Chapter 4 - Slaughter

Kinkaku-ji
Kita Ward, Kyoto
5:12 p.m.

Gate Agent Dara Chantarat—codename Garuda—moved silently through the trees behind the Buddhist temple. The wooded grounds provided cover for her.

Unfortunately, they offered the Yamikoko-ra the same advantage.

The tourists had fled as soon as the gates opened. Many had not made it. Their broken bodies lay scattered across the sacred grounds.

The monks had fought back as best they could. Their chanting had even raised a barrier around the pavilion for a time.

But it had not lasted.

Dara had not arrived soon enough.

These Yamikoko-ra were different. They rarely emerged in such large numbers, and they normally took greater care to conceal their violence.

Not today.

Gates had opened throughout Kyoto. Gate Agents from across Asia had been summoned to contain the incursion. Dara had entered the Locker Room in Thailand and opened another door here.

Her gate had deposited her beside one of the enemy’s gathering points.

She tightened her grip on her twin daab.

Crows had already gathered in the parking area, waiting for the feast to begin.That hadn’t taken long.

The Yamikoko-ra were still nearby. She could feel them watching.

To her left hung an open gate to the Shadow State - a towering rectangle with wavering edges. Within its borders, the world had been drained of color.

To her right, the temple pond rippled beneath the afternoon breeze. Tiny waves lapped against the bank. A dragonfly buzzed past her.

Dara refused to move deeper into the trees. The undergrowth would restrict her blades and leave her no room to maneuver.

Somewhere behind her, a shishi-odoshi tipped and emptied.

Clack.

A crow cried out.

The attack came.

A Yamikoko-ra erupted from a stone well, his short sword flashing in the late-afternoon sunlight.

Dara did not turn toward him immediately.

He was a distraction. One Yamikoko-ra alone could not have caused this much destruction.

He charged, slashing wildly.

Dara pivoted at the last instant. One daab caught his blade while the other swept upward.

The second blade sliced cleanly through his sword arm.

The severed limb struck the brick path, its hand still gripping the weapon.

Dara knew the Yamikoko-ra could regenerate the limb, but only after returning to the Shadow State.

Best to finish him before he got the chance.

The creature swiped at her with its remaining arm, then flipped backward to put distance between them.

Dara swept one daab low and cut both legs out from under him.

The one-armed torso crashed onto the path. Before he could move, her second blade flashed across his throat.

His head rolled away.

Dara snapped both daab downward, flinging black ichor from their edges.

Someone began to clap.

Slowly.

Mockingly.

Her head snapped toward the sound.

A massive Yamikoko-ra stepped from behind one of the temple buildings. A thick scar began above one eyebrow and curved across his face to his chin. Black body armor encased him, reinforced with silver-plated steel. Resting across one shoulder was a double-headed greataxe.

Shit.

Dara knew him.

Yashiro Kagenobu.

The Iron Fang.

He was as tough as they came.

Several Yamikoko-ra followed him into the open. Each was armed. Each held a human hostage.

Dara briefly considered opening a gate to the Locker Room.

She dismissed the thought immediately.

Every Gate Agent capable of reinforcing her was already fighting somewhere else in Kyoto. Even if help had been available, the hostages would die before it arrived.

She could not abandon them. That was the job.

Six lives through the loop had taught her at least that much.

Besides, the Iron Fang did not take hostages without a reason.

“So,” he said, his voice dark and rough, “which Gate Agent are you?”

“The one who’s going to kill you.”

His scar twisted as he smiled. “And how many times have you been through the loop?”

Dara went still.

How does he know about the loop?

This was bad.

Really bad.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yashiro. Release the hostages and face me.”

“You know who I am, but you haven’t answered either of my questions.”

“All you need to know is that I’m not someone you should provoke.”

“I only want a conversation.”

“And I only want your head.”

“Are you sure you want this to become unpleasant?”

Dara glanced at the prisoners. “If I agree to talk, will you release them?”

The Iron Fang considered her offer. Then his lips peeled back from his fangs.

“I agree to free them when our conversation is finished.”

“Then speak.”

He moved closer, his greataxe still resting on his shoulder.

