The cave erupted into motion. Bandits scrambled for their loot, dragging on bits of armor, cinching belts, testing the edges of their stolen blades. Rusted spears and chipped swords were hefted with the confidence of men who had already bled hunters before. The smell of oiled leather and smoke filled the cavern as knots and buckles were tightened.
The boy said nothing. His pale hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his own flesh, his strange crimson gaze steady. The leader's bootprint still marked his chest, and his jaw trembled with swallowed rage.
"Move out!" the scarred leader barked, torch flaring in his hand. The band roared in approval, stomping in rhythm as they poured out of the cave, their firelight snaking along the dark mountain paths. The boy was shoved forward, forced to lead them back toward the ruin he had fled.
The march was quick. Too quick. With every step closer, the boy's heart beat heavier. His mother's silk webs would never again greet them at the hollow tree. No watchful eyes waited in the canopy. Only death…
When they reached the clearing, the air was wrong. The lanterns were cold, the brush disturbed, the scent of iron heavy.
The leader raised a hand. "Alright. You three—" he jabbed a finger at a trio of cutthroats, "—check inside. Bring that rat out of hiding." He crouched, scanning the ground for footprints. None. The horse still tied nearby told him enough—the boy hadn't left. He was somewhere inside.
The chosen men laughed nervously, swaggering toward the broken walls with drawn blades. The rest shifted uneasily, eyes darting through the shadows.
The silence stretched.
Then—
A sound like a blade sliding through flesh. A wet cry. A thud.
Another scream. Then another.
Firelight flickered against the hut's splintered walls as something moved inside. The bandits froze, gripping their weapons tighter.
The doorframe darkened.
Ranmaru stepped out.
His armor gleamed wet in the torchlight, smeared with crimson. His face was calm, eyes sharp as steel, his hand dragging a cloth slowly along the length of his katana. The blade shone clean in an instant, though the dirt at his boots was painted red.
He lifted his gaze, locking onto the boy.
"Oh," Ranmaru said evenly, his voice carrying through the night like the draw of a bowstring. "You've returned. By yourself."
The hybrid stiffened, breath caught in his throat.
A snort broke the silence. The bandit leader shoved forward, planting himself between the boy and the hunter. "He's not by himself," he spat. "You'll pay for spilling our blood. Kill him!"
The bandits roared, rushing forward with blades raised, torches flaring, a ragged tide of steel and fire.
Behind them, the boy trembled as pain split his forehead—skin tearing while wet, glistening eyes pushed through one after another, rolling, blinking, alive with unnatural hunger. His lips peeled back, blood dripping between his teeth, and his body quivered on the brink of something monstrous.
His throat bulged. A soundless heave tore through him, regurgitating a sticky string of web.
Ranmaru's eyes narrowed. A smile tugged at his lips as he seized the thread and sliced it free.
"Burn," he intoned, his voice cutting like steel. The severed web sparked to life, igniting in a sudden flare. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the flaming strand at the onrushing bandits.
The nearest thug screamed as the burning web clung to his face, searing flesh and melting into his eyes. He clawed at himself, stumbling, before collapsing in writhing agony.
Ranmaru moved like a drawn blade.
His sword flashed in a merciless arc, carving across another bandit's brow. The man's scream split the air as blood streamed down, his eyes half-slashed open. A second strike cut into his shoulder, muscle splitting to the bone. He reeled backward, choking on his own breath.
Another rushed from the side with a wild swing, but Ranmaru twisted, his blade darting out like lightning. Steel pierced the bandit's wrist—tendon and bone snapping—sending the weapon clattering to the ground. Before the man could even cry out, Ranmaru's kick hammered into his chest, hurling him into the dirt.
Steel sang, blood sprayed, and the night's silence shattered under the cries of dying men.
He caught the fallen weapon mid-air, spinning it into his grip as his dance began. Qi surged into the ordinary steel, sharpening its edge to a devastating degree. He whirled—an arc of blood fanning out from the chests of those who pressed too close.
