Chapter LV: The Kibutsuji Rhythm
The morning after feels heavier than the rain.
London's breath hangs cold in the mist, and the cobblestones glisten beneath faint, golden halos of the streetlights. Nathaniel Cross sits on the edge of his narrow dorm bed, staring blankly at his reflection in a silver pocket mirror. His eyes — once hazel, now faintly tinted with crimson — stare back at him, unblinking.
He hasn't slept. He doesn't need to anymore.
But the exhaustion isn't from sleeplessness — it's from knowing the mirror still hums faintly when he holds it.
Theo bursts in, holding two paper cups of coffee. "You're alive. That's a start." He sets one down on the desk. "Kingsley called. Pauline says we're on for tonight."
Nathaniel exhales slowly. "She's back?"
Theo nods grimly. "The Shalltear cosplayer. CCTV caught a silhouette near St. Athanasius Church around three a.m. Same posture, same frills. She's waiting."
Nathaniel sets the mirror aside and pulls on his coat. "Then we won't keep her waiting."
The hours pass like shifting shadows.
By dusk, the fog thickens over the Thames, the kind that turns every lamp into a halo. The streets are near empty — just the low hum of engines, distant chatter, and the muted bell of St. Athanasius tolling from across the river. The group assembles under the archway — Theo, Edison, Kingsley, Pauline, and Nathaniel — all wearing the same grim determination in their eyes.
Kingsley checks the silvered vials. "We've reinforced the mirrors with the resonance formula. Should reflect at twice the frequency of last night's."
Edison adjusts the sensors strapped to his wrist. "If she manifests again, we'll have at least thirty seconds before full materialization."
Theo cracks his knuckles. "Plenty of time to run."
Pauline, clutching a rosary of intertwined wires and silver beads, looks at Nathaniel. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Nathaniel meets her gaze. "I'm done being afraid of what she left behind."
The church looms ahead, its gothic spire vanishing into the fog like a spear into heaven. Its stained-glass windows shimmer faintly — saints frozen mid-prayer, their eyes hollow with light.
The time: 2:57 A.M.
The air: colder than before.
The silence: absolute.
They take their positions around the courtyard, moonlight draped over the cracked stones like frost.
At 3:00 A.M., the world exhales.
A faint hum rolls through the churchyard — low, melodic, eerily familiar. The same tune that haunted them before, now slower, deeper, almost mournful. The melody of Clair de Lune, but warped, its tempo dragging like a heartbeat fading.
Theo murmurs, "She's here."
A silhouette steps from behind the gravestone — pale, glimmering under the half-moon. The Shalltear cosplayer moves like a puppet reanimated, her lace gown fluttering though there's no wind. Her eyes gleam crimson; her smile is patient.
"You've come back," she says softly. "You always do."
Nathaniel takes one step forward. "This ends tonight."
The mimic tilts her head. "Does it? Or does it start again... just like before?"
And then — she moves.
A blur of white and crimson tears through the fog. Kingsley barely raises his mirror in time; claws scrape the surface, sparks erupt. Edison throws a capsule — light bursts like a camera flash, but the creature doesn't stop. It moves with music, each attack a note, each strike a rhythm.
Pauline yells, "Theo, cover the flank!"
Theo pulls out the handheld reflector array and flips it open — sunlight captured from a dawn chamber erupts in arcs. The mimic screeches, her skin hissing, but her laughter pierces through it like glass shattering.
She slams Theo backward into the church wall.
"Theo!" Pauline shouts, rushing forward — but the mimic turns, her fangs bared, eyes glowing with something like hatred and joy mixed into one.
Nathaniel darts forward — his movement unnaturally fast, a blur of gray coat and red eyes. He grabs Pauline, pulling her back, but the mimic's claw grazes his arm. Pain sears through him like molten iron.
He doesn't flinch. Not anymore.
Kingsley and Edison charge in, mirrors raised, forming a circle of silver light. "Reflect her shadow!" Edison commands. "Now!"
The beams converge, trapping the mimic in a lattice of shimmering light. Her form flickers — splitting, reforming — until she becomes translucent, half-fading. But her laughter remains.
"You still don't understand," she whispers. "You can't cage what was never alive."
With a shriek, she shatters the light barrier. The mirrors explode outward, shards scattering across the courtyard like broken stars. Kingsley collapses to one knee, coughing blood.
Edison curses, trying to reboot his handheld device. "Resonance failed — she's overloading the field!"
Pauline backs away, clutching the silver cross, trembling. "Nathaniel — what do we do?"
Nathaniel breathes deeply. The air feels electric. The world spins around the echo of the melody. Then, through the ringing silence, he hears something else — faint, deep inside him — a rhythm matching the music's tempo.
He steps forward.
"Nate—?" Theo groans, rising shakily.
Nathaniel's eyes flicker red beneath his messy hair. "She's not playing my song."
Then — he vanishes.
The mimic turns — startled — as a shadow drops from above. Nathaniel hovers, boots inches off the ground, his coat flowing like black fire. The fog parts around him in perfect circles.
