"Aiko!"
Himiko called out to her in the distance, trapped by the Crab homunculus' slashing barrage.
Aiko couldn't hear her; her attention was drawn solely to the creatures in front of her, one of them squatting down as it reached out to grab her. Aiko looked down at her legs, which were still numb.
In the other corner of the hall, Giant rats closed in on the cornered MEI agents, defending the injured. Makoto opened fire hopelessly at the approaching creatures. Young men and women rolled up against the wall, covering their ears, hiding away from the world around them.
"I wanna go home."
"Why won't they move?" Aiko thought in her head as the beast's giant hand drew closer, its palm enveloping the world around her. Its fingers wrapped around her without resistance. It pulled her closer, opening its jaws.
Life flashed in someone's eyes before that life faded.
Crunch!
But it wasn't Aiko's life that flashed before her eyes.
Aiko opened her eyes. A fist was lodged in the side of the creature's cheek, sending its head flying almost clean off its neck. The fist was a glowing red hue in the shape of a man with an athletic build. The creature came crashing down, and Aiko rolled out of its limp hand. The other creatures turned their attention towards the red saviour, bolting towards it with hunger.
"Is that the entity we're after?"
Makoto brought her weapon down in shock and confusion before turning to assist the injured.
Himiko was still fighting the crab homunculus in the battleground of the rat carcass.
The creature suddenly stopped its attacks before stepping back. I was left confused, but didn't give up my guard, who knows what it had planned. The creature then dropped its blades. I swung towards it, but was grabbed on the shoulders and was raised into the air. The crystal began to slip out of my pocket, so I rushed my hand towards my pocket to grab it. The creature that held me hostage in the air was one of the bats. Its wings flapped viciously as it spun, building momentum, before throwing me through the crumbling walls of the hall.
"Himiko!"
I heard from an unknown voice.
I went crashing into a classroom, which looked like a science lab. Broken tables and flipped chairs were scattered across the room. In the corner, there was a corner that outlined the walls. Sitting on top of the counters were glass vials, jugs and old rusted Bunsen burners. There was a broken flagpole resting in the corner, with scraps of cloth hanging on it from where there was once a flag. Sitting around the counters, there were stalls, some on the floor, some upright and some scattered across the room. In the other corner of the room, I sat under the window, illuminated by the light of the moon. With how long we spent in the assembly hall, I lost track of the passing of time, as it was now nighttime.
I heard the creaking of floorboards outside and rose to my feet. With my katana in my right hand, I put my left in my pocket, searching for the crystal, but it was empty. I scanned the room frantically. It was on the counter in the far corner, by the broken flagpole. I started moving towards it until.
Slam!
The homunculus booted the door down. It followed me? No, it's probably after the crystal in the corner. I raised my sword, re-establishing my stance to greet it. The crab readied itself as well. We stared at each other. Before it closed the gap, it navigated through the maze of tables and chairs.
The creature slashed downwards, so I ducked left to dodge. It carved a long gouge through a table, spraying woodchips everywhere like shrapnel. I need to be more offensive—in the hall, the fear I felt made me too cautious. I stepped around the left of it and slashed up at its arm. The carapace took the full force of the slash, sending my sword flying back, my hand still gripping the hilt. It countered, sending an upwards diagonal slash, so I dropped to one knee and rolled, using the momentum of my already moving sword to carry me. I was lying on the floor. I rotated my body towards the creature and kicked a chair up at it. The creature staggered back, crashing into the wooden furniture behind it.
I needed to get to the crystal. As the crab raised itself from its throne of broken furniture, I backed into the corner. The carapace is covering it head to toe, like a metal knight. However, it's way too mobile for its whole body to be covered. Therefore, there must be weaknesses in the armour. Knights' armour tends to be weaker in the joints, like the armpits, knees, and groin. The homunculus must have the same weaknesses. I finally made contact with the counter, my feet pressed against the bottom of it. To my left, I could see the crystal; to my right, a metal stool.
The crab stepped into my space, our blades raised, touching tips. It was waiting for my move this time, probably realising it could use its defensive strength as an advantage to draw me into a counter-attacking opportunity. While I had the opportunity, I scanned its body for weaknesses. My theory was correct, the armpits, groin and the gaps between the segments in its arms and legs had no armour, leaving the flesh exposed. If I slice its armpit, I can remove one of its weapons.
I darted my eyes between the crystal and the homunculus, making subtle movements towards it. I leaned in towards it, feinting a grab before stepping back—it took the bait and slashed down at the counter. I grabbed the metal stool to my right and slammed it into the creature's head. If my knight comparison is accurate, hitting the armour on its head with a solid object should cause it to resonate, thus disorienting it. Once again, my theory was accurate as it raised its blade to its head. This exposed its armpit for a clean cut.
I stepped in and sliced horizontally upwards, clean through its armpit, straight through flesh. It was more effortless than I thought it would be. The arm clattered onto the floor, letting off a heavy thud. It let out a screech that sounded like nails scratching a blackboard. It let out a desperate swing that was less of a slice and more of a slap. I parried it with my sword, ringing steel upon chitin. Sparks flew. The force sent me stumbling backwards, my heels skidding on the floor as I crashed into a supply cupboard on the other side. The sound of glass clinking as the force rumbled through the cupboard into the counter connected to it.
