The checkpoint had bled out hours ago.

Max stepped over a shredded JSDF flag, its fabric soaked with something black and clotted. Gunfire scars raked the concrete barriers. A half-burned prayer scroll fluttered on the breeze, catching on the barrel of a rusted anti-yokai turret. The thing was empty – spent, jammed, useless now. Just like the men who'd once manned it.

"There's still a truck here," Ying said flatly.

Max turned. She was already kneeling beside it – a battered six-wheeled personnel hauler, engine compartment torn open like a ribcage. The windshield was spiderwebbed with cracks. One of the tyres looked half-melted. But the cab was intact. The keys were gone.

So, Max rolled up his sleeves.

"Shouldn't we— I don't know— ask the ancestors for permission first?" he muttered, prying the control panel open with a crowbar he'd stolen from a nearby corpse.

Behind him, Hana stood perfectly still at the checkpoint's edge. Her face unreadable. Her hand on Kabe's shoulder.

Kabe, the bear, loomed beside her like a silent mountain – taller than either of them, fur as pale as snow, muzzle streaked faintly red from some earlier fight. He watched Max with narrowed eyes.

Judging.

Max sighed. "Please don't eat me if I cut the wrong wire."

The engine coughed when it started. Then roared. A plume of exhaust belched from the back, and the dashboard lights flickered to life. The smell of blood and diesel filled the air.

Max grinned. "Hotwiring's just firefighting in reverse. You break in instead of out."

He opened the driver's door, climbed in – and stopped.

Kabe the bear was already there. Wedged into the passenger seat. Mostly.

The giant bear had planted one massive paw on the dash and the other on the floor, his entire bulk overflowing the cabin. The seat groaned audibly. The steering wheel bent under his flank.

"Absolutely not," Max said. "No. Kabe, buddy, you're not legally licensed."

Kabe turned his head. Growled softly.

Max hesitated.

Then Hana appeared behind him. Calm. Final. "He rides front."

Max pointed at the back of the truck. "We need that space for gear. Supplies. Possibly fleeing for our lives. He goes in the cargo bay like a normal – I don't know – war bear."

"He rides front," Hana repeated. "Always."

Kabe let out a deep-chested huff, low and guttural, like a warning shot that shook the windshield.

Max stared at the steering wheel, now partially under the bear's hip. He rubbed his temples. "Fine. Fine. Everyone's a critic."

Ying pulled herself into the rear compartment, favouring her left side. Her voidslice blade remained clenched in her lap, though her hands trembled slightly with effort. She didn't say a word. Just nodded once.

Max slammed the door, twisted the engine harder, and felt the beast of a truck shudder forward.

The tires ground over spent shell casings and broken charms. The road ahead was barely intact – warped from heat, cracked from transmutation magic.

Max glanced sideways at the massive bear exhaling hot breath across his shoulder.

"I swear to God," he muttered, "if you try to use the horn, we're having words."

Kabe sneezed violently, spraying dust onto the cracked windshield.

From the back, Hana's voice floated through the metal. "Drive fast."

Max chuckled, bitter and low.

"I was born to do the opposite of smart things."

And with a growl of old metal and stubborn faith, the truck rumbled forward into the dead city.

…………………

The truck rumbled beneath them, tires thumping over cracks and bones. Wind hissed through the shattered side mirrors. Max kept both hands on the wheel. His grip never loosened.

Ying watched him in silence for a while. Then, carefully:

"You hotwired that too fast."

Max said nothing.

"I mean it. Even for you."

Still nothing.

She tried again. "Last time – at the SUV – you said it wasn't a firefighter trick. You muttered a name. Ethan."

That name cracked something.

Max's jaw shifted, grinding tight. His knuckles whitened on the wheel.

Behind them, Kabe let out a low, rumbling exhale. The bear was curled in the truck bed, pressed against spare gear and a salvaged fuel drum. Hana sat beside him, one hand resting on his flank, watching Max now.

"Ethan," Hana repeated, testing the name. "Who's that?"

