Chapter 14

"UH3, evade the obstacle ahead!" "UH3, evasive action—Fuck!"

The surveillance screen suddenly flashed bright—then plunged into darkness.

At the Yokosuka military base, the African-American Lieutenant General in charge couldn't help but curse. A sheen of cold sweat broke out across his dark face. Half the surveillance feeds had gone black; the rest were frozen on scenes of carnage—blood-soaked ground and roaring flames.

"General, the target area is now shrouded in thick fog." "Our drone swarm is under unknown attack. We've lost 2,425... now 2,426!" "Airborne squad..."

The last shaky screen cut out with a final scream. A pair of bloodstained, bent hind legs flashed by, and crimson splattered onto the camera lens, forming mottled brown spots.

Complete annihilation.

Thud.

The general collapsed back into his chair, his dark face ghostly pale.

It was over.

The casualties were catastrophic. Not only was his career done for, but the reputation and influence of African-Americans within the U.S. military would also suffer a heavy blow.

Despite all the talk of "Black Lives Matter," when it came to real action, the U.S. police emptied clips on first instinct. White dominance remained unshaken across key positions in every sector. For African-Americans, breaking the ceiling was a Herculean task.

This so-called political correctness? It was often just a weaponized inconvenience, a game of appearances played by white elites.

When it was confirmed that supernatural entities had emerged in Japan, the Lieutenant General had acted aggressively—desperate to secure the first samples.

He had only wanted to advance.

But clearly, he had underestimated the power—and cunning—of the supernatural.

These were not mindless beasts charging like animals in a Hollywood movie. They used tactics, dodged bullets, used soldiers as shields, and even called for reinforcements.

Yes. The general was certain: there wasn't just one of them. That "werewolf" clearly couldn't summon fog.

Damn intel. Why didn't anyone mention this?

—

In this regard, the general had wronged the high-ranking Japanese officials they had bought off.

Not even those hiding in secure war rooms had any idea. Not even those on the front lines, like Ichika Iori, knew what was going on.

This fog...

To hell with it.

Crouched beside a car engine, gripping her pistol tightly, Ichika Iori cautiously peered forward.

The fog was so thick, visibility dropped below two meters. Gunfire and shouting had ceased, confirming that the American troops had been wiped out.

As for whether Wataru Tanimura had died... it wasn't impossible. But as a Japanese national, Iori preferred watching the Americans eat dirt.

"Tch. Besides transforming himself into a monster, he can turn dogs humanoid too?"

Her gaze locked on a nearby Shiba Inu, entangled in metal netting and pierced by over a dozen tranquilizer darts. Her eyes glinted.

They likely wouldn't be capturing Tanimura today. But if she could secure this dog—or rather, this supernatural canine—she'd have made a worthy contribution.

Better than being accused of freezing up on the battlefield.

"Director, can you hear me? Please respond." "Ichika? What is it?"

The weary voice of her superior crackled through her earpiece. She didn't report just yet.

"Director, are you safe?"

Safe?

Back at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters, Director Takezono Yachiharu was physically safe. But Iori clearly meant something else—was there a traitor nearby?

For the U.S. military to arrive this quickly, there had to be a mole.

"Talk."

After several seconds, the Director switched to a one-on-one encrypted channel.

"Director, the mission failed." "The American troops—they're likely all dead." "But Tanimura's dog remains. I suspect the Shiba Inu has been corrupted—or assimilated—by supernatural forces. Look—"

"You did well!"

Her earpiece nearly burst. The Director's sudden enthusiasm was so loud she could imagine his ecstatic face.

"Quick, bring that Shiba Inu—no, that supernatural entity—back!"

"Director, the fog—" "I believe in you, Ichika!"

At Police HQ, the Director pumped his fist. This was a major victory.

"Tch. What a way to delegate."

Iori sighed, then crouch-walked over to the bound Shiba Inu and dragged it away by the metal net.

As a frontline officer in Adachi Ward, she knew the area like the back of her hand. Even cloaked in fog, she could extract this supernatural canine without making a sound.

As for Tanimura and the mysterious fog?

Heh. Let someone else deal with that mess. She was just a "frail woman"—no interest in dueling monsters.

—

"Huff, huff~~"

Dozens of meters away, just outside a clothing store.

Wataru Tanimura, still in his werewolf form, was panting heavily as he scavenged equipment.

"AN/PVS-14 night vision goggles." "Laser rangefinder, flashbangs, M16A4, Interceptor Level IV armor..."

