by Nikita Thorn
A second later, the sound of fluttering wings broke the silence within the bathhouse, and Seiki tiptoed towards the front wall. The gray pigeon managed to squeeze itself through a narrow slit and found its way to his hand.
Ippei [Level 15]: (12 seconds ago) The map’s good. Meet back at the troops now?
Seiki knew it would be easier to approach the Spirits from the field side, before turning around and kiting them into the open. Checking the locations of the purple dots, he saw there was one that Ippei should be able to easily get to, and another one was lingering in a small alley not too deep in from the field. It was heartening. These were rather ideal positions, and he felt they might be able to pull it off after all.
Tracing his steps, he was halfway back toward the door of the bathhouse when he stopped dead in his track.
Blocking his path was a curtain of wavering air.
A split second later, the final purple dot lit up on the mental map, confirming what it was.
Seiki swallowed a curse. The nearly shapeless form lingered for a moment in the doorway, still out of engage range, but it was slowly drifting toward him, forcing him to back away as quietly as he could.
Trapped, Seiki glanced around for an exit. There was none he could see, and he flexed his fingers as he wondered if the Crimsonfire Tekko would protect him if he were to make a mad dash past the Cursed Spirit.
He would need to let Ippei know of this slight problem, and his mind raced for the best way to go about it. Allegedly, there were War Cards that allowed for Telepathy-like skills among players. As he reached for his post kit, Seiki decided, futilely, that was exactly what he needed at the moment.
His friend, however, apparently had no need for such a Card. Before Seiki could grab his post paper, a second pigeon arrived, announcing its appearance with surprisingly noisy fluttering, which the Spirit luckily did not react to.
Ippei [Level 15]: (8 seconds ago) All right. Change of plans then. Take the alley with the flagpole and I’ll kite the other one to where it exits to the field. Start whenever you’re ready. Don’t go through the Spirit. You can’t survive it.
Seiki blinked. His friend had completely guessed his predicament. Before he could wonder how he would then get past the Spirit without going through it, he saw the last sentence scribbled down below:
Focused Strike breaks walls.
Seiki stared. If the situation had been any less dire, he would have found it very funny, since he suddenly recalled that this was one of the very first things Ippei had said to him. He wondered if his friend had been laughing when he wrote it.
Seiki had no time to make elaborate plans as he unconsciously discarded the post paper. The Spirit continued to drift towards him, and he knew the more distance he had between him and it, the better.
His eyes set on the Spirit, he backed up against the front wall deeper into the bathhouse, aiming for a spot where the wood looked flimsy enough. Taking one last deep breath, Seiki grabbed for energy and his horse whistle at the same time, then struck out with his palm.
The Focused Strike’s impact on the wood panel resulted in a disturbingly loud crack in the surrounding silence of the ruins. To his alarm, the gap it created was nowhere near large enough. Something screeched in his mind from the direction of the Cursed Spirit. Seiki dared not turn to look as he struck the wall again, this time with an added Slide, and quite a bit of panic. The combination was much more effective, and he burst through the wall into the welcoming street. As wood splinters fell from his body, Seiki glanced back just in time to see the Cursed Spirit gaining a physical form. Its head turned nearly skeletal, half-transparent, and twin blue-burning flames behind its empty sockets locked onto him.
Fighting down a chill, Seiki ran down the empty street, whistling for Fubuki. A few lonely seconds passed before the snowstepper emerged from the opposite alley, a spot of white amid the dark charred wreckage around her. Seiki only noticed then that the sky had somehow gone several shades darker, and the air was suddenly full of terrible screams that he was not entirely sure were not his own imagination.
Leaping onto the horse, Seiki had to remind himself to stay within physical range. It should be about twenty feet, which was far too close for something that could potentially kill him with a single hit. He glanced back and suppressed a cry. The Cursed Spirit was running alongside him, almost within arm’s reach, now glowing with a faint shade of blue, its skeletal head half-burnt with most of its flesh missing.
