The clash of steel rang through the fog.
Looking past Hamura's shoulder, Mika's eyes shifted to Toji.
For a brief second, Hamura followed her gaze.
That was all she needed.
She vanished.
The snow beneath her feet exploded outward as she reappeared behind Toji, claws flashing toward his unguarded back—
—but Hamura was faster.
Steel intercepted claw with a violent spark.
"It's been a while… Hamura," she said, landing lightly on the snow, a smirk curling on her lips. Her nine tails fanned out behind her like a throne of fire and shadow. "I see you really left me for good."
Hamura's expression hardened, but there was something else there.
Shock.
"Mika… I thought you were dead."
Toji's breath caught.
He knew her name.
Everything she said was true.
The ground beneath Toji's certainty cracked.
Mika's eyes never left Hamura.
"I trusted you," she said quietly, though the forest seemed to tremble with the weight of her words. "I gave you my love. I defied my father for you." Her tails lashed violently, tearing deep scars into the snow. "And what did you do? You used me.
You waited for the perfect moment—and slaughtered my entire family."
The fog thickened as if reacting to her rage.
"They did nothing to you."
Hamura tightened his grip on his blade. "I was young. I was trying to prove myself to my master. I didn't understand what I was doing."
"You understood enough," Mika snapped.
Toji looked from one to the other, heart racing.
The image of his father—the righteous hunter, the silent protector—began to fracture.
"You humans are all the same," Mika continued, her voice turning cold again. "I was a fool to disobey my father and trust you."
Hamura's voice lowered. "I'm sorry for what I did to you, Mika. I truly am. I never meant to hurt you."
Her laughter echoed through the forest.
"Is that why you didn't kill me too?" she asked softly. "Was it pity? Or was your guilt too heavy to finish the job?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"Either way… you were a fool."
Her gaze snapped to Toji.
"You should have erased my bloodline when you had the chance," she whispered.
The air shifted.
In an instant, all nine of her tails slammed into the ground.
The forest erupted.
A shockwave blasted outward, knocking Hamura back several meters. He skidded through the snow, carving a deep trench before catching himself.
Toji was thrown off his feet.
Before he could recover, one of Mika's tails shot forward like a serpent and wrapped around his waist, lifting him into the air.
"TOJI!" Hamura roared.
Toji struggled, dagger slashing uselessly at the tail constricting him. It felt like iron wrapped in silk—soft, but unbreakable.
Mika walked toward him slowly, her feet barely touching the snow.
"Look at you," she murmured, her glowing eyes studying his face.
"So open. So confused. Your heart is cracking already."
Her free hand reached up and pressed lightly against his chest.
"You're just like him."
Hamura charged, blades flashing.
But Mika didn't turn.
Two of her tails intercepted him mid-air, slamming him violently into a tree. The trunk splintered on impact.
Blood stained the snow.
She tightened her hold on Toji slightly—not enough to kill him, but enough to make him gasp.
"This is what weakness looks like, Hamura," she said calmly. "You hesitate."
Hamura pushed himself up, coughing blood, fury replacing regret.
He wiped the blood from his mouth and shifted his stance.
No more hesitation.
He lunged again—this time not at her.
But at the tail holding his son.
His blade glowed faintly as he poured every ounce of strength into the strike.
The tail severed.
Mika's eyes widened for the first time.
Toji dropped—
—and Hamura caught him before he hit the ground.
Snow swirled violently around them as the fog twisted into a storm.
For the first time since she appeared—
Mika stopped smiling.
Hamura set Toji down behind him.
"Don't move," he said, voice low but firm.
Toji's hands were shaking. "Father—"
"Don't. Move."
Mika's expression darkened.
"So you finally choose him over regret."
Her tails rose again, this time slower—more deliberate. The snow around her began to melt from the heat radiating off her body. The air itself warped.
Hamura adjusted his stance.
No more guilt in his eyes.
Only resolve.
She attacked first.
All nine tails shot forward at once like spears.
Hamura moved.
Steel flashed in a blur. He spun, sliced, ducked—cutting through two tails before they dissolved and reformed instantly. A third tail slammed into his side, sending him crashing through a tree.
Before he hit the ground, Mika was already in front of him.
Claws clashed against blades in a violent exchange—strike after strike after strike. Sparks exploded with each collision. Snow turned to steam around them.
Hamura managed to slash across her shoulder.
Blackened blood spilled onto the snow.
Mika hissed—more animal than human—and retaliated with a tail that pierced straight through his abdomen.
Toji screamed.
"FATHER!"
Hamura gritted his teeth, blood spilling from his lips—but he didn't fall.
Instead, he grabbed the tail impaling him… and pulled himself forward.
Mika's eyes widened.
With one final surge of strength, Hamura drove both blades deep into her side.
The forest shook.
A shockwave blasted outward, flattening snow and snapping trees like twigs.
Mika staggered backward, ripping her tail free from his body. Blood poured from her wound, staining the white ground dark.
Hamura dropped to one knee.
Toji ran to him, catching him before he collapsed fully.
The fog began to thin.
Mika clutched her side, breathing heavier now. For the first time… she looked wounded. Not just physically.
"You never could finish what you started…" she whispered.
Hamura looked up at her, vision fading.
"No… but I can protect what I have left."
Mika's eyes flickered to Toji.
There was hesitation.
Just a second.
Then her expression hardened.
"This isn't over," she said quietly.
Her tails wrapped around her body as flames of crimson energy engulfed her form. The fog swirled violently—
—and she was gone.
Silence fell over the forest.
Snow drifted down gently again, as if nothing had happened.
Toji held his father, hands soaked in blood.
"Stay with me… please… we can go home… mother is waiting…"
Hamura's breathing grew shallow.
His hand trembled as he reached up and placed it on Toji's cheek.
"Listen to me…" he whispered. "There are things… I never told you…"
Blood trickled down his chin.
"I wasn't a hero."
Toji shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face.
"No—don't say that—"
"You must survive," Hamura interrupted softly. "Not as a hunter blinded by pride… but as something better."
His hand slipped.
"Toji… live differently…"
The light in his eyes faded.
The forest stood silent.
Toji screamed into the snow.
And far away, the festival bells rang again.