"Too small. Too sssmaalll." The words echoed through Obanai's head.
The dingy black mixed with pools of gray, deep navy latticework cutting through the hazy mix. "I'm…back here?" Obanai questioned. His words were choked by stale air, and Iguro Obanai was so afraid to raise his voice that it even escaped his sharp ears.
The giggles and harsh voices of eager gossip reverberated from the distance. They had been so far carried and distorted through the labyrinthian halls that any clarity the voices once had was gone.
'No, not back,' Obanai thought, 'I never left.' Time stretched into indeterminant fog. Distorted memories played like someone else's fantasies. A sense of escape and freedom, both easily overpowered by shame.
His nose filled with a smell that Obanai could only identify as despair. The metallic notes of blood mixed with burning incense, overused polish, fresh-cut wood, and food cooked to mush.
'I… need to,' the thought trailed off. It was lost in the indefinable shape of the room that seemed to loom closer on every side.
Then, Obanai felt himself fall.
Obanai inhaled sharply, rolling into a crouch. Left hand, knees, and toes were pushed to the ground so Obanai could spring up at the slightest provocation. His right hand frantically searched for the blade that should be at his hip; it wasn't. For an instant, his mind lit up with panic. Where was his Nichirin Sword?!
"Nightmare," Kaburamaru whispered in a lazy stutter. The Hashira felt himself slouch as the apprehension rolled from his shoulders. He shifted back to sit on the ground. Sweat beaded across his brow, and his layered black locks were wild and matted. His labored breathing complimented his still-racing heart.
As Obanai regained his calm, anger quickly replaced instinctual fear. He became aware of the songs of morning birds infiltrating the room. Outside, the sky was an opaque blue-gray. The morning was rapidly approaching. It would be an hour at least before the Ubayashiki Manor buzzed with life. Some meditation in the intervening moments may prove more relaxing for the Serpent Breathing user than trying to get back to sleep.
—-——————————-
Even when Obanai heard the sounds of people taking to their morning routines, he remained focused on his cogitation. Each time a sound begged for his attention, strict self-control kept thoughts occupied with the sensation of breathing. When the horizon exchanged pink ombres for warm apricot hues, Obanai finally roused from his trance. The sword was retrieved from beside the bed mat and put to the hip. Black and white striped haori was shrugged over shoulders, sleeves draping past hands. Kaburamaru was helped onto Obanai's shoulders. Lastly, Obanai folded up the sheets and bed mat and put them in the corner of the room.
In the dining room, some of the Manor's assistants informed Obanai that he was the last Hashira to get up. Obanai didn't bother to explain that he had been awake since before the sun. Though plenty of options were offered, Obanai ate a simple rice and green tea breakfast. Over the rice, he was informed that Mitsuri was waiting for him in the meeting hall.
Once his small meal was finished, Obanai left the dining room for the meeting hall. Upon entering the hall, he drew the attention of Mitsuri and the Ubuyashiki twins, who sat on opposing sides of a small table. Atop the table, between Mitsuri and the twins, was a map.
"Good morning, Iguro-san," Mitsuri greeted excitedly. Her smile was graceful, and the blush on her cheeks was natural.
"Good morning, Miss Kanroji," Obanai returned in his low, staid voice. He then bowed toward the twins, who nodded their heads in acknowledgment. With niceties exchanged, he sat next to Mitsuri, his attention immediately on the map marked with little stone figures.
"We were just discussing the location of your newest assignment," Hinaki said, sitting on the left.
"It's up near the mountains," Mitsuri added, pointing at a small black figurine of a structure sitting near the Hidakochi mountains.
When Obanai replied with only a nod, Nichika spoke up. "The swordsmen in the area have been instructed to monitor the fortress and only act if demons leave the fortress grounds. So far, none have tried."
"Additional swordsmen have also been requested to join the encampment," Hinaki added.
"We'll get there as quickly as possible. Hopefully, no one gets hurt before we arrive," Mitsuri added resolutely. Obanai snuck a glance at the other Hashira, admiring how she could mix conviction and cheer.