Max didn't answer.

The truck jostled over a mound of scorched armour plating. One of the cracked windows let in the stink of rot and static.

Hana leaned forward. "A friend?"

Max's voice came out hoarse. "Was."

The cab went quiet again. Even Kabe's breathing slowed, as if listening.

Ying spoke softly. "Max…"

He didn't look at either of them. Just kept his eyes on the road – or what was left of it.

"Used to say we were brothers," he said at last. "Met in the department. Firehouse thirty-eight. Ethan was smart. Funny. Bit of a dick. But he had your back when it counted."

A pause.

"I was there when he got pinned in a collapse. Dragged him out. Thought he'd do the same for me someday."

He swallowed. The wheel creaked under his grip.

"But he didn't."

More silence. A stretch of it. Long enough for the guilt to crawl in.

Hana spoke again, quieter. "What happened?"

Max's throat worked once. Then twice.

"He—" Max cut off. Shook his head. Started again. "There was a fire. My house. April was inside. My wife."

Ying straightened.

"I thought it was an accident. For years. Gas leak. Electrical. Doesn't matter."

He blinked hard. Once.

"Turns out Ethan lit it."

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Ying's breath caught. Hana went still.

"He murdered her. Said he was in love with her," Max said, voice raw now. "Said he wanted to save her. From me. From everything."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Didn't save her. Didn't even try. Just watched it burn."

A long silence.

Then: "I found out too late. Much too late."

Hana finally said, softly: "You trusted him."

Max nodded once. Just once. "With my life. With hers."

The truck bumped over a dislodged manhole. Max didn't flinch. His voice dropped lower.

"Last time I hotwired a truck… I said his name by accident. You heard it," he told Ying. "I haven't said it since."

She didn't respond. Just looked out the window, her expression unreadable.

Max exhaled. Deep. Shaky.

"I'll tell the rest later," he muttered. "When I can stand hearing it out loud."

Then he pushed the accelerator harder.

The truck rumbled as he eased it forward. Kabe shifted behind them, claws dragging along metal with a guttural growl of discontent. They turned out onto what used to be Kyoto's arterial spine – a boulevard now ruptured and crawling. The city didn't burn like a warzone. It pulsed like something infected.

Yokai slithered along shattered rooftops. Others clustered in alleyways, their limbs too long, their faces stitched with masks of cracked porcelain and animal bone. Some hung in the air like bloated kites of meat, tethered to nothing. Others stalked the edges of broken shopfronts, heads twitching, scenting the wind.

Max drove fast. Not recklessly. Just with the urgency of someone who knew better than to stop.

A bloated wolf-thing lunged from a second-storey balcony – and Kabe roared from the back, loud and thunderous enough to shake the chassis. The creature vanished in mid-leap, fleeing before it even landed.

"Yokai scatter when they hear him," Hana said from the back, patting Kabe's haunch.

"They remember predators."

Max didn't answer. He kept his hands on the wheel. Eyes forward.

But the ghosts rode with him.

…………………

The truck hit something it couldn't run over.

A sound like metal snapping bone rang through the chassis as the front axle lurched sideways. Max fought the wheel, but the entire frame groaned and bucked – then slewed hard left.

"Brace!" he shouted.

Too late.

The tires skidded across slick black moss. The rear swung wide. The truck smashed into a half-fused barricade of yokai corpses and transmuted stone – a wall that hadn't been there seconds ago. A massive bear-sized clang ripped through the cab as Kabe slammed against the truck bed's front panel.

Then: stillness.

Steam hissed from the hood. One of the headlights blinked, then died. In the distance, something screeched – high and avian – and was answered by a rumble from underground.

Max cursed under his breath.

Ying coughed, voice dry. "Tell me that was a planned stop."

Max shoved the door open and jumped down, boots crunching over warped asphalt. The radiator hissed smoke. The front of the truck was crushed inward, wedged tight against a column of what looked like lacquered bone fused with concrete.

He kicked it once. Hard.

