Chapter Text
She remembered it all too well. The humiliation. The degradation. The infuriating, smug gaze boring into her. She sported no less than eight different bruises and a banged up leg when she was forced onto her knees by that filthy mutt, but that condescending smirk hit her harder than any single punch.
She, too, remembered the pitying frowns of the bizarre combatants that met them on that gaudy bridge, wearing the skin of Offices and Associations and Syndicates alike. The narrowed eyes of that diminutive blonde as she refused to look her in the eye, even as her baton sunk deep into her chest. Death stung… but not as much as that slight. That pity. To be looked down upon twice in a single day.
And she remembered awaking to a sunless night, a pack of roving Stray Dogs with snickering, ravenous smiles as they fell upon their prey. She remembered their howls, their jeers, how they thought the one odd woman that had manifested in the midst of their camp would serve as a delightful little dessert to their feast.
Those vermin didn’t deserve to even gaze upon a Kurokumo Hosa. To lay a hand on her? Laughable. Disgraceful. Disgusting.
Sayo only regretted that they died quickly under her blade. Such trash deserved to suffer.
For so long, she’d bided her time. Watched as the Thumb scrambled to reorganize itself in the wake of the Index’s incursion and Kalo’s sudden reappearance. Witnessed the upheaval of several Kurokumo cells as they fell prey to infighting and the meddlesome interference of Liu and Zwei. Observed with growing disgust the incursion of the Blade Lineage as they tore down their fracturing ranks. The Patriarch was but one man, and it seemed very few of her clan dared show their faces to her again after the shameful display in the Library.
Of course, all she needed was Gin and Yang. Not the perfect lot, but the most loyal, the most diligent, and the ones willing to get their hands dirty even as a plethora of no name cutthroats shied away from even the slightest drop of blood. They carved a small part of the Backstreets back for the Kurokumo Clan, sending the disemboweled corpses of those uppity Fixers back to the Associations to remind them, very poignantly, that the Kurokumo Clan would not tolerate interference in their territory.
And then this asinine tournament popped up.
She had no use for it; why care about what egotistical chucklef*ck considered themselves the best? Moreover, what paltry excuse for a death match went out of their way to remove the death part of a death match? That snickering lamppost simply wanted to capitalize on the City’s welling boredom, enticing them with nostalgia for those harrowing days when a shadowy tower loomed over the remnants of Nest L.
But Tiphereth.
That was something to be interested in.
Sayo’s pace quickened as she reached the fourth floor of their little hideaway. Nestled snugly in the very border between Nest and Backstreet, it was close enough to the metaphorical fires of the Corporations that most Fixers wouldn’t even consider there to be a Syndicate outpost housed in these abandoned apartments. The plain rooms were bare save for a myriad of boxes and a couple of mats, enough to reorganize supplies and catch a wink of sleep if need be. Such transient housings required little upkeep. And what recent furniture they had included was, of course, rather recent and for a most special occasion.
Oh yes. She’d bided her time for this moment.
Sayo opened the door at the far end of the hallway, greeted with a chorus of rousing, muffled screams. She drank in the ecstasy, her treasure suspended in the middle of the room. Yang lounged in a small, ripped reclining chair, his snores thankfully drowned out by the beautiful melody elicited by their little instrument. She’d gotten the text from him in the middle of the night. and only now were the auburn rays of a reluctant sun peeking through the blinds of the far window. She wondered if he’d gotten his fun in before drifting off to sleep.
A dutiful Gin greeted Sayo as her eyes fell on him. His jeweled eye glimmered with pride as he gestured to their final guest, the sheath of his katana caked with fresh blood. Good, it seemed both he and Yang had remembered her orders to the letter.
“Keep the girl intact. I have my own plans.”
In typical Kurokumo fashion, her orders were very technically followed. A bloodthirsty smirk spread over Sayo’s face as she gazed upon the bound Tiphereth, little more than a trophy – no, a plaything to the Syndicate. Her elegant, golden jacket collected blood and dust on the ground while the frilled, orange dress underneath lay in near tatters, jagged tears and cuts that barely kept the girl decent and failed completely in hiding the plethora of bruises and cuts that now ran along her body like a brand of shame. A lone hook was nailed into the ceiling, a set of handcuffs binding Tiphereth’s wrists suspending the girl a fair half meter above the ground, her skin chaffed and reddened from the metal biting into her wrists. Blood ran down her face and shoulders, freely gushing from an innumerable amount of cuts running along her chest, stomach, and legs, criss-crossing her skin as a series of intricate rivers of pure crimson before dripping from her toes. The faint scent of something burnt caused the Hosa’s nose to wrinkle and, as she squinted, she saw in place of the flowery bow in her neck a tight, metallic collar, the beeping red light and charred flesh underneath signifying its purpose. Tears rolled past her blindfold in a futile attempt to wash away the blood painting her pale body a faint red, and were it not for the black stockings crudely stuffed into her mouth as a makeshift gag, no doubt the girl would be begging and screaming for her life.
She surprised the urge to laugh as she slid the blindfold from Tiphereth’s face. Those wide, green eyes, bereft of hope, moist with tears, completely paralyzed by fear… yes, yes of course.
She wanted to see how that bitch felt to be pitied and humiliated before she died.
Sayo smirked. Why should she stop now, when this hellspawn from the Outskirts was finally within her grasp? She gestured to Gin, the Kurokumo Wakashu nodding dutifully as he procured a small remote from his pocket. A series of frantic, muffled pleas soon rose to a loud, violent, and bloodcurdling howl as the collar wrapped around Tiphereth’s neck flared to life. Lightning arced across the girl’s body as she flailed, kicking haplessly and squirming helplessly in her restraints, left only to suffer the electrical current setting every single blood vessel in her body on fire. Even through Sayo’s sheer willpower, the Hosa could not help but elicit one quiet chuckle as she gazed upon the tortured librarian, smoke beginning to billow from her body as muffled, strangled pleas failed to escape her gag.
It was beyond wonderful. Not even in her wildest dreams could she have imagined how euphoric it would sound to hear this bitch beg.
Truthfully, Sayo lost track of how long she merely stood there, watching as the librarian tearfully begged for the pain to stop, for the agony to end, for the Kurokumo Hosa to simply shove her katana into her head and end it all. She lit up a cigarette and watched in silence as streaks of cerulean lightning danced across the girl’s skin, as droplets of blood splattered over her black katana and her bare legs as the librarian kicked and flailed helplessly, not even in a pathetic attempt to escape, but rather as each nerve in her body squealed and convulsed, as the muffled cries of what Sayo could only presume to be for her life soon became intelligible gargles. Was blood pooling into Tiphereth’s throat after such prolonged torture? Was she slowly drowning even as the last vestiges of strength in her pale frame fought desperately to keep her alive? Only the Head could know what images must’ve flashed through her eyes as she felt her lungs burn, her body seize, and her blood boil. Would she bemoan her fate, hoisted up as a trophy for the Kurokumo and a canvas by which they could carve their long-awaited triumph over the Library into? Or had the light already left her eyes and the Hosa had missed her opportunity to watch that last, fleeting glimmer of hope get snuffed from the girl?
… Honestly, Sayo was just impressed she remained conscious all the while. She’d seen more arrogant Grade 1 Fixers succumb to the Thumb’s hospitality in a far shorter time.
Perhaps it was just a single minute when Sayo raised her hand, signaling Tiphereth’s pitiful torture to end. Perhaps an entire day had casually wiled itself away while the Hosa stood in content, mirthful silence, drinking in the faint scent of burnt flesh and reveling in the strangled, raspy gasps of their barely conscious captive, her lungs straining to even draw breath. At that moment, under the dim, flickering bulb of a Backstreets apartment, Sayo could no longer tell the difference between the once smug and confident Patron Librarian of Natural Sciences that had strode along her enigmatic black-suited companion and some spoiled child from the Nests that the Syndicate had abducted as tithe from an impudent corporate shill who had slighted a Thumb Capo. As she slipped her fingers around the stockings wound tightly around her face, slowly undoing the knot that had pulled some of Tiphereth’s hair in its tight embrace, Sayo wondered what frantic, pathetic pleas would spurt from her bloody lips. Some pitiful plea for her life? Maybe a desperate cry for her beloved Roland or the pale, blue-haired director to save her life? Or perhaps Sayo would get front row seats to hear her abject sobs as what little of her hope was shattered under the boot of the Kurokumo Clan.
Hands shaking with anticipation, Sayo pulled the stocking free and helped the balled-up sock free itself from Tiphereth’s weary jaw. The Hosa could barely contain her excitement, a barely-concealed, arrogant smirk plastered across her face as she saw Tiphereth’s eyes focus on hers. She wondered how high a pitch the blonde bitch could squeal if she carved her dagger into her ar-
Splat.
Sayo recoiled back, eyes widened in pure, indescribable disbelief. Her trembling arms slowly rose to her face, shaking fingers brushing against the mixture of blood, bile, and saliva that ran down her cheek in a thick, viscous gunk. The Hosa could do naught but stare as Tiphereth, drool and blood dripping from the corners of her mouth, met her incredulous gaze.
And smirked.
“Is… thaaaat… all… bitch…?” she choked, her eyes cloudy and her voice hoarse.
The three Kurokumo swordsmen stood in abject silence. An ant, ever so beaten and bloodied and bruised, had opposed the boot that threatened to crush it into a fine pulp. The limp body of the battered girl swung in a subtle arc, not once breaking from Sayo’s befuddled eyes. Every trained instinct in the veteran Hosa’s body screamed at her to draw her blade in retaliation, to sever the impudent child’s head from her unworthy shoulders, and her fingers hovered on the curved, embroidered hilt of her katana, muscle memory and repetition both moving even as her mind struggled to process the vile substance sliding down her face.
“You… piece of…” Yang was the first to speak. Whether awoken by the chorus of Tiphereth’s screams being abruptly cut off or by the omnipresent mindfulness to bear his katana in service of the Kurokumo Clan, the only thing that mattered was his trademark, sad*stic smirk being notably absent, an uncharacteristic, frightening rage now spread across his face. “To disrespect the dame so, you f*cking bitch. I’ll mail your eyes to that freak of a robot-“
“Peace, Yang.”
The Kurokumo cutthroat froze mid-stride, his katana already clearing his sheath. Tiphereth didn’t think it was possible for him to look more incredulous than from her one, last act of defiance, yet Yang seemed to stare at the Hosa as though he was still enraptured in some bizarre, outlandish dream. His fingers moved to his opposite forearm, as if to pinch himself and attempt to wake from the fantasy he’d been caught in, only to relent with a sigh. He huffed and returned to his seat, lighting a cigarette and staring down their captive. If looks could kill, Yang’s would have already been halfway through strangling Tiphereth.
Yet the Hosa seemed unperturbed as she turned her attention back on the barely conscious girl. Yielding to the telegraphed intent of his superior, Gin stepped away with a bow of his head, yet his one good eye still eyed Sayo with piqued curiosity, completely unable to discern the true intentions of his captain past the steely, frighteningly stoic smile that began to spread across her face. The smug, bloodied smirk plastered on their suspended prisoner equally obfuscated her true feelings to him. Perhaps Tiphereth truly believed she possessed some manner of leverage even as the chains dug into her wrists. Maybe her expression was merely a front to mask her true feelings, a sense of welling despair and hopelessness hidden behind a thin veneer of smug superiority as if the blonde could preserve the last shards of her tattered pride. Or maybe she’d gone insane.
Sayo paused just short of Tiphereth, the additional height from the chains lashed around the girl’s wrists bringing their faces level with each other. As Sayo wiped the rest of the vile residue from her cheek, a faint click echoed in the makeshift cell, the distinctive shwing of metal clearing wood. Tiphereth’s eyes slid down to Sayo’s waist, watching as the brandished katana reflected the dim light of the flickering bulb above.
“You’ve got quite the nerve,” Sayo observed. She angled the flat of her blade, reflecting light into the bound girl’s eyes. As Tiphereth winced and swung haplessly in the air, the Hosa smirked and continued. “Do you know where you are, by any chance? Or did we fry that little brain of yours with our hospitality?”
“If… you’re going to talk my ear off… I’d rather you just turn the collar back on instead,” Tiphereth gasped, blood dripping from lips as her raspy throat struggled to choke out her words.
“That could be arranged,” Gin chimed in, his finger hovering over the button on the small device cradled in his hand.
