Chapter I—Persistent Bad Luck

Something fell atop the young oni woman. Slowly she blinked awake under the dark canopy hanging over her head. She pushed it aside, realizing it was a tattered piece of clothing.

When the light of the sun hit her eyes she winced, put up her clawed hand to shield her face from the bright light that made her eyes feel like they might burst.

The forest was quiet, save for the subtle breeze of the air in the trees and the distant squawk of a bird.

“It is time to get up, Rōkura-kun.”

Blinking, she turned her head at the sound of Ogai-sama’s voice. “You… you are here?” she asked.

“Well of course I’m here,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I only left you before because I had an urgency call to take—and I didn’t want to be discovered. Ha! It was a close one, little oni.”

She moved atop the grass and grunted, realized she was still naked. Eyes widening with that recognition, she grasped the tattered fabric and pulled it up to cover her breasts.

“No need to worry,” said Ogai, “you have nothing I haven’t seen before.” Gods—that made her cheeks heat even more. “Though I have to admit, for such a young girl, you’ve filled out nicely.”

Rōkura bolted upright, her heated cheeks taking on an angry heat as she flipped the cloak around her shoulders. As her body was exposed to the god, he looked at her, taking her in.

She cut off his lascivious gaze as she pulled the hems in to cover her body. “I am not as young as you think.”

“Surely you have the body of a mature woman, but you can’t be more than,” he smiled as he put a hand to his chin, “wait—I love guessing games. You are sixteen.”

“No.”

“Fifteen?”

“No!”

“Nineteen?”

She growled.

“Not twenty?” he asked in mock horror.

“I am nineteen.”

“Ha! I win.”

“You win nothing, Ogai-perv-sama.”

His smile dropped, and for a moment, just one moment, Rōkura worried, but then suddenly Ogai’s mouth cracked into a grin and he guffawed with far too much vigor than should have been normal.

With a grunt Rōkura glanced about, wondering what had happened last night. Half of it seemed like a dream. She and her parents… it was foggy and muddled, and then the part after where she had met the petulant and immature character called Ogai.

That part was clear within her mind, and then when she had awoken in the chamber. She had…

Pulled the sword from her own chest, and she had drank the blood of her foes. The rest was a blur of red pulsing nightmare.

Ogai looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been sleeping the better part of the day, little oni-kun.”

“Have I?”

“Indeed. Your Oni Rage takes a lot out of you—and not to mention your Regeneration. The blood you drank served a beautiful purpose.” He smiled like a predator. “You will never need to carry about potions for vitality or magic so long as you have fresh hot blood to drink. But your Regeneration requires enormous amounts of bodily energy, in effect, it adds to the Fatigue you experienced last night.”

She felt confused, and yet she understand perfectly everything he told her. “It was real.”

“Real?” he asked in astonishment. “Never more real than anything you have ever experienced in your short little life, Rōkura-kun.”

She glanced down at the grass, and even that hurt the back of her eyes as her head pounded. “If my Regeneration is so powerful, why does my head and eyes hurt?”

“Oh—some negative after effects, surely. Something you cannot change, except maybe if you drink a manna potion.”

“But you just said—“

“Never mind,” he said, waving it away. “You have a hangover of sorts.” He laughed. “An oni hangover.”

Gods—will his nattering never end? I know he is my patron deity, but… he is so annoying! Feeling thirsty, she smacked her lips.

“Yes, you will be thirsty and hungry. Go back to the summit and find something to drink. There are plenty of bodies you left behind. Loot them for gold and food. Do not eat them.”

“Eat them?” she asked in horror. “The dead bodies?”

“I said do not eat them.”

“I know what you said,” she snapped, “but why do you think I would eat them?”

“You are new to this all,” he said, waving his hands and gesturing about, as if “this all” meant something very specific to her.

“Am I a vampire?”

He laughed, his hands on his hips. “No, you are not a vampire. You can eat food, and you must. But blood it cannot be denied is a mainstay of your ability to be powerful. Drink it, and you heal, drink it, and you become powerful through your rage—but be careful. What you you remember of last night?”

Shaking her head, she said that she did not remember very much.

Ogai nodded. “No—and you would not. The Oni Rage is like a fever dream and while you are in this state, you are at your most power—and your most destructive. You may strike down even your own allies. Indeed, I am very surprised you took a moment to burn your parent’s bodies in this state.”