Didn't budge.

Behind him, Hana helped Kabe clamber down. The bear dropped heavily onto the road, shook off dust, and immediately started sniffing the air. His hackles rose.

"Something's tracking us," Hana said quietly. "More than one."

Ying hopped down beside them. Her voidslice blade reappeared in her hand with a shimmer. "We're not going to outrun them in this."

Max didn't answer. He just stared at the wall they'd hit.

It wasn't natural. A dozen animal skulls were embedded in the stone like trophies. Charms hung from wires, knotted in tongues. The whole thing pulsed faintly – as if alive, or recently fed.

"No way through," he muttered. "Not without explosives or a miracle."

Kabe snorted, unimpressed.

Ying followed his gaze. "There's a drainage canal on the left. We follow it for a few klicks, we'll skirt most of whatever this is. Might even hit the footpath to the old shrine road."

Max shouldered his pack. "Then we walk."

Hana raised an eyebrow. "You're sure we'll make it?"

"No," Max said. "But staying's worse."

They moved.

The group descended into the canal – a half-dry run of stone and weeds, lined with rusted piping and the occasional yokai husk that twitched once, then lay still. Every step sent echoes up the walls. Somewhere behind them, a second echo followed – half a beat late. Too light to be Kabe. Too slow to be theirs.

Max led. Kabe followed at his flank, silent and alert. Hana and Ying brought up the rear.

After a long, tense silence, Ying broke it. "So. On a scale of one to 'we're all going to die horribly,' how would you rate our odds?"

"Somewhere between 'unfavourable' and 'hilariously cursed,'" Max said.

Ying actually smirked. "Good. I was worried we were doing too well."

Even Hana cracked a tired smile.

Max didn't. But a flicker of something passed through him – not humour. Not quite hope. Just the faintest relief of forward momentum. Of surviving one more mile.

The city writhed above them.

And something, somewhere, was already listening.

…………………

The city was quieter here. Quiet. Not safer.

They moved in single file, boots crunching glass and ash along a gutted side street once lined with ramen shops and salaryman izakayas. Now only scorched awnings and collapsed shutters remained. An old vending machine lay on its side, half-melted, its plastic shell gnarled by fire. Cans of green tea littered the gutter like bullet casings.

Ying led them through a gap in a bent chain-link fence. Max followed close behind, eyes scanning the rooftops. The sky had turned copper-grey again – not dusk, not dawn, just that endless post-apocalyptic murk that didn't let you guess the time. Shadows moved behind shattered windows. None approached.

"JSDF evac route should cut through the back alleys," Ying said, voice low. "If we're lucky, it hasn't been collapsed."

Max gave a grunt. He didn't trust luck. But he trusted Ying's instincts.

They slipped between tight alleyways where wires hung like nooses and graffiti peeled off blackened walls. Old prayer stickers still clung to one red-painted doorframe – the kind Ferron used. Max noticed Hana slow as they passed it.

A ruined temple stood beyond the alley. Half its torii gate still upright. The rest crumbled into the cracked stone like a snapped spine.

Hana paused at its edge.

Max stopped too. Didn't speak. Just looked at her – then nodded once.

She returned the nod, silent. Then kept walking.

Kabe padded beside her, slower now. He paused at the edge of a scorched park bench where a shape lay curled beneath a blue tarp. The bear sniffed – then whimpered.

Max stepped around to look.

A body. Small. Burnt beyond recognition. Child-sized. Mask still fused to the jaw.

No one spoke.

They moved on.

Further up the road, Max spotted it first – a flicker of white against a storefront awning.

He raised a hand. The group froze.

A child stood thirty metres away, on the edge of an old train platform. Robes like soot-stained paper. Mask flawless white, featureless save for twin brushstrokes of black where eyes should be. It didn't move. Didn't approach.

Just… watched.

Max held its gaze a moment longer. Then lowered his hand and moved on.

The group followed, hearts thudding loud in their ears.