A disdainful snort from the Hosa quelled Gin’s threat, a sharp glare cowing the cutthroat before her softened gaze returned to the bloodied Tiphereth. The katana lazily spun in the Kurokumo Captain’s nimble fingers, its ravenous blade always just short of the blonde’s exposed thigh. Every so often, she’d nudge her blade just a teensy bit closer, a measure of centimeters – no, millimeters separating the librarian’s flesh from the cool steel. Like an aspiring fisherman, Sayo waited patiently to see that one, brief spark of fear in Tiphereth’s eyes, the sign of a scared and helpless girl strapped under the brutal guillotine of the Thumb as she haplessly begged for her life. And like a stubborn fish whose legendary scales eluded even the most veteran anglers, Tiphereth refused to take the bait. Though her face was stained with tears and blood and her breath came in hoarse, raspy gasps as her lungs heaved and struggled for air, she held, despite the pain radiating through her entire body, that same defiant, infuriating glare.
The same one that had stared down the impaled Hosa as she dissipated into the light.
The blade went high. Tiphereth bit down, her body seizing up as her eyes instinctually clamped down. She saw those idiots of the Asiyah layer lazily gathered around the couch, picking through the many movies that Roland had procured from a friend of a friend of another friend. She saw Gebura and Chesed at opposite sides of the counter, the wily barista taking sips from his mug as he kept the stone island between him and an increasingly agitated Gebura, a flurry of silverware and pans sailing harmlessly over his head. She saw Roland and Angela reclined over the balcony, staring across a barren wasteland toward a starless horizon, the vast expanse of the City now but an elusive dream, a story told only in reminiscences and forgotten lives.
She saw that dour man who always seemed to be lost in thought. She saw the brunette whose smile always failed to hide the pain and grief that wracked her dwindling confidence and fraying sanity.
She saw that young boy in those unstained, unassuming clothes, a gift welcoming their new life outside of the Outskirts. She saw his hand reach out, urging fingers grasping out toward her. His muted voice rang out to Tiphereth like the siren song of a dream she’d always chased.
“Lisa. It’s-“
The stroke was quick, clean, exquisitely surgical. Sayo elegantly flourished her katana before turning it to her sheath, co*cking her eyebrow as her eyes beheld the limp body slumped on the ground at her feet. She clicked her tongue as she nudged her foot slowly under the girl’s chest before kicking upward. Tiphereth gasped and shuddered as she was flung up and onto her butt, her handcuffs still bearing the rusted hook the chain had been so carefully wrapped around. She clutched at her chest, spittle and blood dripping from her lips, before a hand snagged her collar and hoisted the shivering girl back to her feet.
“Dame,” Gin said curtly, looking back at Sayo while keeping the bleeding Tiphereth at arm’s length. “Not to question your judgment, but-“
“You’re right, Gin. You shouldn’t,” she cut him off, turning to leave. “Bring the girl along.”
“The hell...” Tiphereth coughed, failing to hide her pain behind a smirk. “… do you think I’d just go… along with…”
Sayo paused, just barely turning her head so Tiphereth could spot the bloodlust in her transient side eye. “Gin. If she resists, break her legs and carry her. If she continues to struggle, break her fingers.
“Of course, dame.” Gin nodded as he turned his own gaze toward Tiphereth. His free hand slid down her side, gliding past her hip before latching onto her thigh. The sharp jolt of his piercing fingers was enough to cause her to gasp and collapse to her knee, a sharp jolt of pain shooting from her fingers up to her shoulder as the bone and muscle underneath her bloodied skin yelped and begged to be spared the full extent of the Wakashu’s strength. “We have an understanding, correct?”
Reluctantly, the blonde forced her head up and down.
“Good.” He hauled the girl back up to her feet with a sudden lurch of his arm. “Start walking. If you pause for too long, I’ll break your thigh instead. Yang, take the-“
“Yeah, yeah,” Yang sighed as he rolled his eyes, rolling his shoulders as if to relieve himself of the last vestiges of his interrupted nap. He shrugged and gave a crooked smile as Gin marched Tiphereth out of the room, a small, unassuming door leading to a spiraling staircase upward. He nonchalantly tried to pat away the wrinkles in his jacket as he flicked through his phone, a flurry of unread notifications flashing before his eyes before he sighed and pocketed the device, turning to follow the two. “… Man, this is a lotta work just to throw a dead kid off a building.”
The creaking iron door gave way to the crisp, refreshing nocturnal breeze as it washed over the Hosa, such unperturbed, calming winds a rarity amidst the bustling, crowded Backstreets. Sayo breathed in deeply, relishing the vibrant and pure air. For but a moment, she was but another cutthroat, an aspiring dagger among many blades in the fold of the Kurokumo, a budding sakura thrust into the cruel and merciless soil of the City. She wrinkled her nose as the sour, smoky winds of the City accompanied her first kill. She hummed as she felt a warm waft of fleeting winds as she took her first celebratory drink with the others.
And she smiled nostalgically as the pure and untouched winds brushed against her bare shoulders and neck, comforting her like that day when she’d impaled her supervising Hosa across the length of her blade.
Under the watchful eyes of a waxing moon, the Kurokumo Clan shed the pitiful excuse of a captain that sold out their brothers to the attack dogs of the Zwei. Underneath that colorless dusk, the night was stained a brilliant crimson as an indignant and defiant cutthroat, so offended and so appalled by the sheer mediocrity, the utter cowardice, the unrelenting shame of her captain, that she cut down her superior where he stood. There, under her merciless gaze, did the Kurokumo Clan enact its blood vengeance. Her eyes opened once again, the long, orange tendrils of a rising sun stretching across the urban canopy and embracing the Hosa as its spotlight readied to witness her execution.
Embarrassment. Cowardice. Failure. An insult to the Kurokumo; no, to the Thumb itself could only ever be repaid in blood.
Sayo exhaled, the nostalgic memories vanishing under those dawning amber rays. She turned, silently acknowledging the many Kurokumo grunts that had joined to witness their ritual with a silent nod. They were much unlike her old band, mere apprentices to the blade with nary a scar nor the touch of ink decorating their bodies. Each Syndicate swordsmen bowed in turn to their Hosa before turning their eyes to the opposite end of the rooftop.
To the trembling blonde thrown to her knees, a litany of scattered, bloody footprints still trailing behind her .The handcuffs chaining the girl’s hands clinked and jingled as she pulled helplessly at her restraints, never once tearing her eyes away from the contemplative Hosa opposite her. An amused smile spread across Sayo’s face as she beckoned Gin forward, the defiant fire still reflected in Tiphereth’s emerald eyes only serving to heighten the delectable anticipation.
She wondered how long it would take to make that girl beg for her life.
“Gin, that trinket from K Corp, if you would please,” Sayo asked, holding her arm out as the Wakashu approached her. Behind the kneeling librarian, a scoff and an annoyed sigh pierced the dawning morning’s silence.
“Dame Sayo, do you really?” Yang grumbled, pressing his boot against Tiphereth’s back and shoving the girl forward and into the pavement with a playful kick. “Come on, what kinda stupid kid falls for the simplest trick the book? Let’s just cut her head off and be done with it.”
A muted chorus of hushed whispers filled the air, each carrying an anxious and defiant chatter. An air of incredulity over the blonde runt that carried the air of the Star that had once held the City in its grasp was joined by an equal and vicious irritation that she should still draw breath. Whispers that the collar should be left on until the girl choked on her own blood entered one ear, while raucous jeers about how she’d sound like being gutted as a pig left the other. Tiphereth pulled herself up to her knees, each nerve in her body screaming in pain and exhaustion as she tried, and failed, to pull her wrists free from her handcuffs. Her eyes darted to and fro, watching the jeering and bloodthirsty crowd all eye her like a pack of hyenas circling their wounded prey, before falling back on Sayo. The Hosa fiddled with a small device in the palm of her hand, a sleek, jet black with a distinctive, hollow barrel and a small trigger snug under where it bent.
Tiphereth barely had time to gasp before the gunshot rang out, the impact of the bullet sending her body ragdolling to the ground. A strident, agonized howl echoed across the rooftop as the girl squirmed and writhed in her restraints. An indescribable, unholy agony wracked the girl’s body, the blood in her veins igniting all at once and slowly roasting her body from the inside. Blood pooled in her mouth and tears streamed down her eyes as she stared upward at a starless, cerulean sky, the last coherent thoughts in her head disintegrating one after the other as the searing pain shooting through her body took their place. Was that what it was like to die? She vaguely recalled the hail of gunfire that rained down from the disciplined Thumb Soldatos, the sharp and blistering pain that rocketed through her shoulder as she felt the bone crack and splinter from the stray bullet cutting through her pitiful dress, but the momentary shock may as well have been a playful shove from Chesed compared the flames scorching the insides of the girl. She kicked, flailed, squealed, cried as she felt her skin tear open across her body, as the bones in her legs snapped, shifted, and reformed, as though that red-eyed puppeteer had draped her skeleton in his strings and pulled them taut, dragging the screeching ligaments along in some macabre display. Spots danced in her eyes and her screams would devolve into choked gargles as blood spewed from her torn throat, only for the skin to scrunch together, tear apart, and reform again like some type of sentient clay, until her screams once again bore fruit in one crystalline, perfected cry of agony.
The librarian had only started to begin making up gods to pray to before she was met with an abrupt calm, as though her soul had been severed freely from her body and relived of the torture that assailed it. She stared blankly to the sky above, blinking twice, as she tried to process the sudden, if welcome, shift in circ*mstances. Had she finally died, by chance, and her soul was just beginning to recognize the shedding of its ruined shell? Or had her mind finally given out, the last embers of her subconscious retreating to the depths of her mind as her body lay comatose and bleeding out on the stone rooftop?
An unamused Gin popped into her peripheral view, co*cking an eyebrow as Tiphereth’s eyes struggled to focus on him.
“W-Wha…?” She licked her lips, the distinctive, coppery taste of blood absent from her mouth. She blinked twice in astonishment, her voice clear and unblemished as she felt – or rather, didn’t feel – her untouched throat. The blonde sat up, the only indication she hadn’t awoken from some terrible nightmare being the handcuffs still locked around her wrists and the tattered dress still clinging to her body.
“You look much better now,” the Hosa said with a smirk, prying a katana from the hands of a nearby Kurokumo cutthroat, much to his chagrin. The soft clapping of her sandals was briefly deafened by the door to the staircase below slamming open, a belabored Kurokumo swordsmen stumbling through the archway with sweat caking his face and blood dripping from his shorn arms.
“Dame Sayo, my apologies, but there are some Fixers closing in on our hideout. They appear to be affiliated with the Hana.”
“Oh?” Sayo paused mid-step, clicking her tongue as she shifted her gaze to Yang. “Yang, Gin. Please follow our friend here and see how close those Fixers are. If they’re about ready to encircle our little outpost, we’ll begin packing up. Otherwise, see if you can ward them off.”
“Man, dame Sayo…” The irritation welling underneath Yang’s polite smile finally burst forth. “I don’t even get to see you cut the girl down? Surely we can just send Gin dow-“
“Both of you, Yang,” she snapped back, her eyes as sharp as the blade at her belt. “Did you not say you plucked this girl from right under the Hana’s noses? Keep them away from us. I’m sure you can indulge in some other bloodsport.”
The Kurokumo Wakashu clicked his tongue as he rose to his feet, sighing indignantly. “Most bloodsport don’t get away with stabbing you in the back first, though.”
“Yang,” Gin cut in, his gaze equally as venomous as the Hosa’s.
“Yeah, yeah, I won’t dream of going against the dame.”
Yang shot a knowing smirk to the librarian as he departed, an odd mixture of disappointment and pity as his fantasies of seeing a squealing Tiphereth clutch at the katana embedded deep in her ribcage would remain so. Butterflies tumbled about in Tiphereth’s stomach as though she’d ingested too much of that one tree’s unstable sap, goosebumps shooting up her arm as she heard the Hosa stop just inches from her quivering body. Even if she’d dared look up at the katana clasped in Sayo’s hands, the speed at which the deft blade came down at her was far, far too fast for the girl, still winded and dazed as she was, to react. Air shot sharply from her nostrils as she spied a glance back toward Sayo, the Hosa’s katana embedded deep into the concrete floor with the remnants of Tiphereth’s handcuffs still clinging to its steel blade. Sayo stepped back, her hand hovering along the hilt of her own blade.