“You’re wondering how I know about the loop.”

Dara said nothing.

“No matter. What matters is that I know about it.” His smile widened. “I also know the significance of the number seventeen.”

Dara could not stop herself from flinching.

Knowledge of the loop was dangerous enough. But the age limit was supposed to be known only to the Gate Agents and the PDC.

“Ah,” he said. “That got your attention.”

Dara tightened her grip on her blades.

“Have you ever wondered why your life—if it can be called a life—dissolves when you turn seventeen?”

“Every day.”

“The Regent has wondered the same thing. He would like to discuss it with you.”

“How would any Yamikoko-ra know about Gate Agent business?”

The Iron Fang lowered his axe from his shoulder.

“Because the Regent used to be one of you.”

The words struck Dara harder than a blow.

A Gate Agent had defected to the Shadow State?

Impossible.

Even if one had betrayed the PDC, how could an Agent have survived past seventeen? And why had the others never been warned?

No. It had to be a lie. Somehow, the Yamikoko-ra had learned fragments of the truth and were using them to lure Agents into a trap.

“Who is the Regent?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Agree to meet with him, and everything will become clear.”

Dara looked from the Iron Fang to the hostages.

If she went with him, she would be walking willingly into the Shadow State.

If she refused, the civilians would die.

There was no good choice, and she was running out of time.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go.”

“Excellent. Drop your swords, and we’ll be on our way.”

“No.”

His brow lifted. “What?”

“My weapons come with me. If His Eminence truly wants a peaceful conversation, that shouldn’t be a problem.” She raised her daab slightly. “If you behave, I’ll behave.”

“Drop the daab. Otherwise, this will go badly.”

“It already has. I agreed to meet your master, and you still haven’t released the hostages.”

“Oh, yes.” The Iron Fang looked toward his soldiers. “I did promise to free them, didn’t I?”

He nodded to the nearest Yamikoko-ra.

Before Dara could move, the creature tore out its hostage’s throat.

Blood sprayed across the sacred path.

The Iron Fang grinned from ear to ear.

“There. She’s free from every problem she’ll ever have.”

“You bastard! You gave me your word!”

“I said I would free them. I never said what I would free them from.”

He turned to his soldiers.

“Free them all.”

The hostages screamed.

The Yamikoko-ra fell upon them.

Dara charged.

A soldier intercepted her, slashing with a pair of kukri. Their weapons collided, steel ringing above the screams of the dying.

“This could have been avoided if you’d simply dropped your swords,” the Iron Fang said as he brushed a speck of dust from his armor.

The last hostage collapsed in a blood-soaked heap.

Rage threatened to destroy Dara’s discipline. She forced it down and studied her opponent instead.

Left. Right. Pause.

Left. Right. Pause.

She found his rhythm.

Then she broke it.

One daab knocked both kukri aside. The other plunged into the Yamikoko-ra’s heart. The blow staggered him long enough for her to wrench the first blade free and take off his head.

Dara drove both daab into the headless corpse, freeing her hands. Reaching beneath her jacket, she drew a pair of fully automatic pistols.

She opened fire.

Shadow-marked rounds tore through the remaining Yamikoko-ra. The soldiers jerked beneath the impacts and collapsed, dead before they struck the ground.

The pistols clicked empty, their slides locking open.

Twelve rounds gone. Twelve rounds that could never be replaced—only recovered.

Worth it.

Dara tossed the pistols aside and pulled her daab from the corpse.

“I freed your soldiers, too.”

The Iron Fang sighed.

“Well, I suppose this was unavoidable.” He hefted his greataxe. “I wanted to kill you and eat your liver anyway.”

Dara lowered herself into a fighting stance.

The Iron Fang raised his axe above his head.

“Time to die, sweetheart!” he roared.

He charged, moving far faster than anything his size should have been able to move.

His axe crashed down.

The ancient paving stones exploded beneath its edge, spraying shards and dust across the courtyard. Dara leapt aside and felt the blade’s passage disturb the air beneath her boots.

She landed several feet away and dropped back into a fighting stance.

