The blade flickered.
Not the familiar, steady glow that had become an extension of his own heartbeat.
Blue.
Wei's eyes widened.
A deep, oceanic blue that pulsed along the edge like waves against a shore. The runes on the sword's surface shifted, reforming into patterns he didn't recognize. The hilt felt different in his hand, warmer, heavier, like it was no longer a weapon he was wielding, but something he was holding onto.
Hoshimi drove the blade toward his face. The old man released him, staggering backward, his silk suit finally showing signs of distress. A thin line of red appeared on his cheek where the sword's tip had grazed him.
Wei straightened on the far edge of the rooftop, touching his nose with delicate fingers. Blood smeared his white glove, stark crimson against pristine fabric. His golden eyes fixed on the sword.
"Interesting," he murmured. "The blade changes color. I don't recall that being in the file."
"I didn't know it could do this either," Hoshimi admitted. Then he was moving, because there was no time to think about what the sword was doing or why. Wei had recovered faster than expected, faster than should have been possible for anyone.
Hoshimi's blade carved an arc toward Wei's chest.
Wei didn't dodge. Couldn't, it seemed. His body simply wasn't fast enough to react to the strike. The blue edge bit deep into his shoulder, slicing through silk and flesh and the muscle beneath, scraping against bone with a sound that made Hoshimi's teeth ache.
Blood sprayed across the rooftop gravel.
The wound vanished
He murmured. "Useless."
Hoshimi's chest heaved. His hand was steady on his sword, but his mind was racing. The blue light. He'd never seen that before. Never felt it before. Something had changed in the Zenith, or during the fight with Jiyeon, or somewhere in between.
"As you can see, killing me is quite difficult. A mutant ability. Rather useful, don't you think? I call it 'Second Chance.' Every few seconds, my body resets to its previous state. Wounds. Fatigue. Age." He paused. "Well, age takes longer. But the principle is the same."
Hoshimi's blade came up again. He didn't speak. Didn't waste breath on words. Just moved, striking at Wei's leg, his arm, his chest. Each blow landed. Each wound opened. And each wound rewound, closing before Hoshimi could follow up.
[His revealing his hand to me, does he really think the slight power boost is necessary for him to reveal his ability to my face? Or is he just that confident?]
He lunged.
His blade traced an arc through the gray afternoon light, aimed at Wei's throat, at the soft tissue where his windpipe ran close to the surface. Wei didn't dodge, simply let the attack come. The sword bit deep, opening a wound that should have been fatal.
The wound vanished.
His breathing was becoming labored. The fight with Jiyeon had taken more out of him than he'd realized, he had more than enough of his mana reserves, he hadn't gone through even a single percentage of his entire pool, but the output was dimming, he couldn't reach enough water out of the endless well.
Wei was still talking. "The sword is beautiful. I've collected many beautiful things over the years." His smile widened, revealing teeth that were too white, too perfect. "After I give you off, I think I'll keep the magical tool for myself."
Wei's hand closed around Hoshimi's wrist. His grip was cold, unnaturally cold, and Hoshimi felt something drain from him. Not mana. Something else. Something vital.
He squeezed. Hoshimi felt the bones in his wrist grind together.
[His ability. It's not regeneration. It's more like... a reset. Every few seconds, his body rewinds to how it was.]
He pulled free. Staggered backward. His wrist throbbed, but he kept his grip on the sword, kept his eyes on Wei's face.
Hoshimi ran.
Not away. Toward the street. Toward the gas station he'd noticed earlier, the one on the corner with the faded sign and the rusted pumps. Wei followed, his footsteps silent, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity rather than concern.
Hoshimi didn't answer. His feet pounded against the pavement, his lungs burned, his wrist screamed with every movement. But he kept running.
The gas station caught his eye.
It sat at the edge of the industrial district, a squat building with faded signage and pumps that looked like they hadn't been used in years. The explosion that had ripped through the city had damaged it, one of the pumps was leaking, a dark pool spreading across the concrete, but the structure itself was intact.
Hoshimi ran.
[I'm rather lucky that it hasn't caught on fire.]
Hoshimi reached the leaking pump.
The fuel had pooled beneath it in a wide, dark slick that reflected the gray sky like a dirty mirror. The smell was overwhelming, gasoline, sharp and chemical, burning his nose and throat.
Hoshimi turned. His blade came up, the blue light along its edge flickering.
Then he drove the sword into the pool of gasoline.
