I moved down the hallway toward the stairwell where the Hollow had vanished after Matthew, dread spreading through me in cold, crawling waves. My mind raced ahead of my body, cataloging possibilities—most of them bad, some of them fatal. Every step sent fresh agony lancing through me. The wound I'd cauterized with my own lightning throbbed like it had a heartbeat of its own.
No time for pain.
Focus, Orion.
Save Matthew.
I took the stairs two at a time, following the echo of violence, and nearly gagged when I hit the landing. A thinning cloud of white residue hung in the air, chemicals dripping down the steps and pooling below. The smell alone was a warning—sharp, burning, wrong. Toxic. No question.
Matthew had done this.
Despite everything, a grim smile tugged at my mouth. Of course he had. Leave it to him to turn a janitor's closet into a war crime. Ingenious. Terrifying. Effective—at least in theory.
I wasn't about to test how effective it was on human lungs.
I shifted my weight, reiryoku surging, and used my thunder step—yeah, thunder step, I'd decided; it wasn't Flash Step and my nerd brain refused to lie about that—to launch myself upward. I kicked off the wall, vaulted the last stretch of stairs, and hit the third floor hard, momentum carrying me into the corridor where the fighting was still raging.
Lightning coalesced in my hands, stretching and hardening into a two-handed blade of blue-white energy. It crackled with barely contained violence as I stepped fully into the hall.
"Looks like you're still breathing, bud," I called out.
Matthew was on his feet—barely. Bloodied. Battered. Still standing.
He was facing down a monster he couldn't see, armed with nothing but a length of rebar ripped from the wall, chunks of concrete still clinging to it, and the sheer stubborn resolve of a man who could look at gravity itself and say, Who decided you were in charge?
He smirked "Been through worse."
And somehow… that terrified me more than the Hollow did.
I took it all in in a single, fractured heartbeat—the debris scattered across the corridor, the Hollow's warped silhouette flickering in and out of reality, Matthew's stance, the angles, the distance.
Then I moved.
I had to. I needed to be decisive here. Hesitation would get us killed, and hesitation had always been my curse. I procrastinated like it was a profession, second-guessing every choice until the moment passed me by.
Not now.
The world felt wrong—slower, thicker, like I was moving through syrup while everything else crawled. Was this adrenaline? Or was I dissociating just enough to survive?
Dammit, Orion. Stop thinking. Hit it.
I brought the lightning blade down in a full-bodied strike, pouring everything into it. My injuries screamed in protest—my chest flared white-hot, my muscles threatened to give—but I pushed through, teeth clenched, vision tunneling.
Matthew reacted instantly.
He couldn't see the Hollow, but he read me—my movement, my intent—and swung from the opposite side with brutal precision. For a split second, we were in sync, two halves of the same reckless idea.
The Hollow twisted away at the last possible instant. My blade clipped her, searing along her flank in a burst of crackling light. She shrieked—not pain exactly, but offense—and snapped into motion. One claw intercepted Matthew's strike while a powerful kick slammed into my midsection. A tentacle lashed out toward him in the same breath.
"Block it—left!" I shouted.
I should have taken my own advice.
The kick caught me clean. This time, at least, I rolled with it—letting my body turn, bleeding off some of the force instead of taking it head-on. Still, the impact rattled me to the bone, and I stumbled backward, boots scraping against broken tile as sparks skittered from my blade.
The corridor erupted into chaos again—steel, lightning, claws, tentacles, instinct and desperation colliding in tight, brutal exchanges.
No room to breathe.
No room to hesitate.
Just survive.
I swung again. And again.
Wide arcs. Tight cuts. Feints I barely remembered learning. Most of it felt useless—empty air sizzling as my blade passed through where she had been a heartbeat earlier. Sparks cracked against walls, lighting up the corridor in violent flashes, but she stayed just out of reach, fluid and mocking, like she was letting me exhaust myself on purpose.
All of those sparring sessions with Matthew can't have been for nothing, I thought desperately clinging to every piece of training that was just for fun, but now that fun was the only thing keeping us breathing.
My arms burned. My chest throbbed where I'd cauterized it, every movement tugging at half-healed pain. I could feel my reiryoku bleeding off faster than I liked, each swing costing more than the last.
