The pungent smoke emanating from the demon that had been killed and was now in the process of dissolving still mixed with the blood of the fight—the demon's blood—which was now in a grotesque painting inside the ramen shop.
My heart was pounding continuously, not because I was afraid; it was the first taste of demonic flesh that was surrendering to my sword that was giving me this thrill, the electric one of the kill. But that single victory was just a warm-up.
Outside, the growls grew to a whole new level of hell. It was like they were very angry and this was their way of expressing it, and the whole building was vibrating with their sound.
With the sword still leaking black demon blood that was instantly vaporizing on the floor, I walked toward the broken door. I looked out into the dimly lit narrow alley still full of twilight shadows, and I could see them: demons forming a crawling-hot mass of more than a hundred, their shapes a living nightmare of hell's fabric.
Some were huge brutes just like the one I had just killed, a ten-foot monster made of cords of muscle and folds of skin, their vertical mouths wide open, hungry and their single eyes glowing with wicked fire.
Others were slimmer frightened beings—they had long, thin and flexible bodies such that their ending parts were claws, bodies curling in gnarled ways with many eyes on them, and those eyes were placed on bodies that had pulsating veins of magma.
The creatures with wings were at the farthest and they were making loud noises, really terrifying sounds that were beats like the slaps of wet skin hitting and they were accompanied with their shrieks that were so high-pitched that they could even be mistaken for broken glass.
And there were smaller, more mischievous demons who were scuttling through the legs of the bigger ones, resembling rats with razor teeth and tails that were flicking like whips.
It was not an accidental infestation but a large group of demons that had been summoned through the rifts made by my father, Kinard, during his insane quest for power. The world we were familiar with—the vibrant Tokyo city, where the flow of business men and women and school girls never stopped, and vending machines lit up like stars in the dark night—was no more.
Demons came through the rifts in kan reality, lured by the human disillusionment, protests transforming into riots, and the recordings of Kinard's "deliverance" that concealed his true sins: tyrannies over the downtrodden, deals with the forces of the underworld, whole towns turned into ashes.
An involuntary and ferocious grin spread across my face as I looked at the devil's army. Their growls reached the top volume, a sound barrier that encased my ear drums.
"It seems this road is going to be a river of blood,"
I said, my voice quiet but still audible, mixed with the morbid irony of a man who had been fighting death too many times to be scared. The phrase was both a challenge and a promise, reverberating in the alley like a cat's purr.
The mob acting as one body moved towards me, an avalanche of razors and teeth flooding the narrow space. I did not wait for them to come to me. With a roar that was as loud as their own, I ran out of the shop with my sword above my head; the blade was reflecting the dim dying sun like a line of wrath.
The first wave was like a hurricane. Three giant one-eyed monsters were the first to advance, their huge fists moving in circles that could crush cement. I dodged one after another like a shadow, my katana going up in a perfect curve.
The blade went deep into the leading demon's thigh, cutting off tendons with a moist tear. It roared, lost its footing, and I quickly turned around, pushing the sword through the opening of its neck. Black blood gushed out, hot and thick, and my face and body got splattered as the beast fainted.
The second one came at me with a lunge, its claws scratching toward my chest.
I managed to parry with my sword's flat edge, feeling the force of collision up my arms, then I did a downward slash that cut its arm off from shoulder to elbow. It yelled, losing its grip on the ... I pierced its heart with a thrust—if those monsters even had that inside them.
The third one was cleverer and kept circling in a cautious manner, like a predator, with its only eye middle-sized. It pretended to go left and then hit right, claws roaring through the sky. I crouched down, rolled under the swipe, and got up behind it, sword driving into its back. The thing contorted and I pulled the sword out in a blood fountain, turning towards the next attack.
Now, little demons rushed in, running like rats with their sharp teeth trying to bite my legs. I stomped one down, felt its little head go flat under my shoe, then I swung my sword in a big horizontal line, taking the heads of two more with one move. The two heads rolled into the ditch, eyes still blinking in bewilderment.
A devil with wings came down from above, howling and its claws were directed to my eyes.
I jumped back, the claws just touching my shoulder, ripping through clothing and skin, creating a line that burned. Pain shot up my body, burning and demanding attention, but I transformed it into anger.
When it was making a turn for another attack, I threw a piece of glass from the shop's window—makeshift, fatal—sticking in its wing. It couldn't control its fall and crashed down among its comrades and I was already on them like a storm.
Hack. Thrust. Defend. The place was full of slaughter and my sword was an extension of my will—the air was full of murder and graceful death.
My movements were like a dancer's in a deadly ballet, predicting blows, and the mistakes were being exploited.
A thin demon struck with its tail, the pointed end hitting my neck; I handled it with my other hand, disregarding the thorns that punctured my hand, and pulled it forward, making it die on my sword. One more group collided all at once, five strong, their heavy bodies rushing like bulls.