There was little else to establish. So, the only thing left to resolve was the path to take. Once Mitsuri and Obanai agreed on a route to the fort near the Hidakochi mountains, they parted the Ubayashiki Manor without ceremony.
—-——————————-
Like most slayers, the two packed light. The only thing that truly mattered were their Nichirin blades. They graciously accepted Amane's rice balls and Oyakata-sama's comforting encouragement.
Throughout the day conversation was light and idle. They shared a few stories, some that had already been told. Whether already known or not, each listened with rapt attentiveness. Mitsuri candidly wished the wildlife they passed a pleasant day. Kaburamaru helped keep Obanai away from rocks and dips that would have been easy to trip on. The weather was lovely, with occasional cloud cover and a soft breeze. Dusk approached while they were in the countryside. It was a pretty easy decision to make camp just off the road.
Over a small fire, the two ate some of the rice balls they had been gifted. Kaburamaru was still full from the night before. Mitsuri was the first to lay down and achieve sleep. Obanai stayed up watching of her and the embers.
"Why not teelll her?" Kaburamaru questioned into Obanai's ear.
The swordsman didn't immediately respond. Mitsuri Kanroji, the Love Hashira, occupied his disrupted vision, distorted by the heat still rising from their fire pit. "I have not earned it."
Forked tongue tickled Obanai's ear as Kaburamaru questioned Obanai's response.
"I can not. I should not. My bloodline is too tainted. It has to be cleansed."
"You ssssuuurvived. Nottt hhheellppeedd."
Obanai simply shook his head. "She's a good friend—one I'm happy to have. Let's leave it at that. There's work to be done." The response relied on a traditional avoidance tactic: push everything aside in service of duty.
Eventually, Obanai placed Kaburamaru on a warm stone near the firepit. He then laid down and let himself drift away into as restful a slumber as he ever got.
—-——————————-
Travel over the next two days went well, even when the sun beat down relentlessly and made the day too hot. Mitsuri ate through her own food supply but Obanai was happy to share from his supply.
The conversation turned short and seldom as the mountains drew close. Though the twos' crows had confirmed the camp was safe and idle, the Hashira could not be careful enough. As they climbed the mountain, the air turned cold enough that they could see their breath, and Kaburamaru grew tired. The path narrowed as the trees grew dense around them. Scattered among the foliage were signs the path had once been much broader, more accommodating of an army.
Even if the two Hashira didn't know they drew near the fortress, the signs were obvious. Rusted swords and spears were buried in the dirt, and old tent poles with bits of fabric were held upright by new plant growth.
As the path grew steeper, signs of an old trench and hastily assembled barricades appeared. Near there, Obanai and Mitsuri stopped. They had both detected the same thing. They didn't need to speak or even look at each other. At that moment, they were attuned to one another.
Obanai could sense the new sets of eyes on them.
"Treeeesssss, flanking rroooadddd," Kaburamaru clarified for Obanai. It made it easy to pick out the two figures, each crouched about fifteen feet up among the foliage in the trees near the road.
Mitsuri and Obanai both slowed their breaths before continuing forward.
There was a heavy rustling from where the spotted figures lurked when they stepped forward. They were dropping down. Before they even touched the ground, the Hashira moved like a sudden breeze. There was a hiss and snap. From beneath his haori, Obanai had drawn his Twisted Nichirin Blade. The weapon was lavender in color with a dark center. The blade flowed through the air like the wave it resembled. The katana bore a kinship to a kris blade. The Serpent Pillar pushed his figure against the tree, blade to its throat. The curves of the blade kept the cutting edge pressed to the entire front of the neck. Mitsuri's flexible blade was like a ribbon. It was long and slender, allowing it to be used like rope, but it was just as sharp as any other Nichiren Sword. The Love Pillar had wrapped her sword around the other figure and held them upside down over the ground, the black and pink blade draped over a low branch between Mitsuri and her figure.
"We're slayers," the two strange figured cried out.
