Chapter 6 - Mayhem

PDC Headquarters
Fushimi Ward, Kyoto
6:10 p.m.

Updates scrolled across Thalia’s first monitor faster than she could read them. On the second, live feeds showed smoke rising over Kyoto, deserted intersections, and streets crowded with fleeing civilians.

Her attention kept returning to the third.

PDC personnel. Gate Agent locations. Enemy identifications. Battle status.

Headquarters was holding. For now.

Within reach lay a travel stone capable of taking her anywhere in the world. She had spent much of the evening trying to get similar stones—or whippleblinks—into the hands of other Gate Agents.

Too many were already pinned down.

Whoever had planned this incursion knew how to keep them occupied.

The initial reports had called the breaches Shadow State crossovers.

They were wrong.

These were crossrips. Multiple gates forced open around the world and held there while creatures poured through.

Olim-bori raced across England. Baykok ravaged Germany. Grikes slipped through the canals of Venice.

Reports from the United States suggested the Gate Agents there were holding the line, though the number and variety of creatures crossing over continued to rise.

Thalia opened another deployment request.

A warning flashed on her third monitor.

She read it.

Then read it again.

Agent Garuda had fallen.

Thalia’s hand stopped over the keyboard.

A defeat was possible. Even Garuda could be overwhelmed.

But the next line—

The magic tracking Garuda’s essence into the loop had dissipated.

No confirmed passage.

No return.

“No,” Thalia whispered.

An observer’s report began populating the screen. She leaned closer, willing the lines to appear faster.

Kagenobu Yashiro.

The Iron Fang.

A battle-axe bearing an unidentified enchantment.

The observer had been thorough. Positions, movements, the sequence of attacks—everything was there.

Thalia read every word, searching for an error.

There had to be something the observer had missed.

Her fingers hovered over the command to replay the footage.

You are the head of the PDC.

She drew a breath.

Read the report. Determine the threat. Warn the others.

She could do that.

She had to do that before she allowed herself to think about anything else.

A knock sounded, and one of her agents stepped through the door.

“Madam. Gate Agent Kali is in Kyoto.”

Thalia looked up.

“Where?”

“In the lobby. She’s demanding access to the Locker Room.”

“Give it to her. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Thalia rotated the third monitor toward him.

Garuda’s status remained on the screen.

“Make sure she sees this first.”

Fukakusa Shirasunacho
Fushimi Ward, Kyoto
6:08 p.m.

Lei Zhao stood with his guandao leveled toward the trees.

Twelve yamikoko-ra lay dead around him.

His resolve had not weakened. His body was another matter. His shoulders ached, and a tremor threatened his forearms whenever he tightened his grip.

He adjusted his stance and drew a slow breath.

Wind stirred the leaves overhead. Cicadas hummed in the evening air, their voices mingling with the gentle lap of water along the shore of Kosetsu-ike.

On another evening, it would have been a perfect place to meditate.

Now he counted the gaps between the trees.

How many more would they send?

A girl stepped into view.

Beautiful, she looked no older than sixteen. A red battle kimono moved around her legs, its hem brushing red leather boots. An onyx clasp held her long black hair in place. Two silver khopesh hung at her waist, their curved blades etched with intricate runes.

She glanced at the bodies before looking at him. Then she smiled.

Fangs gleamed beneath amber-gold eyes.

“Lei Zhao. Or should I call you Vajra?”

He kept his expression still.

“You seem quite capable,” she continued. “But I would expect nothing less from someone who has been a novice monk in three lifetimes.”

She knew his code name. She knew about his past lives. Neither fact should have been available to her.

Zhao inclined his head, keeping the guandao between them.

“Lady Tsukikage Ayame. The Crimson Veil. An honor.”

Her smile thinned.

Good. She had expected to surprise him. She had not expected to be recognized.

“Were these yours?” he asked, indicating the bodies.

She said nothing.

“My apologies. I should have known better. Your soldiers would surely have lasted longer.”

Her jaw tightened.

Zhao let a small smile touch his lips.

He had read the Ranger’s reports. Once, he had watched the man use this same tactic: remain calm, find the tender spot, and press until anger began making the enemy’s decisions.

Ayame’s fingers settled near the hilts of her swords.

“Kuchi wa wazawai no moto.”

The mouth is the source of calamity.

“Have I offended you, Lady Tsukikage?”

“My Regent wishes to speak with you.”

“I’m afraid I’m occupied. Some ōbaka yarō has decided to invade Kyoto.”

“He is aware.”

“Then perhaps he could help. These creatures are becoming tiresome.”

Her gaze moved briefly to the nearest corpse.