“W-Wha…?” Tiphereth stammered, her widened, viridian eyes shooting between the blade and the Kurokumo Captain.
“There’s no pride nor enjoyment in gutting a helpless girl,” Sayo said curtly, an odd expression coming over the Hosa’s face. “Take your blade, Tiphereth. Show me the librarian that had cut us down in the thralls of your Library.”
Though it was but a second, Tiphereth studied Sayo’s knowing smile, enthralled by the bizarre, alien complexion that had taken over the swordswoman. It was neither smugness, nor arrogance, nor even mere joy that washed over her face. It was something else, something primal, feral, something that clawed at Tiphereth’s throat even more than the shock collar that was still locked around her neck.
Tiphereth’s face grew pale and she lunged for the katana in the ground.
Bloodlust.
Sayo’s cold, pupilless eyes were awash in bloodlust.
For Sayo, the movement came as naturally as breathing. A single, lenticular flourish, an elegant half-arc that terminated in a single, piercing thrust, centered directly at the blonde girl’s face. She was but a blur on that momentous dusk, a single Wakashu whose speed, whose prowess, whose sole, murderous intent surpassed that of the captain that choked and spluttered as he grasped at the blade lodged deep in his chest.
“Oh?”
The color returned to Sayo’s eyes as a sharp twang reverberated in the early morning air. Her blade jutted up and she held it firm, her lips pursed in a high, amused whistle. Though frantic, though unrefined, though caked with sweat and feverishly panting, Tiphereth’s haphazard swing had parried Sayo’s decisive blow. The Kurokumo grunts went silent, as though watching some perverse miracle play out, as though the heavens themselves had finally turned away from their invincible captain.
And then Sayo’s grin returned.
“Good, little girl,” she chuckled. “So this will be worth my time.”
And then the blade spun and redirected itself back down at Tiphereth’s neck. The librarian gasped and, adrenaline filling her newly-healed legs, threw herself to the side, just centimeters short of having both the collar and her throat torn in two by the sharpened tip of Sayo’s blade. She dove, awkwardly fell into a somersault as she fumbled with the katana in her hands, trying desperately not to waste her own efforts at saving her own skin by impaling herself, and jumped into a light run, her ears picking up the faint, but swift clatter of Sayo’s sandals. Her arms swung before she could even mutter a single “sh*t,” catching Sayo’s upward swing with her own clumsy slash. The blades bounced back, each duelist repulsed by the shockwave and sent back a few meters.
The silence melted away as a wild and jubilant chorus poured over the rooftops, the gaggle of Syndicate grunts all enraptured by the elegant swordplay of their Hosa. Cheers and gaping awes alike filled the air as Sayo sprung forward once again, not even momentarily dazed by the deflect. In comparison, the librarian may as well have been a clumsy trainee newly inducted into the Kurokumo, struggling to even get the proper footing in her stance, let alone brandish the katana in a manner befitting that of even a lowly cutthroat. The methodical and careful brushstrokes of Sayo’s katana, each carefully trained so that the sharpened end of her blade would tear Tiphereth’s vitals open, only missed their mark as the wild and instinctual flails of a girl fighting for her life managed to save her at the last possible second. Slash begot slash, stroke met steel, and the spinning and twirling Hosa, her blade swirling around her in a graceful arc like an orbiting comet dazzling the lesser beings below, almost appeared to dance around the librarian who stumbled blindly against Sayo’s relentless assault.
Finally, a pause as the edge of the two blades intertwined. Tiphereth’s knees buckled and she pressed her free hand against the back of her blade, desperately trying to dissuade the katana edging closer and closer to her throat. The Hosa’s smile grew wider and wider, mirroring Tiphereth’s eyes as they grew with a mixture of anger and panic, the girl’s frustration and dread evident in each bead of sweat that rolled down her face. Fully committed to her defense, the librarian could do little but try to match the Kurokumo Captain in strength.
So, still pinning Tiphereth down with her sword arm, Sayo drew her wakizashi and swiped at Tiphereth’s arm.
“Ggg-gggaAAAAAAH!”
The blonde recoiled back, a searing pain rolling across her entire body like one of the voluminous bookshelves in her room had just fallen onto her left arm. It fell uselessly to her side, fingers twitching, as the length of her arm from the forearm down to the wrist was split open, blood gushing from the opened wound. The Hosa smirked confidently, drinking in Tiphereth’s agonized scream, and swung the wakizashi down at the apex of its arc, aiming now for the side of the girl’s face. Perhaps the pain had wrenched her from her doomed defense or perhaps a primal, self-preservation instinct took control of her body, but the girl grit her teeth and stepped to the side, just barely moving her body free from the trajectory of Sayo’s katana, while she slid her own blade back. The flat of the blade rushed to Tiphereth’s defense, causing the wakizashi to bounce harmlessly off the steel. Gifted her golden opportunity, Tiphereth leapt… or rather, clumsily stumbled back, cradling her torn arm.
“Tch,” Sayo huffed, spinning her twin blades in a flourish before returning the wakizashi to its sheath, following after Tiphereth with a single bound. The girl’s vision swirled and spun as her arm spasmed and her knees buckled, her body shuddering with pain as each pump of her heart led to another gush of blood from the gaping wound, yet be it from experience, from instinct, or from sheer luck, her katana flew up and parried Sayo’s execution aimed at her neck. The Hosa’s blade swung up, erred to the side, and swung diagonally down as the swordswoman continued her relentless pursuit, aiming to bisect the girl shoulder to hip. The clash of steel silenced both Sayo’s measured breaths and Tiphereth’s labored gasps as the librarian, inexplicably, caught the blade mid-swing and deflected it. And then she did it again. And again.
Not a single cutthroat dared stir from their silent vigil as they watched their bloodthirsty Hosa’s dance be matched. The footwork of the diminutive girl was sloppy, her swordplay wide and frenzied, and her body jerked erratically around as she fought to match Sayo beat for beat, yet none could deny that despite the blood that ran down the arm trailing uselessly behind the librarian, her efforts only serve to evaporate the smile that once adorned Sayo’s face.
“… Nnngh!”
It happened in an instant. Maybe the Hosa’s sweeping spin was a foot too far, or perhaps her blade was but a beat too slow. Nonetheless, the rhythmic clang of steel in the two’s elegant blade dance was interrupted by the muted, but distinctive slit of flesh and steel intertwining. Though Sayo’s face remained unshaken, she recoiled back in a jerky leap, pressing her hand against her shoulder. Her fingertips drew back blood, the same blood that coated the end of Tiphereth’s katana. The girl, too, took the time to nurse the wound drawn across her arm, her winded face losing the color in her cheeks as exhaustion threatened to overtake her adrenaline.
Their moment’s reprieve was but that as the two leapt forward again. Perhaps Tiphereth’s nerves had long since given up trying to scream at her brain that her muscles were at their limit, and perhaps Sayo’s body simply refused to acknowledge the faint slit that had now opened up in her shoulder that caused her arm to lag with each spin. A trail of bloody footsteps now marked their waltz as the two continued their macabre display, joy and pain both stricken from their stoic expressions. Maybe the Hosa’s pride now dictated the librarian must die to keep both her honor and her life intact. Maybe the librarian’s primal instinct to live forced her to lash out violently even if it meant cutting the Hosa down. Was both their determination and skill both giving way to fatigue and panic as their duel continued on?
Maybe that explained the new cut that ran down Tiphereth’s shoulder as Sayo’s katana slid past her guard.
Maybe that explained the gash opened on Sayo’s cheek as Tiphereth’s blade swung erratically and caught Sayo in a poor sidestep.
One wound became two. Became four. Became ten. The jet black kimono of the Hosa was now dyed a pure crimson while the tattered dress of the librarian was bleeding into a garish orange. The artful flourishes of the Hosa were lost as her blade danced less, diving more at Tiphereth’s neck and heart like a stalking predator that had long since lost its patience. Though the speed of the Hosa’s thrusts had nearly halved in their bout, Tiphereth felt her body move in slow motion, her limbs little more than husks dragged along by flimsy strings as the muscles in her arms simply began to shut down one after another. She gasped and heaved as she threw her weight into each slash, managing only to parry Sayo’s continued onslaught with a herculean effort.
Finally, an opening? The edges of Tiphereth’s vision grew fuzzy as her body strained to even keep itself upright, let alone focused on the wounded swordswoman in front of her. Yet, as Tiphereth’s blade circled back from a wide swing, she saw it. A momentary gap, maybe a product of the fatigue etched on Sayo’s face, maybe nursing the wound that Tiphereth had cut along her wrist, but still a chink in the Hosa’s guard where Tiphereth’s blade could find its mark in the Kurokumo Captain’s side. Her teeth grit as the librarian shut out every last pang of pain ripping through her body, lunging forward as the tantalizing opportunity presented herself.
And she tripped.
Every last bit of adrenaline dissipated from her body like a bucket of water haphazardly thrown into a pool of lava. As Sayo slipped above her gaze and the concrete rose to meet her, Tiphereth beheld the pool of blood that had accumulated between her toes, a slick veneer of crimson over the once pale stone. Off-balance and woozy as she was, it may as well have been a frozen lake to the soles of her feet.
A soft crunch and a groan echoed from the librarian as she slammed into the ground, cushioning her face with her arm as she felt it uncomfortably bend back, the elbow screeching in protest. What little blood still remained in her body rushed to her face in an instinctual, but nonetheless understandable flush of embarrassment as tried to push herself up to her elbows, slumping on her left as her battered arm felt content to finally give in.
A hand roughly gripped her shoulder and Tiphereth was thrown to her back, sharply gasping as her head banged against concrete. Dots flickered in and out of her vision as both anemia and fatigue fought over which would claim the girl’s consciousness first and she wearily blinked away the spots in her vision, squinting her eyes as she tried to focus on the thin, black shadow rapidly closing the distance toward her fa-
Tiphereth lurched her head to the side, instinct barely saving her from an untimely lobotomy. A bloodied and gasping Sayo straddled the girl, her palm shoving the librarian back to the ground even as she pried the katana free from the stone with a snarl. Tiphereth’s fingers fumbled first for her katana, just a few inches short of her desperate, flailing fingertips, then toward Sayo’s wrist. Though she kicked and clawed, the little strength the girl had left may as well have been a piece of paper wildly flailing against a boulder. Through the blood that poured over the Hosa’s face, Tiphereth could see the glimmering luster in Sayo’s black eyes had gone out, left with a voidless bloodlust.
“That’s enough,” Sayo said curtly, lifting the blade above Tiphereth’s face. “Die.”
The girl’s breath quickened, her heart wildly pounding even as blood gushed from her gaping wounds and soaked her ruined dress. At this distance, she wasn’t sure if she could pull her head away from Sayo’s blade again. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if Sayo would even fall for that same trick one more time. Dread and panic set in as a final, grim realization seemed to wash over her finally. After ten millenia of torture, after several months of endless bloodshed, after she had finally tasted the slightest bit of freedom from the purgatory her reincarnated life had awoken to… it was all going to end so suddenly.
Alone, on some dimly lit rooftop, as not even a scream would tear from her lips before the blade tore her brain in two.
She pushed against Sayo’s hand to no avail. She clawed at the wrist pinning her down to no success. She whimpered and gasped and wriggled against the full weight of the swordswoman as the blade began its final descent. Come on. Come on! Come the f*ck on!
A flurry of thoughts rushed through her head, each as useless as the last. In the last, fleeting second of her life, Tiphereth saw a myriad of opportunities and none could save her from the tip of the blade catapulting toward her head. She closed her eyes, seizing the one, last thought that flickered to life in her head, and threw her leg out. She bent it back and, feeling the rush of wind blow across her face as her fatal execution was but moments away, wrenched her leg back.
The warm and sticky sensation of blood and skin hit her inner calf and an astonished swear cut through the suffocating silence. Tiphereth’s leg had flown back, hooking Sayo’s knee and dragging it along, causing the Hosa to stumble awkwardly to the side. The blade wavered and jerked erratically before it found its mark. Tiphereth bit her lip, swallowing a cry of pain as she felt the side of her head explode in pain. Blood pooled from her ear where the katana had cut directly through the middle, just a few inches short of cleaving through the blonde’s skull. Choking back tears and repressing the pain shooting through her body, she seized the one, fleeting opportunity she’d been waiting for; throwing herself up as she felt the pressure of Sayo’s arm lessen. For a woman so cruel, so callous, so heartless as her, Tiphereth expected more than a meek “oh,” as the Hosa was thrown to the side, tethered to the blonde only by the girl’s hand gripped tight around her wrist. The two rolled ignobly on the ground until Sayo’s head smacked against it with a thud, the Kurokumo Captain now dazed and sprawled on the ground with a bloody, panting Tiphereth now mounted atop her stomach. The katana clattered to the ground and Sayo’s eyes locked on it, her hand shooting out for its familiar, embroidered hilt.