“Sloppy, Yashiro. I thought you were supposed to be good.” She rolled one shoulder and raised her daab. “Maybe I should’ve saved some bullets for you.”

The Iron Fang wrenched his axe from the shattered path and turned to face her.

“What a waste that would’ve been.” He smiled. “Perhaps I’ll make you my slave instead.”

“I’ll die first.”

“You’ll love every minute of it.”

They rushed each other.

Axe and daab collided in a shower of supernatural sparks. The force of the impact shuddered through Dara’s arms, but she turned with it and slashed at his throat. Yashiro caught the blow on the axe’s haft, drove his shoulder into her chest, and hurled her backward.

Dara twisted in the air, landed hard, and charged again.

Steel rang through the courtyard.

She cut high. He blocked.

She reversed one blade toward his ribs. The axe head swept down and knocked it aside.

Every opening Dara found vanished beneath the Iron Fang’s weapon. Every mistake she tried to force him into became a trap for her instead.

At last, they sprang apart.

Shallow cuts marked them both. Bruises darkened Dara’s skin beneath her torn clothes, and blood trickled from a gash along Yashiro’s jaw.

“You’re not bad, girl.”

“I told you.” Dara fought to steady her breathing. “I’m the one who’s going to kill you.”

“Then I suppose I should start taking this seriously.”

He hefted his axe.

A cold realization settled over her.

He’s been playing with me.“Be thankful you aren’t facing Lady Tsukikage,” he continued. “You’re pretty. She wouldn’t have wasted time talking to you. She would have seen you as a threat to her place beside the Regent and killed you outright. Orders be damned.”

“What makes you think I couldn’t take her?”

“She’s stronger than I am.”

“And?”

His grin disappeared.

“And I’m about to finish this.”

He moved.

Dara barely saw him.

One instant he stood across the courtyard. The next, his axe was sweeping toward her chest.

Her daab came up in a crossed guard. The broad axe head struck them with impossible force and smashed them apart.

Its edge buried itself in her chest.

Dara’s eyes widened.

She coughed, spraying blood across Yashiro’s armor.

He tore the axe free.

Her swords slipped from her hands and clattered onto the stones. Strength vanished from her body, as though every mechanism inside her had shut down at once.

She collapsed onto her knees.

Where is it?

A mortal wound should have triggered the glow—the first sign that her body was entering its three-decade sleep.

But no warmth spread through her. No light rose beneath her skin.

Nothing.

Why isn’t it happening?

Then the pain arrived.

Dara had never felt anything like it. Tears spilled from her eyes and mixed with the blood running down her chest.

Is this what ordinary humans feel?

Oh God, it hurt.

“This is it, Gate Agent,” the Iron Fang said. “No sleep. No more looping. How does it feel?”

“Fuck you,” Dara spat.

“Yes. I thought it might be something like that.”

He turned and began walking away.

“Don’t worry.” He looked back over his shoulder, smiling. “By the end of the day, more Gate Agents will be joining you.”

The Iron Fang walked to the gate and stepped into the Shadow State. Its darkness melted shut behind him, and he was gone.

The courtyard fell silent.

Somewhere nearby, the shishi-odoshi filled, tipped, and struck stone with a hollow clack.It was the last sound Dara heard.

She pitched forward and fell into the blackness of death.

                                                                 ***

Gion
Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto
5:34 p.m.

I eased through the Locker Room door, my sword held ready. Shizuki followed, gripping the Calico in both hands a little too tightly.

She glanced nervously along the street, then stopped.

“I know where we are. This is Hanamikoji Street.”

“Yeah. In a situation like this, the Locker Room drops us where it thinks we can do the most good.”Shizuki frowned as she surveyed the empty street.

“Where is everyone? There should be hundreds of people here.”

“That’s what worries me.” I listened for movement beyond the darkened storefronts. “Maybe I should send you back to the Locker Room.”

“I already told you. Wherever you go, I go.”

“Then remember—you’ve only got those three magazines.”

“Can’t we go back to the Locker Room for more?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because there aren’t any more.”

She looked down at the Calico. “There has to be ammunition in that place. It had an entire wall of guns.”

“Plenty of ammunition. Just not ammunition that’ll kill a Yamikoko-ra.”

