Chapter 14: GHOM (Part 1)

Day 230: Toshio Perspective

My first breath clawed its way out raw, as if a thousand glass splinters shredded my windpipe. I retched, hacking up a clot of blood so dark it looked black in the yellow streetlights, and the taste of iron hit the roof of my mouth until my tongue stung. My hands refused to unclench from the adrenaline, so it splattered sticky onto my knuckles, painted in a color that belonged on no living person.

Pain arced through every nerve from the gory butcher's work on my left side; it was less a wound and more a total dissolution, like someone had taken a mace to my ribs, smashing all the way to the lung. I could barely move my left arm at all, only the ghost of a spasm now and again, the rest deadweight, so I dragged it behind me as I lurched through Kuoh's outskirts, my Shihakushō already ruined and sopping with blood. The kendo girls were going to be sad.

I was aware, distantly, that the streets would've been crawling with students and housewives and old men on late walks, but the night's hush was absolute. Something about the way the street lamps puddled on the empty sidewalks made me feel like the only survivor of some silent apocalypse, and the echo of my footsteps—wet and uneven—seemed wrong in a way words couldn't explain. Maybe twenty minutes had passed since the fight. 

Or maybe two hours. 

Every step smeared time together, and every sense of direction that mattered was gone. My one goal: not to stop. If I could keep moving, maybe my insides would keep the rest of me together, I could get home and sleep, heal. Asking the local devils to use that memory altering spell never even crossed my mind. I was basically out of my logical mind anyway.

My Zanpakutō scraped a jagged line behind me, the edge catching on the grit of the concrete so that each couple steps ended in a shriek of metal on stone. I'd always thought the sword would feel light in my grip, like an extension of my own conviction, but tonight it was an anchor. Each time the hilt knocked against my hip, it reminded me of what I was supposed to be—what I'd failed to be.

"That stray," I muttered, spitting another mouthful of blood onto my shoes, the word 'stray' itself oily, contemptuous.

It was only when I reached the pedestrian bridge over the river that I realized I'd been repeating the same phrase over and over under my breath, not even noticing how my lips moved in time with the tremor in my hands.

That thing, that thing, that thing—what had it been? Not a devil, not the way we colloquially used the word, not a normal supernatural being, but something else. Something fundamentally outside the categories we'd learned to expect, beyond the taxonomy of monsters and their habits. Every city had its share of strays, the mad ones who had lost their place, forsaken master or pack, left to gnaw their own tails and grow ragged and desperate until the end. 

They were supposed to be predictable, running on the rails of animal necessity—hunger, pain, fear. You could map it out, step by step, like a script. I had killed plenty by now to know.

But this wasn't that. That was a demon.

I doubled over at the steel railing, clinging hard enough to the cold metal that I thought my palm would break open. I remembered its face, or what passed for one—an architecture of eyes and teeth, not symmetrical, not even consistent moment-to-moment. 

Every time I blinked, the image in my memory shifted: sometimes it had a mouth that split the scalp from ear to ear, other times the teeth ringed the lips like the petals of a grotesque flower. It watched me, all the way through the fight, with eyes that didn't blink or shudder or look away.

It wasn't the violence that undid me. I'd seen strays rip out stomachs and wear intestines like a trophy belt. It was that when it killed, it didn't just kill; it consumed. Limbs, faces, names, powers, memories—like it was eating the self out of the world. It devoured with a purpose that felt almost religious, as if each death was a sacrament.

"You have no idea what you're for," it said, crushing the last of the howling stray devil underfoot, the sound sharp and wet. "But I do. I can smell it on you. Weakness like yours smells delicious."

I staggered on, crossing the bridge, the street light forming pools of yellow on the sidewalks. Somewhere, a train called out, distant and ghostly, but otherwise the world was as silent as a photograph.

It was over four hundred years old. The other stray devils spoke of it with a kind of sick respect, as if it were a vengeful god they had to give deference lest they get consumed. Why had I thought I'd be different? I'd heard the stories, the warnings, the grotesque rumors that only made sense in the way a nightmare makes sense while you're still dreaming. I'd told myself that if I ever met it, I'd be clever enough, or ruthless enough, or at least fast enough to make it out with my pride intact.