“I…” she said nothing, feeling down and angry still. And yet, Rōkura’s sorrow, a sorrow that had made her lose the will to live before, was no longer there. Mostly it was a burning rage—a need to get back at the people responsible. It wasn’t natural. “Did you do… something to me?”

With his red eyes narrowed, Ogai growled inside his throat. “I will tell you another time.”

“No—I want to know now—“

“SILENCE!” he bellowed, and Rōkura flinched as her black hair whipped behind her back, her eyes wide and her fear palpable inside her chest. Ogai sniffed with frustration. “I do apologize, kid. But I am the god here. Not you.”

She nodded with contrition, realizing that Ogai was far more the dominant personality among them, even though at times he seemed to be a complete fool. His nature seemed to belie his terrible power.

“Go,” he said. “Go to the summit and do as I said.”

With a nod, she turned to do as she was bid.

“Rōkura-kun.”

She turned.

“Do not forget your sword.” He stretched out his hand, and the sword appeared as if through a tear in reality.

Reaching outward, she took it by the hilt.

When Rōkura made it back to the top, she found the place where she and that man had fallen off, and took pause. Her fall—it seemed almost as if she had been dragged down, but the man was weak, pathetic. Rōkura could have killed him easily.

“Likely a maligned moment of fate, caused by your Persistent Bad Luck,” Ogai said from behind.

She turned, saw him standing there near the edge. He had made no sound coming up—if indeed he had even “come up.” He was just there like he had appeared.

Narrowing his eyes, Ogai wondered how this would affect Rōkura and her ability to do what he needed. Surely it could be circumvented with a strong will and perseverance—which meant, even though he had suppressed many of her negative emotions, he let her hate alone, let it flow like a river of molten magma underneath the world’s surface. Underneath the surface off her calm exterior.

She moved off without speaking to him further, her bare feet pattering over the grass and the dirt. She came to the roadway and to a dead body there. Dried blood had speared in the grass, likely from her doing, but she did not remember killing this man.

Rōkura squatted, turned him over and searched his belt. There was a pouch there that jingled metallically. Coins. She ripped it from the corpse and held onto it.

From behind her, Ogai’s shadow loomed over the grass. He held something in his red-skinned oni hand. She turned and squinted in the sun, her head pounding like she had spent time pummeling rocks to dust with her forehead.

He held out a scabbard for her. “I forgot to give this to you.”

Taking it, she put her sword into the sheath, then glanced down at the man’s belt and yanked it from his waist. Standing, Rōkura fastened the belt over the outside of her cloak, but first she fed the leather strip through the sheath rings so that her sword would hang at her side.

After that, she fastened the coin purse to her belt as well.

Glancing about, she searched for any other bodies. She knew there were more inside the temple—had put them there. But Rōkura did not want to go back in there where she had burnt her parent’s bodies.

The young oni’s eyes fell upon the fountain carved into the side of the mountain where a fresh stream of water protruded from the mouth of a toothy-looking man. She went to it, cupped her hands to drink, and flinched as she noticed the dried blood dissolving off her hot-pink skin.

Dripping the water, she rubbed her hands until they were clean of blood as she held them under the fresh and cold stream. Then Rōkura drank many handfuls of the water.

When she was sated, she glanced about, feeling hungry as her stomach heaved and growled for food. Ogai-sama was nowhere to be seen. She looked up at the path ahead, knew she would take that to wherever it went. Surely there is a town or a city nearby. I have money, so I won’t want for a place to sleep and something to eat.

Before taking the path, Rōkura called out to Ogai several times, but all was quiet, the bodies on the ground unmoving, still as the grass and the rocks. She turned another body over, took the coin purse. The man had also had a satchel. She rummaged through it and found fresh wrappings for her feet.

Tying them to her ankles, she wrapped her feet, leaving her clawed toes exposed to the dirt. It seemed natural to have it that way, but a part of her felt as though she had never done such a thing before, that what she did now was, in a way, beneath her.

Rōkura wiggled her toes in the dirt. Her feet were actually quite comfortable like this. With a quiet grunt of pain from the back of her eyes, she shaded her face from the late noon-day sun. The young oni woman felt as though she wanted to crawl into a dark place and sleep the rest of the day and the night away.