The figures did turn out to be lower-ranking Demon Slayers. They wore the standard black and white high-collar uniform, and their Nichirin Swords were still sheathed at the hip.
"You should have been faster," Obanai commented in a low, almost sneering tone. He let the lower-rank breathe nervously, sweat slowly dripping from temple to cheek. When it seemed the other Corps member might start hyperventilating, Obanai stepped away and sheathed his blade. Mitsuri had already let the Slayer she had captured down and put away her ribbon-like sword.
"W-we can take you to the main camp," the newly released Slayer offered.
"Please," Mitsuri answered. It was far more pleasant a response than Obanai would have provided.
The two younger Slayers led the way up a slope, quickly veering off the main path. The other Slayer, a short-haired girl, remarked, "We were expecting a Hashira, but two? Either we're lucky, or this is worse than we thought."
"Both," Obanai commented, cutting the idle chatter short.
As the four members of the Corps took the obscured and broken path further up the mountain, the distant skyline turned a blend of deep red and tangerine. Winds ran from the setting sun, rustling through the increasingly dense canopy. Rays of feint sunlight fought a losing battle against the encroaching shadows.
It didn't take long to reach the main camp, bustling with anxious conversation and on-edge guards. The appearance of the two Hashira only raised the ambient volume. There was a shift in mood to equal parts astonished, relieved, and horrified. The Hashira were the toughest of the Demon Slayer Corps; if anyone could overcome the challenge, it was them. Yet, why were there two? Was the situation that dire?
Obanai was accustomed to the hushed conversations just beyond earshot. Mitsuri seemed less accustomed, with her attention darting from Slayer to Slayer.
All the warriors blended together. A mix of heights with dark hair cut short or pulled up. Many of them carried their sheathed Nichirin Swords in their off-hand. Among the unfamiliar faces, one eventually stood out. Genya Shinazugawa, Sanemi's younger brother. The resemblance was clear to even the dullest eyes, even with Genya's hardened and bitter expression. It was difficult to tell if he was the one person upset by Obanai and Mitsuri's appearance or if he was just hiding behind a confrontational attitude.
The blend of faces got harder to make out as the encroaching night pushed the sun below the horizon. Torches and small fires added hard lines to the features of every face. It became apparent that the warriors present were gathering around the two Hashira. Mitsuri broke the tension. "Is there food? I'm starving."
A cacophony of voices sprung up in response as people began to move. There was no coordination, but those assembled were eager to accommodate the request for nourishment.
Eventually, Mitsuri and Obanai found themselves in a small tent at the center of the bivouac. The area was lit with a small lanter hanging from the center of the roof where the smoke could escape through the openings in the fabric. Small servings of dried meat and rice were served. Mitsuri ate two servings and was working on finishing Obanai's plate as they wrapped their minds around the current situation. Before them was a rough map that was far from accurate to the terrain. It had the key details correct enough to understand the layout.
According to one of the older Corps members, the fortress backed up into jagged cliffs that rose into the mountains like walls, defying men's access to the realms of the divine. They pointed out the six locations, including the main encampment, where Slayers were positioned on rotating watches. While there was plenty of commotion inside the fortress at night, no one could glean any insight as to what was happening. The few attempts to approach had been met with enough gunfire to halt other attempts. The jagged rocks around the fortress and old barricades left few approaches clear enough to pass on foot. There was the primary approach the main encampment was placed in front of. A broad, straight path led up to the old patchwork gate. Above the gate was a reinforced guard posting where the Corps had seen gunfire come from. On either side of the gate was a tall, haphazardly constructed wooden tower. There were three other approaches, two on the left and one on the right, where a winding narrow path could be taken up to the wall.
The few other lower ranks that had joined the Hashira in the tent waited in strained silence after the details of the stalemate were worked through. Among them was Genya, whose presence clashed with his 'I'm annoyed to be here' attitude. No one had asked him to join.
"When we attack, it should be at dawn. Wedge them between the sun and the corners of the fort," Obanai's remark brought forward several approving and determined nods from Mitsuri.