Only for Tiphereth’s foot to kick it away.
For one long, agonizing moment, it seemed like the Kurokumo cutthroats encircling them – no, rather, it seemed like the City itself had been wiped clean, leaving but the weary librarian and the Syndicate officer that had only moments ago vied for her head. She wasn’t sure when her knees dug into Sayo’s chest, causing the Hosa to cough up blood, or when her fingers found their way around the swordswoman’s throat. She wasn’t sure when she noticed the blood dripping from her torn ear, or the fatigue from her burning arms as they protested their last, murderous grasp at Sayo’s life. She wasn’t even sure when she noticed Sayo’s face going blue as the Hosa’s frantic tugs at Tiphereth’s own arms grew faint and the frantic kicks to Tiphereth’s legs slowed.
What she was sure of, though, was that as she blinked, Tiphereth saw the beaming face of a familiar girl, barely into her own adulthood, a brunette with carelessly combed locks running down her face and a familiar, red headband desperately trying to keep the mane contained. She saw that same damn face as it smiled.
And the gunshots rang.
Tiphereth recoiled back, her hands gripping – no, clawing at her face as her frantic heart and seizing lungs struggled to now deal with a hysterical, hyperventilating girl. The Hosa coughed and spluttered, taking in deep and ragged breaths, before her hand slipped to the side of the kimono. The wakizashi cleared its sheath in one, fluid motion, its blade directed at Tiphereth’s throat. Sayo’s eyes narrowed as they focused on the quivering girl atop her, as they focused on the crimson neck sticking out precariously underneath her trembling arms, bare skin poking out above the collar nestled above her collarbone, as her free blade came to tear it open.
“… Tiphereth.”
The blade stopped just centimeters from Tiphereth’s neck. The librarian listlessly stared back at Sayo, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face, unable to keep her body from sagging as the last drops of adrenaline faded from her blood. She’d gotten so close and at the end of the day,
she still f*cked it up. She was going to die now because she couldn’t keep it together and she just… couldn’t…
“Why?”
Tiphereth’s eyes met Sayo’s. There was neither the malice of the chuckling Hosa that gloated as electricity ran through the girl’s body nor the bloodlust of a murderous swordswoman as she aimed to tear the librarian’s throat and heart in twain. She saw… curiosity, an almost childlike wonder, as though Sayo had once again stepped back onto her floor moments before the two had fought to the death before.
“By all accounts, I should be dead,” Sayo said simply, pursing her lips in confusion. “But you let go at the last second. You didn’t hesitate back when we fought all those months ago.”
“I…”
Tiphereth froze, feeling the blade press against her neck. “Don’t give me pity,” Sayo hissed. “I want a clear answer from you. And if I don’t like what I hear, I’ll deliver your head to the Patriarch. Now why?”
“… Because I’m tired of killing.”
Sayo blinked. Was it contempt that marred her expression? No, the furrowing of her brow and the wrinkling of her nose reminded her of a certain black-suited Fixer, so continually befuddled and awestruck by the stories of one ambitious project born in the heart of the City’s seedy underbelly, carried on by those possibly more delusional than they were devoted, as he tried to parse the motivations underlying their multi-millennia purgatory. Tiphereth averted her gaze, her body tensing up as if anticipating the Hosa’s execution at any moment.
“The first time I woke up, I got to watch people march off to their deaths. Sometimes they died because they didn’t listen to me. … Sometimes they died because they did.” She bit her lip, feeling the edge of the blade beginning to dig into her skin. “The second time I woke up, I was the one doing the killing. I killed bright-eyed Fixers who were only doing their job, merciless thugs and scoundrels that probably wanted me dead more than I did. I watched my friends die again and again trying to protect me. I watched my friends die again and again… because I couldn’t stop myself.” Her fingers dug into her palms, tears dripping down her face. “But this is different. This isn’t Angela’s request. This isn’t even for myself. Now that I have the choice, I just…”
Her head sank. Sayo sighed and clicked her tongue, trying to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “… Are all of you… ‘librarians’ like this? Honestly, how pathetic.”
“Most of us aren’t killers by nature.” Tiphereth gave a wry chuckle, a pathetic smile spreading across her face. “We just… wanted to try and fix the City. And we just pretended that everything we were doing was leading to something better.”
“How saccharine. This is the kind of sugar that would ruin a nice cup of tea.”
“Mmm…” Tiphereth’s eyes closed, trying not to let the last, lingering regrets claw at her as she waited for Sayo’s blade to slide across her throat. “It is pathetic that I’m dying like this. … But I think I can live with that. Maybe.”
The girl fell silent, wearing her smile as she tried to ignore the pain jolting up her neck. What would she do first, she wondered? Would she get to see him again, his glowing smile and his warm body little more than a distant memory to a girl that even she could barely remember? Or for her sins, would she simply descend into Hell itself, left with little comfort but her tattered memories of her friends?
She’d cheated death twice now. Maybe it was finally time that she, at long last, greet it like a long, lost friend, and hope that the feeling was mutual.
“… Ugh.”
A shove jolted Tiphereth from her deathly stupor, knocking the girl to the ground. She weakly rose to a sitting posture as she nursed the cut across the side of her neck, the blonde’s widened eyes staring back at Sayo with clear bemusem*nt. The Hosa shared the same sentiment in her cloudy irises, yet tried not so successfully to hide it as the swordswoman struggled to force herself back up to her feet. Blood caked her legs and her soaked kimono clung to her body as she limped toward her katana, returning it to her sheath and using it as a makeshift cane.
“… Dame Sayo?” a voice called. Tiphereth suddenly became aware of a multitude of eyes bearing down on her. Yes, she’d almost forgotten. Their duel was but a spectacle to a nest of Kurokumo grunts.
“There’s no sport nor honor in a gutless execution like this,” Sayo spat. She stumbled and winced, each movement causing her body to scream in agony. “I’ve had my duel with the Library. And she conceded. That’s enough.”
Her hollow words failed to convince the wounded Tiphereth still recovering on the ground, let alone the collection of Kurokumo grunts lining the rooftop. The librarian’s eyes skirted across the rooftop, watching as the Syndicate thugs stirred restlessly one after the other, their hands hovering ominously over the hilts of their blades. Though every single nerve in her body shot with pain, she grit her teeth and forced herself up to her feet, plucking the katana from the ground and holding it tight to her chest as though the bloodied steel might ward off the piercing stares of her unwelcome audience. A sharp cough caught the duo’s attention as a clean-shaven Kurokumo swordsman walked forward, his pale complexion and almost pristine haircut more akin to some type of Nest office worker rather than a foot soldier in the Syndicate’s perpetual territorial struggle. A chill ran down Tiphereth’s spine as his eyes glossed over her, a mocking disdain that seemed to go far beyond even the contempt of Sayo’s lackeys.
… Which, Tiphereth noticed with a lump in her throat, were still absent from the scene.
“Dame Sayo, did you by chance not get enough sleep last night? It seems quite unlike you to let an enemy of the Thumb off so easily.” The swordsman’s words were slow and methodical, lacking the deference that Gin and Yang held even in their confusion. Sayo traced his gaze to the beleaguered Tiphereth and stepped between them, clicking her tongue.
“Know your place, cutthroat. The Kurokumo Clan has exacted its tithe from the girl. All of you, downstairs. We need to close up our operations before the Hana finally track down our location.”
Not a single soul budged. The Hosa uncomfortably stepped back, her fingers sliding down the hilt of the katana shaking in her grip. The swordsman stepped forward once again, swinging his sheathed blade lackadaisically. “Exacted its tithe? Sayo, the girl is clearly still alive. Why not kill her and be done with it?”
“If you wish to challenge my authority, I’ll welcome it,” Sayo snarled, her eyes narrowing. “Do you think that just because I’ve taken a small cut here and there, I’m suddenly not able to defend my position?” She glared daggers at the impudent cutthroat that dared to speak out of turn, a Syndicate thug so green he might as well have just walked straight out of a Nest. With barely a cut adorning his face nor even a single tattoo emblematic of the Kurokumo Clan to his name, he nonetheless sauntered forward in his ironed jeans and dusted coat, his smile spreading wider and wider as he stood a solid two heads taller than the shaking Kurokumo Captain, the swordswoman still struggling to maintain her posture even as blood still dripped from her burning wounds. Her glare softened, then slowly faded away, her anger replaced with a gnawing disgust and contempt.
“… I don’t recognize you, actually,” Sayo said, her blade making a soft click as it popped from its sheath. “What District are you from? 23? 6? 10? 20?”
“Was that a way of asking for my name, Sayo?” the cutthroat cooed, his smile warping into a twisted smirk. “I never took you for someone who wasted her time with pointless questions.”
“I don’t.” She brandished her blade, now stepping beside the winded Tiphereth. A series of soft clicks echoed in unison as the Kurokumo swordsmen began to close around them, their katanas drawn.
“Then I’ll be polite and not waste your time with such pointless drivel,” he continued, nonchalantly stretching his arms out before resting his hand on the hilt of his blade. “When we heard that the librarian girl got snatched by these dregs, we wanted to see if she’d say anything useful before she got offed. Heard up the grapevine that perhaps her death might provoke the Library to send some more interesting people our way. We didn’t quite expect the girl to actually fight for her freedom, nor for you to give it. It is quite a… welcome surprise.”
“Hmph.” Sayo smiled wryly, wiping some of the blood off her face. “Traitorous mutts in the Kurokumo Clan? And to think I already miss the cowards that fled after getting released from the Library.”
“A Backstreets dog shouldn’t act so pompous that it thinks it can call others mongrels,” he shot back. He circled the two girls, his eyes lingering on Sayo, methodically dissecting each part of her exhausted posture. “Now, of course, I have a question for you.”
“A question, hm? Wonderful.” Sayo’s voice was dripping with venom.
“You seem so willing to throw in the towel. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to save us the trouble and come quietly with that girl over there. I’d hate to get these clothes dirty and, truth be told, there are quite a few things about the Kurokumo Clan I’d like a more intimate look at.”
Sayo flicked the blood from her katana, spitting at the swordsman. “You’re not even worth replying to, you piece of sh*t.”
He sighed, nodding his head in disapproval. “So be it. Men, take the girl alive. Break her arms and legs if she resists. I don’t need the Hosa; kill her if she gets in the way.”
All at once, the Kurokumo swordsmen barreled forward. No, Tiphereth grit her teeth and held the katana out in a defensive crouch. This wasn’t like when Sayo and her band of Syndicate thugs had entered the Library. They were disciplined, coordinated, each one closing around the bloodied duo like a noose tightening around an exposed neck. The Kurokumo Clan were refined swordsmen, each carrying some measure of artistry and pride in the way they carried their blade, but in many ways they were like arrogant and proud artists, each striking out with their own individual style as they blindly flailed against the Library.
“Urk!”
If the gathered thugs thought the beaten, panting Hosa barely capable of supporting her weight with her blade was a defenseless mark, the eager cutthroat now stumbling back and clutching his severed throat dispelled such notions. Her movements were noticeably slower, her face strained and marred with a pained grimace as she vaulted forward, yet Sayo’s blade was no less lethal as it carried itself in its wide, sweeping arc, twisting and poising itself to a fatal lunge that impaled the next cutthroat as she unsuccessfully tried to decapitate the Kurokumo Captain. The swordsmen pivoted and sidestepped as their gurgling companions dropped to the ground, completely unphased as they charged in, an ambitious duo moving to pincer the Hosa. She plucked the wakizashi from its sheath and deftly parried the blows, scoffing as her twin blades surged out with a wide sweep of her arms, showering Sayo in blood and the agonized death gurgles of her would-be assailants. A trio of lenticular swirls accompanied a piercing thrust, showering the swordswoman in blood with a pile of corpses as tribute to her resolve.
