~~~

‘Give me a donation and I’ll let you rest.’

‘No.’

‘Everyone else has.’

‘Don’t care.’

‘Come on, you’re the only one stubborn enough…and selfish enough to hold out on me. Sorry…I mean, hold out on the temple.’

‘I don’t recognise your temple.’

‘Of course, I could just put a little magic behind it and make you pay. Or pick up that rusty green katana on the grass over there and cut your fingers off until you came to your senses. But that would feel like cheating. You see, I want you to donate out of the pureness of your heart. The strength of your faith…in what this lovely portable shrine represents.’

‘It’s not a shrine. It’s a box with pictures.’

‘Okay, then how about respecting the craftsmanship?’

‘I’m not paying you anything. Ever. Again.’

‘Ah, so you like standing on one leg?’

‘Go to hell, scam man.’

The orange-haired monk nodded slowly, sagely, as if he finally understood what Derrida was going on about with all that pine’s not a pine shit, then jumped off the portable shrine, walked closer to the man wobbling on one leg and whispered into his ear, ‘eat dirt.’

Trying desperately to open his mouth and scream kusoooooo, the man instead bent down and, while keeping his other foot off the ground, very awkwardly scooped up some mud from the ground.

‘Go on, gobble it all up.’

‘… … … …’

‘Sorry, what was that?’

‘… … … … …’

‘You want some condiments to go with it? Some wasabi perhaps?’

‘… … … …’

‘Ah, you’re eyeing that green katana, aren’t you?’

‘… … …’

‘It’s quite far. You think you can make it?’

‘… … … … …’

‘Wah, why are you still mumbling, you haven’t even started eating it yet?’

The man smiled, his eyes shifting slightly behind the orange monk’s shoulder, which turned out to be mistake.

Sensing an ambush, the orange monk swished a hand through the air and activated one of his eleven brothers, who seemed to glide across the ground like a chess piece, parking himself just in time to take Akira’s green-tainted katana square in the gut.

‘… … … … …’ he slurred, coughing up orange smoke before evaporating into flecks of dust and sailing off on the breeze.

A still fairly wet Akira stared at the body of his blade for a long second, running through all the what the fuck and was that a ghost questions privately, then re-focused on his main target and advanced.

Unfortunately, the orange monk must’ve been accustomed to such attacks as he’d already retreated behind the portable shrine, and positioned his remaining ten brothers as a perimeter line to protect him on all sides.

‘Come out from there, coward,’ shouted Akira, his voice so loud that it prompted the orange monk to yell back, ‘I’m only ten feet away, you idiot. Stop screaming.’

Curving around to the left, Akira shifted his slightly muddy [and still green] katana to his right hand…and then quickly back to his left when his wrist started to throb again.

Fucking Miho, he thought, remembering what had just happened at the lake. Making me punch him in the face…allegedly. And fuck that green demon too, for giving me the wrist injury in the first place. And that happy couple with their useless rejuvenation cream. And this monk for moving out of the way so fast.

And all the rest of these Hell creatures, swarming about suddenly.

How many was it now? Atta Noe, Green cannibal man, orange monk…all in little more than a week. The thirty-nine years before that, nothing, no demons whatsoever. To call it a co-incidence wouldn’t do it justice. It was batshit insane. As was that monk just vanishing into nothing. Was he actually dead? Had he even been alive?

Akira felt the grass-and-mud stuffing creeping out of his left ear and put his weaker hand up to shove it back in.

‘Take your trashy katana and stab yourself in the neck,’ shouted the orange demon from behind the portable shrine.

‘Sorry, can’t hear you,’ Akira replied, though he did manage to catch the faint sound of katana and yourself.

‘Gods, the grass in the ears trick…’

‘What?’

The orange monk scanned the road around him, peeking through the gaps in his ten monk shield.

‘If you don’t come out and fight, I’ll have to go through all your monks. Which is no problem for me.’

‘Take the grass out of his ears,’ shouted the orange monk, his words directed at the local artisan still trying to swallow all the dirt he’d put in his mouth.

‘Really no problem, if they’re all made of air like the last guy. What was that anyway? Dark magic?’

Akira cupped his head towards the shrine, half curious about the answer…then reeled back as the weirdo eating dirt grabbed him by the neck and tore the grass out of his left ear.