"How many Slayers are here total?" Mitsuri asked, her voice as buoyant as ever. Her emerald eyes, lustrous as noble jewelry, bounced from person to person. Obanai's gaze shifted to the side so he could stare at Mitsuri and admire her eager expression and hopeful attitude without so obviously just looking right at her.
Then the silence dragged on, those collected having no response.
All the lower ranks, even Genya, shuttered as Obanai's hazy eyes snapped at them as menacing as the jaws of a tiger. His brows nit together, expression hardening. "You don't know how many are here?"
"I-I'll find out," someone offered before bolting out of the tent.
Those left behind swallowed hard.
Kaburamaru bristled, fangs peeking through his slightly parted maw. He was used to matching Obanai's demeanor.
"You're all free for now," Obanai eventually said in a low tone. It would have been inaudible if everyone wasn't holding their own breath. Everyone but Mitsuri was quick to leave the tent.
Mitsuri exhaled heavily when the two were alone in the tent, a short breeze circling the enclosed space. "I can't say I've ever seen anything like this." Even in slight distress, her voice was melodic.
Obanai shut his eyes. "I don't think anyone has. It sounds like they have an army."
"This amount of organization is shocking. How are these many demons in close proximity and not tearing each other apart in competition?" Mitsuri's voice was softening, lowering.
"Maybe they are." To Obanai's remark, Mitsuri became thoughtful. There was a point. The reported activity inside the fort could just as likely be the cornered demons struggling against each other.
"Why would Oyakta-sama send us? This is warfare, not a hunt." Mitsuri was disheartened, the thought clearly weighing on her. "Is the Corps even prepared for something like this?"
Obanai may have agreed with her and asked the same question, but he realized he had to offer a stronger resolve at that moment. "Ten or a hundred demons, the same rules apply. We seek them out and remove their heads. This is no different."Kaburamaru bristled, attempting to appear emboldened and stoic, jaw stretching to flash fangs.
Mitsuri stood straight, her smile widening, and a light returned to her eyes. "You're right! We're here to protect people, and that's what we'll do."
"Let's inspect what's already here at camp; perhaps there's something we can put together to bring that whole fortress down." Obanai then left the tent. He didn't catch the adoring stare the Love Hashira affixed to him as he went. Her cheeks turned an excited pink, hands clasped together and pressed against her lips.
—-——————————-
The early night air was bitterly cold, and the light breeze reminded of the louring mountains' calloused and chilly nature. The fort in the distance was little more than a blot among the warping shadows. From the distant horizon, a sliver of the moon was peering over a landscape that looked like it was cut from paper.
A quick inspection and an update from a breathless Slayer revealed that the gathered had no more than 36 Slayers and their swords. There was food, a few tents, and a collection of sleeping mats. Nothing that would help in an actual assault. Obanai sent two Slayers sitting nearby, their idleness the excuse for his ire, back down into the forest to raid the old supplies he had seen on the way in. Sho and Yumi were their names.
Everywhere in camp, Obanai was met with sudden silence, conversations prematurely ending, and gazes struggling to seem like they weren't watching him. He had a reputation, and his presence only enforced the image of a Hashira that expected perfection and was quick to punish deviation.
Off from the far edge of the camp, dirt had been stomped firm in the rough estimation of a circular arena. Shards of makeshift dummies littered the ground. Snapped kendo shinai were piled in a patch of grass. Here, the air took on the pungent aroma of burnt gunpowder. As Obanai approached the space, Genya -the only person utilizing the arena, gave a sideways look and a grunt that could be construed as a greeting. The younger warrior's attention quickly returned to the gun in his left hand, the conjoined barrels tilted down from the hinge, the back (the breach) open, smoke still rising from where shells had been a moment ago. The weapon swung down to Genya's thumb as fingers pulled two shells from his belt. A twist of the wrist had the weapon swing back up, shells pushed into the propped open barrels. As his fingers wrapped around the grip of the gun once more, Genya smacked it against the butt of his sword to force the barrels back on their hinge to close the breach once more. He was careful not to put a finger on the trigger.