“The Regent wants you alive,” she said. “We need not fight.”

Her voice softened slightly when she spoke his title.

Zhao watched her.

Interesting.

Alive. So, this was not another attempt to kill him.

Why did that worry him more?

“I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” he said. “But surely he has company.”

“His affairs are none of your concern.”

Her answer came too quickly.

Zhao let his gaze pass over her red kimono, then return to her face.

“So, he sends you out to fight while his other ladies keep him entertained?”

Lady Tsukikage’s fingers tightened around her sword hilts.

There it was.

“I serve him,” she said.

“Of course.” Zhao inclined his head. “Then I’m sure he appreciates your devotion.”

He paused.

“Even if he prefers their company.”

She went utterly still.

Zhao settled his stance.

“Take your time bringing me back,” he added. “I doubt he’ll notice.”

She screamed.

The khopesh flashed into her hands, and she crossed the distance before the sound had faded.

Zhao caught the first blade on his guandao. The impact jarred his shoulders. He turned the haft, deflected the second strike, and stepped away from the hooked edge reaching for his wrist.

Silver swept toward his neck.

He ducked and drove the butt spike toward her knee.

Lady Tsukikage knocked it aside. Her other blade slipped past his guard.

He twisted.

Steel sliced through his robes and opened a shallow cut along his side. Pain flared, sharp but manageable.

Too close.

He drove forward before she could withdraw, forcing her back with a sweeping cut. She yielded a step, then another, her blades turning his weapon aside with quick, economical movements.

Her anger had not slowed her.

Zhao shortened his grip.

The Crimson Veil struck high, then low. He blocked the first attack and narrowly escaped the second. One curved blade hooked around the haft, pulling it away from his centerline while the other darted toward his throat.

He wrenched the guandao free and retreated.

The khopesh passed close enough for him to hear its edge cut the air.

He needed distance.

His weapon had the reach. If he could keep her outside—

His right foot dragged.

Zhao recovered before he fell, but Lady Tsukikage saw it.

She advanced.

He thrust toward her chest. She slipped aside and struck the haft hard enough to send a shudder through his hands.

His fingers tingled.

He blinked.

The trees behind her blurred, then sharpened again.

Too much fighting. Twelve opponents before this one plus the others in the clearing. He had known his body was tiring.

But his hand was going numb.

That was not exhaustion.

His gaze dropped to the cut in his robes.

Her blades.

Poison.

Lady Tsukikage smiled.

Zhao lunged, committing what strength he had left to a thrust at her throat.

She turned it aside.

His arms did not obey quickly enough to recover.

A khopesh slammed against the haft. The guandao slipped from his weakening fingers and struck the path.

He reached for it.

His knees buckled.

The ground hit him hard. He tried to rise, but his legs would no longer bear his weight.

The Crimson Veil stood just beyond his reach.

Breathing evenly.

He had made her angry. He had seen the moment it happened.

And he had mistaken anger for carelessness.

She sheathed her blades and approached.

Zhao tried to summon enough strength for one last movement. His hand shifted a few inches through the dirt.

Nothing more.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “The poison won’t kill you. My orders are to bring you to the Regent.”

His vision darkened at the edges.

She crouched before him and caught his chin, lifting his face toward hers.

“But before you pass out…”

Her amber-gold eyes held his.

“This is for insulting him.”

He barely saw her fist move.

His nose broke. Pain burst through his face, and blood filled his mouth.

Then the ground rushed up to meet him.

Kyoto Station
Shimogyo Ward, Kyoto
6:09 p.m.

Mandu retrieved the Tennensui Zerī from the vending machine and held the bottle up.

Finally.

He had never found one back in Seoul. After everything this evening had thrown at him, surely he deserved one drink.

He reached for the cap.

Across the platform, a yamikoko-ra charged toward a group of schoolgirls huddled beside a shuttered newsstand.

Mandu sighed.

“Shit. Always something.”

He tightened his grip on the bottle.

“Heavy impact.”

Light shimmered through the jelly.

He threw.

The bottle struck the creature’s head and kept going. The head tore free, while the body stumbled several more steps before collapsing.

Mandu raised a fist.

“Yes! I could pitch for the—”

He looked at the vending machine and then checked his pockets.

“Wait. That was my last coin. Son of a bitch.”

He glanced down the platform. Somewhere beyond the body, his drink was probably still intact.

Probably covered in monster guts, too.

No. Not worth it.

The girls were staring at him.

Maybe they had some change.

Maybe he should start with ‘Are you okay?’ before asking.

He slipped on his sunglasses and approached them.