Instead, I'd barely escaped with my skin.

Each step was a recap of the battle, as if my body insisted on replaying every mistake, every split-second hesitation, every moment when I'd flinched or blinked or let the pain override my focus. I could almost taste the thing's voice, the way it lingered in the air like a chemical spill. When it spoke, it inflected my name with a precision that felt surgical, as though it were already dissecting me for parts. Even now, I couldn't get the words out of my head:

"Flesh cracks better when it's running scared! YOU'RE CARVING RAVINES!" a horrific, deep laugh followed.

The memory knotted my stomach, and the dull ache in my side spiked to an electric burn.

The wound in my side pulsed, like the memory alone could rip it wider.

I clung to a wall, lost my balance, then found it again by driving my sword tip into the sidewalk. For a second I just hung there, breathing in the stink of old garbage and the iron of my own blood, and I thought: If I pass out now, I won't wake up.

"Why won't you answer me?" I whispered to the Zanpakutō. I dragged my thumb along the tsuba, reaching out for something, anything. "You know I can't do this alone. Are you angry?"

The blade said nothing. I sensed no flicker, no warmth, only the dull chill of steel and the weary reflection of a boy trying not to die in a gutter. I'd spent months training in Shikai, forced myself through hours and hours of meditation, but tonight the sword might as well have been a stranger.

I gritted my teeth and limped onward. Maybe the next alley would have a payphone, or a shrine, or even just a fucking bench. My mind was reeling with the thousand questions I'd never been able to answer: Had I missed some secret? Failed a test I didn't know I was taking? Was it some kind of punishment, this silence from the thing that was supposed to be my soul's partner?

I started to laugh, but it came out wet and coughing. Kneeling down, supporting myself with one hand while this sword was stabbing into the concrete, I glared at it. At her.

"Emotions," I rasped, "that's what it's always about with you, isn't it?" I thought of the manuals, texts, books, and guides about emotions I had read over this past school year. About all the progress I feel like I've made with not only myself, but with Rias, Akeno, Kiba, and even Koneko. They were bringing out parts of me I didn't know existed and I pursued those feelings. But still, it wasn't enough.

"Anger, desperation, regret—take your pick." My voice broke, my face drawing closer to the blade. "RIGHT NOW THEY'RE CONSUMING ME!" I yelled out, causing me to cough up more blood, coating the gray metal. I stumbled again.

"I'm dying out here, and I still can't reach you." I almost started crying in frustration and desperation.

Nothing. Just the hollow wind and the soft ticking of my blood as it dripped onto the pavement.

I pressed on, eyes fixed on the distant gleam of a vending machine two blocks ahead, its digital lights fuzzed by fog. Maybe that could orient me. Maybe it could anchor me to the world before I slipped under.

Three more steps. My foot snagged on something, a bulge in the sidewalk I hadn't seen caused by a a root of a forgotten tree, and I went down hard. My sword clattered out of reach, sent up a shower of sparks. The pain was so sudden that for a second I blacked out—when I came to, I was lying face-up on the curb, staring at the spidery constellation of cracks in the streetlamp lens overhead.

I tried to move, but my limbs rebelled, spasming with a cold, numb terror. My vision darkened at the edges, then came back in a tunnel. I crawled, inching toward the nearest tree, pulling myself forward with my one good arm until I could slump against the trunk in the shadow. My mouth was too dry for words, but inside my head I kept asking: Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn't I talk to her? Why couldn't I even see her, my own soul?

I forced my eyes open by will alone. The world shivered. My HUD came up, flickering and jittery:

< Status Effect: BLEEDING -1 HP/min >

Current HP: 6/100

I almost laughed. Six. Six out of one hundred. Not even enough for a single good swing. Not enough for a last stand or a death poem or anything noble at all.

I reached for my inventory, hand slippery and shaking. That was when I felt it: the paper talisman, nestled next to a stack of x56 water bottles that seemed important at the time. It was warm to the touch, as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.

A one-use contract that acted upon the desires of humans, summoning a supernatural request granter.

I thought of crimson hair. A voice that cut through pain like a knife. Rias, who'd once told me that every life was precious, even the ones that seemed worthless. I remembered how her smile looked unguarded in the morning, before she put on her face for the world. The way she'd hugged me. I didn't even have to ask for them anymore.

I remembered that warmth. I wanted it more than air.

I gripped the talisman, focused on her face, her voice, the way she called my name when nobody else listened. The thing flared red in my palm, brighter than blood, brighter than anything.

The summoning circle appeared on the pavement, a ring of seething glyphs and burning scarlet light. The air got heavy with mana; then the world flashed. The circle split open the night, and from it stepped Rias Gremory herself: all silk and power, red hair streaming out behind her like a comet's tail, her eyes supernaturally vivid even in the dimness.

For a heartbeat, she just looked around confused at the summoning location, searching for her potential client. I guess she didn't think to look down right away. My god she is so beautiful.

A small cough brought her attention to me, her eyes widening in horror.

It didn't seem like she recognized me at first.

I must have looked like a disaster: hair matted to my forehead with sweat and blood, robes torn and ruined, my left arm hanging at a sick angle, my face a mess of swelling and gashes. I tried to smile, but my jaw wouldn't work right. Still, I managed a whisper.

"Hey, Rias. Think I could have your first kiss?" I might not get another chance, so why not?

For just a heartbeat, she seemed not to understand, or maybe refused to. She just stood there, motionless, her mouth open and her hands curled into fists at her side.

And then, the deluge of reaction. Her presence collapsed from the sublime to the visceral. She was running, faster than I could follow in my near delirious state, all her demonic grace stripped down to raw panic. She skidded on the wet pavement and dropped to her knees so hard the stone cracked. 

For the first time since I'd met her, Rias looked small—her arms trembling as she reached for my face, not caring about the blood or the pus or the shivering cold. The look of absolute terror, hands shaking as they reached for me as if trying to dispel some cruel reality that her mind desperately wanted to be false…I'd never forget it, even without perfect memory.

She screamed, a sound that belonged to someone much younger and much less certain, my name echoing through the darkness with a desperation that made me want to vanish.

"TOSHIO!"

XXX

6 Hours Before

The air whipped past my ears in sharp bursts, a rush of wind and leaves crackling like brittle paper as I flashed between tree branches. My feet barely kissed the bark before I launched forward again, Shunpo bending space around me in silver streaks. The forest blurred beneath the glow of the sunset, a jagged canopy of motion and shadows.

This was how I hunted: swift, relentless, and silent. Unless they struggled, or their necks were armored. 

I'd been doing it weekly since my first spar with Kiba at the kendo club—cutting deeper into Kuoh's outer woods in search of strays. Not because someone told me to. Not because I was asked. But because I could. Because someone needed to.

The first few weeks, I treated it as training, because I needed more than regular human girls and a pretty boy to spar with. Then it turned into something else. The more I saw of them, the more I saw of their atrocities, the more it had become a duty. These creatures were outside the boundaries of the devils that ruled Kuoh, and they knew it, somehow. So if they wouldn't go to the town and the devils wouldn't go to them, I would.

The first weeks, I kept a tally in a notebook. Threat levels, observed abilities, behavioral quirks. System-assigned data, written in neat columns: D-level, C-level, sometimes the odd B on a bad night. I'd analyze their fighting patterns, their escape routes, their favorite haunts and preferred meals. I'd return to the same clearing over and over, until the trees remembered my scent and the foxes stopped running when I passed. But the longer I did it, the less the numbers mattered. The more it became about the hunt itself. The chase, the kill, and the improvement after. I was starting to appreciate the art of battle.

Even the strays I hunted noticed the change. At first, I would overhear them from the fog or brush, their voices oily with hunger and desperation, trading rumors and threats in a half-language of howls and hisses. But soon, they started talking about me. Not by name—I doubted they even understood the concept of names—but by reputation. It was odd to find out that they actually talked to each other. I had thought they were territorial, but maybe the threat of death brought them together. The way they said "it" was different from the way they spoke of devils or exorcists or even other monsters. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was something closer to trepidation.

There was a reason for that.

After every hunt, I grew stronger. The System saw to that, doling out stat buffs and skill points and new, sharper senses. But it was more than that. The more I killed, the more I understood what made them tick. Their little tells, the moment before a leap or a lunge, the instinctive drop in their shoulder before a feint. It became a game, and then a compulsion. I would lie awake at night, replaying the hunts in my memory, finding the places where I could have been faster, cleaner, more efficient.

The number of strays had dwindled, I noticed. Whether it was because of my efforts or their collective anxiety from those efforts, I didn't know. Didn't care, really. The result was what mattered. And yet...

Some of the more coherent ones—the ones that hadn't completely lost their minds—spoke of something. A whisper in the dark. A monster that hunted even them. Something old. Something wrong. They said if I kept this up, I'd eventually run into it.

That I'd die.

I wasn't afraid. I was not, by nature, a fearful person, obviously. But I was very, very curious. Would it be an opponent I could actually test myself against?

Most strays were D-level threats. Occasionally C-rank if they were unusually gifted or had fed recently. And by now, those posed no real threat to me. It wasn't arrogance; it was numbers. Data. System-assigned threat levels and combat effectiveness charts. I'd killed dozens by now.

The only time I really questioned my choices was when I fought that katydid freak with magic nipples.

Yes. Magic. Nipples.

The upper body of a busty woman, the lower half of an armored insect, and somehow those two concepts met at "laser cannon mammaries."

I remember blinking at the first beam, wondering if she'd watched too much Bostin Towers before going feral. Not that I had any time to analyze it—those lasers actually hurt. But that was a rare case. Most strays weren't clever. Just violent and desperate for a meal.

Still.

Tonight felt different.

I spread my energy sense. It flowed out from me like sonar, sweeping a 300-foot radius with fine-tuned clarity. Rank 6 in Energy Sense, multiplied by Reiryoku Dominion Rank 5. No signs of life yet, save for a few birds and something I hoped wasn't a honey badger. Because the honey badger don't care. It doesn't give a shit.

…

Not a single unnatural signature. Still, I kept moving. Always deeper. Always forward.

A flick of my fingers brought up the familiar HUD.

{Status

Name: Toshio Amano

Title: Slayer of Strays 

Race: Human

Age: 15

Level: 21 (625/2100)

Health: 100/100

Reiryoku: 8975 --> 359,000/359,000

Physique: A+

Zanjutsu: B+

Hohō: A

Hakuda: C+

Spiritual Potential: B

Soul Resonance: 24%}

Not bad.

My level-ups were slower these days, but the gains had been worth it. Thanks to the even number level ups, I'd gotten runestones to increase certain stats, like Hohō. Experience would come in the form of seemingly random quests, like being at the top of the class by the end of the school year, which was in 10 days. 

The rest came from defeating or killing opponents. The only enemies I killed (and have killed) were stray devils, which I felt no remorse killing. They were monsters that were almost all either crazy or evil, usually both. But mostly evil.

Since dominion reached rank 5 and cultivation rank 8, my reiryoku reserves were now absurd. Due to that and my efficiency with shunpo being dramatically increased from being at rank 7 with it, I could flash step as much as I wanted and never get tired or run out of reiryoku. Not to mention my spiritual potential being at B, increasing my reiryoku regeneration to 35% of my base per minute.

I was pretty satisfied with my stats too.

From Exercise reaching 10 and getting Reiryoku Body Enhancement to rank 6, my physique was increased to A+. Hitting rank 10 in Exercise also gave me a passive skill, Altered Muscle Density, which allowed for denser, stronger muscles without the bulk associated with excessive strength. The bonus of this passive skill was that it allowed breakthrough into rank S for my physique. But that also meant I needed skills to open the option for S rank stats, which I can't say that I'm a fan of.

I was kind of disappointed with Zanjutsu only being B+, but I had stagnated from not finding a sword style. Sparring with Kiba has only been so much help. Our spars have actually been the main reason why it it's gotten to B+. I really needed to meet my Zanpakuto spirit.

Unfortunately, most of the level up runestones have been for other stats, like Hakuda, which for now, I'm perfectly fine with increases with just runestones.

Hohō at A felt so good. My agility training, combined with Shunpo reaching Rank 7, made mobility one of my greatest strengths. It was what I probably practiced the most after all.

Then there was soul resonance.

If I was being honest, it was the stat I checked most compulsively and the one that changed the least.

It hadn't moved in two months, stuck at 24%. I tried everything I could think of, trying Jinsen, sword training, even trying to be more emotional (that one was tough). My sword spirit was still as silent as the grave. Despite everything. Despite my connections with Rias, with Akeno, with the others. Despite feeling more human, more alive than I ever had.

I haven't even got to see her again since that one time she saved my life.

I didn't understand it.

Still, I was happy with the progress.

Until I thought about the future.

I had A-rank stats. That was already enough to kill most stray devils. Maybe even some fallen angels. But then I thought about the truly powerful people of this supernatural world. Vali. Grayfia. Hell even Scale Mail Issei.

They were something else. A different tier. Would S-rank even be enough? SS? SSS?

It either needed to be enough or I needed to make a choice. Good news is Rias would always have a spot for me.

If I was going to survive the coming storms of future plot points, I needed an edge. Something that would let me stand against monsters, angels, devils, and all the other beings drunk on power trips.

Magic, maybe. Wasn't human magic different than devil magic?

Regardless, Rias would help me with it, I was sure. So would Akeno. Even if I didn't join the peerage, they were invested in me. And I—I was starting to feel that investment returned from myself.

Rias especially.

She always found excuses to be near me lately. Sitting next to me at lunch was a given. When we talked, it could be about school, something about obscure devil history she just wanted to hear my take on, even anime. 

I shouldn't have been surprised but Rias is really into anime. Then there were those subtle glances when she thought I wasn't looking, sitting just a little bit closer than she did before, that shy smile that peeked out when I would give my honest feedback about her or her appearance.

Last week, I invited her over to my house to watch anime (read: she said she was coming over to force me to watch Fryran since I hadn't seen it). Since it was right after school, she stuck to her school uniform. I was kind of looking forward to see how she looked in casual clothes. 

She said my house was nice, but I think she was just being nice. It was average at best. We sat on the couch of my living room and watched it together; by episode 3 she was laying across my lap while I reclined with my feet up. I memorized the smell of her hair. Totally because of perfect memory though. No other reason.

It was nice to see her relax, not be in her president or noble role. Just enjoying something together. After episode 6 she left, but promised we would be watching more (it almost sounded like a threat). I couldn't stop the smile forming on my face form the memory.

Akeno, meanwhile, remained tactile, flirtatious, teasing... but there was distance behind the charm, despite her extreme physical closeness. Like I was something to be conquered or taken from Rias.

Was I being fought over?

The idea both amused and confused me. The latter not really about why I was being fought over, but more so why Akeno was acting that way. Why did she feel the need to compete with Rias over stuff like that? Then turn around and keep herself distant? This entire time, I don't think Akeno had told me a single thing about her past. Wasn't she a fallen angel too or something?

I only ever saw her at school or the ORC, and she would find every excuse to practically shove my non-clothed body parts into her cleavage, much to Rias' chagrin. I really enjoyed the warmth though. There would be times where I would see brief glimpses where her eyes would change from what they normally were. From what I could remember of other people, it looked like flashes of sorrow. Why would that be there when she was practically trying to seduce me?

Before I could dwell on it further, my energy sense flickered.

There.

A spike. Faint, but present. An unnatural signature maybe 200 feet northeast, deeper into the forest.

I turned, eyes narrowing. Time to work.

Branches blurred beneath me. Wind coiled around my limbs like silk. My body surged forward, a flicker of midnight across a sea of leaves.

The hunt resumed.

As I closed in on the signature, I heard the eerie, but unfortunately familiar sound of crunching bones.