If Tiphereth had the opportunity, she’d simply gape in awe at the almost outlandish stamina of the woman that had moments ago nearly slit her throat. Sure, each step came with a noticeable limp, and her posture wavered unsteadily as she weathered and parried blow after blow, but the sheer tenacity of the Hosa went beyond being applaudable and became almost terrifying. She wanted nothing more than to watch as Sayo cut down the Kurokumo grunts that she’d once exerted absolute control over… but the hands grasping for her pulled the girl from her trance. While her form was far from the refined and elegant sweep of the Hosa, the slash warded off the blow of the cutthroat looming over her. She sprung up to her feet, her legs begging her not to drag them into yet another protracted engagement as she forced herself upright, brandishing the katana in what she hoped was an intimidating stance.
The stoic frowns of the Syndicate thugs were enough of an answer as she scrambled to defend herself. Her sloppy footwork barely pulled the girl out of the trajectory of a snarling swordswoman’s thrust as she deflected an errant swing at her head with the flat of her blade. Her eyes saw the flash of a grungy City jacket and she lashed out with a clumsy swing, drawing a splotch of scarlet and the howl of a wounded cutthroat as he nursed the gash down his shoulder. Tiphereth’s ears perked up as a trio of footsteps echoed behind her and she stumbled to the side, a wild and blind slash at her blind spot causing the two swordsmen closing on her flank to jump back with a yell. Her lungs burned as she took in deep breaths, trying not to pay heed to the wounds across her arms and face flaring up again, and-
Thwack.
Tiphereth crumpled to her knees, her free hand rubbing her head where a garish bruise gushed blood down the side of her head. As if waiting for the opportune moment, her body erupted in pain, her knees almost paralyzing her to the ground as the electrifying pain jolted up her spine while her arms felt like limp, rotted planks at her sides. She heaved an anguished sigh as she forced herself up to a crouch, flailing the blade wildly as she tried to force the swordsmen away. Her left eye clamped shut as a stream of blood ran down the side of her face, the burning pain half-blinding her, yet she still managed to keep her bearings as she locked eyes with an onrushing cutthroat, meeting his blade with hers. The first swing knocked the katana to the side, the second depositing itself in his ribs with a choked groan. She tore it free as she stumbled back, feeling her body pulse and tremble all over as another wave of pain washed over her. Her nostrils burned as she took in another breath, tracing the second swordsman as he closed in on her rig-
Wham.
Tiphereth slammed into the ground, unable to catch the fist that caught her in her blinded left. Still holding the katana tightly in her hand, her gaze flew to the nearest grunt and she threw the blade out. He parried it with a nimble slash before jumping back, two more quickly taking his place. She forced herself up with one knee and spun around to address her left flank, swinging the blade out in a wide, reverse arc that swept away the Kurokumo grunts encircling h-
Slam.
She hit the concrete hard, the back of her skull feeling like it was ready to explode. She spun her body reflexively, hoping to catch the thug with her retaliatory swing before-
Smack.
She gagged and choked as the fist crushed the side of her face, feeling parts of her jaw begin to dislocate. Colors danced in her vision as she tried to shake them away. The feeling in her fingers began to fade as-
Crash.
Tiphereth hit the ground once again, the katana flying free from her twitching fingers and skirting across the bloodied concrete. Her vision grew fuzzy as shadows crept in her peripheral vision, the short barks and commands from the swordsmen surrounding her becoming little more than indistinct garbles amidst the morning winds. Her body’s attempt to curl into a ball did little to shield her as another boot slammed into her back, the sheath of another katana crashing into her face, a swift punch slipping past her legs and digging directly into her ribs. At this point, she was simply thankful that she’d begun to lose feeling in her body, even as she heard her ribs crack and her hip fracture. Still, whether it be through duty, through instinct, or because her thoughts had become little more than a morass of scrambled thoughts, she still tried to crawl forward, as if there was just one last, solitary hope that she could recover and fight her way free of the mob gathered around her. The cracked concrete underneath her torn and bloodied fingertips soon became air as she felt her body hoisted up, arms roughly sliding up her armpits and pulling her off the ground. Still she squirmed, still she struggled. She just needed one, opportune moment. Just the blade in her hand. There was always a line, always one more thing she could pull off. Gebura had drilled it into her for weeks on end that as long as you could still draw breath, as long as you could move a single arm, there was no reception that wasn’t los-
“That’s enough.”
A loud, sickening crunch echoed in the rooftop.
“NnngaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Pain.
Oh god it f*cking hurt.
God no please no f*cking god nngggh aaaah no please stop.
Gebura Angela Malkuth Binah Roland please someone help make it stop it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it f*cking hurts oh god it f*cking hurts aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA.
Tiphereth’s head lolled, the last drops of adrenaline that defiantly tried to push her body forward all but evaporated. Amidst the tears and blood that slid down her face, through the shadows that began to creep into her vision, even as fatigue and anemia clawed at her consciousness and beckoned her to a sleep she was all but certain she wouldn’t wake from, she could barely make out her right leg. Mangled, jutting out at an unnatural angle, splintered bone jutting from her calf where the swordsman’s foot had found its mark.
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
Please make it stop. Someone please.
Help.
Her eyes slowly rose, the last part of her body that she still seemed to be in control of. Her vision blurred as human figures became little more than mangled blobs, but she… thought she could make out the Hosa that had so bizarrely spared her life. The black kimono barely clung to her body as cuts and gashes tore through the strengthened fabric, exposing a litany of scars both old and new underneath. The once spectacular and dancelike blur of blades was now just a pathetic flail, easily forced aside by the trio of cutthroats bearing down on her. The sickly tearing of skin preceded Sayo’s muffled gasp as she fell to the ground, trying to stem the bleeding of a cut that tore straight across her palm. She didn’t raise a hand as a kick sent her sprawling to the ground… or maybe she, too, had exhausted the last bit of her strength.
She clambered up to all fours, her shaking body victim to another kick in the small of her back that sent her back to the ground, reeling. A mock chuckle reverberated across the gathered Kurokumo grunts as they pulled Sayo back up to her knees by her hair, the Hosa reduced to little more than glaring at the mob that had subdued them. The two watched as one of the cutthroats raised their katana. With a solid, downward swing, he’d be sure to cleave directly through Sayo’s neck.
N-No. Come on, Tiphereth. Do something to get their attention. Yell, scream, throw something. You’re still conscious, right? That’s what she told herself, even though the only feeling left in her body was her shattered leg, each heartbeat only serving to electrocute her with another jolt of pain. Come on, think. Pain. f*ck. Ow. No. There has to be something. f*ck. Pain. It hurts. Please no. God please why does every single heartbeat hurt I’ll let you take my leg just please stop ow ow ow stop f*ck ow.
She blinked, finding herself once again in that dingy room. She heard the electric crackle of the collar fastened around her neck, her skin blistering and tearing as another current caused her to scream until her throat bled. She shook her head, the shadowy visage of a limp Sayo and a raised katana returning to her bleary vision. f*ck, come on Tiphereth. They’re just going to torture and kill you anyway if you don’t do something, so do something.
Her arms were limp. Her head spun and stung as blood caked the left side of her face. She could barely choke out words from her throat, her mouth dry and her lips cut and bleeding. There has to be something.
Pain. f*ck. Ow.
No, f*ck the leg. f*ck the cuts. f*ck everything. Tiphereth, come on, just do something.
The katana rose. Sayo’s head rose with it, as if to meet her death with a defiant stare. Even if the librarian had the strength to squirm, a plethora of arms held her fast. f*ck. Pain. Ow. Roland, Angela, someone, please. I’m tired. It hurts. Please.
Her thoughts bled out one after the other, extinguished as the blood loss threatened to exhaust her completely. As her vision slowly faded to a pure and voidless black, as she felt her body began to crumple and fall into the abyss underneath her, as she could barely hear the sound of her own voice, she bit her lip and, with the last vestiges of her consciousness, screamed.
“Knight, please!”
If there was ever such a thing as a soundless explosion, perhaps that’s what Tiphereth swore she heard. A concussive blast pounded her body and, were it not for her newfound captors still holding her tight, she would have easily flown several meters across the rooftop and down to the abandoned streets below as a fine, red paste. Though the allure of sleep still nagged at the back of her head, she felt something surge within her, like a hand had tightly gripped her soul and was wrenching it from dreary unconsciousness. The shadows receded from her vision, the amorphous blobs giving way to a strident, glimmering star that manifested on the rooftop. Though the sun’s rays were beginning to fully shine over the City, the figure seemed cloaked in a perpetual dusk, her midnight dress adorned with a string of beauteous stars. The pale lady addressed the gathered thugs even with her eyes perpetually closed, almost drinking in the horror and confusion of the executioner’s blade held fast by a lone, obsidian rapier.
“Please, that’s enough.” Her voice was slow and measured, some might even say melodic. Yet, something in the pit of Tiphereth’s stomach sank with each word. “Don’t you think enough blood has spilled?”
“Wh-What…?” the man stammered, still wrapping their head around the sudden interloper. “Who the f*ck are-“
“I will ask only once.”
A splash of crimson. In her weary state, Tiphereth couldn’t even begin to tell where the second rapier had come from, only that it now lay in the fractured remains of the Kurokumo cutthroat’s skull. Yes, she could place it now. The voice of a forlorn protector, blinded by grief, lashing out at those who would prolong her suffering.
The Knight of Despair.
“That’s… O-01-73-1…” one of the swordsmen muttered. The smug, finely dressed man that had once looked down on the Hosa and the beaten Tiphereth staggered back, a brief look of astonishment shattering his once arrogant smirk. His eyes quickly flew to Tiphereth, the color draining from his face. “What are you f*cking idiots doing? It’s the girl! The girl is the source of the abnormalities! Blind her or knock her out or do something, you useless f*cks!”
Tiphereth winced and let out a sharp cry as she felt the hands around her arms pull back, arching her back uncomfortably, although admittedly what would have been a sharp and blistering pain was little more than a dull and uncomfortable crick in her back as exhaustion still plagued her body. Her feeble attempts to pull her face away from the surrounding cutthroats were little more than a minor inconvenience as a pair of hands gripped her head and held it tight, a dagger procured and centering on her widened, quivering eye.
“Oh no you don’t!”
A blinding flash of brilliant pink sent the gathered Kurokumo swordsmen reeling, its searing light causing the girl to tear up as her hands instinctively moved to shield her from the searing glare. As the hands wrapped around her made a hasty retreat and she crumpled once again to the floor, she strained to pierce the indomitable wall of light that shielded her, barely making out a faint but distinctive blob of energetic black. It slid between the recoiling Tiphereth and the mass of Kurokumo thugs, the stench of blood reeking off of the librarian almost dispelled by pungent aroma of perfume Tiphereth could only describe as… “girly.”
“Hold it right there, criminal scum!” it declared, that same vibrant and shrill voice sending a paradoxical sense of relief and horror through Tiphereth’s spine. “In the name of Love and Justice, here comes the ass-kicking of a lifetime!”
“… Queenie!” Tiphereth croaked, feeling her jaw completely unhinge from her mouth in awe.
The mahou shoujo whipped her head back, flashing a cheeky smile as her golden eyes sparkled with a radiance befitting her ethereal nature. “Hey there, Tiph! Glad to see you’re still alive and kicking! It’d be pretty awkward if I was saving a corpse!”
Tiphereth grimaced, the pain shooting through her body with each heartbeat reducing her contempt to a glare and a strangled sigh. “You… looked pretty dead when I saw you last time…”
“I mean, c’mon,” the Queen of Hatred cooed with a showy twirl. “Did you forget all the time your little agents caved my skull in? Since when has that kept me down at all?”
“Glad to see… you’re not lacking in confidence.” Tiphereth hacked, blood dripping from her lips as she struggled to take in even short breaths. The abnormality knelt and gave the girl a curt pat on the head, her eyes like sparkling stars as she gave her a knowing wink.
“Just sit back, Tiph. I got this.”
I mean… what choice exactly did she have? It hurt to breathe, let alone voice her indignation, and any outlandish fantasies the librarian may have had of joining the mahou shoujo in her glorious onslaught were only mildly stymied by the bent and fractured mass of skin and bone that once was her right leg. After enduring for so long, pushing her body to the brink of exhaustion and then even a bit further beyond that, she seemed content in putting her faith in the diminutive abnormality that was but a hair shorter than her. To the untrained eye, she didn’t look any more intimidating than the girl bleeding out on the floor; if anything, the frilly pink dress, bizarrely teal hair, and the dainty skip in her step as she twirled her baton between her fingers made her an even more easier mark than the blonde who had fought Sayo to a draw. Perhaps that thought was that provoked the first three Kurokumo grunts to lunge forward in a coordinated assault, their blades swinging high and low from both her flanks while the third brought his blade down directly at the Queen of Hatred’s head.