He slammed energy down on the stirrups and Fubuki flew forward. A gust of cold air grazed his back in what Seiki guessed was the Cursed Spirit’s missed attack.
“Flagpole,” he grunted as he steered toward the landmark, before once again reminding himself that he could always check his mental map to see where the Cursed Spirits were. In the sudden rush of adrenaline, however, his senses were firing different cues, and he was still not quite sure how to properly integrate the extra information.
His mental map showed another purple dot moving, somewhere in the southern end of the village, and Seiki could imagine Ippei kiting it toward the field. The Cursed Spirit behind him struck out again in a clear swish that sent chills across his back and evaporated a tenth of his health.
Staying within physical range was absolutely not going to be a problem. Even at a full gallop, the Cursed Spirit seemed to be slowly gaining on him. Fubuki was running through a twisty alley, the tight turns slowing her down, and Seiki promised both his horse and himself that he would seriously train up his Riding skill from now on.
To make matters worse, the Spirit—even when it was half physical—was selectively of the material world, and had no problems drifting straight through corners. Seiki cursed as Fubuki went around one of the last bends and he noticed on his mental map that the Cursed Spirit did not follow him down the road, but went through a building in a straight line.
“This is not gonna work,” Seiki grunted. The Spirit would reach the end of the curved road before he did. Frantically looking around, he took advantage of his knowledge of the village layout and made a sharp turn through a deteriorating wooden gate.
The roofed entrance was not meant to be ridden through, and Seiki ducked low, wincing as his shoulder clipped the side, causing broken tiles and wood planks to collapse behind him. He was in some kind of a courtyard. To his right there was another purple dot, but they were still separated by an alley and a building, and it should not become a threat as of yet.
He was still heading towards the edge of the village, having veered a little south into the part Ippei had mapped. Reviewing his memory of the place, he went for a small gap in the wall on the other side of the estate. Fubuki jumped over the two collapsed poles and landed in the adjacent alley.
Ahead of him, the moving purple dot Ippei had been leading had reached the field, and Seiki continued to gallop toward it, going around another sharp turn. The original Cursed Spirit from the bathhouse had lost some ground from his change of route, and Seiki knew he would still have some lead once they hit the field.
There was another problem, however. The purple dot to his right had been slowly drifting toward him, and would emerge right in his path in a few seconds. Seiki silently cursed. Attracting two Spirits would be a terrible idea at the moment. The whole group would be better off if he were to get killed by the first alone, as it would then most likely go after the nearest target, which would be Ippei, giving the samurai a chance to somehow kite both of them through each other.
Checking the location of the purple dots again, Seiki knew the original bathhouse Spirit was already crossing the first alley, leaving him trapped in the middle of a block of wrecked buildings. He desperately searched his memory again, grateful that Ippei had been thorough with the mapping. At the next doorway on the left, he steered Fubuki in. The small courtyard was blocked by two single-storied houses, but beyond it was a larger open space around a fenced area, perhaps once a merchant’s garden. If he could get there, there would only b
e the outer village wall between him and the field.
The two Spirits were closing in from both sides, one on the left with intent, one on the right just from terrible luck. Ippei was already kiting his Spirit from the south end of the village toward the meeting point. A building, courtyard and final wall lay between him and where he was supposed to be, and there was no way to get Fubuki through the first barrier.
Then he realized there was no need to get her through any obstacle.
He galloped toward the nearest house, dismissing Fubuki at the last second just as he passed the corner. The mysterious physics of the world allowed people any kind of flourish when dismounting, as they would always land on their feet unharmed. This time, Seiki aimed upward, stepping on the saddle just as the snowstepper was turning away.
The same force that allowed Shadow Manor assassins to somersault from their horses to the ground propelled him forward, and Seiki grabbed hold of the edge of the tiled roof and pulled himself up, cursing as he felt the flimsy wood structure under him starting to give way.
