he clang of fists against flesh, the thunder of gunfire, the burn of steel in the air—it was all beginning to blend into a single cacophony.
But I noticed it.
Hoshiguma was slowing.
Her strikes, once brutal and bone-crushing, now lacked weight.
Her breathing was ragged. She took a step too wide—left herself open for a half-second too long.
Her mind had not yet healed. Pain lingered in the shadows behind her eyes, and fatigue gnawed at the edges of her spirit.
I sighed.
She wouldn't last another wave.
As she surged forward to strike down another foe, I approached quietly from the side.
My hand moved fast—two fingers striking a precise nerve point beneath her ear.
She gasped. Her body faltered. Her eyes widened, confused—for only a moment.
Then she crumpled into my arms, unconscious.
I gently laid her behind a half-toppled crate, the air around her still warm with smoke and blood. "Rest, Kinslayer," I muttered. "I'll handle the finale."
I stood slowly.
My fingers brushed against the cold, cracked stone of the warehouse floor.
The veins in my arms pulsed—my breath deepened.
Horns began to emerge from my temples, curving with slow, terrifying grace.
My hair lost its black sheen, turning pale white strand by strand until it gleamed like polished bone.
I could feel it.
The soil heard me.
The ground began to quake.
Mobsters froze. One dropped his rifle, stepping back instinctively.
"What the—what's happening?!"
"Something's coming out of the floor!"
"The hell is this—IS HE SUMMONING SOMETHING?!"
"Oh, no. No, no, no, we need to leave—"
The floor cracked open.
Dust and debris burst outward as a
A massive arm of stone and steel ripped itself free.
Fingers shaped like jagged towers, shoulders broad as siege walls.
The mobs watched in mute horror as the golem rose—a towering construct of iron-veined rock, dripping with sorcerous runes that shimmered with unnatural life.
Its single eye—no more than a molten core—opened with a sound like grinding tectonic plates.
I rose with it, towering in its shadow.
"Unfortunately", I said quietly, "I have no time to spare."
The golem roared, and the warehouse was plunged into madness.
Men screamed as they were thrown like rag dolls.
The golem's arms crashed through concrete pillars, tore through metal railings, and sent black-suited bodies flying.
Blood painted the walls in crimson arcs. Gunfire ricocheted uselessly off its body.
I stood at the eye of the storm.
And then, as silence returned—only the groaning ruin of the warehouse left—I reached into my coat, withdrew a lighter, and flicked it to life.
The flame trembled in the wind but held.
I raised a cigarette to my lips.
Inhaled.
The silence tasted like ash and iron.
Then I let the cigarette fall.
It landed exactly where I intended.
The line of blood etched along the floor—thin—came alive with fire in a spiral across the room.
Boom.
The explosion tore the warehouse apart.
Flames billowed into the night, swallowing the carnage, devouring what remained.
The shockwave levelled the walls and sent glass flying into the darkness.
Ash rained like snow.
My hair returned to black.
I stepped from the firelight, lifting Hoshiguma's unconscious form into my arms—gently, like a knight cradling his fallen comrade.
I carried her out like a princess, leaving the inferno behind.
Not a soul followed.
***
The world was white.
Not the cold, blinding white of snow, nor the stark, sterile void of death, but the soft, clean white of hospital walls and linen sheets.
The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, thin but present, like a reminder that this place kept pain at bay—not entirely, but enough.
Hoshiguma stirred.
Her eyes cracked open, heavy with fatigue.
The ceiling above her was unfamiliar, but the quiet rhythm of machines beside her made the context unmistakable. She was alive.
Bruised, weary, broken in places—but alive.
A voice met her ears, gentle and clinical.
"You're awake," the doctor said, stepping toward her with a faint smile, the kind that didn't reach the eyes.
"You've been unconscious for nearly two days. Whatever ordeal you went through—your body was at its limit. Multiple lacerations, stress trauma, minor internal damage."
"We've treated what we can."
He adjusted the tablet in his hand, scanning it.
"I strongly recommend you rest for at least a week. No physical exertion. No duty. You push past that, and you may not get up again."
She gave a weak nod, her throat too dry for words.
The doctor gave a small bow and left the room quietly, his coat vanishing beyond the curtain.
Silence returned.
.
Until it didn't.
The door burst open.
"Hoshiguma!"
Ch'en's voice—sharp with panic, cracked by relief—echoed through the room.
In an instant, she was beside the bed, her arms wrapping around Hoshiguma's shoulders.
The grip was tight, trembling. Desperate.
Hoshiguma, caught off guard, managed a faint smile.
Her fingers lifted slowly and rested on Ch'en's arm, returning the gesture.
"I thought I'd lost you," Ch'en whispered, the words raw.
"You didn't," Hoshiguma murmured, voice rasping.
"I'm here."
"I should've been there. I should've—damn it, I should've known."
Hoshiguma shook her head weakly.
"It's not your fault. Not even close."
Ch'en pressed her forehead against Hoshiguma's shoulder.
For a moment, the hardened officer disappeared, and only the girl beneath remained—tired, grateful, and afraid.
"I'm glad you're alive," she said, barely above a whisper.
They stayed like that for a while—just the two of them, the unspoken wounds mending in silence.
Eventually, Ch'en stood, brushing at her eyes.
"You need rest," she said, forcing a calm into her voice.
"I'll be back later."
She left quietly.
Moments passed.
Then came the soft click of a chair being drawn.
Howard entered.
He didn't speak at first. Just sat down by her side, his steps oddly quiet for someone whose presence always carried weight.
He reached for the small tray beside her bed—where a red apple lay untouched.
With calm, deliberate movements, he took out a small fruit knife and began to peel it.
Hoshiguma watched him through half-lidded eyes. She wasn't surprised anymore—not by him, not after what she had seen.
"…Thank you," she said at last.
He looked up, eyes dark, tired, but warm.
"I should be the one apologising," she added.
"I misjudged you."
Howard gave a half-smile. "I wasn't exactly polite myself."
He sliced the apple cleanly.
"Truth is, I wanted to understand you. Because whether you accept it or not… you're just as important to me as Ch'en."
Hoshiguma blinked. Her breath caught—but she said nothing.
He passed her a slice, thin and neat.
"I want to save her, Hoshiguma," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper now.
"But if we leave things as they are, she'll be trapped. The truth of Lungmen is one she can't handle yet."
Hoshiguma chewed slowly, listening.
Howard's gaze darkened slightly.
"You know her secret, don't you?"
She gave a slow nod.
"Then you understand. I can't do this alone." His voice was calm, but resolute.
"Will you help me?"
She looked at him—at the man who had walked through fire, who had turned into something monstrous to protect her, who now sat peeling fruit like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I will," she said quietly.
"Whatever you need, I'll help."
Howard smiled, offering another slice.
"All right, then welcome to my Team Hoshiguma"