Genya would be unable to see Obanai's mouth opening and closing. Genya was Sanemi's younger brother. Something had happened over the years that drove them apart; Sanemi sometimes proclaimed himself the only surviving Shinazugawa. In Genya's furrowed brow and clenched jaw, Obanai recognized anger and self-loathing. He knew what it was like to be cursed and cast aside. The Hashira was certain his friend had his reasons, but unless spoken of, he could never understand them.
Genya's rough voice opened the door to conversation. "When are we going to kill these demons and be done with it." He had turned to face Obanai, sword and gun at his sides.
Hazy gaze cast downward. "Don't be so impatient."
"Impatient? We're here to kill demons. We're the Slayer Corps, not the" lips twitched as Genya strained for a conclusion. "Not the Observation Corps."
Knifelike gaze met Genya's, the younger warrior bracing himself and resisting taking a step back. "Before I got here, if you wanted to throw away the lives of this entire encampment, you were more than welcome to; however, I'm glad you had enough of a mind to stay put and wait."
Genya's lips parted with a sharp exhale. He had a rebuke readied, but Obanai would not let the thought be voiced.
"If I see any recklessness that puts the other swordsmen's life in danger, I'll string you up from the ankles and use you for practice myself." At this, Genya seemed wounded, face cast toward the earth.
A change in the breeze had Obanai's dark mess of choppy layers and Genya's lighter mohawk swaying off to the side. Kaburamaru lifted his head into the breeze. Tongue quickly lashed at the air over and over. A dread began to push at Obanai's heart, each beat like a stone dropping into a dark well. It was a heaviness that screamed to be heard, but what it was trying to say was lost as the mind scrambled to organize discordant sensations.
Kaburamaru swung his head so his nose rested against his friend's ear. "Wrong," he whispered. He didn't need to say more. Finally noticing the change, Genya stared at the Hashira and his Serpent in utter confusion.
"Keep up," Obanai barked as he turned back toward the greater encampment. Obanai was already moving, feet barely touching the ground between strides. Genya was struggling to match pace, but he was keeping up.
"Ambush!" Came the panicked cry of a Slayer.
Damn it, damn in, damn it, damn it. Obanai's internal voice screamed. The voice had to be pushed away; he couldn't have errant thoughts in the middle of a fight.
Around the corner of a tent, the panicked Slayer was tumbling over. He struggled to pull his sword free. A demon, almost skeletal in appearance, with ill-fitting armor hanging from his frame, lunged after the Slayer with clawed hands.
Several yards separated Obanai and the pair. Too many.
Obanai's right foot, his lead foot, struck the ground with a soft thud. The Hashira let his weight sink onto the foot, briefly slowing his pace. His right hand slipped under his haori, and the attire flared around and behind him. Fingers wrapped around the rough grip of his Nichirin kris-katana. Few things felt more natural than the way the wrapping did against his palm and fingers. A deep inhale had his nostrils flaring, his nose poking over the mask that concealed his jaw. The air was cold and biting, a deep lungful feeling like thorns in his chest.
"Serpent Breathing," Obanai began to himself as every muscle in his body felt like it was set against a warm stone. He wasn't burning or in pain, but his body was now keenly aware that it needed to act and push itself.
There was a loud crack behind him and just off to the side.
"First form." Obanai propelled himself forward with a speed that had the air behind him cutting into the earth. He drew the katana from his side, the ghost of the giant ivory serpent's body following the blade.
The demon stumbles forward, its lunge interrupted. Its outstretched right hand was now flying off to the side; the shoulder that once attached it to the demon turned into a plume of black blood and pale flesh. The look of shock on its face was slowly warping into a smile. There was a little fighter between it and the Hashira. Certainly, the demon was safe if it left the other swordsman in the way.
"Winding Serpent Slash." Obanai's blade and arm curved around his fellow Slayer. The coiling serpent following his blade slipped through the demon's neck. The assailant's head snapped back just as it and the body it was once attached to turned to ash.
