That morning Masami put on her warmest kimono and slipped into her old haori. It had been twenty years since she’d worn the jacket, which was still emblazoned with Lord Ishikawa’s crest. Passing her arms through the sleeves brought on old memories. Dressing felt like a ritual, as it had been in the old days. Kimono. Hakama. Haori. Belt. Sword. Knife.

She went through each systematically. When it came time to slip her old katana into the wide belt, she paused to unsheath it. Holding the blade to her eye and looking down it lengthwise, all seemed well. As sharp as I left you. Hello again, old friend. I guess.

Kohaku was of course there to see her off. They shared one last meal. Kohaku had prepared all of Masami’s favorites: tamago, trout, and fresh peas from the garden. Neither could bear to speak a word. Neither needed to. A kiss goodbye and one final embrace said more than words could ever hope to.

So off Masami went. With each step the pain in her chest lessened, though it never truly faded away. She could do this. One foot in front of the other. She walked deliberately, marching on towards her first stop.

So boss, where are we headed?

Oh, you know. Back there. To where it all started last time.

Ah. Ripping off the bandage, I see. Are you sure we can handle it?

There’s a fair bit of road between here and Takayama. And probably plenty of monsters to practice on.

More meals. The tengu grinned under his beak, baring his jagged teeth.

Yeah. Gods above, could you not do that? Freaks me out.

The tengu laughed, but made no further reply.

Around midday, Masami stopped to rest and eat her lunch, a handful of dried fruits, some smoked fish, and a ball of rice. The spring sun bore down on her, but the gentle breeze and crisp air kept her cool. She reclined on the side of the road for a time, staring off into the distance. Purple mountains loomed past the horizon. Nestled between the two tallest peaks lay her goal.

After a quarter hour or so, Masami reluctantly rose. Takayama was getting no closer with her lying on her back, and the longer she kept still, the more thoughts of Kohaku crept into her head. Besides, she wanted to be well into the forest by the end of the day.

Onward she marched. Her old legs, which had ached that morning, began to loosen up. To remember how to carry her. By the evening she felt nearly as fit as she had all those years ago.

The woods surrounding her hometown crept up to greet her as she walked along. She scanned along them with her eyes, still on edge from the previous night. Nothing moved. Still, she was sure she could see clearings where before there had been none. She glanced behind her. Seeing no one, she let Jiro slip from her left sleeve to rest on the hilt of her katana, took a deep breath, and entered the forest.

Masami kept an intense focus as she walked now. Every snap of a twig, every rustling leaf, every bird call set her nerves off. Her left arm gripped the scabbard of her katana, ready to pop the blade free in an instant. But nothing moved in the darkened woods either side of the path.

I don’t like this. Jiro, do you see anything?

Not especially. Whatever was out here is probably long gone by now.

You’re sure? It couldn’t just be masking its presence?

Well, if it was doing that, how would I know?

Masami sighed in frustration. It’s always like this with you. Can’t you just sense the damn thing?

Not unless you let me. Didn’t we have some sort of agreement? I only help you when you tell me to, or you’ll “cut me off, grind me to a paste, and send me back to the hellscape from which I come?” You know, these are terribly hostile working conditions. You could stand to be a little nicer to me.

Whatever. You have my permission to put out some extra senses while we’re in these woods. Better?

Much.

Masami felt Jiro shifting around her. The arm’s skin twisted and writhed, forming a dozen long, thin folds. Masami shuddered, though the process was painless. She recognized the lines of the folds. This was Jiro’s favored method of detection. Let in as little as he needed to sense what was there, and open the folds only when truly necessary.

The tengu’s silence reassured her, so she let herself relax just a little while she searched for a suitable campsite. The chill of winter still lingered on the spring breeze, but there would be no fire tonight. She couldn’t risk being seen by whatever was out there. Before long, she came to a fork in the road near a stand of oak trees. A fair enough place to make camp, with plenty of cover from the road.

