Kyoto, Shinkansen platform.
Michiko Tendo and Kurose of Kyoto Public Safety stand there waiting.
They have an important task today—receive a big name coming from Tokyo.
"Why did Miss Makima suddenly decide to come to Kyoto?" Bored of waiting, Kurose leans on the railing and makes small talk with his partner.
"Who knows what big shots are thinking?" Tendo shakes her head.
Passersby glance at them for the Public Safety uniforms. To others they look like a pair of siblings—matching horizontal scars on their faces, similar looks and bearing, black hair and eyes. The "sister" wears a single ponytail and is taller.
"Mm…" Kurose yawns and looks around, then spots a middle-aged man in a Public Safety uniform running toward them in a fluster.
"Miss Tendo, Miss Tendo!"
Panting, he skids to a stop before them, too anxious to catch his breath. "Latest report—Tokyo Divisions 1, 2, 3, and 4… all appear to have been hit by terrorist attacks. Heavy casualties."
"Huh?!" Kurose jerks upright from the railing, incredulous. "All attacked? What about Miss Makima?"
"Miss Makima…" The man hesitates, then says, "Public Safety received a call—there was a shooting on the No. 3 trunk line from Tokyo to Kyoto… One of those attacked was an orange-haired woman."
Tendo and Kurose trade a look.
"Orange hair… there shouldn't be anyone but Miss Makima," Kurose scratches his head. "So we waited for nothing?"
"No final confirmation yet…"
Arms folded, Tendo shakes her head; she's about to say more when a shrill horn drowns her out.
Line No. 3—arriving!
The passing train decelerates; before it fully stops, the doors pop open.
People pour out crying and scrambling, faces scrawled with fear and panic as if some man-eating beast is chasing them out from behind.
Tendo straightens. With sharp eyes she notes blood on many of them, more or less.
Some of it dried, some still running.
Shoes step and leave crisp or smeared bloody prints.
Kurose's face hardens. He meets Tendo's eyes.
They nod together, then, amid shrieking alarms, steel themselves to head into the cars and check.
"Tendo. Kurose."
A level voice drifts from the doorway.
A black trench coat billows; Makima steps down with slow, steady strides.
"M—Miss Makima!" Tendo stares at Makima's white shirt, blood blossoms blooming everywhere—sickly and bewitching. "This blood… you aren't hurt, are you?"
"No. It splashed from the bodies."
Makima's voice is flat, her face neither glad nor sad. "With shootings on the Shinkansen and in Tokyo, cancel the original plan. Dinner is off."
"Kurose, take people and clean the blood and corpses in the cars."
"Tendo, find me a clean change of clothes. Also, requisition a shrine on high ground and thirty death-row inmates."
Makima issues arrangements calmly.
Her golden eyes are veiled by the station's shadows, weaving mottled rings of light.
"Yes, ma'am!"
They answer as one.
Kurose separates from Tendo and enters the train to survey the scene before logistics arrive.
At the door he feels the tacky floor underfoot.
He looks down—and his pupils shrink to pinpoints.
—A sea of blood!
Four or five burly men lie strewn about, chests hollowed into gaping holes. Blood still wells and seeps out.
The car reeks—packed powder stench, coppery blood, and assorted foulness.
Turning from that hellish sight, Kurose looks after the retreating orange-haired back.
Not a speck of dust underfoot; blood blossoms bloom on her clothes.
Like a god far above, overlooking the human world in cold indifference.
The déjà vu makes Kurose shiver despite himself. He narrows his eyes and murmurs:
"Miss Makima…"
"What devil did you contract with…"
"Group E in position, awaiting orders to fire!"
A crowd of muscle-bound men in tank tops file out.
Sunglasses, black dress pants, and a gun in every hand…
The scene feels oddly familiar to Su Tang, as if he's lived it before.
Right—the mafia boss!
"Looks like you remembered something."
Katana Man tosses aside Aki Hayakawa's unconscious body and strides toward Su Tang.
"…And you are?" Su Tang asks, genuinely puzzled.
From the look of him, they seem acquainted? But he truly doesn't recall meeting this guy.
"…" Katana Man falters.
He swings his blades, choking down his rage. "Need me to remind you? Half a month ago. Night. The factory."
"Oh, that I remember. What's it got to do with you?"
Su Tang plays along as the straight man—while rapidly restoring the fire chi in his body. Yes, restoring it!
He'd been lulled by the satisfaction of soul and flesh merging and forgot to check. Only when flame flickered in his palm did he realize with a shock—he's low on fire chi!
While using Su Tang's body, the Holy Lord had been burning through fire chi to cast magic at full tilt, leaving an empty shell behind.
Su Tang sighs inwardly. Sure enough, no Dragon Talisman—what a pain.
"What's it got to do with me?!" The words set Katana Man off. He roars, "That was my grandfather!"
"Uh, you mean the mafia boss?"
Su Tang looks him over, doubt in his tone.
The gap… is a bit much.
"That's right!" Katana Man shouts. "He treated me so well—gave me anything I wanted. Maybe you think he was bad—what do you know? It was a necessary evil!"
"Hah? Necessary evil?"
"This world needs people who walk in darkness. Do you know how foreign gangs covet this land—the Black Hand and the like? If my grandfather and his men weren't guarding Tokyo in secret, guarding Japan, you'd all be corpses already!"