The friction of the blade against concrete was enough.
The fuel ignited.
Fire erupted in a blooming wave of orange and gold, racing along the edge of the spilled gasoline, spreading outward in concentric rings. The heat hit Hoshimi's face like a physical blow, but he didn't flinch. His sword was burning now, the blue runes on its surface visible even through the flames that enveloped it.
Hoshimi moved.
His burning blade carved an arc toward Wei's chest. The old man tried to step back, but his body still refused to dodge, reflexes dulled by decades. The flame-wreathed edge bit deep into his torso, and this time, the wound didn't just bleed.
It burned.
The edge caught Wei's chest and opened a wound that should have been fatal. The wound vanished. But the fire didn't. It clung to Wei's silk suit, to his skin, to his hair. It burned and burned and burned, and every time his body reset, the fire was still there, still consuming, still hungry.
"DAMN YOU!!"
It was a terrible sound, high and thin. He clawed at his burning clothes, his burning skin, his burning everything, but the fire was relentless.
Hoshimi stood over him, his sword still blazing blue, his face blank. The fire reflected in his violet eyes, dancing, consuming.
His body reset. The fire remained.
He screamed again.
"FUCK."
His body reset. The fire remained.
"You-"
His body rewound.
The wound in his chest closed, the blood flowing backward, the flesh knitting together. But the fire remained. It was a chemical reaction, not a wound, it fed on Wei's clothing, on his skin, and no amount of temporal manipulation could undo what was already burning.
Hoshimi stood over him, his burning sword raised for the final blow.
Then something in his gut twisted.
It was instinct. Not reason.Something inside him was screaming for him. The sword in his chest pulsed with a warning he couldn't articulate.
He moved.
Not fast enough.
A gunshot.
The bullet caught him in the shoulder, high, near the collarbone, punching through muscle and scraping against bone. Hoshimi staggered, his sword falling from suddenly numb fingers, his vision blurring. He turned, tried to see who had fired.
A blade carved across his back.
A diagonal slash from shoulder to hip, deep enough to sever muscle, to expose the white gleam of his spine beneath the blood. His vision went white. His legs gave out. He hit the ground on his knees, his burning sword clattering from his grip.
Her gray eyes were calm. Unreadable. The sword in her hand, a new one, shorter than the first, its edge still wet with his blood, caught the light of the burning gas station.
Jiyeon.
She stood at the edge of the gas station, her face pale, her eyes still showing the effects of the carbon monoxide poisoning
His vision was going gray at the edges, the world narrowing to a tunnel of pain and fire and the distant sound of Wei's dying screams.
Jiyeon withdrew her blade.
Hoshimi collapsed.
His cheek pressed against the cold asphalt. His blood pooled beneath him, hot and dark, spreading across the ground like a blooming flower. The fire still burned. Wei still screamed. But the sounds were distant now, muffled.
"I was just doing my job."
Black scene.
She walked.
"Really?"
Reina was walking through the flames, her ginger hair wild around her face, her gold eyes blazing with something that made Jiyeon's blood run cold.
Her heels clicked against the pavement. Not hurrying. Her expression was calm. Almost serene.
The assassin's gray eyes widened. Her hand tightened on her sword. But she didn't run, couldn't run. Her body was still shaking from the Zenith, from the carbon monoxide, from the sheer exhaustion of fighting someone who refused to die.
"Miss Reina," Jiyeon breathed.
"Me." Reina stopped a few feet from her, tilting her head. "Haven't seen you in quite a while, have I, Jiyeon?"
"R-Reina." Jiyeon's voice cracked. "I surrender, I'll do anything, I'll grovel if I have to, I'll lick your shoes clean, I'll-."
"I know."
Reina's hand moved.
Jiyeon's head was in one position and then in another, with no apparent transition between the two states. It tumbled through the air, her gray eyes still wide, her lips still parted. It hit the pavement with a wet thud and rolled, coming to rest against the burning remains of the gas station pump.
Reina lowered her hand.
She walked past Jiyeon's crumpling body without a glance. Past the burning remains of Wei, who had finally stopped screaming. Past the boy Hao, who stood at the edge of the fire, his face still blank, his dark eyes reflecting the flames.
She knelt beside Hoshimi.
His eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow. The pool of blood beneath him had spread to touch the edge of the fire, sizzling where it met the flames. His sword lay a few feet away, its blue light dimming.
"Hoshimi," she murmured. "What am I going to do with you?"