The safehouse sanctuary was quiet in a way the outside world no longer remembered. Stone walls, paper screens, a faint smell of burned incense and dried herbs. The meditation hall breathed with the soft pulse of Liz's pod, casting slow red light across the ancient floor.

Ying sat cross-legged near the centre, her back against a support beam, arms resting loosely on her knees. She was pale, sweat clinging to the curve of her jaw. Her hands were wrapped now – thin gauze over blisters that hadn't quite stopped weeping. Small, angry welts curled up her palms like lightning scars.

Ferron knelt nearby, examining her fingers with careful precision. His touch wasn't soft, but it wasn't cruel either.

"You're lucky," he said. "Any deeper, and the flesh would've split."

Ying didn't flinch. "It still might."

Max stood nearby, one hand on the edge of Liz's stasis pod, the other resting on his hip. His eyes hadn't left Ying since they returned. The smoke and blood were gone, but the pressure hadn't faded.

"How far can you go?" he asked quietly.

Ying looked up. Her voice was steady. "Line of sight. Or somewhere close I've been before. That's it."

"You can't guess?"

"Not unless you want us sliced into ribbons across four dimensions."

Ferron made a low sound. "Charming visual."

Max stepped forward. "What about live feeds? Surveillance? Could you slice through a camera angle?"

Ying hesitated. "Maybe. If it's crystal clear. But the risk jumps. A clean jump needs spatial integrity. If the image is warped, the slice warps. Then we come out sideways. Or worse."

She flexed her fingers. The gauze tightened. "Last time I carried both of you, and reality cracked. I felt it trying to reject us."

"You made it hold," Max said.

"Barely." Her voice was sharper than she meant. She looked down. "I opened something too wide. It took more than I thought it would. Not just stamina. Something else."

Ferron leaned back, thoughtful. "Slice energy... like binding. It costs soul stability."

Ying nodded slowly. "It felt like I was offering the world a deal it didn't want. And the world almost bit my hand off."

Max moved to sit across from her. "Then we pace it. Small jumps. Tactical ones. You're not a door. You're a scalpel."

Ying snorted. "Isn't there an English saying? Don't run with scissors?" She held up her bandaged hands. "Now imagine being the scissors."

Max's expression didn't shift, but something in it hardened.

"We've got one shot to get to Hana. If there's a shortcut that doesn't kill us, we use it. But not at your expense."

Ying's eyes flicked to Liz's pod, to the dim heartbeat pulsing inside.

"I know what's at stake."

They sat in silence for a beat. The safehouse creaked. The outside world didn't intrude.

Then Ferron stood, dusting off his palms. "Let's test what she can do before we plan around what she can't."

Max nodded once. "Agreed."

Ying sighed. "Fine. But next time one of you gets motion sickness, it's not on me."

Ferron cracked a dry smile. "I fought through three days of demonic plague before. I'll take spatial nausea."

Max rose to his feet. His voice was calm. "Then let's find the next edge."

Ying flexed her wrapped hands again. The air shimmered faintly.

And in the distance, something old stirred. Waiting to see where they'd cut next.

…………………

The courtyard smelled faintly of cedar ash and iron.

Ferron sat cross-legged near the left Guardian statue, the stone samurai still as ever at his back. A wooden crate of silver cartridges lay open beside him, each bullet polished to a mirror sheen. His hands moved with quiet focus, rubbing an oil-soaked cloth over the casing, then holding one between thumb and forefinger like he was feeling for something beneath the metal.

Victor leaned against the nearby column, rifle slung over his back, watching.

"You gonna bless every bullet individually?" he asked.

Ferron didn't respond. He closed his eyes.

The air shifted.

A low hum rippled outward from his chest – barely audible, more felt than heard. Faint gold lines etched themselves along his forearms like calligraphy drawn in heat. The silver bullet glowed briefly. Then the whole crate did.

Ferron opened his eyes and exhaled slowly. The light faded, but the warmth lingered.

Victor let out a low whistle. "I'm gonna marry this box."

Ferron chuckled. "You'll have to ask its permission first."

He held up the glowing bullet between two fingers. "They're bound now. Anchored with purpose."

Victor raised a brow. "Meaning?"

"They don't just fire anymore. They know what they're meant for. These rounds will punch through illusions, false shells, corrupted forms. Yokai. Possessed husks. Even demons if they're corporeal."

He tapped the box. "Each one's soul-tagged. Won't shatter unless it connects with something that doesn't belong in this world."