Obanai withdrew his blade and arm from around the other swordsman before roughly pulling him to his feet. "Draw your damned blade!" Obanai hissed.
Genya was standing several yards behind, smoke still rolling from the firearm that he used to buy Obanai the precious fractions of a second needed to make sure the other lower-rank Slayer didn't die.
The Slayer, a panicked mess, took a deep breath and drew his own pale orange Nichirin katana. He was clearly trying to settle his nerves, something Obanai was not about to make easier.
"Find someone else to save, or I'll take this rescue back." Obanai didn't wait for the lower rank to respond before breaking back into a run. All around was the rising din of chaos. Screaming voices starting to blend together.
Genya scrambled to follow the Hashira.
Obanai, with Genya in tow, weaved through the tents that characterized the main encampment of the bivouac. Each snapping step carried the Hashira closer to the sounds of chaos: people yelling, beasts howling, steel clashing, and wood splintering. Obanai focused on keeping his breaths measured, Total Concentration Breathing. His body would remain responsive and heightened. He would be stronger and faster than those twice his size.
The concert of percussive metals and discordant yells crescendoed as Obanai and Genya burst into the central gathering area. Demons and Slayers clashed, often two or three slayers to a single demon. The demons, like the one Obanai killed a moment ago, wore old-era armor that fit poorly to their rotting frames. They carried broken swords and splintered spears.
"Miss Kanroji, safe," Kaburamaru hissed clearly, giving some ease to Obanai.
The Love Hashira was amid the fighting closest to the pass leading to the distant fort. She spun on the tip of her toes, ribbon blade swinging out around her, cutting down several demons at once, all easily crumpling and turning to dust once cut apart. The one demon that lunged over the attack quickly discovered how poor a judgment he had made of the overly feminine figure. Mitsuri twisted around the attack and grabbed the back of the demon's helmet. She never stopped moving; the dodge flowed naturally into the following motion, smashing the demon's head against the ground, causing it to turn to ash just like the others.
The far side of the clearing was faltering, though; there were far more demons than slayers there. It seemed a whole contingent of this ghoulish army had taken some path around to spring upon the camp from the darkness.
Obanai, sword still in hand, began to run toward the far end of the clearing. His path arced out toward the left side of the loose grouping of demons. Behind him, he heard a firey boom—another shot from Genya. It seemed the impatient Slayer was already getting into the midst of combat.
"Serpent Breathing," the Hashira began. Nostrils flared as the dark haired warrior took a deep breath.
"Adjust, right, two meters," Kaburamaru whispered. The ivory serpent was on edge, eyes narrowed and jar snapping out with fangs born. Obanai twisted on his foot, mid-step, adjusting as guided by his companion.
"Fifth Form." The grip tightened on the blade, the lavender katana catching the fires around and the stars above. The demons had noticed the rushing Hashira and were trying to refocus themselves to prepare for a clash.
"Slithering Serpent." Obanai's form became a blur to the average perception. At the edge of his blade, a giant serpent's head, translucent, snapped at the demons whose efforts were useless. Obanai weaved, body leading each step, the movements separate but complimentary. Arm twisted so his blade could continue in one fluid swing around one obstacle and then another, each strike cutting through sinew and bone to take off one head after the other. A slithering serpentine form consumed the air in the wake of the blade.
Blood splattered over the hem of Obanai's haori that snapped and flowed with each move. As the giant snake faded back into the ether, the mass of demons that had tried to crush on the camp's flank collapsed into piles of ash.
A straggling demon rushed from the dark tree line, spear leveled for the Hashira's heart. Obanai barely seemed to move, yet he did to duck under the strike, blade lashing around the attack and finding purchase stabbing through the side of the demon's neck. A confused sound gargled from the punctured throat. Obanai's off-hand grabbed onto the hilt of the Nichirin blade, and a single gesture had Obanai's sword swinging through the demon's neck, liberating its head and concluding its post-human existence.
The Demon Slayers who had been gathered at this part of the camp -who, before Obanai's sudden appearance, were watching death bear down upon them, now stared on in awe.