Clank.
All at once, the color drained from the first two swordsmen’s faces. As nonchalantly as one would grab the foam bat of an excitable young child that was taking too many playful swipes at their eldest sibling, the mahou shoujo crossed her arms and snagged the blades mid-swing, the metal groaning and cracking under her pale vicegrip. She grinned as she followed the trajectory of the blade aimed at her face before kicking herself up in an effortless frontflip, slamming her heel directly into the chest of the swordsmen. His bone chilling, bloodcurdling scream followed him into the skies and along a wide parabola before descending far past the confines of the rooftop, vanishing into the murky streets below. If either the two swordsmen still caught in the abnormalities grapple had any time to regret their decision, it came too late as her feet hit the ground before bounding to the side, carrying the swordsman over before slamming him into his compatriot with the crunch of shattering bone. The star-tipped baton hovered dutifully alongside the girl all the while, returning to her hand with a sparkle-trailed twirl, its momentum continued with a giggle and a smile as it spun along the Queen of Hatred’s fingertips before swinging outward, cleanly connecting with a swordswoman face as she attempted to go for the abnormalities throat. The body came to a stumbling halt, hands fumbling for the missing half of her skull before the lifeless shell finally crumpled to the ground.
Perhaps it should have been obvious that there could only be one conclusion when confronted with an abnormality. It seemed completely absurd that an innocuous Grade 4 Fixer could fight that girl to a draw, let alone fatally wound her, yet a collection of Kurokumo swordsmen that outnumbered her more than three to one could hardly put a scratch in her, let alone escape her baton and her merciless smile with their lives. The first four encircled and surged forward, trying to catch the girl from all directions, only for a string of bullets springing from the girl’s fingertips to send the first two to the ground. She nimbly leapt in the air, spinning a great deal too many times in an almost convoluted evasion of the swipe directed at her legs before bringing her staff down, cleaving through the swordsmen’s skull, neck, and the first bit of his ribcage before wrenching the bloodied baton free from the mutilated corpse. Her heels clicked together as she bounced off the ground before centering her palm on the final swordsman’s face, muffling his horrified yell with a single, explosive blast of hardlight.
Of course, the focal point of the sudden and catastrophic collapse of their almost assured victory was the bleeding Tiphereth lying helplessly on the ground. The next batch didn’t even try to hide their intentions as they swerved around the mahou shoujo, the tips of their blades poised at Tiphereth’s neck. Nor did the Queen of Hatred have a moment’s hesitation as she swung around in turn, a flurry of bolts cascading from her fingertips. Body after body collapsed to the ground, their backs seared with charred holes, while the final two that managed to stumble dangerously close to Tiphereth’s body found their fleeting moment to seize victory crushed under the heel of a flying mahou shoujo.
“Oh no you don’t!” the Queen of Hatred cried, wheeling around and smacking the other directly in the face with her baton. “Didn’t anyone tell you… it’s rude to…!”
Her foot still pressed against the first’s back, she leapt up only momentarily before swinging downward, embedding her staff directly in his skull. “… ignore a perfectly cute girl?!”
The corpse crumpled to the ground, its muted response leaving the Queen of Hatred pouting in annoyance. “You could at least pretend to give me an answer.”
Opposite the radiant massacre performed by the unhinged mahou shoujo, the Knight of Despair’s own blade waltz seemed somber, almost subdued, barely nudging a single inch as the twin rapiers in her hands cleaved swordsman after swordsman cleanly in two. Her closed eyes seemed oblivious to the horrific spectacle playing out by her hand, though the deft and surgical thrusts of her blade skewering and piercing each Kurokumo cutthroat in turn might as well have suggested she was completely clairvoyant.
Sayo, of course, was just happy her impromptu savior wasn’t nearly as chatty as the murderer in pink. She hardly considered herself ambidextrous nor did she favor her wakizashi, but the searing pain pulsing from her palm that left her arm hanging uselessly at her side left her with little recourse but to cut away at the wandering steel that came far too close for comfort. She would have time to muse about her peculiar circ*mstances later, the thought flitted through her head as she neatly decapitated a cutthroat reeling from the parrying thrust of one of the Knight’s rapiers.
“You’re losing a lot of blood,” the Knight of Despair observed, her matter-of-fact tone contrasting heavily with the uncomfortable ease at which she tore a Kurokumo grunt’s head clean off his shoulders with a swipe of her katana. “Please be at ease, Lady Sayo. Such motley underlings are not worth exhausting yourself over.”
“Can you imagine the disgrace if I were to leave everything to that girl’s imaginary friends?” Sayo spat, the enraged arc of her wakizashi neatly severing another grunt’s arm cleanly from its shoulder. “Besides, these wounds are nothing.”
“Oh, now?” a faint, but nonetheless distinct coyness belied the mahou shoujo’s words. “Hm, I wouldn’t want to get in your way if you could handle this yourself.”
“Mm, and what would that little librarian of yours say if you made such a dramatic entrance just to present a corpse to her at the very end?” Sayo responded in kind, her smirk hiding the pain shooting across her body with each swing. “It would be quite the embarrassment.”
Now it was the abnormality whose irritation was evident in her thrust, skewering two unfortunate swordsmen with one deft movement of her rapier. “… Touché, Lady Sayo.”
Between the intrepid swordplay of the solemn knight and her erstwhile Syndicate companion and the maniacal lasers of their giggling companion, the once large contingent of Kurokumo grunts that had seemed all too eager to turn on their Hosa had dwindled to one, that one, lone swordsman that had commanded Sayo’s men to turn on her all too easily. In fact, even as the decapitated, severed, and mutilated corpses of Kurokumo cutthroat after Kurokumo cutthroat dyed the rooftop red, the only blight on his figure were the stains of blood underneath his shoes, as though the man made sure not to engage in the reckless assault on the four. Sayo glanced at the Queen of Hatred, a trio of sparkling glyphs forming behind her as her gaze fell on the man. He’d be lucky if there was even a corpse left for the four to ruminate over.
Yet, still, he seemed to greet the dismal situation before him with a laugh. Tiphereth gulped as she forced herself to a sitting position, the gnawing concern and trepidation somehow intensifying despite their overwhelming advantage. Between the innumerable catastrophes administering the Briah layer of Lobotomy Corporation, the sudden entrance of the Reverberation Ensemble, and Roland’s sudden betrayal, she’d developed quite the disdain for unwelcome surprises.
After all, it was always the most innocuous problems that caused the most grief.
“Man, what a f*cking waste that was,” he grumbled, shaking his head like he’d just watched a novel toy car spontaneously combust. “I know the Library’s supposed to be some fallen Star or whatever, but here I thought getting one damn girl out of the hands of a bunch of illiterate street thugs would’ve been an easy job.
“You seem chatty for someone about to die,” Sayo observed, raising her wakizashi until it was level with the man’s eyes.
“Yeah. Unless you’re gonna beg for mercy or something? Are you gonna beg for mercy?” The Queen of Hatred bounced excitedly up and down, the magical glyphs behind her roaring to life as her lasers trained themselves on the final Kurokumo cutthroat. “I’ve always wanted to have a bad guy beg for his life at my feet.”
“As tempting an offer as that is, O-01-04, I’ll have to politely decline.” He yawned and reached into his back pocket, procuring a small pill. The Knight of Despair’s rapiers were already in mid-flight as the white capsule slipped through his lips, his eyes lazily staring at the blades that were directed at his face. “And now look at the mess. We could have easily written this off as some internal squabble with the Kurokumo Clan or some other Syndicate jumping on them. Instead I gotta deal with this sh*t.”
With a thunderous clash of steel, the rapiers were deflected with one swipe from the cutthroat’s katana, the trio of obsidian blades embedding themselves an inch deep into the concrete. An ominous pressure seemed to emanate from the nameless swordsman as he began to approach the three, a professional, consummate, and all too lethal aura beginning to permeate the rooftop.
“And now I gotta make sure there aren’t any witnesses or she’ll really chew my ear off.”
And then he shot forward. Many times before, Tiphereth would have used the phrase “shot forward” as mere hyperbole; many of the guests they had the pleasure of confronting before were practically superhuman in their capabilities toward the end of their journey that their clashes may as well have been torn straight from the legends of the mythos stored away on Hod’s floor. But no, this time he very well might as well have been a human bullet shot from an anti-material rifle, his trajectory set on the bleeding, exhausted librarian like some heat seeking missile. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Knight of Despair threw herself between the beleaguered Tiphereth and her nameless assassin, her once porcelain and stoic face now strained as her twin rapiers barely held back the overwhelming strength behind the man’s slash. He darted back before pouncing, the measured poise of a steely Cinq fencer striking with the force of some chemically amplified bear. A thrust to the abnormality’s face was barely sent ajar and a pivot to a directional slash at her waist was narrowly parried with her second blade. It rose up as though the blade itself was made of liquid steel, seamlessly rolling up and back toward the Knight’s neck in the time it took for Tiphereth to gasp in astonishment. The dusk-colored duelist’s blades rose to meet the executing blow, the sheer force sending her staggering back. Though her eyes remained perpetually closed, the librarian could see the growing, palpable dread dawning across the mahou shoujo’s face.
“Hey, asshole!”
And just like that, the Queen of Despair warped behind the Kurokumo swordsman, her baton a fledgling star erupting in a supernova of purest pink. “Don’t you dare hurt Knightie! In the name of love and justice, I’m gonna Arcana Slave your ass across the pave-“
He reached up and grabbed the mahou shoujo by the ankle.
It seemed almost preposterous, the mere visage of the Queen of Despair halted mid-flight as the man she had seemingly caught unawares turned and caught her as effortlessly as snagging an impudent little child flailing her toy sword at her eldest sibling. His body twisted, a knowing smirk spread wide across his face as his eyes met the increasingly pale face of the blonde girl, and slammed the mahou shoujo into the ground. The baton shrieked, its beam erratically shooting out wide, a hapless distress beacon carving its incinerating light across the rooftop and toward the horizon, shattering an innumerable number of windows in its wake. As dust clouds kicked up around him, he swung his blade up and parried the retaliatory strike from the Knight of Despair, the mahou shoujo snorting and hurriedly backing away as the seemingly open window slammed shut in front of her.
It was completely outlandish. The abnormality that only a minute ago was tearing up the Kurokumo grunts that had rushed them like they were little more than disposable mooks was put on the backfoot, somehow unable to keep up with her dual blades with the relentless onslaught of the nameless man with one ordinary Kurokumo katana. He thrusted, slashed, jumped and lashed out like some choreographed dance orchestrated by the Blood-red Night herself, forcing the Knight of Despair back further and further with each blinding swing of his blade. Tiphereth had to be dreaming at this point; she swore up and down that she had simply lost consciousness from blood loss halfway through the fight, that her subconsciousness had simply been plunged into a nightmare as the trio staved off the remainder of the Kurokumo grunts. She simply refused to believe the horrific spectacle playing out before her.
She desperately cried out to whatever uncaring deity she could think of as the nameless Kurokumo grunt pulled the mahou shoujo’s guard wide with the flat of his blade, his hand flying from his belt and back level with the abnormality’s chest in one swift, practiced motion. A gunshot rang out, causing the Knight of Despair to instinctively pull back, chopping the bullet in half with a swipe of her blade. The metal bullet crackled and sparked as the mahou shoujo’s blade neatly cleaved it in two.
And then exploded forward in a collection of metallic tendrils.
The once emotionless frown that adorned the Knight of Despair’s face was finally lost, wiped clean as the metallic tendrils clung to her chest and hastily swung across her body, snaking around her shoulders and wrapping tightly around her forearms and elbows, locking her arms firmly to her side before snapping shut across her back, locking the harness in place. The consternation was short-lived, replaced by a muted, but nonetheless horrifying squeal of pain as three, soft beeps preceded a sharp jolt of electricity, the electrical current causing the abnormality to fall to her knees and writhe in agony.