Victor let out a satisfied groan and clutched the crate like a sacred artifact. "This is the best thing anyone's ever done for me. Sorry, Max."

Chloe walked over quietly, rubbing her arms. She glanced at the Guardian statues, then down at the polished stone underfoot. "It feels... warmer here."

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Ferron nodded. "That means it's working."

Victor knelt beside the box, inspecting the rounds with reverence. "Can you do this to anything? Like – my entire armoury? Maybe the truck over there?"

Ferron smirked. "One soul at a time, Victor."

Max approached from the inner hallway, silent until now. He looked at the glowing cartridges, then at Ferron.

"We're building more than weapons," he said quietly. "We're building anchors. Things that tether us to who we are. What we stand for."

Ferron nodded, serious again. "Exactly. These aren't tools. They're declarations."

His gaze shifted to the Guardian statues.

Victor followed it. "Hey… what about them? Can you charge those bad boys too?"

Ferron's voice dropped. "No need."

Chloe tilted her head. "Why not?"

Ferron stood and faced the statue, his expression unreadable. "These aren't constructs. They're older than the war. Older than demons. Bound by rituals no one remembers. They don't run on power. They run on intent."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "What kind of intent?"

Ferron turned back to him. "Sanctuary. Any being that crosses the threshold with ill will dies. Doesn't matter if it's human, yokai, or demon."

He looked at the Guardian again. "This place is sacred. It's held for centuries. Not one demon has ever set foot here."

Chloe folded her arms, voice soft. "Until now."

Max met her eyes. "And we're not demons."

Ferron turned away from the statue. "No," he said. "But what we're fighting... is."

The courtyard fell quiet again – warm, grounded, and just for a moment, safe.

…………………

The map was older than any of them expected.

Max unrolled the brittle scroll across the meditation table, the paper yellowed with age and the ink faded but still legible. Hand-drawn veins of Kyoto's soulfield lattice stretched across its surface – temples, subway lines, spiritual wards, and pressure zones. A meticulous overlay of Grimm Institute symbols marked historical sightings of Contractors, demons, and anomalies.

The red ink stains had soaked deep.

Victor leaned over the scroll with a low whistle. "This was in Grimm's archive?"

Max nodded. "Dr. Adisa pulled it out before we left the Fortress. Said it was hand-calibrated to detect soul-pressure variances. Originally drawn up for exorcist teams."

Ferron crouched beside the table, finger tracing a jagged arc. "This zone here – this is where we searched last night."

He tapped twice. "No Hana-sama. Just myths. Yokai walking in bodies like memories come to life."

Victor grimaced. "And that creepy auditor demon in a suit. What was his name again?"

"Doesn't matter," Max said. "He's on the list now."

Ferron kept moving his finger north. "But here – this sector. Distorted readings. Like ripples trying to fold over each other."

He pointed to a ringed mark labelled in faded kanji.

"Former spiritual cleansing site," Ferron translated. "Buddhist temple. Now partially consumed by yokai territory. Last confirmed area where Hana-sama was conducting ritual calibration work."

Ying leaned in. "So that's where we go?"

Max nodded. "If she's alive, she'll be there."

Ferron's expression darkened. "Echo zones are tricky. Places where spiritual trauma and soul activity get locked in recursion. Time, intent, identity – they don't move forward like they should. If Hana's there, she's fighting every second not to disappear."

Chloe stepped forward, arms crossed. "And if she's not?"

Max didn't flinch. "Then we'll bring her back anyway."

He placed a finger on the temple mark. "Plan's two-phase. First, Ying voidslices us in – short range hops, staying out of sight lines. Only if it's safe. You good for that?"

Ying nodded, but her jaw was tight. "One slice at a time. Two if I'm lucky. It burns more the further I go."

"Understood." Max looked to Victor. "Second phase: we move on foot. Collapsed alleys, covered streets, use the warding lines to our advantage. You sweep the perimeter with Ferron. Watch the rooftops. We know now that some of them climb."

Victor gave a casual salute. "Got it. Neighbourhood watch."

Ferron marked another dot on the map – a swirling glyph stamped just outside the temple.

"That," he said, "is where the yokai density breaks. It could mean their control is weaker near the inner sanctum."

"Or it's a trap," Max said.

"Or it's hope," Ferron countered.

Max held his gaze. Then nodded once.

Chloe stepped closer to the map. "So what do we look for? What's the sign she's alive?"

Ferron cracked a rare grin. "If all else fails… just look for the bear."

Victor blinked. "The what?"

"The bear," Ferron repeated. "If Hana's resisting, she'll be using her guardian. Big. Angry. Loud. You'll know it when you see it."