Her gaze returned to me. “What’s different about this?”

“Not the gun. The cartridges.” I nodded toward the magazine mounted beneath the Calico. “The weapon came from this side. Those rounds didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ordinary weapons can hurt things from the Shadow State. Slow them down, maybe. But they won’t keep them down. To kill one, you need a weapon forged in the Shadow State—or something marked by death there.”

Shizuki’s grip loosened slightly. “Marked by death?”

“Over the years, gates have opened all over the world. The things on the other side dragged people through—soldiers, police, civilians. Sometimes whole vehicles like supply trucks and wagons. Then they slaughtered the people.”

“And the weapons were changed?”

“The Shadow State preserves everything, but it heals nothing. Bodies don’t rot. Steel doesn’t rust. Powder doesn’t spoil.” I tapped the Calico’s receiver. “Anything caught close enough to a death takes on part of the Shadow State’s taint. A sword stays marked. So does a bullet.”

“But a bullet can only be used once.”

“Now you understand the problem.”

Shizuki looked down at the Calico again. “So, these three magazines—”

“Are all you have. Once they’re empty, that gun becomes an expensive club.”

“How many rounds are left in the Locker Room for other weapons?”

“Never enough.”

“Then why give this to me?”

I looked at her. “Because I’d rather run out of ammunition than attend your funeral.”

Shizuki was silent for a moment.

Then her expression changed.

“There’s something in them,” she said.

“In what?” I asked, confused.

“The bullets.” She touched the magazine with one finger. “I don’t know how to explain it. They feel…”

A distant scream cut through the street.

Shizuki swallowed.

“They feel like they remember.”

I studied her for a beat too long. What was she feeling?

Another scream rang out, closer this time.

“We’ll talk about that later,” I said.

“You know what it means?”

“No.” I started toward the sound. “And right now, not knowing is the least of our problems.”

Shizuki hurried after me. “What happens when I run out?”

“I have a hidden cache.”

“A cache of what?”

I tightened my grip on my sword.

“Something old.”

Wood exploded outward as a woman crashed through the boards covering one of the old building’s windows. She struck the brick street hard and rolled to a stop.

A Yamikoko-ra climbed through after her. Modern body armor encased its torso, and a katana hung at its waist.

The woman lay broken and bloody. I could see that she was barely breathing.

“Hey, shithead!”

The Yamikoko-ra turned toward Shizuki and me.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, asshole. What’s with ruining everybody’s good time? Just because you have a small dick doesn’t mean you have to take it out on everyone else.”

That ought to do it.

The creature’s gaze dropped to the sword in my hand.

“You’d better know how to use that,” it hissed.

“Sure. I stick the pointy end in you, and you die.” I grinned. “Same principle as when I stuck something pointy in your mother.”

Shizuki stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. Then understanding replaced the shock.

The Yamikoko-ra forgot the wounded woman completely.

It ripped the katana from its sheath and charged with a furious scream.

I met the attack and caught the katana on my liuyedao.

Steel rang against steel.

The Yamikoko-ra attacked again and again, driving me backward beneath a storm of blows. I parried one cut, turned aside another, and ducked beneath a slash meant to take off my head.

Then I gave it the opening it wanted.

The creature smashed through my guard. I let the impact turn me sideways and slammed into the wall hard enough to sell the mistake.

“Steele!”

Shizuki raised the Calico and tightened her finger on the trigger.

“No!”

The Yamikoko-ra surged toward me, katana raised for the killing blow.

I caught the blade on my liuyedao.

What it hadn’t seen was the death-marked Bowie knife I had drawn as I turned.

Exactly where I wanted it.

I drove the knife beneath the edge of its armor and deep into its chest.

The creature jerked.

I ripped the blade downward, opening its torso from chest to belly, then stepped away.

The Yamikoko-ra staggered forward. Its insides spilled across the bricks.

It took one more step, slipped in its own black offal, and collapsed.

I looked at Shizuki’s raised weapon.

“That,” I said, wrenching the Bowie knife free, “is why you don’t waste ammunition when a blade will do.”