The severed head lay in his path. He kicked it aside. It bounced off a support pillar and dropped into a trash can.

He stopped.

Looked at the bin.

“Football, too.”

One of the girls gave a startled laugh.

Mandu straightened his jacket.

Now, what was that Japanese line Ranger had taught him?

A few loops ago, Ranger had supplied several phrases guaranteed to make a good impression.

Mandu chose the one he remembered best.

“Konnichiwa, boku no chinchin wa chiisai desu.”

Silence.

A short-haired girl at the back covered her mouth.

Then she burst out laughing.

The others looked at her, then at Mandu.

Several began to giggle.

Had he pronounced it wrong?

He tried another.

“Sumimasen, boku no oshiri wa ōkina oto ga demasu.”

That made things worse.

The short-haired girl bent forward, one hand braced against her knee.

Mandu’s smile faltered.

Maybe the last one would work.

“Watashi wa zerī ni mamirete hadaka de hashirimasu.”

The girls completely lost it. They were howling with laughter. And finally, Mandu understood.

Ranger.

Of course.

Somewhere beyond the station entrance, something crashed. Mandu glanced toward the sound. No movement on the stairs. Nothing approaching along the platform.

For the moment, they were safe.

He turned back to the girls.

“I’m sorry,” he said in English. “I don’t actually speak Japanese.”

The short-haired girl straightened.

“It’s okay. I speak English.”

“Oh, thank God. A friend taught me those lines. He said they would help me make a good impression.”

“They made an impression.”

“Not the one I wanted, apparently.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting another laugh.

“What did I say?”

“First, you told us you had.. had a small.. well.”

Mandu lowered his head. “Right.”

“Then you said your backside made loud noises.”

He slowly removed his sunglasses.

“And finally, you said you like to run naked covered in green jelly.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Your teacher?”

“My friend.”

“I just wanted to know if I could take you to a nice restaurant or get to know you better?”

“So, you don’t run naked covered in jelly?”

“No, I don’t run naked covered in jelly!”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” the girl said.

The other girls dissolved into laughter.

Mandu pointed at her. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

Her hair was cut short, and smoky makeup framed eyes that were still watering with laughter.

“What were you trying to say?” she asked.

“Mostly hello. Then I was hoping to sound charming.”

“Naked green jelly was a bold choice.”

“I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.”

“So, I gathered.”

Despite himself, he smiled. “I’m Mandu.”

The name escaped before he could stop it. Damn it. Park Ji-hoon. He had meant to say Park Ji-hoon.

“Dumpling?” she asked.

“Friends call me that. My real name is Park Ji-hoon.”

“I like Mandu. I’m Kazama Mio.”

“Nice to meet you, Mio.”

Her smile began to fade. She was looking past his shoulder.

Mandu turned.

A huge man stood several paces away, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He hadn’t glanced at the dead creature or the head in the trash can.

His attention was entirely on Mandu.

“I know you,” Mandu said. “Sukhbaatar Chuluun.”

“You are Park Ji-hoon. Also called Mandu.”

“No kidding. I just told them that.”

“How many times have you been through the loop?”

Mandu kept his expression blank.

“What’s the loop? A carnival ride?”

“Your seventeenth birthday is in a year and a half.”

His fingers tightened around his sunglasses.

Not good.

He turned slightly toward Mio.

“You guys need to go. Now.”

She looked from him to Chuluun.

“Mandu—”

“Please.”

Something in his voice convinced her.

She gathered her friends, and they hurried toward the stairs.

Mandu watched them go.

Chuluun let him. That worried him almost as much as the question about the loop.

“So,” Mandu said, putting his sunglasses back on. “What’s the plan here, big guy?”

“The Regent wishes to speak with you.”

“Who’s the Regent?”

“Come and find out.”

“Is he responsible for all these things attacking people?”

“Come and find out.”

Mandu glanced toward the stairs. The last of the girls disappeared from view.

“Look, Sukhbaatar—can I call you Sukhbaatar? Why don’t you just tell me? Save us both some time.”

“Come and find out.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything.”

Chuluun waited as Mandu moved away from the stairs, drawing the larger man’s attention with him.

“What if I don’t want to come?”

“Then I beat you until you do.”

“Ah.” Mandu rolled his shoulders. “I see.”

He planted his feet.

“Well, let’s do that, then.”

His hands flashed toward his belt.

Two throwing knives struck Chuluun in the chest. Before either had stopped quivering, Mandu vaulted over a bench and dropped behind it.

Chuluun looked down.

He pulled out one knife, then the other, and tossed them onto the platform.

Mandu frowned.

“Those weren’t cheap.”