He had no time to lose, and he scrambled ahead across the roofs, wincing as the old tiles cracked under his steps. From high up, the village appeared like a complicated maze of broken walls and pillars, and for a moment Seiki had a feeling that the original design was meant for the Spirits to be engaged within the ruins, and that the strategy to kite them out to the field was an exploit.
Pushing the unhelpful thought out of his head, he reached the end of the roof and whistled for Fubuki again. He was now safe from the Spirit on his right, which continued to drift slowly down the alley away from him. On his left, the Spirit from the bathhouse was closing in, and Seiki turned just in time to see it emerge through the wall of the garden. Across the moderate distance, Seiki could now behold the whole of it. Its mouth gaping wide in a silent scream, its half-skeletal features distorted unnaturally, its long disheveled hair…it all made it impossible to tell whether it had been male or female.
The Spirit lifted its head. Its blue-burning eyes found him, and it raised its arm, and Seiki felt that dreadful sensation of a freezing hand closing around his heart.
“It has a Drain!” Running toward the Spirit to the edge of the roof, he re-entered its twenty-foot physical range, and the long-ranged ability ceased. Instead, the Spirit started rushing toward the building.
Palms sweating, Seiki felt a kind of horrified fascination at the back of his mind as he raced back toward the edge of the roof to look for Fubuki, somehow wondering if a certain kitsune would find much enjoyment in something like this.
The re-summoned snowstepper was trotting in from the far end of the wall toward him. Now he only needed to get to the end of the village and into the field. To his horror, the pursuing Spirit was scaling up the wall to his left, its bony arms clacking against the wood. A second later, its head appeared up over the edge of the roof, then it sprang at him, both arms stretched forward. Suppressing a cry, Seiki turned back toward Fubuki and jumped. Another whip of air passed above his head as the Spirit struck out, sending chills down his whole body.
He was not sure how he had managed to land on the saddle, but he was grateful he did. Fubuki, following his prior instruction, made a sharp U-turn toward the far wall.
Seiki breathed slightly easier now that he was already galloping away. He grabbed a potion, refilled his energy and stole a quick glance backward. The Spirit was floating down from the rooftop like an obake in slow fall, its arms still reaching out toward him.
“This is why I hate obake,” he muttered under his breath. He was planning to dismiss and resummon Fubuki again to get over the village’s outer wall, but as he approached the stone barrier, he realized that luck was on his side this time around. A portion of the wall had collapsed, leaving a narrow gap, about three feet above the ground. It was higher than anything Fubuki had ever jumped before.
“Think you can do this?” he cried.
At Riding Level 11, he had no real control over Fubuki’s jump, but the worst case would be that they tumbled, which would automatically dismiss her, and he would just need to pick himself up and Slide away as fast as possible.
Seiki readied his energy and pushed down more onto the stirrups to give Fubuki everything she needed. The crack in the wall was just wide enough, and Seiki hugged her neck close and tucked in his limbs as she leapt over the collapsed portion at the base.
She did not clear the rubble entirely, and landed a little uneasily, but she was still going at a gallop. The Cursed Spirit somehow managed to reach the crack in the wall as soon as Seiki had passed it. The lower half of the body drifted through the barrier, but at least Seiki now had the open field in front of him.
The army of six hundred that was the West Defenders stood restlessly near the beginning of the instance. In the middle of the field was Ippei, who had been forced to wait for Seiki’s detour and who was trying to survive his Cursed Spirit with some difficulty. He was on his horse, galloping in a large circle, using his troops to intercept once in a while to slow it down, and now six of his eight troop members lay dead in pairs at regular intervals.
Seiki’s own unit of four was running toward him from the original meeting point, and he turned Fubuki toward them.
“Go where my troops are. I’ll stun!” he shouted to Ippei.
The samurai turned, a look of relief on his face now that Seiki had finally appeared, then broke into a straight gallop toward where Seiki had pointed, yelling to his last two remaining unit members to Parry the Spirit one last time. The men were no match for the attack and instantly dropped dead afterward.