The homunculus reared itself, ready to charge towards me. The glass that clinked was to my right, behind me. I passed the hilt of my katana into my left hand, leaving the right open. The creature then lunged, crashing its feet into the ground with fury every time it took a step—it wasn't playing anymore, it was now desperate to end our battle.
I grasped a glass jug and launched it at the creature's head. Now it had no sight of its target, I dropped to my knee and rolled to the right. The creature charged straight into the cupboard. I sidestepped around the crab's back. It tried to swing at me, but the cupboard resisted, pulling it back.
I grasped with two hands, tightly on the hilt of the sword, as I aimed the tip of the blade at the tear from where the arm was separated from its torso. I reared myself similar to how the crustacean had done before, and lunged into it, plunging my blade straight into its flesh, twisting it to ensure it was dead.
The crab let out one final shriek before it finally fell limp. I, body on the brink of collapsing from exhaustion, walked to the other side of the room, to the other counter, and followed suit—sliding down the side of the counter, placing my rear on the hard, decaying wood—legs stretched out in front of me. My head leaned back, and on their own, my eyes began to close on their own.
As I faded out of consciousness, I heard muffled footsteps followed by a voice.
"Oh my god, Himiko, you did this?"
"Himiko?"
I was out cold—not dead—just out from exhaustion.
The dojo was quiet, except for the creaking of wooden floorboards and the distant chirps of cicadas, past the barrier of the paper screens that were separating the dojo from the rest of the world. The late afternoon sun poured through lattice windows in long golden bars.
I was nine, small even for my age, with black hair tied back in a loose ponytail—refusing to stay neat. Clad in a plain white kendo Gi that was too big for me, the sleeves flapped dramatically with every swing. In my hands, I held a bokken, too heavy for me, but Dad refused to give me anything lighter, citing what's the point as his reason.
"Again."
He said.
His voice was calm, low, similar to the kind of tone he would display when reading me bedtime stories. He stood opposite me in a dark kendo Gi, clutching his own wooden bokken loosely at his side. He was not a tall man, but he carried himself as if he knew exactly how much space his body occupied in the world.
Through my nose, I exhaled, resetting my feet—right forward, left back, knees soft—and raised the bokken again. My arm trembled after god knows how many repetitions—but I loved it. Sweat stuck my fringe to my forehead.
I stepped my left foot forward, and in one fluid motion, raised my blade and swung.
The tip of the bokken cut a clean arc towards my dad's left shoulder.
His movement was effortless—just tilted his torso a fraction, and let the blade pass his collarbone, then tapped the flat of the sword on my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to make my fingers instinctively lose grip. My bokken clattered against the mat.
"Too high. Your shoulder is leading. The blade should feel like an extension of your breath, not something you're throwing."
I bit my lip and reached for the bokken. My wrist stung, but I knew better than to rub it.
"Again."
I reset. This time I implemented everything I learned—drop the shoulders, let the hips initiate, exhale on the cut. I stepped my left foot forward before turning my hips, then shoulders, then arms. The bokken sliced through the air.
He parried—barely a flick of the wrist—and the resonation ran up my bones, into my teeth.
"That's better. But you're still fighting the sword. Its not your enemy. its your tool.
He lowered his bokken, dropping to one knee so our eyes were level. Below his right eye was the same beauty spot that had been passed down to me.
"Hold it like this."
He wrapped his larger hands around mine on the grip, adjusting my fingers.
"Light. Loose. If you strangle it, it can't breathe. If it can't breathe, it can't move."
I nodded. The blade felt different now. It no longer felt like I was wielding a club but rather, a weapon—living, breathing, balanced, a part of my arm.
He stepped back.
"You're doing well. One more time. But this time, don't aim for my body, but the space I leave behind when I move."
He raised his bokken once more, relaxed.
I swallowed. My heart was beating out of my small chest.
I filled my lungs with air slowly and stepped as I released.
It was fast, clean, natural—my body was learning faster than my mind. The tip sliced through the air in an arcing motion, towards the space that Dad's shoulder once occupied a mere moment before he shifted to the side.
I sliced through the air alone.
But I didn't overcommit. I was still standing firm, blade ready for the next movement.
Dad smiled, a rare sight; a sight that always made the hard work required to see it worth it.
"Good. You learn quickly Himiko. You have now learned the beginning of control."
He crouched down again, lowering his bokken completely. He placed his hand on my head, rustling my loose hair that was practically falling out of the bobble. The tingle on it brought to my head spread a warm sensation throughout my body.
"Remember, Himiko: the sword doesn't win fights. The person holding it does. And the person holding it must first win against themselves."
She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.
"Will I ever be as good as you?"
"You will be better; you have to be."
He placed his hands on my shoulders, looking deep into my eyes.
"Himiko, in this world, you will need to work harder than everyone around you in order for you to strive to the top. As a woman, this world will challenge you, make you feel inferior. But you are a Suzuki—my daughter—and I know you will do incredible things."
He offered me his hand.
"Come on. Or your mother will yell at me for keeping you past dinner again."
I took his hand, sliding my soft, small fingers through his rough, calloused hand, holding tightly as we walked to the house, cicadas chirping loudly as we passed.
The girl in the kendo Gi—far too big for her—made a silent promise to her father that day: she was going to make him proud.