The straw hat on the grass caught her attention. Lifting it, she put it on her head, allowing her sharp oni horns to puncture through the straw. With her eyes shaded, her sword strapped to her waist and with money on her belt, she was ready to set off.

She walked, calling for Ogai softly upon the forest path.

He did not appear.

After a time—it felt like several hours to Rōkura, she stopped, as what she saw up ahead could only be more bodies. But she hadn’t come this far last night, had she? What she remembered of her Oni Rage was not much, but…

No—I know I did not come this way. I fell from the drop and passed out. So then—

“Hmm,” Ogai hummed musingly from behind.

Rōkura whirled on him as her heart lurched from the sudden fright. With a frown, she said, “Where have you been?”

“I was indisposed, little oni-kun.”

“I called to you.”

She shrugged with a smile and she sighed heavily, feeling tired and heavy. Conflicted, she didn’t know what she wanted more, food or blood.

Rōkura stepped forward toward the bodies and suddenly stumbled, her ankle smarting as she fell to her knee. With a hiss of pain, she winced. Glancing back at where her foot had fallen into a deep pothole, Rōkura groaned.

The sudden exertion of falling to the ground and caused her head to pound like a drum. Her eyes felt like they might pop and she closed them and punched between her eyebrows, both to sooth her aching muscles but also to sooth her frustrations as he gritted her teeth.

The little oni was having a bad day. Ogai smiled, both in sympathy and adoration the way one might at a puppy that had taken a tumble forcing it to squeal. Her Persistent Bad Luck was making itself known.

“Are you all right, Rōkura-kun?”

With a sniff, she stood up among the bodies. “I am fine, Ogai-sama.” She looked at the broken wagon, wondering why this poor couple had to be killed—and in such a brutal manner.

Suddenly figures appeared before her, ghostly and luminescent. She blinked, not believing what she saw as little trails of wispy magic emanated from their bodies. They screamed, fell at the hands of several men in cloaks who ran away off of the road.

“What is this?”

“That,” said Ogai, “is your Celestial Eyes. An ability you obtained when you were brought to my realm.”

“What is it?”

“You can see the after images of past events.”

“I can smell their blood as well,” she groaning, feeling famished as if an entire feast were sitting before her, hot and steaming and succulent. “They went…” she glanced up the hill. “That way.”

Rōkura pointed a clawed finger.

“It seems your Bloodlust has added benefits,” Ogai said with a smile. “You can track them by the smell of their blood. Very handy.”

She sniffed several times.

“Now don’t go getting all bloody again, Rōkura-kun. Now is not the time.”

She stayed herself, glanced at the dead bodies again. The ghostly after images were gone now, and she wanted to know why. “They kill for no reason?”

“The cultists?” Ogai said. “No.” He shook his head. “They follow Hokorash. They believe that killing others gains them favor with him and other dark gods.”

“Is it true?”

There was a moment of silence, then the deity said, “Yes. They gain dark powers and a lot of XP.”

“XP…” she said, allowing the word to sit on her lips, remembering the explanation he had given her before, though she still didn’t quite understand. Rōkura looked at him then with her luminescent aqua eyes, though the glow wasn’t visible in the light of the day. “And you? What do you want?”

Ogai allowed his mouth to quirk up into a grin. “You will soon learn, kid. To the city. Go. Once you are there you will—“

“There!” a voice called. “Over there!”

“Hmm?” noised Ogai as Rōkura turned around.

A large group of men in blue kimonos with katana swords marched up the pathway. Behind them several dozen men tabards carrying pikes in their hands marched behind them. There were men on horses with official-looking attire.

One of them pointed her way. “Arrest her!”

“What?” she cried, turning to look back at Ogai, but he wasn’t there, only a disembodies laugh filled the air.

“Persistent Bad Luck, kid.”

“You think this is funny?”

But he didn’t respond to her question.

“You there! Stop! In the name of the emperor, you are under arrest.”

She turned around and gripped the scabbard of her sword. The thought of drawing her glinting blade, of cutting these men to little pieces and drinking their blood flashed though her mind.

“Do it,” Ogai said.

Rōkura glanced about, but she saw nothing of the deity, and none of the men surrounding her seemed to realize his disembodies voice.

With a flick of her thump, the blade clicked and glinted in the light.

“Look out, she has a sword!”

