The opponent was strong, very strong a damned mountain of rags moving with an unearthly speed for its size.
Long, bony arms wrapped in burial shrouds skillfully kept Saigo at a distance, where he could do little more than snarl verbal retorts.
It forced him to constantly retreat, parrying the violet sabers whose sickly light seared his eyes.
And the Banshee... It pressed him even more fiercely, apparently realizing it couldn't harm the "big guy," who brushed it off without a second glance, always following up with a slashing strike that seemed extremely painful, judging by the Banshee's expression.
Now, its icy blades were almost entirely focused on Saigo, constantly trying to catch him off guard and sever one of his limbs.
Vzshhh!
He slid sideways, ducking under a phantom strike from the Banshee, using a pile of broken crates as a springboard. The entire remaining horde of ghosts, driven by their mistress's fury, surged after him. I need to come up with something! I can't last long like this. The thought flashed through his mind amidst the battle's roar, but he didn't have time to finish it...
VZHOOH!
Pain: sharp, piercing, like a red-hot awl.
A violet blade materialized right in his side. As if from the void, from his blind spot a place he definitely couldn't have anticipated an attack from!
A shockwave of alien energy rattled his entire body, knocking the wind out of him, causing the Force Blade to flicker for a moment.
The wound was surgically precise and clearly meant to be fatal. The steel had pierced his kidney and gone straight into his spine.
Blood gushed in a hot stream down his thigh. Saigo immediately entered last-chance mode. The world narrowed to a point. Pain receded, drowned out by adrenaline and pure fury. The pupils in his eyes dimmed and faded into the background, leaving only the white of pure animal rage.
"Teleportation...", he hissed through clenched teeth, blood staining his lips red.
The air around him crackled. Not just sparks clusters of pure, furious energy erupting from the deepest parts of his being. A wave of heat, unbearable, cleansing, exploded outward from him in all directions. The ghosts caught in the epicenter, without even time to wail, evaporated. Not into smoke into dust and whitish ash, scattering on the wind of an invisible vortex. The Banshee was thrown back like a sheet of plywood, its form flickering and within a few heartbeats becoming transparent, barely perceptible, and lost in the darkness.
The guest in the star-shaped helmet stopped. His violet blades stilled. He didn't retreat from the heat wave, but his helmet tilted slightly, as if studying Saigo in silent surprise.
"What an... interesting specimen," uttered that same hollow, well-like voice. Not as praise, but more as a statement of fact, or at least that's how it seemed to Saigo.
The giant took a step back. The space behind him tore open, revealing a gaping, pulsating violet abyss. Another step, and he dissolved into it like a drop of ink in water.
BANG!
A violet ripple of space swelled behind Saigo's back. A violet sickle emerged from the portal, aimed directly at the base of his skull. A killing blow from the blind spot. Again.
But Saigo was ready. Teleportation wasn't some legendary, rare miracle to him. He'd faced portal-users before. And he knew their weaknesses.
First: If portals are involved, the chance of getting hit is about the same for both the portal-user and his opponent, given equal skill.
Second: The exit requires a moment of stabilization.
He didn't look back, didn't try to parry like a novice would, which would have signed his death warrant. He dropped down into a deep squat, simultaneously pivoting on his heels. The violet blade whistled centimeters above his head.
And in the same instant, his hands, like steel traps, seized the wrist of "Inevitability," who had just emerged from the portal. The Force Blade was cast aside it wasn't needed now. All his rage, all the concentration of his "last chance" poured into one bone-breaking wrench. He twisted the opponent's arm along an unnatural trajectory, using the inertia of both the enemy's strike and his own pivot.
CRUNCH!
The sound was horrific. Not just a broken bone a shattered joint. The shoulder joint of Inevitability gave way under monstrous pressure and flawless technique. The arm hung limp, the violet blade falling from lifeless fingers with a dull clang, its light extinguished.
The guest made no sound, no groan, not even an angry exclamation. His star-shaped helmet didn't even twitch. He simply... stood there freshly maimed and silent. As if pain was an alien concept that no one had bothered to explain to him.
Saigo, breathing heavily, jumped back, ready for another attack. His side burned with hellish pain, blood soaking his clothes. But from below, under the attic floorboards, came a growing noise and clatter.
The stomp of hundreds of boots, loud shouts, the clang of weapons. The locals had finally come to their senses, though it had taken them quite a while.
The giant straightened to his full height. His star-shaped helmet turned first towards the noise, then towards Saigo.
With his good arm, he picked up his broken limb, holding it against his body with unnatural care.
Then... To Saigo's surprise, he bowed politely. Deeply, as if from a textbook, without a trace of irony or malice, he performed a deep reverence, marking the end of this current act of their confrontation.
Without a single word, he stepped back. The violet abyss of the portal gaped open again, swallowed him, and snapped shut, leaving only a slight ripple in the air.
Saigo didn't pursue him. There was no point in that, and besides, he had one goal left.
The Banshee! It had crammed itself into the farthest corner of the attic, behind a pile of rubble. Its white form was barely visible, trembling like an aspen leaf.
Its entire appearance screamed of pure, animal terror of both of them. The few grains of reason untouched by centuries of madness whispered that the best outcome was to wait it out, hide, until everything quieted down.
A seemingly workable plan at first glance, but not when your opponent sees in the dark as if it were day and senses you from a distance as if you were a red-hot poker in an icehouse.
Vzshhh! Vzshhh! Vzshhh!
Three strikes from the Force Blade, its radiance restored, pierced its hiding place and its form.
Quick, brutal, and efficient. Its body crumbled to dust, then reformed, weaker... and again. After the tenth death, it had... weakened so much that its ethereal essence, having exhausted the power of its anchor, could no longer rematerialize.
It didn't vanish it disintegrated. Dissipated like morning mist, departing not into oblivion, but into the object that Saigo already clutched in his bloodied, but steady, hand.
A fan, antique in appearance, made of ivory and silk, with faded embroidery in an eastern style. It was icy cold and pulsed with the remnants of icy, desperate energy.
The anchor. Its tether to the world of the living. And now his trophy.
Silence fell upon the attic suddenly. Only Saigo's heavy breathing, the ringing in Mona's ears, and the growing hum from below that swelled like an ocean wave.