He rose with a K5 in each hand and opened fire.

The first shots drove Chuluun backward. More punched through his suit, tearing bloody holes across his chest.

Nine rounds from the left. Eleven from the right.

Both slides locked open.

Chuluun swayed.

Then he looked up.

“Oh, come on.”

Mandu dropped behind the bench. He holstered one pistol, replaced the other’s magazine, then switched weapons and repeated the process.

His last two magazines.

Across the platform, Chuluun spat something onto the concrete.

A flattened bullet.

“You have no honor, little dumpling man. Fight me without your guns.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re nine feet tall and as wide as a truck!”

“You’re a coward.”

“And you’re still standing. We’ve both got problems.”

Chuluun lunged.

Mandu threw himself sideways as a fist smashed through the bench. Wood burst across the platform. The metal frame folded beneath the blow.

He landed in a crouch, both pistols raised.

Chuluun straightened with a blade in his hand.

Mandu hadn’t seen him draw it.

The mache was enormous, its broad edge long enough to make the wrecked bench seem an inadequate hiding place even before Chuluun had demolished it. Dark light crawled through the runes engraved along its length.

Something about those markings made Mandu’s skin tighten.

“Hey, big guy. Where’d you get the fancy blade?”

“From the Regent.”

“Does he give those out instead of bonuses?”

“Since you will not come willingly, I must kill you.”

“Can we talk about this?”

“No more talk.”

Something scraped behind Mandu.

He ducked.

Gray fur brushed his shoulder. Jaws snapped beside his ear.

The creature landed at Chuluun’s feet, enormous ears spreading as it turned toward Mandu.

Damn it. Pay attention.

“You brought Grim Feeders?”

Chuluun smiled.

“More than one.”

Claws clicked against the platform to Mandu’s right.

Another feeder emerged from behind a pillar. Two more slipped around the shuttered newsstand on his left.

Four.

He had forty-eight rounds.

Assuming anything remained after the feeders, he still had to find somewhere on Chuluun that wasn’t apparently made of reinforced concrete.

“Well,” Mandu said. “This is excessive.”

The feeders rushed him.

He sprang backward, twisting as he fired.

Four shots.

The creatures struck the platform in a ragged succession of thumps.

Chuluun came through them.

Mandu barely brought his feet beneath him before the mache swept toward his head.

He ducked.

The blade struck a pillar, gouging a deep furrow through its surface.

Chuluun tore it free and swung again.

Fast. Too damn fast.

Mandu retreated, unable to bring either pistol into line without losing an arm. The blade hissed past his chest. Another cut forced him sideways toward the wrecked bench.

He couldn’t keep giving ground.

“Hey!”

Mio’s voice.

Chuluun glanced toward the stairs.

Only for an instant.

Mandu lunged to his right, throwing himself clear of the blade. Both pistols rose as his feet left the ground.

Somewhere, John Woo would have approved.

This time, he aimed above the ruined chest.

His first shot struck Chuluun’s cheek and glanced away. The second hit an eye.

Chuluun screamed.

There.

Mandu kept firing.

The giant reeled, one hand rising too late to shield his face. Mandu’s shoulder hit the platform. He slid across the concrete, firing until both pistols clicked empty.

Chuluun stood for another second.

Then his knees folded.

The mache clattered beside him.

Mandu lay still, listening. No footsteps. No claws. No giant getting back up.

“Stay down,” he muttered.

Chuluun, the now meat sack, obliged.

Mandu pushed himself upright and checked the pistols, although he already knew what he would find.

Empty.

Both of them.

He looked toward the stairs.

Kazama Mio stood beside the railing, pale and trembling.

“I told you to go.”

“I did.” She swallowed. “Then I saw those things sneaking up behind you.”

He glanced at the dead feeders.

Then back at her.

“Next time, yell sooner.”

“Next time, say thank you.”

Mandu considered that.

“Thank you.”

His shoulder hurt. His ammunition was gone. Somewhere down the platform lay the remains of the drink he hadn’t even tasted.

But Mio was smiling.

Maybe I’ll get a date out of this yet.

Gion
Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto
6:09 p.m.

General Tzo was every bit as good as I’d feared.

No wasted movement. No careless openings. Every time I tested his guard, his sword was waiting.

“You’re pretty good, chicken guy.”

“Your taunts mean nothing now.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Steel rang against steel. He turned my blade aside and cut toward my ribs. I caught the strike, stepped inside his reach, and drove my heel toward his knee. He checked the kick and forced me back.

I hadn’t faced anyone this good in a long time.

“You were once a shinobi?” he asked.

“A long time ago.”