"Hey," he says, his voice cold and confident. "Look here."
Everyone looks up — even the mimic. Her crimson eyes widen.
Nathaniel spins midair, his hair fluttering as moonlight strikes his face. In a single motion, he pulls his coat open — revealing a dark ensemble beneath. A perfectly tailored Muzan Kibutsuji cosplay, the collar high, the hat shadowing his expression. He smirks faintly.
"Let's dance."
As if on cue, the night bursts alive.
From the speakers Edison had hidden earlier, a sharp beat echoes — Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson. The rhythm pulses through the fog. Nathaniel lands lightly, tipping his hat, eyes glinting scarlet.
The Shalltear cosplayer snarls, launching forward — claws slicing through the air.
But Nathaniel moves with music.
Step left — duck.
Step right — spin.
He dodges with fluid precision, every motion perfectly synchronized with the rhythm. The others watch, stunned — the fight unfolding like a performance, like choreography written in blood and grace.
"Annie, are you okay?" the lyrics echo faintly — and Nathaniel smirks as he ducks another blow, his gloved hand brushing the mimic's sleeve. Sparks of light trail behind him.
Pauline whispers, "Is he... dancing?"
Theo wheezes, "He's fighting — and dancing."
Kingsley, half-conscious, manages a grin. "Bloody hell, that's actually working."
The mimic slashes again, frustrated, her movements growing erratic. She lunges — but Nathaniel sidesteps, twirling effortlessly, his coat sweeping across the stone. He jabs his heel into the ground, launching himself upward, spinning. His hand connects — a clean, sharp punch across the mimic's jaw.
The song hits its final chorus. Nathaniel lands gracefully, dust swirling around his boots.
Then, silence.
The mimic stumbles back, eyes wide, bloodless mouth trembling. "You... mock me..."
Nathaniel raises his head. "No. I mirror you."
And then — the music shifts.
From the still air, a new melody rises — sharp, electric, violent. The digital organ of Beethoven Virus floods the courtyard, pulsing like a heartbeat on overdrive. Nathaniel's eyes flare red.
He charges.
This time, no rhythm — just fury. His movements blur, a storm of speed and precision. Each strike lands like thunder; the mimic counters with slashes of shadow, her claws hissing through the air. Their impacts flash bright — light against dark — reflections clashing in midair.
Edison watches, awe-struck. "He's... using the resonance. His body's syncing with the frequency field."
Theo mutters, "He's gone full vampire mode."
Pauline stares, half in fear, half in wonder. "No... he's gone beyond it."
Nathaniel spins, his foot striking the mimic's chest — she crashes against the church wall, stone splintering. She screams, her form flickering between solid and translucent, her wings unfurling like torn silk.
"You can't kill a reflection!" she shrieks. "You can't—"
Nathaniel raises his hand, the mirror shard glinting between his fingers. "I don't need to."
He flings it upward — the shard catching the first rays of dawn peeking through the clouds.
The light strikes the courtyard.
The mirror reflects it.
The reflection hits her squarely in the heart.
The Shalltear cosplayer freezes. Her eyes widen, her body trembling as cracks of light crawl up her arms. She lets out a soft, broken laugh — one that echoes Eris's tone for just a heartbeat.
Then the sun rises fully.
The mimic screams as her form bursts into streams of light, disintegrating into dust and fading into the morning mist. The last sound she makes is not a scream — but a note. A single, beautiful note, like the end of a song.
And then — silence.
Nathaniel collapses to one knee, gasping. His coat smolders faintly at the edges, his hands trembling. Pauline rushes to him, catching him before he falls completely.
"Nathaniel—! You're bleeding!"
He smiles faintly, blood trickling down his lip. "I've... had worse."
Theo limps over, bruised and pale. "That was insane... You just moonwalked a vampire."
Edison exhales, scanning the readings. "No trace left. The resonance field cleared. She's gone."
Kingsley, half-sprawled on the steps, grins weakly. "You're bloody ridiculous, Cross. Smooth Criminal? Really?"
Nathaniel chuckles softly. "Sometimes... style helps."
Pauline laughs through tears. "You idiot..."
The bell of St. Athanasius tolls — once, twice — the dawn now full. The light cuts through the last of the fog, painting the city in gold. The battle's echoes fade with the wind.
Nathaniel looks toward the rising sun. His skin prickles, but he doesn't shy away. For the first time, he doesn't fear the light.
He turns to his friends. "Let's go home."
As they leave the churchyard, the puddles shimmer faintly, reflecting fragments of the broken mirror and the faintest echo of Clair de Lune.
The melody hums one last time — soft, distant — like a goodbye from the one who started it all.
Nathaniel stops for just a second, closing his eyes.
"Goodnight, Eris," he whispers.
The wind answers him, carrying the note away into the waking city.
The sun rises higher. The fog thins. The hunt may be over — but for Nathaniel Cross, the true dance has just begun.