I wiped the knife on the creature’s armor and hurried to the injured woman.

I knelt beside her. One glance told me there was nothing I could do. Her body was broken in too many places, each shallow breath weaker than the last.

“Damn it.”

Her chest rose once more, then went still.

Behind me, Shizuki’s breathing came quick and shallow. She was trying not to shake, but fear and adrenaline had taken hold. Her hands were locked around the Calico so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

I stood and put an arm around her.

“We’re not even two minutes into this,” I said softly. “It’s going to get worse. Let me send you back to the Locker Room. You shouldn’t have to see any more of it.”

She stared down at the dead woman. For a moment, I thought she might listen.

Then she straightened her shoulders.

“No.”

“Shizuki, these things—”

“No.”

There was no hesitation the second time. Nothing I said was going to change her mind.

“All right, tough chick. You stay with me.”

She looked up at me.

“Always.”

We moved cautiously down Hanamikoji Street, past the silent wooden facades.

                                                                           ***

Kyoto Station
Shimogyo Ward, Kyoto
5:48 p.m.

Mandu flicked the Yamikoko-ra’s black blood from his blades and surveyed the heap of corpses around him.

So many, he thought. They never come through in numbers like this.

He had already killed nine with his blades and had not yet needed his firearms. They had rushed him the moment he appeared in Muromachi-koji Square.

Across the station’s vast interior, the illuminated Grand Stairway cast an eerie, shifting glow over the carnage.

Mandu had no time to rest. Kyoto Station’s open design gave him a clear view of the destruction unfolding on the levels below. Yamikoko-ra hunted fleeing civilians through the concourses. Bodies lay scattered among abandoned bags and overturned signs.

This was a train station.

And he was a Gate Agent.

Mandu grinned.

“I guess it’s time to punch some more tickets.”

He sheathed his swords and vaulted over the railing, plunging into the station’s hollow center.Wind tore at his clothes as the concourse rushed toward him. Mandu thrust one hand downward, his fingers curling into a fist.

“Heavy Impact!”

He twisted in midair and struck the concourse like a falling shell.

Concrete erupted beneath him. The floor sank into a shallow crater as a circular shock wave ripped through the station. Abandoned luggage tumbled across the tiles. Signs shuddered on their mounts. Civilians staggered or fell to their knees, but the Yamikoko-ra were hurled from their feet.

The impact thundered through the station’s cavernous interior.Mandu came to rest on one knee, arms spread wide. A custom K5 pistol filled each hand.Every Yamikoko-ra on the concourse turned toward him.

Mandu smiled.

Exactly as planned.

The creatures regained their footing and charged.

Mandu rose slowly and opened fire.

He turned with deliberate precision, firing one pistol and then the other. Each shot cracked through the station like a thunderclap. Each shot dropped a Yamikoko-ra.

His extended magazines held twenty-four rounds apiece, but every cartridge was irreplaceable. Worse, he carried only one spare magazine for each pistol.

He chose every target. Every angle. Every trigger pull.

Then the last Yamikoko-ra collapsed.

Mandu lowered his weapons and counted.

Nine rounds in the left.

Eleven in the right.

Twenty shots before he had to reload. Forty-eight more after that.

Never enough.

He stepped over the nearest corpse and scanned the station for movement.

Now it was time to hunt.

                                                                             ***

Fukakusa Shirasunacho
Fushimi Ward, Kyoto
6:01 p.m.

Lei Zhao had not been pleased by the summons. He had enemies of his own to deal with in China, and being called to Kyoto had taken him away from them.

But after witnessing the devastation the Yamikoko-ra had inflicted on the city, he knew coming had been the right decision.

Lei was tall and muscular for fourteen. He had grown up near Shaolin Temple on Mount Song in Henan Province, where the monks had accepted him as a novice. His command of martial arts and understanding of Chan Buddhism had earned him a reputation as a prodigy.

His preferred weapon was a guandao recovered from the Shadow State. Beneath his robes, he also carried a Norinco Type 80.

He hated firearms. Some Gate Agents were highly skilled with them, but Lei considered them weapons of last resort.