"Idle, behind," Kaburamaru informed. The look the serpent gave as it flashed long fangs caused the Slayers to shutter. Yet it was Obanai's sweeping gaze that spurred them to turn around and find new combatants.
"Genya, oblique right," Kaburamaru hissed. Hazzy vision snapped around the battlefield till it snared on the called-out target. Genya's teeth were gritted as he sloppily parried one strike after another from a demon. Genya was losing ground, backtracking under the attack. Obanai began to run toward the encounter, and then he watched as Genya smacked the side of the demon's head with the gun. It was only enough to make it mad and increase the furry of its attacks, but wounding wasn't the goal. The breach of the gun was snapped open, smoking and spent shells spilling to the ground. As he had in the training yard, the gun was deftly spun and shifted to be reloaded one-handed. Genya banged the barrels shut against his hip and pulled back on one of the hammers before raising it up. In a burst of fire, black smoke, white sparks, and darkened gore, the head of the demon turned to a mist and then an ash. Genya's face was streaked with the gore. Obanai pitied him; he could only imagine the befouled coppery taste of the ichor. The idea didn't come as a complete thought, just an empathetic feeling. Obanai's active mind was too busy trying to analyze the field and find the next point where he could make the most significant impact.
They needed to push the demons back and force a frontline. As long as the brawl continued in this chaos, they'd be at the whim of whatever else the fortress had to release. Mitsuri was already trying to form a line at the pass. "You three, up here." She yelled at some lower ranks, trying to catch their breath around a pile of ash. They need to control their breathing better.
Sure enough, there were more surprises. From the distant shadows of the path that led to the maw of the fortress came a flurry of poorly timed explosions. The flash of gun barrels revealed a line of demons armed with old arquebuses. The gun line instilled fear in all those near that edge of the encampment. Their knees practically shook. How were they to respond to a wall of gunfire? Their deaths seemed assured.
"Love Breathing," a songlike voice cut through the racket and eased the tension in the air.
"Sixth form." Mitsuri danced through the air like a flower in the breeze. Her smile was easy and natural. Yet in her eyes burned a concentration, a defiance.
"Cat-Legged Winds of Love." The black and pink ribbon Nichirin katana spiraled through the air, each arch effortlessly swung into the next. Mitsuri tumbled and twirled, barely touching the ground. Ping after ping of deflected bullets sounded around her. The wall of gunfire had been halted, and none were wounded. The Slayers found their resolve renewed. They had the Hashira; nothing could stand against them!
"Miss Kanroji, safe," Kaburamaru clarified. "Tree line, slope," he then snapped. Obanai bolted toward the path he had arrived on barely an hour or two before.
"Help!" A pair of voices echoed over and over, drawing closer. Sho and Yumi came running up the path, their arms laden with bundles of wood and metal. Behind them was a pair of demons who tore through the brush like wild boars out for blood. Obanai's rush forward had him slipping perfectly between the two lower ranks and falling the demons in a single twisting slice.
The two, breathing heavily, stood at attention. "Iguro-sama! We were attacked."
"We all were," Obanai snapped, a flick of his blade splashing blood onto the dirt and trampled grass. "Why in the hells did you not defend yourselves?"
"We were afraid of losing the arms you requested." The unsaid truth was they feared Obanai's anger more than the demons chasing them. That's when Obanai finally registered what they were carrying. A collection of arquebuses and old powder. It seems among the arms left behind were the same type of firearms being used by the fort beyond.
"Love Breathing. Fifth Form. Swaying Love, Wildclaw!" Resounded over the din of battle. In the distance, on the path up to the fort, a spiral of pink plumed into the air over the choked cries of demons dying by the dozen.
Obanai turned on his heels, Sho and Yumi drawing as close as they dared. "Genya!" He shouted before even picking him out of the crowd of combat. The called-upon Slayer grunted, his reply inaudible, as he finally managed a swing that removed his current opponent's head. He then glanced toward Obanai, who gestured for him to come over. He bounded through the battle, reloading his side arm.