‘Kuso…get off me, I need that.’

The man moved round the back of Akira, targeting the other ear while managing to put himself in such an awkward position that the ashigaru couldn’t quite get his katana in the right place to poke him with it. Not even in the leg.

‘… … … …’ mumbled the man, spilling out dirt and spit juiced together.

‘Stay still,’ yelled Akira back, finally getting his elbow up high enough to strike his puppet opponent in the side of the head.

The man fell backwards, landing on a small rock and groaning in pain. Then holding up his hand and letting the second batch of ear grass tumble out.

‘Kuso,’ shouted Akira, patting his ear and quickly realising his defences had gone.

‘… … … …’ moaned the man, shrugging.

‘Yeah, too late for apologies.’ Akira jabbed the man’s calf with the tip of his katana, and then did the same to his right arm. ‘Stay down, friend. I’ll deal with you next.’

Turning back to the shrine with his katana raised, Akira was surprised to see the line of ten monks parting and the orange monk strolling forward like Emperor Tomohito through the changing rooms of his favourite harem.

‘Ah, natural law re-established,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘Now, let me repeat myself. Take that cheap-looking, weird melon-coloured katana and stab yourself in the…let’s see now…we don’t want it to be fast…there has to be some punishment for the insult of this attack. How about the thigh? Yes, the right thigh, lots of arteries, perfect.’ He coughed, taking another step forward. ‘Stab yourself in your right thigh.’

Akira’s eyes moved down to his blade, waiting for it to turn against him.

But nothing happened.

It swayed slightly, in the grip of his fatigued hand, and that was it.

‘Quickly, please,’ said the orange monk, crease lines appearing on his forehead and, for some odd reason, his cheeks.

Again, neither the katana nor Akira’s hand moved.

‘Stab. Yourself. In. The. Right. Thigh. Now.’

‘Looks like your tongue’s not so blessed anymore…’ Akira said, performing a small circle with the tip of his katana and then advancing.

‘This doesn’t make-…how are you doing this?’

‘Natural law, brother.’

‘No, you’re a human. You can’t stab me, I’m a-…’ The orange monk stumbled backwards, doing another side-swipe with his hand as he landed on the dirt to the side of the shrine. ‘Block him, don’t let him past.’

The ten monks nodded and quickly slid into the perimeter formation. Nine of them pulled out short blades and pointed them forward, as the tenth disintegrated into orange dust.

Akira pulled his katana back and assumed a defensive posture, waiting for the other monks to attack.

And waited. And waited. And waited a little bit more.

Then straightened up, walked a few paces to the monk on the edge of the shield line and sliced him across the chest.

Just like his two brothers, he broke into particles of orange and floated down onto the ground.

‘Either these monks really like you,’ he said, stabbing another monk and nodding when the same thing happened again, ‘or they’re an illusion of mist and bullshit.’

‘Only five of them, ashigaru,’ replied the orange monk, the top of his head poking out over the shrine. ‘And you’ll never know which are which until it’s too late.’

‘Ha, more bullshit.’

‘Yes, very good. Keep acting casual, play right into our hands…’

‘Okay, brother.’

Akira walked side-on and cut through three more monks, completely unshocked when they also dispersed into harmless bits of orange dust.

‘Circle him,’ shouted the orange monk, stepping out from the side of the shrine, eyes glowing. ‘Don’t let him get past.’

‘Only four left,’ said Akira, wiping the end of his katana with his yukata sleeve and smiling as his target starting moving back towards the trees about fifty metres behind. ‘You should really watch your rear more closely.’

Confused for a moment, then sceptical, the orange monk spun on his heels and let out a panicked wait as Miho’s fist hit him in the cheek.

It wasn’t the cleanest hit ever, so Miho tried again, and when that didn’t knock out the monk either, Aya threw down her twig and joined in too.

‘Stop…’ cried the monk, putting hands up to defend the wrong parts of his face. ‘You can’t knock me unconscious, I’m not human.’

Nodding their understanding, Aya and Miho switched targets and brought the monk down by his legs. Then sat on his chest to keep him there.

‘Does glowing orange eyes mean he’s angry?’ asked Miho, looking over at Akira, who was wiping orange particles off the side of his blade.

‘Could be fear,’ said Aya, moving her head to dodge the orange vapour seeping out of the monk’s mouth.