“K-Knightie!” the Queen of Hatred spluttered, coughing blood as she stumbled out of the small crater she was embedded in. Despite her wobbling legs, her speed was exceptionally nimble, the pink glyphs enveloping her clenched fist in a ball of crackling, pulsing energy exceedingly ferocious. “You bastard, I’ll-“
“Are you always this simple-minded?”
And then he spun around and punched the abnormality in the face.
It was over in a second. Maybe even less. Tiphereth watched with increasing horror, hoping desperately to wake from her dismal nightmare, as the Queen of Hatred emerged staggered but nonetheless triumphant, surged forward with her improvised magics ready to smite the villain where he stood, and was immediately pummeled back into the ground in the sheer time it took for her to formulate the slightest bit of hope. She could do little but watch in muted terror as the gun rose again, as another bullet shot toward the groaning abnormality as she tried to clamber back up to her knees, as the metallic restraints wrapped around her body and left her squirming around on the ground before electricity flared across her skin. The mahou shoujo shrieked and howled like a captured banshee, thrashing against her bonds while forcing herself to her feet, her weary, bloodied steps accompanied with a twitch and a snarl as her upper body violently twitched and recoiled with each electrical shock.
“Y-Y-Y-You ba-ba-baaastaard!” she screamed, blood beginning to drip from her mouth and eyes. “I-I-I’ll r-r-rip your a-a-arms off. D-D-Don’t you d-d-d-daaaare ha-ha-haarm Kni-Kniiightiee and-“
Thwack.
A final smack from the hilt of the katana sent the mahou shoujo to the ground. She twitched and squirmed and flailed and screamed, but showed no signs of rising back up to her feet.
“Hmph. I was expecting a little more from L Corp’s little freakshow experiments,” he muttered under his breath, turning his attention back to Tiphereth. One final guardian moved to the girl’s side, the bloodied Kurokumo Captain barely able to stand with her own strength. She was practically on her knees, barely able to keep the wakizashi straight, on the verge of collapsing as each fading heartbeat threatened to rob her of her consciousness, but still Sayo stood… well, knelt proudly in front of the girl, her blade raised in one last act of defiance. A farcical harumph blew from the nameless Kurokumo grunt’s lips as he approached the two quivering girls, drinking in the muted screams of the helpless abnormalities behind him as he carved a thin line behind him with his katana.
“This is usually the time where we play up the theatrics and I talk about how adorable it is that you’re still trying to resist despite probably dumping half of your blood across the floor already,” he began, rolling his eyes in contempt. “But I’ve already wasted enough time and, quite frankly, it might throw off the Seven more if they come across a dead Hosa and her string of useless henchmen rather than what little information I can pry out of you with each broken finger. But I consider myself a cultured man and where I come from, we do offer even the trash their last rites. So, any last words, oh dame Sayo?”
“Go f*ck yourself,” she spat.
“Short and to the point, I like it!” he cheered, raising his blade high. “Now then, die nobly, you piece of filth.”
If this was a dream or some sick nightmare, it’d long passed the point that Tiphereth could bear. Utterly paralyzed with fear, she could do little but watch helplessly as the blade descended on the Hosa, her blade much too slow to catch the strike’s trajectory. She urged her body forward, to shove Sayo out of the way from the blade that would surely rend her head in two, to not simply be an unwilling and mortified witness to another grisly death. Yet as much as she willed and fought and begged, all she could do was flounder forward barely a few centimeters, her still unbroken leg little more than jello. The invigorating strength that once revitalized her spirit had, too, reached its limit, darkness again creeping over her vision as she could do little but watch the blade near the frozen Hosa’s skull.
And just moments before the decisive blow was struck, the nameless Kurokumo grunt paused, just half a second short of splattering Sayo’s head with the sharp end of his blade, and swung to the side. The blade screeched in a frantic blur before shattering into multiple fragments, the polished Syndicate metal, finely crafted from workshops that had earned both the Thumb’s respect and the Kurokumo’s blessing, unable to withstand the otherworldly black steel that rocketed through the air, a bona fide medieval cruise missile that would’ve surely torn the head and a fair amount of the upper body off of the nameless assassin were he to follow through on his execution of the Hosa. An unnerving, disquieting silence settled over the rooftop as even the once arrogant Kurokumo grunt’s face lost its color. Three pairs of eyes fell to the opened door of the stairwell leading into the building, a single Fixer casually strolling through its archway. He dusted off his white jacket, another black spear manifesting in his outstretched hand.
“Olivier!” Tiph cried, almost ready to faint from exhaustion and relief.
“Lord Olivier…” the Kurokumo grunt muttered under his breath, instinctively darting back. A flurry of footsteps echoed behind him as two more familiar figures flanked the Hana Fixer, their katanas aggressively brandished.
“D-Dame Sayo…” Gin stuttered, his stoic expression wracked with shock. On Olivier’s left, the normally jovial Yang wore a cloudy scowl as he aimed his katana at the nameless Kurokumo grunt.
“Hey, you,” he snarled, sliding the back of his blade along his throat. “You’ve got quite the nerve, betraying the Kurokumo, the Thumb, and the dame like this. You think what we did to the brat was bad?” He cracked his knuckles, the sinister bloodlust emanating from the Wakashu more akin to a Hook Office Fixer rather than the measured poise of the Kurokumo. “By the time we’re done with you, you’ll be begging for death.”
“Sorry, what was that?” the Kurokumo grunt cupped his ear, poorly miming a show of deafness. “I don’t speak mongrel. You’ll have to enunciate a bit more.”
If Yang bit down any harder, he’d have cracked his teeth neatly in two. He stepped forward, his katana already lowered to his side for a gliding directional slash upward. “Why, you-“
A firm hand halted the Wakashu in his tracks. “Hold.”
Yang shot a glare at Olivier, aggressively chewing on the small toothpick hanging from his mouth. “Hey, the f*ck do you think you’re doing? Don’t think that we’re suddenly friends or anyth-“
“You should learn to shut your mouth and respect the wisdom of a Hana Fixer, Backstreets mutt,” the nameless grunt called back, smirking. “Even Lord Olivier can tell that I’d cut you right in two if you thought you could actually do something to me.”
Ignoring the piercing glare from the Wakashu, Olivier turned his attention to the man with the shattered katana, co*cking an eyebrow. “You’re very well-spoken for a member of a Backstreets Syndicate. Where did you learn your bladework, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The man stepped back, his unflappable swagger noticeably shaken. “Hmph. Certainly not from these mongrels, that’s for sure.”
“I see…” Olivier continued, pursing his lips. “I’ve spent some time in the Backstreets myself; had a close friend who grew up in them. He joined an Office proper rather than indulging in the ragtag Syndicates that happened to spring up in his district but I spent enough time speaking with him to know that the people of the Backstreets have a… very different accent from yours.”
“Hm, perhaps so.” The Kurokumo grunt backed up even further, his heel now at the edge of the rooftop. His eyes never waivered from Olivier’s as the Hana Fixer continued to close the gap, his black spear raised as if to pin the interloper down. “Well, this complicates matters quite a bit.”
“I don’t suppose you’d come quietly, then?” Olivier asked, crouching low, bracing his legs for a sudden and forceful leap.
“I’ll have to pass on that offer, Lord Olivier.” The man’s eyes brushed past the wavering Sayo, focusing on the bloodied, half-conscious Tiphereth behind her. He gave a wry smirk, drawing his finger slowly across his neck. “You have quite the streak of luck there, Tiphereth. I’d hope for your sake that it continues.”
And without skipping a beat, he fell back and over the edge.
A soundless sonicboom echoed behind Olivier as he leapt over the rooftop, his eyes skimming the morning streets in pursuit of the man’s body. Out in the distance, a solitary shadow could be seen skirting across the rooftops, leaping across the rooftops as though the very action was little more than breathing.
Olivier’s gaze lingered on the enigmatic assassin as he disappeared amidst the urban expanse, soon become one of many formless shadows created by the sun finally cresting over the final, tallest skyscraper. His brow furrowed, an unmistakable yet unplaceable sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach as he turned over the recent events in his head. His eyes swooped across the rooftop, the cracked concrete coated in a thick veneer of blood and gore, corpses splattered and strewn about in various states of scorched dismemberment. He stepped over a headless body as he made his way from the edge of the rooftop, the blackened skin and charred flesh bearing not a single mark nor engraving save for the burns left from the abnormality’s errant lasers. The last of her energy finally depleted, Tiphereth slumped to the ground as he approached, weakly raising an arm as he loomed over her, his pensive thoughts giving way to a soft smile.
“Took you long enough,” she grumbled meekly. She coughed lightly, droplets of blood falling over Olivier’s polished shoes. Olivier snorted, his eyes skimming the sprawled blonde on the ground. Barefoot, her dress nearly eviscerated to little more than a slapdash collection of bloodied threads. The Hana Fixer slowly knelt and slipped his own jacket off his shoulders, cloaking the wounded girl before sliding his arms underneath the girl’s armpits, lifting her up and over his head until she was hanging from his back, her arms slung around his chest. It was mostly for show; the girl was on the precipice of consciousness, hanging on only by Olivier tactfully cradling her thighs and supporting her as she slumped against his back.
“H-Heeey,” a weak voice mewed from across the rooftop. Olivier’s eyes shot up, greeted with a twitching, indignant mahou shoujo as she forced herself to her knees, still convulsing as the electrical restraints continued to subdue the abnormality. “I-I’m happy you came in to save th-the day and all, b-b-but if you’d be-be-be so kind as to g-ge-get this sh*t off of m-m-me and Knightie…”
Olivier suppressed a chuckle, masking it with a wordless nod as he darted over to the bound Queen of Hatred. Barely more than a few meters away, the weary Hosa finally slunk to her knees before being propped up by the two Wakashu, caring not for the state of her ruined kimono nor the indignity of having her two subordinates begin to ease her toward the doorway. Gin’s eye caught Olivier’s, then fell on the slouching Tiphereth as her chest rose and fell, quite clearly not cut down like he’d very much placed his bet on.
Granted, the Kurokumo grunts that he’d wagered quite a pretty sum of ahn on were dead, so it worked out pretty well.
“Surprised the girl’s still alive,” Yang mused, articulating the thought Gin had so wisely decided to avoid. “Did those bastards backstab you while you were about to finish her off, dame?”
“… I guess you could say that,” Sayo said, careful to avoid the Wakashu’s inquisitive gaze. “I should be the one asking you questions. Why exactly did you bring a Fixer into our hideout?”
“Well, while there did in fact happen to be a bunch of Hana Fixers snooping around, they were quite a ways away. Our friends here tried to lure me and Gin out to meet them only to try and stab us in the back.”
“It seems these disgraceful charlatans thought to lure the ones most loyal to dame Sayo away before attempting their little coup,” Gin observed, shrugging nonchalantly. “Of course, they didn’t seem as competent as they thought they were and the resulting struggle only served to bring the Hana Fixer here even closer to us.”
“We just happened to have a common goal in mind,” Olivier chimed in, stepping away from a freed Knight of Despair and readjusting the weary Tiphereth as she began to slip to the side. “It helped that the bright distress beacon that Ms. Tiphereth’s friend shot into the sky helped pinpoint their location.
“Haha, yeaaaah,” the Queen of Hatred joined in with a nervous chuckle, her pale face a noticeable, embarrassing shade of red. “I, uh, totally meant to do that.”
“Weird to see one of these things up close and not trying to kill us,” Yang said, his face scrunching up as he eyed the bloodied, panting mahou shoujo the abnormality celebrating her newfound freedom with a faint but nonetheless distinct limp in her step. “We sure this thing isn’t gonna try and bite off our heads if we turn around?”
The Queen of Hatred spun around, her face darkened with a chilling glower. “Hey, do you think I’m deaf or something?”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you can understand us,” Yang shot back, his hand instinctively reaching for his katana.
“Enough, Yang,” Sayo barked, her fingers drooping down and digging into the Wakashu’s forearm. “The girl’s little pets have done us a service. The least we could do is pay our respects to an ex-Star’s toys.”
Though her gaze softened, the Queen of Hatred’s exasperation failed to dissipate even slightly. “Do all you Syndie folk just suck at compliments or something? Can’t just say, ‘Wow, Queenie, you’re so cool and awesome and badass and thanks for saving my life?’ I’ll even accept you kissing my feet if it makes you feel better!”
“Cease, Heart,” the Knight of Despair chided, shaking her head. Though her eyes remained closed, the judgmental glare sent chills down even the unflappable Queen of Despair. “You shouldn’t try to gloat when you were the one who needed saving.”