With his other hand he raised the katana, voice low. "Thunder Strikes…"
The heavens answered. The air cracked, thunder rolling across the battlefield as his blade fell in a savage arc. Lightning split downward, tearing through the leader's line. The ground quaked. Flesh split. In one stroke, a dozen men fell screaming, cut and burned to ruin.
But Ranmaru was already moving. His eyes locked on the hybrid. The rest no longer mattered.
"Onryō, if you want the rest, take them."
He flipped his blades to the flat side, slamming the young halfling with such force the boy's skull rattled. "Hm?" Ranmaru muttered, confused when the body didn't drop.
Then the boy's eyes snapped open. His back tore apart—spider spinnerets bursting, webbing lashing a tree, yanking him away at inhuman speed. Ranmaru's strike carved deep into the earth where the body had been.
"Ohh, what's this?" a voice coiled against his ear. The Onryō slipped from his back in a mist of shadow, her nails lengthening, turning purple. "We just joined our legs together, and already you're forgetting our standing?" she whispered, breath cold. A soft laugh. "But I'll humor you, this once~."
Ranmaru's gaze stayed fixed on the boy darting into the trees, webs spitting from his mouth as he grappled branch to branch. Meanwhile, the Onryō descended upon the battlefield.
Her talons ripped through the bandit leader—the only one who had survived Ranmaru's lightning stroke. His scream was cut short as she tore out his throat, then turned, mist and claws lashing through the rest. Panic broke, but there was nowhere to run.
The slaughter behind him faded as Ranmaru bolted after the halfling, the hunt already burning in his veins.
Ranmaru's feet barely touched the earth as he pushed deeper into the thickets, the halfling's trail clear in the moonlight. Webs glistened across the branches like lines of silver, the boy using them to fling himself forward with desperate, animal grace. His breaths rasped wetly, throat raw, body twisting with spasms as the transformation quickened.
The air stank of fear and venom.
Through the blur of trees, Ranmaru caught sight of him—small limbs lashing, casting web upon web, his silhouette swelling with unnatural growth. His spine cracked, bending at wrong angles; froth of silk foamed from his lips.
"Fool," Ranmaru hissed beneath his breath. "If you knew your kin could not prevail, you should have fled outright."
The boy staggered, steps faltering. In his heart welled only regret—regret for circling back, for dragging bandits into the path of the hunter, regret for stepping once more into shadow. Too late he knew: the village would have been safer had he simply vanished into the mountains.
But there was no turning back. His yokai blood had seized the reins.
His cry pitched shrill and guttural as his skin split. Black, chitinous limbs speared outward from his back, sinking deep into tree trunks as his human shell peeled away. His chest cracked open, disgorging the slick, glistening bulk of a spider's abdomen. Eyes multiplied across his brow, while mandibles tore through the ruin of his cheeks.
A Jorōgumo—fully birthed.
The forest quaked beneath his screeches.
Ranmaru raised his blade—but his grip faltered. His breath hitched, his body ablaze, boiling from within as though fire coursed through his veins. He staggered, clutching his chest, vision blurring, limbs twitching with alien strength.
"Yin-Devouring Beast Technique…" he rasped. "Roaring Elephant Veins!"
Something stirred deep within. His qi dissolved into fuel, yang burning wild through his meridians. His flesh reddened, steaming white breath spilling from his lips. His spine arched, bones snapping as another form pressed outward, tearing impatiently through his skin. From his back, blackened joints erupted—glossy, barbed, and cruel.
His eyes widened. This is not part of the technique… Yet his strength swelled without end. Muscles knotted, dense and heavy; his hands and feet blackened. Yin energy bled from the forest, drawn into the roaring furnace of his yang, melting and remaking his flesh.
He gritted his teeth, then drove his darkening limbs into the earth.
The woods groaned and split as he tore through them in a frenzy, power raging greater than ever before.
The boy froze, horror carving his face. Only now did he understand—his pursuer had never been a mere man. He had roused a predator more terrible than his own kind.