About to draw the weapon, she realized that these men had nothing to do with her death, nor that of her parents. They were… warriors of the city beyond where she needed to go.

“Persistent Bad Luck,” she muttered.

“I told you to surrender,” growled the swordsman before her as he held his katana in both hands, his stance ready for a sword duel.

Pushing her sword back into its scabbard, Rōkura stood up straight. “I do not want to fight you.”

From beyond where Rōkura could see or hear him, Ogai sighed. “What a pitty.”

“Take her!” the official on horseback said.

The swordsman came forward and unstrapped her sword as the pike men surrounded her, pulled her hands behind her back and bound her.

“Now put her in the wagon,” the official said. “I cannot believe she is still on the road killing all of these poor defenseless people. You will pay for this, you horned demon!”

“I did not kill these people,” she said, her voice a breath on the wind as she narrowed her eyes at him, a feeling of annoyance and hate filling her. It is only a mistake. Do not get angry.

“We caught you red handed, you oni devil.”

One of the guards laughed. “Red handed. Get it?”

“She’s pink, you fool,” another guard said broadly.

“Stop your yacking and get her in the back of the wagon.”

“Yes sir.”

One of the men grabbed her by she hem of her cloak and glanced down at her half exposed breasts. He looked at her then with a face full of unbridled lust as he grinned toothily at her.

Then he snapped her coin purses away. “I’ll hang on to these.” Quietly he added, “This should be interesting.”

Rōkura wanted to bite his neck and drink his blood, but she affected only a vicious snarl at him.

“Oh! Feisty!”

The guard stepped back. He was a big man with long hair hanging at the sides of his shoulders, a band of cloth around his head. He seemed to be a higher-ranking guard among them, though he was not one of the swordsmen, and certainly not among the officials who rode on horseback.

“Sir,” said another guard, “do you want us to put her in the wagon?”

“Do it,” he said. “But be careful. She’s a wild one.”

“No wonder,” said he official on the horse, “that she killed all these people—and with her bare hands it seems.”

Fools—I have a sword!

Had a sword… now she had nothing but her tattered cloak as they matched her to the wagon down the hill. What was Rōkura supped to do now? And had this happen stance meeting with these guards really been because of her Persistent Bad Luck?

While the wagon was towed down the road by the two hitched horses clopping along the chinking and the marching of the guards, Ogai watched for a moment with his hand on his chin. Then after a time he shrugged with indifference and a smile. No better way to show the kid how things work than the tutorial of experience.

He laughed aloud.

While the wagon trundled along, Rōkura took hold of the metal bars and pulled on them with a grunt. The soldiers laughed and pointed.

“The beast thinks she can bend the bars—look!”

They sniggered, and the big one with the band on his head continued looking at her the way he had before. Rōkura narrowed her eyes at him. If she had to kill these men, she wouldn’t mind killing that one first.

Glancing out of the cage, Rōkura realized the sun had become a golden-orange color. Dust was setting, already?

Beyond the clearing of trees, she also saw a city in dale and squinted. The light of the setting sun was directly in her eyes, but even so, she had trouble seeing that far. Rōkura blinked, trying to understand why she couldn’t see well.

After the trees obscured her view, she had no choice but to slink back and sit down upon the wagon bed. With a heavy sigh, she waited as they traveled to the city at an extremely slow pace, enduring the jeers and the taunts of the guards.

“Stupid oni.”

“That’s the right of it!”

One man whistled. “She’s a pretty little thing.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a turn with her.”

“Or three!” laughed another.

Growling, Rōkura ignored these fools and their taunts. If any one of them attempted what he spoke of, she would break his bones.

“Stop that!” commanded the swordsman who had confronted her before. He was tall and had his hair tied back behind his head. “The next man who throws something at the oni gets a swift recourse from me.”

“Sorry, sir.”

The big one with the head band glared at him, but otherwise said nothing. Rōkura lifted her head and took hold of the bars. Why had this man stopped them? Who was he? Perhaps he isn’t like the others.

Then he looked away from her, aggressively ignoring Rōkura for the rest of the trip.

By the time they wheeled into the outskirts of the city, the sun had set and the night was fully upon them. Rōkura saw very little of the city further down the mountain, as the prison was up here in the hills, away from society.

Rōkura glanced about, looking for Ogai—waiting for him to… to what? Rescue her? He’s not coming.

