Death loomed close. But Reika was closer.
The wind screamed like a wounded animal, starving and spiteful. Each gust clawed at her skin, slicing open the silence of the dead land around her. The sky above boiled with furious gray, and the ground beneath her boots trembled as if afraid of what approached.
Reika stood alone. Blood ran down her chin from a split lip, dripping onto the dirt like the ticking of a broken clock. Her lungs shuddered—each breath a gamble between pain and collapse. Her ribs weren't just bruised; they were breaking. She could feel it—bones grinding against one another with every movement.
But she didn't fall.
She didn't allow herself to.
Damn it... My ribs… It hurts just to breathe.
Her thoughts clawed through the pain like an animal trapped beneath rubble. She clenched the knife tighter—her knuckles white, her grip trembling, the blade still coated with the blood of her last kill.
It wasn't just a weapon anymore. It had become an extension of her soul—a part of the pain, a part of the rage. A part of her.
I won't lose. I'm not weak.
She swallowed a scream, pushed her heels into the ground, and looked forward.
And then came the voice.
Smooth. Unforgiving. Cold like the air before a thunderstorm.
"Weak?" it whispered, a chuckle riding its words like venom on the fang. "No… you're not just weak. You're pitiful. Human hope—such a fragile thing."
A gust coiled around her like a snake. The wind wasn't just wind anymore—it had become a presence, aware and cruel. A Shikiban, born from wrath and ancient breath.
"You drag your shattered body into our world, bleeding, barely standing, and you still believe you can win?"
She spat blood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and straightened her spine despite every nerve screaming otherwise.
"Damn right, I do."
Her voice cracked, raw with pain—but not fear. Never fear.
She took one step forward.
The air shifted. The sky dimmed. The Shikiban moved.
A blur—no, a storm—crashed into her.
FWOOOOOSH!
It hit like a thousand spears. Invisible. Relentless.
She felt her ribs snap. Her body lifted, spun, flung like a doll through the air. Her scream died in her throat. All she could feel was the shattering.
CRACK.
Pain. More pain than she'd ever known. Her mouth opened, but the wind swallowed her voice. Her vision doubled—then tripled. Her thoughts stuttered, fading fast.
I'm… going to black out.
The Shikiban slithered through the air beside her, whispering against her ear.
"You can't fight what you can't touch."
No. Not like this… Not now.
She bit down on her tongue until she tasted iron. Forced her eyes to stay open.
Think. THINK.
She couldn't fight the wind directly. It was everywhere. It surrounded her, invaded her, broke her from the inside out.
But then—
Her mind snapped into clarity.
Then don't fight it. Become it.
She let go.
Stopped resisting.
The moment she did, the wind didn't tear her apart—it carried her. It spun her like a leaf, then launched her forward in a blur of motion. Her body moved without force, without resistance. Just velocity.
She twisted mid-air. Saw it—the heart of the storm. A flicker, pulsing like a weak spot.
The Shikiban hesitated.
Too late.
SLASH!
Her knife found the storm's core. It screamed—not like a monster, but like a dying god. The wind turned inside out, imploding upon itself. The howl became a shriek, then a cry.
"You… you cannot…"
She landed hard, knees buckling. But she didn't fall.
The storm shattered.
The sky cleared.
Silence returned.
Reika panted, blood dripping from her mouth, her arms trembling. She looked down at her knife, breath catching.
The blade pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then it changed.
It grew. The steel darkened to black chrome, glowing lines of ethereal blue tracing her name along the hilt. Power thrummed beneath her skin, crawling from her fingertips to her spine.
The blade was no longer just a tool. It had become alive. And it had chosen her.
She exhaled. Smirked despite the pain. "Nice."
Then—
THUMP.
The ground quaked. The sky dimmed again.
A gate rose before her.
Ten feet tall. Iron-wrought. Covered in etchings of eyes that seemed to move.
She staggered back, eyes narrowing. "No… that's not right."
Her voice trembled.
"The gate only opens after two kills…"
Wind brushed her cheek. But it wasn't cold anymore. It was warm. Kind.
A whisper.
"I held the strength of two… That is why you may proceed."
The last fragment of the Shikiban drifted past her in the wind. It didn't curse her. It didn't resist.
It simply vanished.
Reika stood in silence, heart pounding against her bruised ribs. Something about that voice haunted her. Not the malice—but the pain behind it. Was the Shikiban once… something else?
No time.
Her hand wrapped around the transformed knife. Its heat felt almost human.
And beyond the gate… she could feel it.
Another trial.
Stronger than this one. Something older. Hungrier.
She limped forward. Her body broken, but her soul brimming with rage and resolve.
The knife hummed again.
I'm still alive.
Her gaze sharpened.
And I'm not done yet.
The air grew heavier with every step.
Behind her, the wind fell silent.
Ahead, a deeper darkness waited.
The next Shikiban was already awake.