrow window of opportunity his over extension had created.

She dropped low, her blade sweeping in a wide, low circle. He jumped, but he was not fast enough to clear the arc entirely. The tip of her katana bit into his calf, a shallow but significant wound that spilled his blood onto the street. He groaned, his movements faltering for a fraction of a second. That was all she needed. Tatsuchi lunged again, her spirit flaring to its absolute limit. The streaks of white in her hair growing by the moment. The air around her turned black, a manifestation of that same power she had dipped into back in Condoran. Her blade found his chest. Not a ragged tear, but a precise, killing thrust. The stranger's eyes widened. For a moment, the empty curiosity was replaced by a genuine shock.

Then he smiled.

"Thirteen," he whispered.

His body dissolved into water. His dagger clattered onto the stone pavement. But it wasn't the same, it was now a mundane piece of rusted iron that looked like it had not been sharpened in a century.
The pressure in the air snapped. The density of the town vanished in an instant, leaving behind only the smell of wet stone and old wood once again. As the rain slowed, the persistent, omen like tapping turned into a gentle, mundane drizzle. Tatsuchi and Zhenyu still stood in the center of the town, her chest heaving, her blood dripping from her shoulder onto the splintered sands. She looked at the rusted iron at her feet, then at the empty space where the man had been. Zhenyu stepped out from the shadows. 

He looked at the weapon, then at Tatsuchi.

"It was him," he said quietly. Tatsuchi wiped the rain from her eyes. "I know." "Even though it was a fake.” Tatsuchi looked at her hands. They were shaking, just a little. Not from fear. From the sheer volume of Zyn energy she had just channeled.
"Thirteen," she repeated. "The number of people in this town I failed by not being stronger.” Tatsuchi looked up at the rooftops of Kokohama. They just looked like old houses in a tired town. The honesty of the decay was back. But the weight was gone. "So we lost," she said, her voice flat. "We survived," Zhenyu corrected. "And we found the truth. Kyosuke Mori is not in Kokohama. Which means that the killer is definitely not him." Tatsuchi sheathed her blade. The sound was final. 

She had not outmuscled the problem. She had played her part in someone else's script. But she had seen the hand that wrote it. And next time, she would not be the pen. She would be the fire that burned the page. "Let's go," she said. "Where?"

"Back to the Inn. Back to Asumi if she's home yet." She turned and walked toward the edge of Kokohama, her damp coat heavy on her shoulders. She did not look back. The rain kept falling, soft and persistent. “Now we have a name and we got a good look at the man, it was cocky for him to try and spy on us.” Said Tatsuchi. Zhenyu didn't say a word. The rain kept falling. Seemingly getting heavier with each step. There was so much of it now.

Enough to wash the town clean.

Just enough to make everything feel heavier.