The guards unlocked the gate and the big one took hold of her upper arm and forced her to jump down. Most of the guards had been left behind to clean up the bodies on the road, whole others still had split from the main force.

The officials were no longer present, just the big one, a few other tabard-wearing pike men and the swordsman from before. “Oro,” he said, looking at the guard with pointed expression. “Lock her in one of the empty cells. The magistrate will be here in the morning.”

“Mm,” he noised with a nod.

“An empty cell,” the swordsman said again, his words clear and precise.

“Do you work at the prison?”

They looked at each other, and Rōkura watched them, the challenge in both their eyes. “I know what I’m doing,” Oro said. “Do not tell me how to do my work.”

The swordsman did not remain to respond to him, and left them standing there. The big man called Oro snarled quietly as he glared after the swordsman, his sandals crunching over the pebbles and rocks upon the flagstone-strew road.

“Come on!” he finally snapped, yanking Rōkura up by the arm.

For a girl, Rōkura was not short, and still his strong grasp pained her arm. She hissed with that pain, snarling aggressively. Had she decided to at that time, she could rip this brute limb from limb.

They went inside the prison, the heavy iron door creaking loudly on the way in. There were some chambers used for the prison officials and many large corridors lighted by candles and torches.

The stone floors were cold and the bars even colder. Men sniffed and yelled and spoke from every corner of the jailhouse. Oro took her into one of the chambers where there was a wooden desk.

The official there had her sign her name onto a piece of paper with a brush. Oddly, they both seemed surprised by her script. But once that was done, Oro said he would take her to her cell.

A feeling crawled up Rōkura back as she was lead down the corridors. She glanced about. The ceilings were low and the corridors long. There were many empty cells, and yet they passed them, heading straight for…

The cell at the end housing at least ten men. It was larger than the others. What was this man Oro doing?

Narrowing his eyes, Oro glanced at the oni prisoner in his grasp. He could keep her hands bound, toss her in this cell back here. He knew he couldn’t very well be the one to bonk her on the head before violating her.

He sniggered behind his grin.

But if the other prisoners can be blamed for that, then he could have his way with her, and none would be the wiser. Except maybe him, but what can he do? One swordsman wouldn’t stop Oro from having his way with that beautiful oni bitch. She was a murderer anyway—who would care?

The guard that had followed them opened the cell and the prisoners inside leered and grinned like wolves. Rōkura swallowed apprehensively, and yet she knew she had nothing to fear from these brutes.

Oro looked into the cell after the door was closed and the lock turned noisily. “You boys have your way with her—but leave me something after the party.”

While the prisoners practically grinned with glee, as they leered at Rōkura like a piece of meat, Oro gave her a final wink and stepped away. “Be back soon.”

Rōkura glanced about, painfully aware that her breasts were half exposed to these hard men who would rape her without a second’s thought. But what she wanted to know was, would her Persistent Bad Luck cause these men to attack her? Did it take away the free will of others?

That seemed unfair to her.

“Hello,” she said, as Rōkura noticed them closing on in her in the center of the cell. “If you come close to me, I will destroy you.”

The one leering at her from the front chortled. “We all know who will be destroyed tonight.” Then he laughed like a drunken sot and lunged at her.

With her hands still bound behind her back, Rōkura had little recourse but to lift her foot up between his legs. She force of her blow against his… man parts, lifted him off the ground.

He squealed and came back down like a stone, whereupon he moaned and groaned while clutching at his affected area. “No way!” one of them said with wide eyes. “Get her!” another snarled.

She turned, lunged back, and something happened.

There was a flash and Rōkura realized she was on the other side of the cell.

The prisoners shrunk back with sudden fright.

“Oh—she’s a magicker!”

“Then we have no choice,” another said. He was huge, standing head and shoulders over the others as he came out of the shadows, his arms and legs like tree trunks. He pushed his fist into his palm and his knuckles cracked and snapped with ominous warning.

But she cared little for this mountain-like brawler. What had Rōkura just done? I meant to lunge away from him, and then…

The huge one lumbered forward and Rōkura lashed out with her feet, but he stopped her blows, both of them as they slapped over his forearms.

She landed, jumped back and up, twisted her shoulders and hips as she spun in the air. The top of her foot came into direct contact with the side of the brute’s face. His lips and his cheek smashed from the impact like folds of a fur rug piled up into cascades.

