Author's note: Fight scenes are my nemesis.

12.

"That isn't right," said Mr. Santos, "they shouldn't give you a different mission than everyone else!"

"Why not?" asked Joshua, studying the haiku on his hand. "I've been trying to challenge them all week. This is the perfect opportunity."

"But what happens if we succeed and you fail?"

"Presumably, I am erased," said Joshua. Which he would be if he lost the battle anyway, regardless of "erasing the Author" being his mission goal.

"You're only a kid. They should give you a chance to back out."

Joshua smiled arrogantly. "I wouldn't take it if they did. Don't worry about me, Mr. Santos. You just take care of your own mission."

Mr. Santos's worried frown only deepened. "Do you even know where it is you're supposed to go?"

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea."

A good amount of his confidence was for show. He would never admit it, but his heart was pounding. Pounding harder than it had before he jumped off the building. If he failed this time, it was game over. Permanently.

But there was one thing he was glad of: the mission had given him a pretty good idea of where to go. He read it over one last time as he made his way to the Shibuya River, breaking his pact with Mr. Santos.

O ambitious one

In Shibuya's veins find

Necessary end

Joshua wasn't sure who he'd been expecting the Author to be. But it certainly wasn't this.

And yet, the brilliant figure who stood before him could be no one else.

She was a being of light and static, stretched out in such a way that she barely resembled the human she must once have been. Crackling, flickering, she lit up the tunnel so that it appeared as bright as daylight.

"Greetings, Kiryu Yoshiya." The voice, resembling that of an elderly woman, resonated in a way that the acoustics of the tunnel could not account for. "I've heard you've been planning to challenge me."

Joshua felt a grin spreading on his face – an odd, unintentional reflex. But he felt strangely giddy. Either he would achieve his goals here, or he would be erased and have nothing to worry about anymore. "You heard correctly," Joshua said.

"Very well. Follow me."

She led him down the tunnel, her brilliance illuminating pieces of graffiti, cobwebs, and rodent nooks she passed. "You've demonstrated great arrogance by challenging me in this manner," she said casually as she walked – though the dainty steps she took with her stretched-out legs made it seem as though she was floating. "It would be a simple matter for me to erase you right here and now. But I am merciful. I will give you the benefit of a fair fight. It would not be a fair fight if we were to fight at different vibes."

"Don't lower your vibe for my sake," Joshua said. If he was strong enough to take the Author's place, then it wouldn't matter. And if he wasn't strong enough, then he at least to experience the thrill of seeing what she was truly capable of before he was erased. He had wondered about the Author's power for so long.

She stopped where she was, turning around to face him again. "I wouldn't dream of it," she said.

Somehow, her brightness increased, fully illuminating the room in which they now stood. It was vast and dark and swirling with energy that hummed at the edge of Joshua's senses. High walls. A throne. A tea caddy. A koto.

And standing against the back wall, just under the throne, was Hanekoma Sanae.

What was he doing here? Was it a trick? Some kind of mind game the Author was playing? Joshua opened his mouth to ask.

But when his vibe was – suddenly, violently – raised, all that came out was a scream.

Static.

White.

Static.

White.

That was all Joshua could perceive as his soul was stretched out in every direction, as if crucified. She hadn't lowered her vibe. She'd raised his.

And his Soul wasn't ready to handle that.

Static. White. And then suddenly, all of Shibuya at once.

Joshua coughed and choked, his foolish lungs thinking it was air he needed. No, it wasn't that – this was something else, something flowing through him, pressure building up inside his soul. Barely able to control where his eyes went, he managed to focus his gaze back on Sanae.

Wings. Wings that hadn't been there a second ago.

And then Joshua was being pummeled by searing beams of light.

He was helpless.

The attacks themselves were the least of his worries. He could not control his body. He could not control his mind. All of Shibuya kept flowing through him like ink, flowing and flowing and not leaking out fast enough. His soul was swelling and swelling, his soul was going to burst. He was all of it, he was everyone – traffic and vending machines, schools and shops, his mother, his father, the Players, the Reapers, strangers, Smears. All the voices. All the vibes.

Another beam of light knocked him prone.

Think, Joshua, think. Still crumpled on the cold concrete ground, he tried to calm himself. Tried to block off the incoming barrage of everything that wouldn't leave him alone. He could normally do that, right? He could block out Smears, why would this be different?

Another beam tossed him up and dropped him back. The Author made her way to him, hovering over him solemnly. He knew he didn't have much time.

He tried to get to his feet, trembling. He had no sense of balance – his body hadn't maintained its shape; he didn't know where his limbs were. And still the cacophony bled through him, filling up his ears, spilling out of his open mouth –

Open your world.

No, he thought, he couldn't block out Smears. He couldn't block out anything. Players had been able to imprint on him. He'd been able to sense Manako's emotions. All he had done was block himself in.

And now the pressure was building up inside him with no outlet.

Instead of rising, he closed his eyes. Focused on his ethereal body, all that energy flowing into it. Lights. Roads. Cars. Vending machines.

And he let the energy out in a burst.

The vending machine hit the Author square across the face. She vanished and reappeared a few paces back.

"Impressive," she said, and the entirety of Shibuya echoed her message. The words bounced off the insides of Joshua's skull, making his ears ring. "You learn quickly. But I doubt it will be quick enough."

Before he had the chance to get to his feet, she hit him with the light again. It was like being pierced and set aflame all at once. He tried to catch the energy as it came at him, to hold it, throw it back at her like he could do with the rest of the energy coming through him. He couldn't. It was too much, too fast, he couldn't contain it –

Open your world, came the words again from nowhere. Sanae's voice, though he knew Sanae wasn't speaking. The pin, he realized – the pin was speaking to him. It hummed with an energy of its own, an energy stronger than the talismans in his pocket, an energy more focused than the Author's attacks. Could he use that, somehow?

Another beam was coming, and everything hurt, and there was no chance to catch a breath. His ordinary senses weren't functioning correctly – how could he fumble for the pin when he felt everything at once? – so he had to rely on this new sense, this sense that was and was not music, to find the source of the energy. Feeling along the front of his ghostly kimono where he had attached the pin, he at last grasped the energy, held the pin in his hands, held the energy in his soul –

Open your world.

The blow that should have finished him did not. Instead of burning, his body absorbed the shock. And he was swelling and he was drowning but he was not bursting into fragments; no, Joshua remained whole. He looked down at his glowing hand, the hand holding the pin.

Open your world.

He opened his hand, releasing the energy.

And all of Shibuya went white.

Static and white. And static and white. White noise. Blank canvas.

And then all of Shibuya, changing all at once. Smears dissolving into puddles of ink. Reapers screaming. A girl in the RG, in the midst of a solo karaoke session while washing dishes in her kitchen, suddenly stopped, and did not know why. A poet at his writing desk suddenly clutched his pen tightly and began pouring out words onto the page, beautiful words that came seemingly from nowhere. He could see all of it. He could hear all of it.

He let go of the pin, and suddenly, all was calm. An empty room. Gone was the tea, the koto. Gone was the Author. Now there was only Joshua, and a throne.

And Hanekoma Sanae. Looking shocked.

Joshua tried to rise on trembling limbs – limbs that were not his, not yet. Because Joshua wasn't Joshua anymore. Joshua was all of Shibuya, all at once.

Sanae approached him, now offering a hand and a sheepish smile. "Congratulations, Composer."

But Joshua had no words for him. He stayed on his knees, staring up at Mr. Hanekoma and his brilliant white wings and asked with his eyes the questions he could not say out loud:

Who are you?

Who have you been this whole time?