“Tch, Knightie, whose side are you on here?” the Queen of Hatred snapped, spinning around and throwing her arms out in indignation. “Come on, look at us! We kicked these bad guys’ asses and sh*t! That’s awesome! We’re awesome!”
“Yes, Heart, I’m glad to see a righteous hero like you prevailing against the thralls of evil,” she replied. Though it was not visible, Tiphereth could feel the Knight of Despair rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Let’s go, Heart. We’ve outstayed our welcome.”
“Leaving us already?” Olivier asked, co*cking an eyebrow. “It’d probably be safer for all of us if you at least accompanied us back to the hotel.”
“Yeah, you’d think that,” the Queen of Hatred replied, cradling her head in her hands as she leaned back, suspending herself in the air in what she probably thought looked like a cool and relaxed pose. “But if we stick around any longer, I think ol’ Tiph there might kick the bucket for real, and there’s no ex-secretary around to bail her out of trouble.”
“… Excuse me?” Olivier said, his voice growing sharp.
“Heart, you’re doing it again,” the Knight of Despair said, her tone growing similarly aggressive. She approached the Hana Fixer, gingerly rubbing her arms where the metallic restraints had held them fast. “As you can probably guess, Sir Olivier, we are not manifested through Angela’s EGO under these circ*mstances. Rather, we’re drawing from Lady Tiphereth; or rather, we’re using her life force to sustain our forms when we’re not fully dormant. It ordinarily wouldn’t take too much out of her to sustain even the two of us together if we weren’t doing anything strenuous, but exerting ourselves in any meaningful way can get very exhausting for Lady Tiphereth. I fear if we were to remain manifested for any longer, she may lapse into a coma before she can seek medical attention.”
“I see,” Olivier said, eyeing the girls with suspicion. “So you’ll…”
“Yeah, yeah, I did my job,” the Queen of Hatred said, lowering herself to her feet. “I’ll be heading out before you then, Knightie! Wake me up when we got another baddie to smash!”
And as sudden and as boisterously as she appeared, the Queen of Hatred disappeared, literally blinking out of existence. The Knight of Despair sighed as she locked eyes (or at least appeared to) with Tiphereth, the blonde girl struggling to keep herself awake. “I’ll be slumbering for now as well, Lady Tiphereth. You don’t have to worry about us for now; if you were to die, we would naturally lose our ability to manifest as well, so it’s very much in our interest to protect you.”
“… And will you be joining the rest of us once Ms. Tiphereth has made a full recovery?” he asked, his inquisitive gaze boring into the abnormality.
“Maybe if something strikes our fancy, Sir Olivier.”
And just like that, the Knight of Despair, too, vanished as though she was never there.
Olivier pursed his lips, the fleeting interaction with the Library’s unique abnormalities feeling more like a daydream than anything else. Were it not for Tiphereth’s chin resting on his shoulder, he might’ve chalked up the experience to simply an idle hallucination born from yet another sleepless night. A soft grunt echoed in his throat as a throwaway contingency came to mind and he slid his hands into the coat pockets hanging off of the bleeding girl, pulling a small ampule. Its eerie, emerald glow would have ordinarily warded off the librarian if she had any say in the matter. Her listless eyes could barely keep up with Olivier’s fingers as he deftly popped the top off, exposing a long, thin needle that effortlessly found its way into the girl’s veins. She whined and squirmed, the prickling pain in her arm slowly igniting into a smoldering flame that rushed through her blood. She bit down on her lip, a new trickle of blood joining her already scarred, crimson face, and clamped her eyes shut, the throbbing, dull pain in her body flaring into a sharp and sporadic jolt that ran down her back and across her aching limbs.
“Relax, Tiphereth,” he cautioned, readjusting his grip on the girl as she writhed and groaned. “This is just an emergency ampule, courtesy of K Corp. It’s not going to set your broken bones back in place or numb the pain but it should keep any of your organs from failing until we get you to the nearest medic.”
“It feels like sh*t…” she grumbled, a sharp whimper piercing her lips as she felt her torn forearms explode in a fiery shock.
“No plan is perfect, unfortunately,” Olivier replied, turning his attention to the three Kurokumo stragglers. The ordinarily carefree Yang tactfully dodged the Hana Fixer’s gaze as it glossed over him, while opposite the limping Hosa, Gin met and replied to Olivier with a curt nod, a mutual understanding shared between them. Nonetheless, as Olivier’s attention was caught by Sayo’s wavering footsteps as the swordswoman, too, struggled to keep herself upright, her eyelids drooping as anemia threatened to spirit her away. A sharp whistle cut through the awkward silence and Yang whipped his head back, swiping the ampule that flew toward the trio. He rolled the small, green capsule between his fingers before looking back at Olivier, fidgeting with the toothpick in his mouth.
“What’s your play here, Fixer?” Yang asked, crossing his arms. “The dame herself would cut us down if we dared utter a single secret of the Kurokumo Clan for her safet-“
“There’s no strings attached,” Olivier cut him off, hoisting Tiphereth up so she could grab a firm grip on his shoulders. With four quick steps, he was already at the rooftop’s edge, the faint morning breeze beckoning to him. “With her condition, she might die before you could get her medical attention. Think of this as a courtesy for our little truce.”
“Hmph.” Sayo smirked, craning her head back so she could meet Olivier personally. “Quite the gentleman. You seem to be quite merciful to someone who almost slit that girl’s throat just a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, but when I showed up here, I didn’t see you two trying to kill each other, now did I?”
There the two of them stood, staring each other down as if to divine their other’s intentions through their unwavering pokerfaces. Even though each heartbeat caused Sayo’s arms to ache as more blood gushed from her opened wounds, she would have stayed there all day, bleeding herself dry just to be the first one to watch Olivier blink. Even though she could barely kept herself up right while clinging to her two Wakashu, she’d be damned if she dared show a hint of weakness to a lowly Fixer, even if it was one of the invincible Hana.
It was a game that Olivier showed no interest in, quickly turning his attention to the expansive streets below. His hands lifted Tiphereth up and over his head until the girl was snug in his chest, carried like a scarlet bride. She pursed her lips as she wrapped her arms around Olivier’s neck, staring right through Olivier. “… Are you sure you don’t want to take the stairs?”
“It’ll be fine,” he said simply, pumping his legs. He stared off to the distance, to the myriad of shadowy buildings where the nameless assassin had long disappeared to. “Ms. Harold should be waiting for us down the block. We can get a cast for your leg and get you back to Roland before noon.”
“I swear, Olivier, if you f*cking drop me I’m gonna haaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”
Olivier’s nimble jump from the building would have been as seamless and quiet as the departure of the two mahou shoujos were it not for Tiphereth’s frenzied, panicked screams as she clung desperately to her one lifeline, arms wrapped around his chest and legs around his waist, her fingers interlocking as though the slightest gap might cause her to plummet several dozen meters to a bed of concrete. The three Kurokumo swordsmen exchanged glances as Tiphereth’s wild and high-pitched shrieks, too, melted into the distance, leaving only a silent mountain of corpses in their wake. Sayo plucked the ampule from Yang’s fingers and unscrewed the gap, a sharp grunt shooting past her lips as she jammed it into her veins. She stumbled to the side, feeling her left leg give out as a river of fire replaced her blood, only for Gin’s waiting shoulder to sweep her up and back to her feet.
“Nnngh… I think I’d have preferred painkillers,” she grumbled.
“Painkillers, huh? Yeah, I think I got some in my back pocket.”
Goosebumps shot down Sayo’s arm. On instinct, she fell to her knees, head bowed, the two Wakashu falling in suit while still taking care not to dump their bleeding Hosa onto the ground like a pile of bloodied rags. A pair of heavy, lumbering footsteps boomed as they crossed the archway, sunglasses adjusted with a flick of a finger before falling on the three swordsmen with a laugh. “Relax. You can drop the courtesy, Sayo.”
Hesitantly, she forced herself back up to her feet, her eyes still planted on the ground as years of habitual etiquette and pure survival refused to listen to those words. “… Yes, Lord Boris. What brings you to our outpost?”
The Thumb Capo rolled his shoulders back, waving off the courtesy with a quick gesture and a shake of his head. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood. Boss Kalo wanted me to check in on a few things for him. Our sect hasn’t fully recovered from our brief absence in the Library and it seems the Sottocapo has been putting out fires left and right.”
She nodded, her eyes still meekly following a thin stream of blood that slithered down her leg. Allegedly since Kalo and his followers returned from the Library, he’d been busy singlehandedly rebuilding the Thumb’s influence in the southern Backstreets, in part due to the colossal destabilization caused by resulting turf war between the Thumb and the Index. Although as several Sottocapo have asserted, the war had resulted in a stalemate as both sides pulled out as the Library began to emerge from the fog, the innumerable amount of corpses that hung from electric lines and balconies sporting the distinctive, red cape of the Thumb suggested that the Index came away from the conflict with little more than a bloody nose. The Kashira even whispered rumors of the Patriarch’s grand ambitions to seize control of the Thumb itself and install the Kurokumo Clan in its place as one of the five Fingers. Of course, the Patriarch dared not address such rumors directly, nor did any of the Kurokumo reiterate such thoughts outside their most trusted confidants. The Capo Dei Capi had eyes and ears spanning from A Corp to the very reaches of the Outskirts, and he’d stamp out such impurities with all the sterile efficiency of torching a nest of termites with a flamethrower.
A gruff cough forced the Hosa to glance up. To look upon a Capo in an unsightly manner risked your eyes. To refuse to address your superior risked your lips. Her worries were likely etched on her face more prominently than the scars from the librarian’s katana, her furrowed brow and sunken cheeks causing Boris to chuckle and clamp a hand on her shoulder. “Again, we can go without the pleasantries. It’s easy for rats to feign obedience, after all.”
The three froze. Through the Capo’s goofy and expansive smile, a dormant but nonetheless noticeable bloodlust lingered just underneath. It was Gin who was the first to break the silence, clasping his arm across his chest even as he cleared his throat as though bracing himself for the Capo’s rebuke for his insolence. “… If you will permit me to speak out of turn, Lord Boris.”
“Huh…” Boris shifted his gaze to Gin, cracking his knuckles. “Go on.”
“You may have noticed we had an…” Gin’s head gestured to the bodies behind them. “… incident. Forgive me for doubting your wisdom on the matter, but where did you recruit these new members to our Syndicate?”
Boris’s smile faded. His lips shifted from side to side, his eyes noticeably squinting even past his sunglasses as he rolled the Wakashu’s question around in his head. “… Gotta run that by me again.”
“… I beg your forgiveness if I’m wrong here,” Gin continued, fumbling for his phone. “… but I was in contact with you this past month. Several of the Kurokumo under dame Sayo fled following our escape from the Library and we asked if the Thumb could coordinate with the Patriarch to send us some replacement swordsmen.”
Boris chuckled, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and flicking through the lock screen. A vacant message app, its inbox sparse and barren, was illuminated in the pale blue light. “I don’t recall ever getting any messages there, Gin. From what I heard, the Kurokumo got a shot of new blood pretty recently.”
“Yes they did just give us the… new batch of recruits just a few weeks ago.”
Gin’s thumb hovered over his phone, the display indeed showing Boris’s face in the contact details along with a long, sprawling message outlining, in excruciating detail, a number of new recruits that would be shuttled in from the north. A curious Boris plucked it from his shaking hands, tapping the contact that bore his face. Indeed, his number was shown in the expanded details, a one for one recreation without a single digit out of place. He returned the phone to the silent Wakashu, his gaze returning to Sayo’s. The Hosa now looked him squarely in the face, realization slowly mixing into a thick displeasure that washed away the fatigue from her face.
“Lord Boris, if I may, will Lord Kalo be free later tonight?”
“Yeah, Boss Kalo should be wrapping up some loose ends over at the borders of District 12.” His smile returned, juxtaposing the steely glower of the Hosa. “I can ring him up and let him know you want an audience.”
“Good. Gin, Yang, let’s find a nice bathhouse I want to wash this stench off of me.”
“Of course, dame,” Yang said, lending Sayo his shoulder. The three trudged toward the exit, the fury of the Hosa once again welling in her. “What do you intend to ask the old man?”
Sayo gingerly traced the cut running down her cheek, gazing at the bloodied finger with a look of contempt. “… Assistance. To exterminate some rats.”