As he stumbled back her cloak fell open the others glanced at one another apprehensively, then they looked at her with new light in their eyes. Rōkura frowned, glanced down at her open cloak with confusion and her cheeks heated. Their sudden view of her body spurred them on. Rōkura closed her cloak and lunged forward, dealing with the stunned brute the same way she did the first man, and like the first prisoner, he was lifted off the ground and into the ceiling where he hit his head.

The men gasped and shrunk back.

“How did she…?”

“That’s now possible!”

“All together,” one said, his gaze shrewd and intelligent.

Whirling around, Rōkura jumped back to put more room between herself and her attackers as they came at her in a group.

She defended herself.

From across the hall, Oro waited, listening to the thumps and the groans and he grinned largely. Sure, the oni was dangerous, and she might pummel a few of them. But they were doing exactly what he wanted.

After a time the loud noised stopped, and he leaned off the wall with the intention of going back to the cell where he would find the tenderized prisoner. She’ll be easy pickings now.

“Come on, boys,” he said, as several other men lay in wait.

He had gone home, worried for the oni prisoner, but as a swordsman, he had no say what went on at the city prison. Shinjiro was wholly surprised at the mounted messenger who had come to his house, warning him that the prison was under attack.

When he arrived with a group of twenty other swordsmen, he found the iron door ripped from its hinges. He and the others gasped, looking at each other in startlement.

“How is this possible?” Yasu asked, pointing to the iron door with his katana.

Some of the others moved forward with their torches, wondering the same thing, while Shinjiro thought it would have taken a battering ram to kick that door off its hinges.

He hissed with frustration and indignation. “We go inside.”

“Oh!” Buro gasped. “Shinjiro—are you certain of this?”

“Are you afraid?”

“Ah… yes!”

Shinjiro looked at the others. They were all afraid. But he was not. “Fine then. I am going in alone.”

“No, please don’t,” Yasu pleaded, taking Shinjiro by the shoulder. He shrugged the other man off.

“We are warriors of this city. We are sworn to defend the emperor’s dominions.” Shame assailed the others, and they glanced about, looking down at their tabi socks and sandals.

“Come with me,” he said, and not waiting for the others, he stepped forward as his heart thundered inside his chest.

Stepping up the stone stairs leading inside, a cold sweat came over him and a bead dripped down the back of his neck. Swallowing, the swordsman went inside, his breaths coming in and out fast.

He glanced about and heard a keening sound as footsteps pattered over the stones. The man who came from the back chambers held his hands over his crotch, whimpering with every step, his waddling run ludicrous to behold.

The swordsmen parted as the prison clerk in his yellow tabard ran from the structure, pointed back with a shaking finger, and then bolted down the darkened road.

The swordsmen’s hearts thundered inside their chests harder than before as they glanced at one another. But narrowing his eyes, Shinjiro pressed forward, his sword held tightly in his grasp, his knuckles white.

“Ah,” someone groaned, and he glanced to his left. It was one of the prison guards, holding his crotch.

“Here!” Shinjiro shouted, and nudged his head in the man’s direction. “He is alive. Take him to safety.”

“Hai!” Yasu said, and he and two of the other swordsmen hauled the wounded guard out.

As Shinjiro looked around at the mess, the papers and the fallen furniture, he realized the main chambers were empty, so he went toward the back cells where he thought he heard more moaning.

In the hallway he found Oro passed out, his eyes crossed and his hands between his legs. Kami-sama—what has… what has happened here?

Stepping over the brute, he went to the cell where the prisoners huddled inside, half of them crying—actually crying with tears in their eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” Shinjiro barked.

Like the others, they groaned and whined, their hands between their legs. “Don’t let her near you—she—she hates men! She will attack you if you challenge you!”

“Nani--?”

Someone came up behind him and his heart lurched inside his throat. Shinjiro whirled, his sword held out defensively and his eyes landed on hers and he shrunk back. They were glowing, like luminescent magical aqua. Combined with her hot-pink skin and her horns, she was both beautiful and intimidating.

But she was no demon—not really. Shinjiro knew that she was only an oni. She had a sword in her hand—the one he had taken from her from before. The blade was scabbarded.