The Serpent Hashira then focused on the overly armed duo. "If I catch him," he raised a hand concealed by his oversized haori, fingers twisted in a point at Genya. "With an empty gun in his hands, I'm feeding both of you to Kaburamaru." To emphasize the point, the albino snake lunged at the duo with a loud hiss, and jaws parted wide. They seemed appropriately terrified. Genya actually looked amused for a change.
Obanai then sprung back toward the greater battle. All around, slayers struggled. One used their sword to keep a demon's arms held back so another could finally use her sword to take the head. Elsewhere, a group pulled a demon off their compatriot who was grievously clawed at but still alive. The angered group was quick to then hold the demon down so one of them could pull a sword off the ground and put all their weight into the beheading.
One of the tents was catching fire, a torch stand having been toppled over in a long-gone scuffle.
Somewhere in the melee, a spear pierced a Corps member's chest. His eyes glazed over as he coughed up blood. He dropped his sword and held onto the shaft instead, keeping the spearhead lodged in him. He held on long enough for a friend to frantically cut the demon down to ash. The wounded corps member then collapsed, dead. Tears flowed, and not for the first time that night.
Behind came the first crack of a rifle, and somewhere ahead, a demon crumpled. A lower rank sprung upon the opportunity to slice through the neck with their pink Nichirin sword.
Like a serpent, Obanai's body tensed. He bent low and leaned back. A charging demon provoked the attack, a quick and sudden lash out that had his head and helm spiraling in different directions as the body collapsed, and then it all reduced to ash.
Obanai then twisted his lunge into a sprint to bear down upon a spear-wielding monstrosity towering over a disarmed Slayer. This demon yelped in surprise as it felt steel break through bone, and then the demon was gone.
The scream of an arquebus. The whistle of a swinging sword. The hushed whisper of bodies turning to ash. The cries of wounded humans. The wailing of demons deprived of their unlife.
Obanai wound through the fringes of the fight, ending clash after clash, pushing the Slayers that could still fight further to the center of the encampment or the pathway to the gate. Mitsuri continued to hold her line, the volley sounding weaker each time until it stopped coming at all. Occasionally, she'd call out to other Slayers, encouraging and organizing.
The minutes it took for the fighting to die down felt like hours. The usual time dilation of an emergency dragged on by the slowing effect of Total Concentration Breathing. Mitsuri was pushed back along the path, and a volley from the gate threatened her from chasing the demons back to the fort itself. She and a dozen or so Slayers remained collected near the path, waiting for the next wave of combatants. Obanai was with the stragglers spaced around the camp. A few were trying to figure out how to put out the tents that were burning. "Leave them" is all the advice Obanai gave. Assured the moment was safe, he quickly rejoined Mitsuri, the lower ranks slowly catching on and moving after him.
"Iguro-San! I'm so glad you're safe." Even under these conditions, his name was a bird song from her tongue.
"Yeah. You as well?" Obanai attempted to conceal the depth of his concern. He could see she was alive at least, but he worried she suffered some unseen wound. Yet she nodded eagerly and gave a smile. The blush on her cheeks from exertion brightened.
The moment of quiet after their exchange was painfully still. The Slayers were hanging off the Hashira's every word. Even Genya, with Sho and Yumi flanking him, paid close attention. They were relying on the two Hashira for what came next. A glance back at the camp brought Obanai's blood to boil. It wasn't the tents alight or the knocked-over supplies. It was the scattered streaks of crimson, still wet and gleaming. It was the three bodies that lay motionless in the dirt and the five other Slayers too wounded to stand being propped up and tended to by their fellow Corps members. Obanai, voice brimming with venomous intent, gave the gathered direction. "Catch your breaths." Crows gathered nearby, Mitsuri's, with its delicate headdress, landing on her shoulder. "Tonight, we tear this fort down to its foundations," he sneered to energetic cries. The slayers were ragged but rallied. The attack had taxed them but motivated them to find their courage. Or maybe it was their anger. Either would do. They were ready to strike back.
Next Time: The Siege