"…"
Su Tang looks at the riled-up Katana Man and, for a moment, doesn't know what to say.
Walkers in the dark… Uh, are Tokyo's "guardians" really a bunch of idiots?
He almost thinks it'd be better if Valmont brought the Dark Hand to crush the city's underworld.
At least Valmont can run an organization!
"But you—you killed him! You killed the best man in the world!"
Katana Man's voice sinks low. "You'll regret it. You'll regret getting back up just now."
"Because I'll slice you… into little pieces!"
Whoosh—!
The instant the words fall, Katana Man dives like a sword.
Steel flashes, slicing wind and air with a shrill keening.
Su Tang's brow creases.
So fast?!
Was he holding back against Aki just now?
With no time to dodge, Su Tang drops into a half-dragon state, crossing both forearms over his chest, while the Rooster Talisman's telekinesis latches onto Katana Man to slow him.
"Damn it, this weird floating again…" Katana Man hacks wildly into the empty air left and right, then sinks his weight with surprise: "No, this isn't as strong as before. You got weaker?!"
Su Tang says nothing, summoning wave after wave of shadow ninjas.
He isn't wrong. The same half of the Rooster Talisman—when the Holy Lord uses it, it's true telekinesis. In Su Tang's hands, it feels like a knockoff—soft and feeble.
It reminds him of what he said when hunting the Rooster Talisman inside the Eternal Demon.
Sometimes the gap between talisman users is bigger than the gap between people and animals.
Meant as a jab at a cartoon cast—now it stings himself.
"These flimsy shadows?"
Katana Man mows through ninjas like grass, laughing: "Not enough—"
Thoom—!!
A sandbag-sized, dark-cyan dragon claw slams his gut.
In an instant, Katana Man's body curls like a shrimp; he spits a mouthful of clotted blood.
Flames leap up his body in a blink, greedily claiming every inch of skin.
"AAAAAH! Hot!"
He howls, windmilling with both hands and the third blade on his head, chopping at random—knife-shadows blur, red fire-veins streaking the air.
Su Tang's brow tightens.
He remembers when he set Denji ablaze—he acted the same, like someone cast Berserk on him.
So, like Denji… stubbornly vital, almost unkillable.
Troublesome.
Dodging a slash, Su Tang spreads his arms, then hammers both fists into Katana Man's back!
BOOM—!!
Like a great drum struck; like thunder from a clear sky!
Seizing the stumble, Su Tang sticks to him step-for-step and cocks his fists to keep pummeling—when a burst of "tat-tat-tat" cuts in.
Bad!
Blood flares in his eyes and he slips one step back.
The spot he'd just stood in erupts with close-packed bullet holes!
Not pistols—rifles!
These bastards!
Another sheet of fire rakes toward him. There's no time to think—he twists aside but still takes a few rounds.
Luckily they hit his forearm.
Metallic clinks ring out. Gritting through the pain, he looks down—pale scuffs mar the azure dragon scales. At his current defense he can't fully ignore gunfire.
And that's with scales on his arm.
Everywhere else—head, tail, both arms aside—he's still mostly human! A bullet to the wrong place and it's the same ending as before—
No… not the same.
There's no Holy Lord to bail him out this time!
"Tat tat tat tat tat…"
Thirty-odd guns fire in unison, each round's muzzle velocity more than twice the speed of sound!
Rooster Talisman!
Telekinesis blooms into a wall before Su Tang.
Each bullet meets a lift upward, veers off its original line.
A tiny change—but enough for Su Tang to glimpse an opening.
Right! If he can't use the Rooster like the Holy Lord's Heaven-pressing Seal, he can use it like binding cords!
Precision control!
In a flash, the floating force splits into thirty-two threads, each whipping to the muzzle of a different shooter around the street.
Weak individually—but crucial.
Hearing the katana's screaming cut behind him and seeing muzzle-flashes ahead, Su Tang slowly closes his eyes.
"Lift #3 up five millimeters."
"Spin #12 twenty degrees left."
"…"
Kid—micro-control!
Bullets hiss past, grazing the outline of his body.
Katana Man curses behind him:
"Are you aiming at him—or at me?!"
He grits his teeth and yanks several slugs out of his muscles.
The wounds knit before the naked eye.
Then split again!
BANG—!
Another punch!
Muscles bulge like ridges under Su Tang's scales as he smashes Katana Man's gut again!
Fresh bullets shave by him.
Staring at the hole punched through Katana Man's abdomen, Su Tang grins, blood-wet claws splayed.
Five talons, sharp as blades!
Just as he brings them down—
"Snake, Tail Whip!"
A massive shadow drops from the sky!
Su Tang is swatted into a wall and skids to a stop.
A ring of new bullet holes stipples the surroundings.
"This one's not dead either."
Su Tang watches the blonde woman with only one arm walk out from under the serpent's tail, then glances at Katana Man's stomach knitting shut again—
And the gunmen, rifles leveled.
"One versus three, and all of them a hassle…"
He rises, gauges the fire chi left, and sighs:
"You're really… forcing me to go all out."
Black and white light gathers in his draconic claws.
He aims it—at himself.
And strikes down!
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