She walked forward and he shrunk back, uncertain as to whether or not he should face her. Glancing behind himself, he saw the men. All of them were curled in on themselves, moaning and rocking back and forth as they clutched at their balls.

When he glanced back up at her, she grinned and strode forward.

With a hiss, he lurched back, held his sword up. But she didn’t stop, and Shinjiro had the urge to shield himself with his hand, and yet he did not do it, for fear or inuring his dignity.

The oni did not attack him.

She walked by, as if he were nothing more than a wall ornament, her eyes lingering on his for a moment as she passed by.

At a distance he followed as she walked out of the prison, the other swordsmen bristling and shouting for her to stop.

But she did not stop.

The oni…

She was implacable and inexorable.

As she made it to the street, surrounded by swordsmen, she glanced back, and then, by what must have been magical means, she flashed with blue magic, her body disappearing and then reappearing many paces away.

The prisoner did this multiple times before she was gone from site. The man gasped, glanced about. “Where did she go? Where did she go?!”

Roshi, a little older with grey steaks in his hair and a beard on his chin, rushed forward to meet Shinjiro face to face. “Why did you let her go?!”

Shinjiro narrowed his eyes as he looked after the young oni woman who had gotten away. Why had she not attacked them, even after wantonly slaughtering all those poor people on the road? “There was no way we would have been able to fight her.”

With a grunt, Roshi left off, sheathing his blade. “We have a lot of explaining to do.” He sighed heavily.

“Do we?” asked Shinjiro. “Why would the magistrate not let us investigate the summit where the ancient stones lay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there is something there we are not supposed to see, my friend.”

“Hmmm.”

She had done it. Rōkura had done it! She had escaped without killing any of them, and without incurring her Persistent Bad Luck.

Clapping sounded behind her, slow and full of sardonic energy. “Very good, little oni-kun.”

Rōkura whirled on him, her face a smile of joy. She had not been this happy in… well, for a long time. She had shaken with terror that she might cause something to happen in there, and yet Rōkura had not.

She let out a relieved breath.

“Although,” Ogai said, his eyes bright glowing orbs in the night. “It would have been a lot easier had you killed them all on the mountain, leaving without a trace of your whereabouts.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I do not want to kill anyone who doesn’t deserve to be killed.”

“Hmph,” he scoffed. “Now they will be looking for you.”

“So be it.”

“That is fine, Rōkura-kun.” He smiled. “And I see that you have learned your Blink ability.”

She smiled, surprised that she had such a wonderful way of fighting! By far she preferred this over her rage ability, though with that came her Overpowered ability, which made her far stronger than she was now.

“I am surprised. You are a fast learner.”

“Now tell me,” she said, wanting to get down to it. “Where are the men who… who killed me and my parents. I want to deal with them. Your way.”

“And you shall,” Ogai said with a benevolent gesture. “Soon. But first you must do something for me, and then I will tell you where he is hiding.”

“He?” she asked with surprise. “There is only one?”

“What—do you believe they would all gather in one place? These men are not stupid—they are dangerous, intelligent, and they follow an evil god.”

She wondered of Ogai-sama was indeed an evil god as well. He seemed to enjoy killing, and even encouraged her to do it. So far, he had told he to kill those men on the mountain more than once.

They did not deserve to die.

Not even that rapist oaf Oro.

Though she had enjoyed the look on his face when she kicked his balls back up into his body. Rōkura almost laughed.

“You are strong enough,” Ogai said, putting a hand into his pocket as he turned his shoulder toward her. With his glowing red eyes, his bright red skin and golden hair and beard, he was like an otherworldly businessman, a playboy of the celestial plane.

With an arrogant smile, she leaned on a tree branch, feeling good about herself, her abilities. She was powerful, and Rōkura was beginning to like her power.. “It will be easy, Ogai-sama.”

The god nodded. “Good—“

Crack!

The branch broke and the last thing Ogai saw of Rōkura was her wild wide-eyes, her expression of utter surprise and her body flipping down the steep ravine as she squealing and disappeared in the trees.

A sudden frustration came over him like a dark rain cloud as he covered his face. Looking up into the star-flecked night sky to calm his impatience, he said, “Are you all right?”

What came back was a small and embarrassed voice—really more of a whimper. “Fine.” A long pause followed. Then finally, “Persistent Bad Luck?”

He sighed. “Persistent Bad Luck…”