You had to admit, the U.S. troops came loaded. This haul alone was worth over $100,000—nearly 20 million yen.

If they had kept their distance and fought smarter, Tanimura could never have wiped them all out so easily.

Regardless, he was the victor now.

Time to leave.

Whoosh— Squelch!

A sharp sting on his arm—blood spurted in a line.

Enemy?!

Instinctively, he rolled aside. More squelching sounds riddled the spot where he had just crouched, glass shattered into finger-sized holes.

Gunfire?

No. That wasn't it.

During his dodge, he had noticed something: the wound on his arm wasn't deep, and there was no bullet lodged inside.

There was no bullet at all.

Thanks to the intense battles, his control over his yokai energy had grown sharper. He could sense bullets lodged inside his body—and whatever hit him just now wasn't a real projectile.

"Who's there?!"

He sniffed the air and turned toward the fog.

"Apologies," came a distorted voice, as if filtered through water. "I'm here to take your Sessho-seki."

What?!

Someone sent by that person?

No. It's only been two days. Why would they grant him power and then immediately take it back?

"Who sent you?"

Despite the fog, his enhanced senses located the speaker: 11 o'clock, about twenty meters out.

"Me?"

The figure hesitated. But Tanimura didn't wait.

Boom!

He launched himself forward, limbs spread, charging like a beast.

Burning every ounce of yokai energy, he initiated a desperate strike.

Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—

Fog warped around him as thick, finger-sized water bullets ripped through the air.

If not for the mist, these invisible projectiles would be deadly.

But Tanimura zigzagged expertly, following a Z-shaped dash. One shot grazed his cheek—leaving a sting and a realization.

Water.

His opponent was using water as bullets.

So the fog... was theirs too.

Ironically, Tanimura owed them: if not for the fog, those helicopters would've minced him.

But now that this enemy wanted to kill him?

No holding back.

Boom—

He closed the gap swiftly. A blurry figure holding an umbrella emerged. He saw them raise their other hand, forming a gun shape with their fingers.

"Water Release: Water Iron Bullet Jutsu."

Swoosh!

A water bullet fired.

Tanimura twisted his head—barely dodging it.

But the enemy didn't wait. They kicked back, vanishing into the mist.

"You won't escape!"

Water yokai—clearly. They relied on ranged attacks.

As a wolf yokai, Tanimura had to get in close or risk being shot to death.

Chase and flee—they sprinted through the mist.

The umbrella-wielding attacker continued firing water droplets, but none were fatal to Tanimura's thick-skinned body. And his speed was superior—he'd catch them soon.

The gap closed. He could now see their school uniform under the umbrella—almost there—

Splash.

Water surged underfoot, and Tanimura's eyes widened.

No way—

"You fell for it," the voice sneered. "Water Serpent Bind."

The water around his feet coiled like a snake—wrapping him tight.

What?!

Looking down, he finally realized—he'd chased them right into a river.

And the umbrella figure? Standing atop the water!

Damn it.

The water climbed rapidly, binding his limbs. No matter how he struggled, he couldn't break free.

It was already reaching his chest—soon it would flood his mouth and nose—

"Hehehe~~"

A bell-like laugh echoed from the side.

The umbrella figure froze, distracted.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

Origami cranes darted through the air, their wings slicing the water bindings apart.

What?!

Seizing the moment, Tanimura leapt back—muddy and drenched, but alive.

"Who are you?!"

The umbrella attacker—Kishida Jun—turned to see a girl floating in midair.

No, not a girl.

She looked beautiful and wore a Heian-era kimono, but her entire body—face, clothes, legs—was made of paper.

"You may call me Paper Dance," she said, fluttering gracefully on the breeze.

Paper Dance?

Kishida Jun's eyes narrowed—he remembered that name from folklore.

"I see..."

Silently, he sank into the river—vanishing.

Paper yokai loathed two things: cruel fire and sentimental tears.

And Jun? He represented both.

The hunt had failed. Best to disappear and strike another time.

He vanished beneath the water.

"Huff... I'm alive."

Tanimura stared at the river. He hadn't even realized—he'd been lured to the Arakawa River.

"Thank you, Miss Paper Dance."

"Hehe~ don't get it twisted, dog yokai. I just hate water yokai. I wasn't saving you."

With that, she drifted off on the breeze.

"Still... thank you."

Facing the empty fog, Tanimura bowed.

Also...

Wait a second.

I'm a dog yokai, not a wolf yokai?!

—