Seiki waved to his incoming unit, who looked horrified when they saw the Cursed Spirit in pursuit of their Unit Chief.
“Two on each side,” Seiki told his unit. The group parted, and as Fubuki burst through the gap, Seiki turned and shouted, “Stun!”
The mental guide caught only the latter half of the Cursed Spirit. To his alarm, even with a powered-up special Slot, the Stun was nowhere near powerful enough, and only caused the Spirit to stutter. It lashed out at the nearest troop’s members, its skeletal arm striking Rumi squarely in her chest, instantly killing her.
Frantically, Seiki cried “Stun!” and “Stun!” again as he turned Fubuki around and galloped back. Ippei was approaching at full speed from the other side, his own Cursed Spirit trailing not far behind, but he still needed a few seconds to get there.
Seiki leapt from the saddle, drew his sword and stabbed down at the ground underneath the Spirit with his own Vertical Spike to buy them two more seconds. “Potions!” he yelled to his remaining three unit members. “Stun! Stun! Stun!”
The successive abilities seemed to stack, and the Cursed Spirit slowed to a halt. But that was all his unit energy spent, and his own Vertical Spike was now on lockout.
“It’s gonna AoE, so we’re not gonna survive this,” Ippei shouted as he spent the last of his energy to make the last burst toward them. The Spirit was already moving again. The next swing of its bony arm killed both Saboro and Genta in one hit as it turned to face the incoming samurai.
Seiki grabbed for all his available resources.
You have placed Protection of the Sea on Ippei.
The cast left his hand, and he stepped up to the skeleton with a Slide, a turn and perhaps a Parry before the Spirit could take a swipe at the approaching black horse.
Several things exploded at once as Seiki felt himself thrown violently to the side amid a flaming orange flash, human cries and a deafening subsonic screech that shook every fiber of his being.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Seiki expected to be dead. Instead of the empty sensation of floating in darkness, however, an unfamiliar weight lay heavy over him, making it difficult to breathe. His head throbbing, he blinked several times before his eyes finally focused on the dry grass under his body.
The world was full of sound, and it took him a moment to realize that a significant portion of it was the ringing in hi
s ears. Still dazed, he glanced up to get his bearings. Whatever explosion had occurred had thrown him about twenty feet away from where he had stood, reducing his health to a fifth of his total, leaving him strangely cold. Occupying his original location was a single Cursed Spirit, still semi-transparent and half-skeletal, but now significantly larger, its ragged clothing whipping around at its body as it flailed its arms around.
On the ground next to the Spirit was Ippei, who appeared as surprised as Seiki was to still be alive, but very much delighted as he looked at the transforming monster. It slowly registered in Seiki’s mind that their strategy had worked.
A faint mist hung around the samurai, telling Seiki that his Protection shield had gone off in time.
Seiki finally remembered what had just happened, and—much to his horror—he also realized then what the looming heaviness at the back of his mind was. It was damage, an incredible amount of it, waiting to unleash on him the moment his nine seconds of bought time came to an end.
Across the field, Ippei looked down at his hand, then up at Seiki, his eyes widening as he came to the same realization. Seiki grunted, scrambled to his feet and broke away in the longest Slide he could manage toward the beginning of the instance.
Two seconds passed without him feeling the water-shedding effect of the shield ending, which meant it must have gone off when he was still dazed from the explosion, leaving him with less than three seconds on his timer. On his left hand, his Crimsonfire Tekko was cold, which meant he had used its charge to shield him from the initial burst of damage. The incoming amount must have been what he had absorbed from Ippei.
Despite feeling that several things did not add up, in such a tight situation, Seiki found himself unable to judge his chance of survival. And so he continued to sprint as soon as his Slide came to an end. He had no idea how far he needed to run, or how much damage was about to crash down, but with a significant percentage of his health already missing, he doubted he had enough to survive. Then it hit him, like an icy thunder cracking above his head. He winced as he stumbled; the ground below him darkened.