Victor straightened. "There it is again."

Max didn't ask.

The map lay open between them, the old lines still pulsing faintly under the lantern light – like the soul of the city hadn't given up yet.

Neither would they.

…………………

The courtyard was quiet.

Not dead. Not still. Just… waiting.

Max crossed the threshold from the inner hall, his boots brushing loose gravel as he stepped toward the gate. The air out here felt different – cooler, threaded with something old and watching.

Victor stood to the left of the gateway, a rifle slung casually over one shoulder, his back to one of the stone guardians. The statue didn't move, but somehow its presence loomed larger than any living soldier.

Chloe was perched on the edge of the steps, arms folded, eyes half-closed. Every so often, her form shimmered faintly – just for a heartbeat – then settled. Phase. Reset. Phase again. No exhaustion in her breath now. She was learning to float between worlds like it was second nature.

"They haven't shifted since you left," Victor said without turning. "Not once. Not even to breathe. But I know they're watching."

Chloe opened her eyes. "They moved twice last time. Clean kills. Precise. Then froze again."

Max glanced at the guardians. Same as always – one with a raised naginata, the other mid-step, katana lifted just enough to imply motion. Sculpted centuries ago. Alive for minutes at a time. Deadlier than gods.

"They're watching for the next evil who tries to cross the threshold," Chloe said quietly.

Max exhaled. "Are you sure the statues are enough?"

Victor let out a low whistle. "Boy oh boy. Max, these guys don't miss. First yokai stepped a toe past the gate and got diced like sashimi. They slice, they dice. Hell, they julienne."

Max gave him a look.

Victor shrugged. "They're stone gods. I'm just a guy with a rifle."

Max nodded once, eyes tracing the silent sentinels.

"You're both welcome to come," he said. "We might need the extra firepower."

Victor looked toward the gate, then at the horizon beyond it. His jaw tightened – not from fear, but from resolve.

"We'll hold the house," he said. "You go get her."

Chloe's gaze drifted toward the inner sanctum. Liz's pod glowed faintly inside. The red pulse hadn't changed but something in the rhythm felt more defiant than before.

"She's still fighting," Chloe said. "That means we fight too."

Every time she looked at the pod, Chloe didn't see Liz asleep. She saw the war inside. And wondered how much longer her friend could hold out.

Max looked at her – really looked. The steel in her voice wasn't new. It had just sharpened.

He turned to go but paused at the edge of the steps.

"We'll be back."

Victor gave a small, wolfish grin. "I know."

The stone guardians said nothing.

But they didn't need to.

…………………

The safehouse murmured with silence.

No alarms. No wind. Just the sound of final checks and steady breath.

Max tightened the last strap on his gear, shouldering the battered pack that carried a little of everything – water, field kits, relic fragments. Hope. He slid Ferron's newly forged backup blade into the scabbard across his back, then turned.

Ferron stood by the outer walkway, fingers brushing the edge of his vowblade. He didn't draw it – just touched the hilt like a ritual, as if reminding it to be ready. The soul infused metal shimmered faintly in the morning light.

Ying leaned against the stone wall near the inner door, her head tilted back, eyes closed. Her breaths were slow. Controlled. Each inhale drew the world tighter around her. Each exhale peeled the edges of it back. The flicker of void energy curled around her hands like phantom scars.

Chloe stood near the stairs, holding Alyssa's spare jacket tight against her chest. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

Victor crouched beside the doorframe, adjusting the barrel of his new soulbound rifle with mechanical care. His eyes were already scanning the outer perimeter, even here, inside the walls.

Max approached. "Ready?"

Ying opened her eyes. "As I'll ever be."

She stepped forward and flicked her hand upward. A thin seam tore through the courtyard air – no larger than a man, no brighter than a thought. Just a crack. Clean. Still humming.

Through it, they could see a rooftop nearby – half-collapsed, overgrown with moss and prayer flags. A stone's throw away. But out there.

Ying nodded. "It's all I've got for now. Line of sight only."

Ferron smiled faintly. "It's more than enough."

Max stood at the edge of the slice, the air prickling against his face. It didn't scream this time. It breathed.

He looked back once. At the safehouse. At the courtyard. At the people still standing because this ground held.

Then he looked forward.

"One step," he said quietly. "One soul. One fight at a time."

And he stepped through.

Ferron followed, blade drawn.

Ying exhaled once, then vanished into the seam behind them. It closed with a sound like memory fading.

The courtyard was still.

And the hunt for Hana had begun.

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