Just keep her busy. Just keep her focused.
She laughed.
It came from everywhere and nowhere, layered and smooth, a sound that slid under my skin.
"You flail beautifully for a human," she purred, her voice carrying that familiar, condescending lilt—amused, indulgent. "All that light, all that effort… and still so slow."
She flickered into view for an instant, perched sideways on the wall like gravity was optional, claws digging effortlessly into cracked concrete. Her mask tilted, eyes gleaming with cruel curiosity.
"I've watched you," she continued, circling without moving, her presence pressing in on me from all sides. "You burn so brightly when you're afraid. It's intoxicating. You humans always think desperation makes you strong."
A tentacle snapped out. I barely twisted aside, the tip grazing my shoulder and ripping fabric instead of flesh. The wall behind me exploded as an energy blast followed, showering the hallway with debris.
I staggered, caught myself, forced my stance back into something resembling ready.
Behind me, I heard Matthew grunt—still on his feet. Still fighting blind.
Good.
The Hollow's tone softened, almost intimate.
"And him?" she went on. "The brave one who can't even see me. Such conviction. Such faith. You brought him here knowing he'd die."
My grip tightened until lightning screamed along the blade.
"Fuck you," I growled, breath ragged. "You don't get to narrate this."
Her laughter deepened, amused rather than threatened.
"Oh, but I do. That's the fun part. You swing. You struggle. You hope." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that crawled into my ear. "And in the end, I decide which of you breaks first."
She vanished again.
The air shifted—pressure, intent—
"Right!" I shouted without thinking. "Matt—right side!"
I lunged, not aiming to hit—aiming to force her to move, to give him a fraction of a second. Lightning tore through the corridor in a blinding arc as I committed fully, injuries be damned.
Fruitless or not, I kept swinging.
Because as long as she was talking—
as long as she was toying with us—
she wasn't finishing the job.
And that meant we were still alive.
She reappeared fifteen feet down the hall—right where I wanted her.
For half a second, everything went quiet. That razor-thin silence before something stupid or brilliant happens. Sometimes both.
I didn't let her settle into control.
My fingers dipped into my pocket and came back out already crackling, a fan of lightning playing cards snapping into shape between my knuckles. The Hollow let out a sharp, dismissive laugh, her mask tilting as if I'd just told the same joke twice.
"Oh? Again?" she mocked. "You humans really do cling to failure."
Good, I thought. Laugh.
"What can I say? I ain't known for my sanity." I retorted with defiance.
I pulled the lightning out of my sword in one smooth motion, the blade collapsing into sparks that raced up my arm and pooled violently in my right hand. My left stayed low, coiled tight around the cards—and something else—while I subtly adjusted my grip, fingers shifting into place.
Then I threw.
Not at her.
I scattered the cards wide, deliberately sloppy, striking the floor around her feet instead of her body. Sparks skidded and fizzed across cracked tile, harmless, unimpressive.
She cackled.
A full, delighted laugh echoed down the corridor as she stepped forward, utterly unconcerned.
"Pathetic—"
The sizzling started a heartbeat later.
Tiny. Almost nothing. Short fuses hissing like angry insects.
Her laughter faltered.
I saw it then—the briefest flicker of confusion—as the firecrackers I'd hidden among the cards began to pop and snap at her feet, flashes of light and sound erupting chaotically around her legs.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to distract.
Enough to break rhythm.
Now.
In a low stance, I dragged every ounce of reiryoku I had left into my right hand. Lightning screamed, crawling over my skin, biting deep, hungry. My vision tunneled. My heart slammed like it was trying to escape my ribcage.
In sheer desperation—or maybe instinct—I wove a few sloppy hand signs I half-remembered from reading manga with my kids. I didn't even know if it mattered. Probably didn't.
Thirty-something dad. Abandoned hospital. Panther demon. Stealing ninja techniques from a comic.
Yeah. This tracked.
Matthew's eyes went wide.
"You can't be serious—"
The words died in his throat as my reiatsu detonated outward, the air vibrating, my whole body buzzing like I'd grabbed a live wire with both hands.
Lightning howled around me, wild and feral, no longer shaped like a blade or a trick. It sang like the song of a thousand birds that this technique was named for.