He scanned the grove again. Dry leaves whispered across the ground like a distant tide, while hollow bamboo stalks knocked together in the wind. The growth was dense here, and—

There.

Lei reversed his guandao and struck a bamboo stalk with the shaft. The crack echoed through the grove.

That should get things started.

He heard movement almost immediately. The creatures were spreading out rather than converging on him.

Good. His trick had worked.

He waited.

Three sets of footsteps approached.

They came fast.

Lei was faster.

The guandao swept through the first two Yamikoko-ra, taking both heads from their shoulders. Lei reversed the weapon on the return arc and drove its rear spike through the third creature’s chest.

He spun the guandao overhead and flicked the blood from its blade.

All three Yamikoko-ra had died without making a sound.

Kousetsu Pond lay less than four hundred meters north. If he drew the others there, he could kill them one by one as they emerged from the trees.

With this thought in mind, he moved.

                                                                                   ***

Gion
Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto
6:06 p.m.

I’d killed six more Yamikoko-ra, not counting the one that had greeted us on arrival. Shizuki had killed one with only four rounds.

She’d handled the weapon’s light recoil with ease. She was also one hell of a shot.

With no practice, her first round had gone wide. The second struck the creature in the head, the third hit center mass, and the fourth punched through its heart.

Beginner’s luck didn’t usually come in groups of three.

The creature had dropped with genuine surprise on its face. It had expected the girl to cower. Instead, she’d calmly put three Death-marked rounds into its body.

I had a new respect for Shizuki. In the last thirty minutes, she’d gone from someone I had to protect to someone who could almost look after herself.

Sirens echoed across the city.

This was big. Someone was organizing the Yamikoko-ra.

For now, at least, the Red Caps hadn’t appeared. If whoever was behind this called them in, it would become a slaughter. They always went for the children first.

I forced the thought aside.

One problem at a time.

“How are you holding up, Shizuki?”

“I’m scared.” She tightened her grip on the gun. “What did you call these things?”

“Yamikoko-ra.”

“Children of the dark?”

“Yep. Think they qualify?”

Shizuki shuddered. “Yes. I think they qualify. Do they drink blood?”

“They do worse than that. We should leave it there.”

She studied my face. “I can tell.”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“I’ll be okay.”

So be it.

“Imagine them tearing into a person until what’s left looks like shiokara. Now imagine a whole pack feeding at once, soaked from head to toe in the remains.”

Shizuki went pale. For a moment, I thought she might vomit.

“You asked,” I said.

“You were right.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Why do you do this?”

“Somebody has to.”

I was about to say more when someone cleared his throat.

We stood in a broad performance court, deserted except for a raised wooden stage on the opposite side. A man in sixteenth-century Chinese battle armor stood at its center.

He appeared to be in his late fifties. Snow-white hair framed a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard and mustache.

“Good evening,” he said.

When he spoke, I saw the teeth.

He was calm.

That could be a problem.

“Evenin’,” I said. “And you are?”

He smiled. “I am the venerable General Tzo.”

“The guy who invented the chicken?”

His smile vanished. “No, not the man who invented the chicken! It isn’t even spelled the same!”

That got a rise out of him.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“My name is spelled Tzo. His was spelled Tso!”

“You’ve had this conversation before, haven’t you?”

The man’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened, and his brow darkened. After a moment, he forced himself to relax.

“I did not come here for this.”

Shizuki studied him. “Something about him reminds me of Christmas.”

Then it hit me.

“He looks like Colonel Sanders!”

Millions of Japanese families ate KFC at Christmas. Once she said it, I couldn’t unsee it.

“This is too good,” I said. “General Tzo changes sides and joins the Colonel.”

The look on his face told me I had finally broken through his carefully constructed composure.

“If my Regent had not ordered me to bring you in alive, you would die where you stand! I told my lord that Gate Agents were worthless vermin, but he insisted on a meeting.”

“What does he want to discuss?”

“Gate Agents. The loop. The PDC.”

“Will you be serving chicken?”

General Tzo screamed and drew a niuweidao from over his shoulder. The motion was smooth and fluid.

In that instant, I knew he was an experienced swordsman.

I probably should have guessed.