They turned another corner. Passed a pet shop that had exploded outward – glass scattered like teeth. Stuffed toys and burnt pet carriers littered the pavement.

Max stepped on something soft.

Squeak.

Everyone froze.

Kabe's ears perked.

Then, casually, he stepped forward and bit down on the toy. A rabbit, once. It disappeared into his mouth with a loud snorf.

Max gave him a look. "You're not subtle, are you?"

Hana didn't miss a beat. "He's never needed to be."

It was the faintest thing, but the tension cracked just a little. Enough to breathe.

Ying leaned against a crumbling wall, blinking sweat from her eyes. She didn't speak. But her hand – the one that held the voidslice blade – trembled, just once.

Max stepped beside her. Rested a steadying hand on her shoulder. Said nothing flashy.

Just, "Just a bit longer. Then we rest. All of us."

Ying met his eyes.

Then nodded.

The shrine road wasn't far now.

But the city was still watching.

And something had begun to hum beneath the concrete.

…………………

Twilight bled slow and colourless over the ruins.

The last stretch of Kyoto sloped upward, where the ash-stained roads gave way to forest – gnarled and silent.

Max stepped past a broken vending machine, his boots crunching over cracked pavement now veined with moss. The buildings had thinned out, replaced by low shrines, headless statues, and rusted road signs half-swallowed by vine and soot.

Ahead, just barely visible, the perimeter stones flickered red.

Not gold.

Red – like the wards were bleeding light.

"That's it," Max said. His voice was low. Rough with disbelief.

Hana moved beside him, eyes narrowing at the glowing stones.

"They're failing," she said. "Prayer wards are meant to shine gold. A stable soulfield keeps them anchored. That red... it means distortion. Pressure."

"From outside?" Max asked.

Hana shook her head. "Or from inside."

Kabe padded forward, snout low. His white fur was streaked with dirt and ash now, and his breath steamed in the cooling air. He stopped just short of the nearest shrine post and sniffed.

Then – a sneeze loud enough to shake dust from a nearby tree.

Ying flinched, then groaned. "Even the bear agrees."

Max exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. Almost.

"If this is what homecoming feels like," he muttered, "I want a refund."

Hana's eyes didn't leave the trees. "It's not home," she said. "It's the edge of the knife."

Max looked up.

The forest didn't feel empty.

The yokai were there – hidden in the canopy, tucked behind stone pillars and between warped trunks. He couldn't see them, not directly. But he felt them. The weight of attention. Like walking into a room and knowing the silence wasn't alone.

"They're not attacking," Ying said, hand near her blade.

"No," Hana agreed. "They're waiting."

"For what?" Max asked.

Hana's answer came without inflection. "Permission."

The trees creaked softly overhead. Dusk deepened. The prayer stones pulsed slower, dimmer, as if each beat cost them more to sustain.

The sanctuary loomed just ahead – not a fortress, but a memory carved into stone. Its ancient torii gates stood crooked at the edge of the grove. The ground beneath them glowed faintly – the last of the sacred light holding the veil intact.

And there, at the crest of the forest path, flanked by dying pines and half-toppled shrines, stood the two statues.

The stone guardians.

Katana and Naginata. Their blades lowered, unmoving.

But watching.

Max slowed. His breath caught for just a moment. Not from fatigue. From something else. Something brushing against his thoughts – not sound, not voice.

A pulse of knowing.

A flicker of soul-light, rising from within the sanctuary like the first glint of sunrise beneath a storm.

Liz.

Max stiffened. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. Because Hana felt it too.

She turned, eyes wide – just for a beat.

A voice rose in both their minds, quiet as snow:

"You need to run. He's almost here."

And then something else followed – not words, just presence. A shadow brushing the edge of thought. Too large. Too cold.

Silence snapped back.

The wind died. The red light faded. Even Kabe stopped breathing for a moment, like the earth itself had skipped a beat.

The stone guardians did not move.

But they understood.

Max stepped forward. The sanctuary gates shimmered in the falling dark.

And behind them, something vast had already begun to move.

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