“And yet you carry that disgusting firearm.”

“I also learned to drive. You have to keep up with the times.”

He struck twice, then reversed his blade for a third cut.

I countered all three.

“Why have you not used it?”

“Because I’m guessing you’d have an answer.”

“And because he knows he can beat you with a sword!”

The voice came from farther down the street, deep and carrying a familiar Norwegian accent.

Oh, good. An audience.

Jotun stepped into view, long blond hair hanging around his shoulders. He carried a Kriegsmesser with the casual ease most people reserved for an umbrella.

“Don’t shoot him, Shizuki!” I called. “He’s a friend!”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Just checking!”

Tzo pressed forward. I gave him a step, caught his blade, and shoved it away from my face.

“Hey, Jotun. You get the alert?”

“Yes.”

“Could use a hand.”

“You appear to have two.”

“Always helpful.”

“Finish this, Ranger. We have much to discuss.”

“Be right with you.”

Tzo’s next strike nearly took my ear.

“You think you can end this simply because he asks?”

“Well, now I can’t look bad in front of my girl and my friend.”

Our blades locked. His face was inches from mine.

“Besides,” I said, “if you kill me, I’ll be back in thirty years. And he’ll still be here to kick your ass.”

Tzo smiled. “What makes you think you will return?”

Something in his voice cut through the banter.

“Have you not recognized the runes on my blade?” He shoved hard.

I let his strength carry me backward, disengaged, and put several feet between us.

For the first time, I really looked at his sword. Darkness gathered inside the engraved markings. Not a reflection. Not ordinary Shadow State magic.

I reached for the familiar sense of the loop and felt something recoil.

For centuries, death had meant waking up somewhere else. If that blade killed me, there would be no waking up.

Tzo saw the recognition on my face. “Yes,” he said. “Now you understand.”

He lifted the sword between us, turning its marked surface toward me.

“This closes the loop. Forever.”

“Oh.”

I dropped my liuyedao.

His eyes followed it.

My hand found the Colt.

The shot cracked through the street before my sword hit the stones.

Tzo took the bullet in the forehead.

He stood for half a heartbeat, his expression almost offended. Then he pitched forward. Armor struck stone with a tremendous clatter.

I kept the Colt trained on him.

Jotun approached. “You could have done that earlier.”

“He was watching for it earlier.”

“And then?”

“He got proud of his sword.”

I nudged Tzo’s weapon away from his hand with my boot.

Jotun’s expression changed as he studied the runes.

“Can it truly stop the loop?”

“Yeah.”

“You are certain?”

I looked toward Shizuki.

She was still beside the wall where I’d told her to stay, both hands wrapped around the pistol.

“Certain enough.”

Jotun pulled a cloth from his coat and crouched beside the fallen sword.

“I’ll take this.”

“Carefully.”

He gave me a flat look.

“Right. Sorry.”

A motorcycle engine snarled somewhere down the street. We turned, weapons rising.

A battered sport bike rounded the corner and braked beside us. Mandu sat at the handlebars. Behind him, a girl in a school uniform held tightly to his jacket.

He pushed up his visor.

“Do you ever check your watch?” he said to me.

“Been busy.”

Then he noticed Jotun.

“Oh, hey buddy. When did you get here?”

“This afternoon. My father and I came to study sword-making techniques.”

“Cool. Terrible timing.” Mandu looked back at me. “Check the PDC alert. These assholes have weapons that can stop the loop.”

I pointed at Tzo.

“Yeah. General Tzo explained.”

“What did you do?”

“Shot him.”

Mandu looked at the body then back at me. “The chicken guy?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I killed Sukhbaatar Chuluun. He had one too.”

“You killed suck butter?”

“We killed him,” said the girl behind him.

Mandu sighed. “I did most of it.”

“You were about to get chopped in half.”

“A temporary setback.”

She removed her helmet. “I’m Kazama Mio, by the way.”

Shizuki came to stand beside me. “Shizuki.”

Mio glanced from her to the sword in my hands.

“Does your boyfriend explain anything?”

“Not voluntarily.”

“Mine either.”

Mandu turned in his seat.

“Yours?”

Mio smiled and climbed off the bike.

For once, he had nothing to say.

Shizuki slipped an arm around me. I put mine around her and held on a little tighter than I meant to.

“What do we do now?” Shizuki asked.

“Headquarters,” Mandu said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. They’re calling us in.”

“Any particular reason?” Jotun asked.

“Besides the invasion and the permanent-death swords?”

“Fair point.”

He killed the engine.

“Also, Kali’s in town.”

“Oh, shit,” Jotun and I said together.