It was me.
I wasn't wielding it.
I was it.
"I am lightning," I whispered—then roared it aloud, voice tearing free of my chest.
"CHIDORI!!"
I thunderstepped.
The hallway ceased to exist—reduced to streaks of white and blue, sound folding in on itself as I crossed the distance in an instant. Firecrackers exploded beneath her, flashes masking my approach for just long enough.
Her eyes snapped toward me too late.
I drove the crackling mass of lightning forward with everything I had—fear, rage, resolve, desperation—my feet barely touching the ground as I slammed into her space like a living bolt.
I struck with my arm forward as if trying to rip out her heart—hollows don't have hearts unfortunately.
The impact shattered the air.
Light swallowed the corridor that now echoed with chirps, crackles and snaps of electricity.
And for one violent, breathless moment, the world was nothing but thunder.
The impact hit like getting rear-ended by a semi at highway speed.
For a split second, there was resistance—then nothing—and the world exploded sideways.
We went through the first wall in a storm of concrete dust and rebar, my shoulder screaming as the Hollow took the brunt of it, her mass buckling under the force of the Chidori-charged strike. The second wall didn't even pretend to resist. It gave way in a roar of collapsing plaster and rusted framing, the hospital coughing up decades of neglect as we burst through like a wrecking ball with delusions of heroism.
I lost track of up.
Lost track of time.
Lost track of where my limbs even were.
We hit the floor hard, skidding across cracked tile and broken equipment. My back slammed down, the lightning bleeding off me in violent arcs that scorched the ground and left my ears ringing. The Hollow rolled free a split second before I could follow through—fast, damn fast—twisting mid-tumble like a cat landing wrong and still making it look intentional.
She survived unfortunately—to my disdain.
I dragged in air that tasted like dust and ozone and copper, my lungs burning as I forced myself upright on one knee. My hands were shaking now—not from fear alone, but exhaustion. That attack took more out of me than I wanted to admit. My reiatsu flickered, unstable, like a bad connection.
Across the ruined room, she rose slowly.
Her mask was cracked now—jagged fractures spiderwebbing across bone that hadn't been there before. One of her tentacles twitched erratically, smoking faintly where the lightning had chewed through it. The slime coating her form bubbled and hissed where residual energy crawled across her skin.
But she was smiling.
A wide, feral grin stretched beneath the mask, eyes burning brighter than before.
"Oho…" she purred, voice low and pleased despite the damage. "So you do have teeth."
I pushed myself to my feet, legs screaming in protest, lightning reforming instinctively around my hands—less elegant now, rougher, angrier.
"Yeah," I muttered, wiping blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. "Turns out desperation's a hell of a pre-workout."
She laughed—sharp and delighted—and took a slow step toward me, claws scraping against tile.
"That would have killed most hollows," she said. "You're an interesting little spark, Orion."
I hated that she knew my name.
Behind me, somewhere through the wreckage, I heard Matthew coughing—alive. Thank God. Relief hit me so hard it almost knocked the wind out of me again.
Good. He was still in this.
Which meant I couldn't afford to go down.
I squared my stance, forcing my breathing to steady, lightning coiling tighter this time—not a flashy weapon, not a trick. Just enough.
"Cool," I said, forcing a grin I absolutely did not feel. "Because I'm fresh out of subtle—and I really don't want to do that again."
The Hollow lowered herself into a predatory crouch, muscles bunching, eyes locked on me.
Neither of us moved.
Dust drifted down between us like falling snow.
And I knew—deep in my bones—that whatever happened next would decide whether we walked out of this hospital…
Matthew staggered through the settling dust behind me, coughing once, then straightening like sheer stubbornness was a structural support. Of course he wasn't staying down. He never did. I felt him there without looking—felt the weight of responsibility snap tighter around my ribs.
I shifted immediately, stepping back into his space, placing myself between him and where the Hollow had been. Slow. Deliberate. Every step measured. My eyes never left her.
My lightning blade reformed thinner this time—less spectacle, more control. Sparks crawled along my forearms and down into my boots, grounding me. I could feel my heart in my throat, every pulse loud enough to drown out thought.
"Well," I said, voice steadier than I felt, "you got a name?"
She tilted her head, amused. