Chapter 9 - Who Are You?

Fwoooosh! The roar of wind whipped past her ears.

Hundreds of meters above the city center, high above the skyline of towering skyscrapers, Tsubaki, having reclaimed Nanoka, began to fall under the pull of gravity. Her silver eyes swept over the world below with a piercing gaze.

Even a legendary slayer cannot fly.

Tsubaki descended diagonally through the gaps between buildings, gradually gaining speed. As she did, she began wrapping iron ribbons around the unconscious Nanohana.

Layer upon layer, until Nanohana’s form could no longer be seen beneath them. Then Tsubaki embraced her and hurled two remaining ribbons outward, anchoring them to nearby buildings speeding past.

CRACK! SNAP!

The railings and window frames the ribbons gripped shattered under the stress.

Still, Tsubaki continued launching ribbons, trying to reduce their speed even a little. But realizing it had minimal effect, she hardened the ribbons to their maximum and unleashed them in opposite directions, slicing diagonally through the cityscape like giant brakes. Finally, she wrapped her own body around Nanohana like a cushion and crashed into the rooftop of a low-rise building with a thunderous roar.

***

Deep beneath Tokyo lies a massive underground cavern, a sacred place where a certain “Entity” is enshrined.

Its existence is known only to those within the core of Japan's political and financial elite. Not even the media are aware of it.

It had existed since before the war, completed during the Taisho era, with luxurious Western-style décor preserved despite being underground. Muramasa returned to that place, where he was greeted by a man in a grimy lab coat that seemed wholly out of place.

"Ah, Shkvall!"

"...In this country, it’s Muramasa. What is it, Nicholas?"

Shkvall—Russian for "Squall." In English, it's simply “Squall,” and in Japanese, “Muramase.”

Nicholas, the man who called him that, was a Russian theologian Muramase had once summoned to Japan using old contacts, as an observer.

However, Nicholas didn’t study “proper” deities. At best, his focus was on gods from the fringes of civilization—but more accurately, the “gods from beyond,” entities that should not exist in this world.

"Ah, sorry, Muramase. I’ve always had trouble remembering names. But if it’s a divine name—why, I could recite all six of the Great Gods without blinking!"

"Did you call me here just for idle chatter?"

Muramase interrupted Nicholas’ fluent Japanese with an irritable tone. Nicholas simply shrugged.

"Oh, right, right. The Entity beneath is beginning to awaken smoothly. Look over there."

He pointed to a girl cleaning the grand hall.

"...Who is she?"

"Unfamiliar, right? Of course. She was offered as a ‘sacrifice’ just a week ago. But now she’s up and moving! Even understands basic instructions! Truly, ‘That One’ is amazing!"

"I see..."

Only select staff who care for the priestess, and collaborators like Muramasa and Nicholas, work in the underground facility. No other living beings reside there.

"Isn’t it wonderful, Muramase? Just as you planned—she may become a replacement for the lost Time God of 300 years ago, and become one of the Six Great Gods. I’m honored to be part of this!"

"Nicholas."

Muramase’s calm voice halted Nicholas mid-excitement.

"I awaken ‘That One’ solely for the prosperity of this nation. Don’t say unnecessary things."

"...My apologies."

"No spies can infiltrate here, but refrain from words that could be misunderstood."

"Got it. I swear on the Great Gods—I’ll keep quiet."

"...There are only five Great Gods now."

"Ah, that’s right. Then let me swear, as a theologian, on the ‘Black-Haired Girl.’ Hahaha!"

Muramase frowned further at Nicholas’ shameless grin.

Across the world, various “Bibles” left behind by the being known as the Black-Haired Girl are revered—though not like typical holy texts. These ancient writings, believed to date back 3,000 years, contain dangerous secrets of the gods and are kept locked away by world leaders, hidden from followers.

Though Nicholas yearned to possess one, he had only seen fragments and copies—frustrating, given the immense value. The gods themselves were said to curse the author of the texts.

"Ah, that’s right! The Priestess was asking for you, Muramase."

With a sigh of exasperation, Muramase walked toward the Priestess’ chamber, where her caretaker waited.

"Ah, thank you for coming, Muramase-sama."

"What’s happened with the Priestess?"

"Well... she suddenly became terrified. She has requested you personally."

"Understood."

He entered the room at a light jog. The Priestess, seemingly in tears, spotted him instantly and rushed to embrace him.

"Muramase! Muramase!"

"What’s the matter, Priestess-sama?"

He gently patted her back as she trembled with fear.

"That girl is afraid... She says it’s coming. It’s coming!"

Voices the Priestess shouldn’t be able to hear were reaching her ears.

Born of the most gifted bloodlines of Shinto families, she could hear the Entity’s voice from birth and was kept here to soothe it. Muramase, who had orchestrated her existence and pitied her deeply, treated her with great affection.

"Do you still hear the voice, Priestess-sama?"

"...No. Not anymore."

Her brows drooped sadly as her tears subsided.

"That child was crying in fear. There’s no need to be afraid. She’s relying on you."

"Can I... save her?"

"Yes. You can. And if it frightens you, I’ll go deal with it myself."

The Priestess smiled brightly.

"You’re strong, Muramase!"

He sat down on the sofa, still holding her gently.

"Was it a bad dream?"

"Yes... a scary one. But a sad one too. Will ‘Princess Tsubakiri’ come for me too?"

"No. She only comes for bad children. You, Priestess-sama, are a good girl."

"...Really?"

"Of course."

"Okay."

Still clinging to him, she trembled. Muramase stroked her hair and whispered, as if making a vow—

"Neither the ‘Princess Tsubakiri’ nor the ‘Black-Haired Girl’ will appear again... Ever."

***

...I awoke. Light—so bright.

What was I... doing?

Clunk. A sound like bones locking into place echoed in my skull. My consciousness reassembled.

"...Guh...ah..."

No voice came out. Pain surged through my body. The clouds in the sky looked skewed—each eye saw them from a different angle.

I couldn’t breathe. As I gasped, my chest inflated violently, and blood spurted from my mouth.

"Geh... cough!"

My whole body screamed in pain. My head realigned—now my eyes saw as one again.

Turning my head, I saw twisted steel doors, shattered concrete, and pools of blood.

Right... I fell from the sky—

"Hana...cha... *cough*" Blood overflowed again, but more than that—where was Hana-chan?

Straining my neck, I spotted her lying nearby.

"...Ha...na..."

As I reached for her, I realized my arm was shattered—not just broken, but crushed, with almost no intact fingers.

Then I felt blood rushing into it. My muscles swelled. Bones realigned.

My body... was healing itself. At a monstrous speed.

Moments ago, my skull was misaligned. My lungs were crushed. Yet I survived, and my body now clawed its way back to normal.

What... am I? The memories were foggy, like a dream—but I recalled killing someone.

Who am I? As I reached for the answer, a voice I hadn’t heard in ages gently urged me not to remember.

"Kh—ha!"

As I forced myself upright, blood exploded from my body. My muscles trembled, stitching my wounds shut. The joints shattered again, then repaired.

But I couldn’t stop. I had to reach Hana-chan. If she wasn’t there, I had no reason to live.

My unhealed leg broke again, and I crawled toward her.

She still wasn’t moving. Not visibly injured, but I had to be sure.

Just three meters. So close, yet infinitely far.

My vision blurred. I was losing too much blood.

"Hana...chan..."

Then—she vanished.

"...Eh?"

No, not vanished. She was standing now, quietly looking down at me.

Her black hair shimmered like the night sky, her red eyes glowing with gentle affection.

Was this really Hana-chan? She looked like someone else—an older, wiser version. Smiling, she knelt before me, cupped my cheeks, and gently pressed her lips to my bloodied forehead.

"!?"

In an instant, a tremendous surge of power tore through me. My body—my uniform, my hair, my wounds—were all restored to their original state.

"Hana-chan!"

I caught her as she collapsed. She had fainted, her face pale, breathing softly in my arms.

Who... are you?