I jumped on a trash bin near by, took the height as an advantage, and was hitting the opponent's parts causing them to fall apart and headless. One of them took hold of my foot, dragging me down; I turned in the air and dropped on it, pushing the sword into its heart and rolling away where others were crowding.
Though they were many, I still managed to kill them. The bodies vanished, demon-like forms becoming vapors and ashes, yet, for everyone I killed, two more would come.
The narrow alley made the whole thing—walls confining us, imposing close-fight where I was good, but numbers were still a threat. I felt my muscles burning, sweat running down into my eyes, but fear disappeared and adrenaline was the only thing left, rushing through my veins like liquid fire. This was the reason I lived: the raw, visceral dance of combat, where life hung on the edge of a blade, each kill a dark ecstasy that pulsed through my blood like forbidden desire.
But the mass was never-ending. I chopped down thirty, forty, their blood soaking the ground into a slippery mire. A giant demon, thicker than the others, broke through his troop, punching like battering rams.
He swung and I managed to partly dodge the blow but the power still hit my side sending me to crash against the wall. My ribs complained with piercing pain, breath knocked out of my lungs. I struggled for air, sword dipping for a split second, and in that instant, doubt seeped in.
Tiredness was scratching me—arms heavy as if made of lead, legs shaking from constant movement.
"How many? Fifty? Sixty?" I shouted in air.
Their nasty smelly hot breath made it difficult to breathe, the growls sounded like a loud roar.
From somewhere, a scamperer got hold of my boot and its fangs went straight into my calf muscle.
The pain was so intense and so sharp that I kicked it away, but in that moment, another one sprang onto my back and was digging its claws into my shoulders.
I let out a roar, slammed backwards onto the wall trying to crush it, and I could feel the bones crack, but the fight took all of my energy. The strong one came even closer, showing its vertical teeth with the gleaming eye that was glowing with victory.
I tried to block its punch, but the impact was so strong that my arms went numb, and I weakly tried to counter, the cut just sliding off its skin. It laughed—a low, booming sound—and hit me backhanded across the alley.
I fell to the ground with a thud, my sword clattering next to me, and my vision went blurry. The demons were surrounding me, there was a circle of fangs and eyes and they were really looking forward to it.
They would give up? The idea slithered through my mind like a snake, this was the easy way out, the release of nothingness. My body was screaming to me for a break, the wounds were hurting like they were tear out with every movement: the cut on my shoulder was bleeding like crazy, palm was like shredded paper, and I was bruised on the side to the bone.
Akira would have a laugh about this situation—my brother, the one who would never let his victims suffer he would always be the one ending their life, thus would be referred to as the one who is very merciless.
Not a chance.
I wouldn't give up.
Not to these creatures from hell, not to fatigue, not to the planet's treachery. I let out a guttural snarl that seemed to come from the very depths of my being, I seized my sword, and erupted in an explosion of defiance to my feet.
The huge demon rushed; I dodged at the very last second, the blade gleaming in an upward strike that went through its belly.
It screamed when I, the one twisting, the innards of it spilling out in a steaming flood. I pulled out, turning to confront the next one—a flying monstrosity coming down.
I jumped, caught its wing, and used its momentum to swing on top of it, sword already going down into its brain mid-air. We fell together, and I got up not far from them and was already prepared to the last ones.
The struggle turned into a dance of destruction: one moment claw was parried, the next a limb was cut off, then the tail was evaded and an eye was pierced.
The chorus of murder and vanishing flesh took twenty more. I was breathing heavily, my sight was becoming narrower but still I did not give up, every single death was a proof of my unyielding will. A group of thin ones got me in the middle; I spun like a tornado of metal, swords and talons were ringing, I got out all bloodied but still alive because they had to die.
The dark side was a slaughterhouse now, the ground was slippery with blood and guts, and the smell of sulfur and corpses was in the air.
Eventually, the last dozen drew back, their strength reduced to a bare minimum. I was the one still standing with the heap of dead, my sword stuck in the ground, my heart around my neck, every part of my body in pain.
One brave demon charged towards me and I met him with a strike, parried, and then sent a sword blow to his neck so that his head fell off. The others panicked and ran, but I was on them, killing them one after another—unstoppable, merciless.
With the last demon turning into smoke the noise went away and only my heavy breathing remained. The road was really a bloodbath where black and red colors mixed in streams that went to the gutters.
Then a new loud noise came from above: the whirring of helicopter blades.
The already dusky sky became more gloomy as the helicopters, like metal vultures, surrounded the area—police ones, their spotlights came through the darkness, putting me in a very bright and harsh light.
The sirens were screaming, and a loudspeaker amplified the voice from the first aircraft:
"We count to five, otherwise, we'll shoot. An arrest warrant is out on you. Surrender right now."