Masami unslung her light pack and set about laying down her bedroll. The ground was cool but soft here. She’d slept in far less pleasant conditions. This was downright comfortable by comparison. As she slipped under her thin blanket though, the reality of her choice finally began to set in. For the first time in nearly twenty years, she laid alone. She reached for an arm that wasn’t there as she finally allowed herself the tears that had been welling all day. She felt emptier than ever before, even emptier than she had at the end of the war.

Boss?

Not now Jiro. Please.

Sure.

Masami pushed the tengu out of her mind. There in the silence she sobbed. I’m doing this for a good reason. I have to do this. I’m the only one who can. It has to be me. It has to. Can’t let -

Boss!

What? She thought the word as a shout.

Someone’s following us.

Wh - why didn’t you tell me sooner?

You told me to go away.

Oh gods dammit. You colossal idiot! You should’ve known that I’d want to know that regardless!

You’re impossible, boss. Besides, it’s a human. Didn’t seem very concerning.

A human? That’s strange, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to travel this road right now.

I’m just relaying what I noticed. He’s not very stealthy you know, I’m surprised you didn’t hear him making all that racket in the bushes.

Fuck off. Anyway, I guess we should go meet him.

Masami dragged her sleeve across her eyes to dry them and drew her sword. The blade gleamed in the waning sunlight as she raised it into a careful guard. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

A low bush rustled nearby. Masami could see a leg move past an opening in the branches. “You! Come out slowly, with your hands raised. Believe me, this thing is sharp enough to liberate you of your limbs. And I’m not the least bit afraid of using it.”

“No need for violence! It’s me, Mrs. Hisakawa!” Toshiro’s voice rang out, cracking a little in fear.

“Toshiro? What the hell are you doing here?” Masami sheathed the katana immediately and rushed to the bush. “Idiot! It’s dangerous out here!”

The boy stood from his hiding spot, leaves and twigs stuck in his thick hair. “I saw you leaving alone. You need someone watching your back out here!” He grinned. A katana of his own sat at his hip. The menuki ornament on at the end of its hilt glinted as the light caught it, and Masami saw it was badly tarnished.

“What I needed was some peace. You’re a liability. Do you even know how to draw that thing?”

Toshiro nodded. “Of course! Like...this!” The boy wrapped his right hand around the hilt of the sword, popping it out of the scabbard with his left thumb. He wrenched with all his might, flinging the blade clear of its sheath, though he stumbled forward slightly.

“Look up.”

Toshiro obade her. He gasped at what he saw. Masami’s blade was at his neck, hovering just an inch from his skin. “Woah woah woah! How did you do that?”

“By knowing how to draw a katana.” She removed the blade, drawing it across the opening of her scabbard before plunging it back into the sheath in a single fluid motion. “Your technique is terrible. That sword is more a danger to you than anyone else. It isn’t a toy, Toshiro. And this isn’t a game. You may camp with me tonight, but then you are going home.”

“But -”

“No buts. You don’t want to follow me, Toshiro. The storm that’s coming would kill you. Even if you survived, you’d never be the same. Take it from an old, broken soldier. No one deserves to go to war. No one should go to it willingly.” With that she turned back to the stand of oak trees.

Toshiro pouted behind her. “Fine. But I can help you! You’re underestimating me.” He followed her off the road and began unpacking his own bedroll. “For one thing, I know how to cook. Let me get a fire going.”

“No! No fires.” Masami gave the boy a firm stare.

“What? Why not?”

“Because something might see the smoke. Get used to being cold.”

The boy nodded. “Got it. No smoke. Good thing I brought blankets!”

Masami rolled her eyes and curled up once more under her blankets. She turned away from Toshiro, not wanting him to see the quiet anguish on her face. The cool wind calmed her some, but she tossed and turned for what felt like hours before sleep finally found her. In her dream she saw Kohaku, smiling, bathed in light. They melted away as she reached out to them, their stark amber hair the last thing to fade.

And then she awoke to warmth. And crackling. She bolted up. Behind her, a small fire burned between several stones. Toshiro poked at it with a stick.

“Idiot boy! What did I say about the fire?” She dashed towards the makeshift fire pit and began throwing dirt over the wood.

“Hey! Aww, there it goes. It was nearly smokeless, I thought it would be fine!”