‘Take the ashigaru’s katana, stab him,’ whispered the orange monk.

Aya and Miho exchanged glances, then looked up as Akira appeared next to them, katana raised and ready to strike.

‘Did he tell you to do something?’ Akira asked.

‘No…’ said Aya.

‘Take his katana, stab him!’ screamed the orange monk, trying to lift his head up to give his command extra distance.

Akira stepped back two paces, alternating the tip of his katana between his two comrades.

‘It’s not working,’ said Miho, checking both his earholes.

‘Must be Daiki’s magic,’ added Aya.

‘It rubbed off on us too?’

‘Has to be.’

‘Which Daiki? Where?’ asked the orange monk, looking in seventeen different directions all at once. ‘What are you blathering on about?’

‘Someone more powerful than you, obviously,’ said Akira, coming forward again and placing the edge of his katana against the monk’s throat. ‘What’s the bet that you don’t turn into orange mist?’

‘Wait…’ said Aya, putting her hand close to the blade. ‘You can’t…’

‘It’s fine, it’s my better hand.’

‘No, he’s subdued…we’ve beaten him.’

‘Yes, and now we get to kill him.’

Miho reached forward and placed his own hand on Akira’s sword arm. ‘She’s right, we don’t have to do this.’

‘Gods…you’re not my fucking conscience. He tried to kill me, I kill him, that’s how it works. There is no expectation of mercy in this. Now, get your hand off my arm before I chop it off.’ Akira paused, checking back on his line, frowning. ‘Your hand, not my arm.’

Miho kept his hand there for another second, then reluctantly pulled it away, giving Aya the frown code to do the same with hers.

‘You can start walking if you’re squeamish,’ added Akira, gesturing at the road ten metres away leading north. ‘Might want to check the shrine first, get back some of that donation money.’

Aya looked at the katana, bloodless for now [apart from the green demon blood, which was clearly semi-permanent], then turned her back completely and walked off towards the road, muttering, ‘should’ve let him drown,’ as she went.

‘Okay, you check the shrine for coins.’

Miho stood up and neither shook his head nor muttered anything, instead just deciding to look visibly disappointed. And it was convincing too. So convincing that Akira pushed him on the shoulder and told him to go, check the fucking shrine.

‘He’s the one who started it,’ Akira shouted after him, watching him meander up to a slowing Aya.

‘My powers…’ mumbled the orange monk, ‘why didn’t they work?’

Akira turned back to his fallen opponent and lined up his katana again. ‘You still whining? Let me help you with that.’

He raised his katana diagonal, aiming for a quick cut to the throat. Hopefully that would be as fatal for demons as it was for humans.

‘Treasure…’ gasped the orange monk, raising a shaking hand.

‘Hey, I’m trying to focus here,’ replied Akira, bringing the katana down for a rehearsal strike.

‘No, no, no, no…I have treasure, nearby, at the temple.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s true, and not just donations…jewels too. Hundreds of them, thousands.’

‘And you have access to it?’

‘Of course, I’m the head monk. I have the keys to all of it.’

Akira rested his katana on the demon’s neck, clipping him slightly as his fingers twitched on the guard.

‘You kill me here…and you’ll never get one nugget.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Spare me…and you can have it all.’

‘It is a tempting offer, and obviously a trick of some sort…’

‘No trick, just a trade. The treasure…for my life.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Please…’

Akira made a series of half-whistle, half-irritated breath sounds, mentally sketching all the pros and cons of the deal onto the green blade of his katana.

Pro: treasure.

Con: a hundred monks waiting for him at the temple. Probably not comprised of orange mist. Too much treasure. How to carry it all? This monk moaning all the way there.

After a few more mutterings, Akira pulled his katana away and told the orange monk he had a tentative deal.

Then flipped the blade and brought the guard down hard on his right ankle.

‘But if you cross me…’

‘You fucking-…’ the orange monk, shouted alongside muffled cries of pain.

‘Yeah, I think we understand each other.’

About fifty metres further along the road, Aya and Miho stopped and looked back, hearing the faint scream. However, instead of Akira swinging the orange monk’s decapitated head in the air, they saw him re-sheathing his katana and dragging the wounded demon back to his feet.

‘See, I decided not to kill him,’ he shouted, waving his free arm at them. ‘Happy now?’