Masami turned to the boy, the faint glow of the embers making her anger all the more apparent. “Nearly? Nearly? How could you be so stupid?” She paused, straining her ears. A soft thud, then a rustle of leaves. “Shit. Something’s here.” She pulled the boy up by his collar and whispered harshly “stay low. Sword ready. Make no sound.”

He nodded vigorously, stumbling as she let him go. Masami turned towards the source of the noise. Her left arm shot out of its sleeve, once again poising to draw her sword. Jiro, what is it?

I’m not quite sure. But it’s big, whatever it is.

Masami began shuffling forward, planting her feet low. I need eyes, Jiro.

I was wondering if you would ever ask. The tengu laughed almost mockingly. As he did, the folds on Masami’s left arm pulled back, revealing a dozen unblinking eyes. She grimaced as a thirteenth eye split the skin of her forehead, focused straight ahead, and with a thin slit for a pupil. The once pitch black woods lit up in greyscale. No fine detail or color, but she could see well enough.

A loud crack split the night air. Then a thud. Shit. Is it knocking over trees?

Might be. I did say it was big, didn’t I?

Bigger than I was hoping for. Oh knock the grin off. You’re getting the better end of this deal.

Oh I know. This is going to be a feast. He growled the last word.

Masami shuddered, but pressed on. There. Movement in the trees across a small clearing. She stopped, positioning herself behind the largest nearby trunk, and peered around to look. The thing was difficult to make out with all the foliage, but she could see a dozen massive insectoid legs. Each had three joints which pulsed at each step. The chitin looked thick, and was covered in thick, wiry hairs. The legs all attached to a swollen abdomen.

Then the creature turned, and she saw its face. A horrible caricature of a human head, swollen to ten times the size of a person’s, swung around on a long, thin neck. The thing sported a pair of arms so tiny in comparison to its body that Masami might have laughed in other circumstances. Now, though, she held deathly still.The creature began to approach.

Masami slowed her breathing. Her hands drifted into position at the hilt of her katana. She began to plan - a draw cut would sever one of its legs, while the downward return slice would carve through its abdomen. With it wounded, she could take it down.

It crept ever closer, bending and cracking trees out of its way. Finally, it came to the clearing and stepped in, raising its head to sniff the air. Masami crept around the other side of the tree. Slowly, carefully, every step considered and intentional, she approached. When the moment came, she took off.

Three running paces put her beside the thing. Her sword flashed in sync with the third step as she drew it, cutting cleanly through the lower joint of one of the creature’s legs in a single motion. Another step and she was under it. She reached up with her left arm to meet her right and plunged the katana down across the beast’s abdomen, leaning into the cut with all her weight. The creature reared back and screamed as black sludge poured from the terrible wound.

Masami turned to face it, only to see the thing’s gaping mouth barreling towards her. Old instincts kicked in as she barely had time to react. She stepped forward and under, whirling back around to slice up through its exposed neck. The blade lodged deep in the creature’s flesh. She tugged, but could not free it before it raised its head again.

Masami cursed under her breath and drew her tanto. As the thing brought its head down towards her once more, she sidestepped and plunged the long knife into the base of its skull, burying the blade to the hilt. The monster convulsed on the ground.

Your turn, Jiro.

The tengu simply grinned, far wider than seemed possible. Masami stepped over the thing as her left arm formed its familiar claws. It sunk into the creature’s forehead, searching around for its hardened core. This one was larger than that of the Dustling, but Jiro ripped it out with ease. It pulsed like a perverse mockery of a beating heart. The fingers of Masami’s left arm curled in. Crunch. And then it was gone, scattered like so much dust.

“Creature of the Inexorable Nightmare, I return you to the Dust! Shrivel and begone!”

As she intoned, the thing deflated before her. Its form collapsed and shrank until it was little more than a pile of skin and chitin. Before long, even that dissolved into a black powder, and all that remained was its outline.

Satisfied, Jiro?

Most definitely. This could keep me going for weeks. The tengu licked his lips. His ethereal form looked markedly less pale, and Masami’s arm was no longer quite so wrinkled and spindly.

Good. I suppose.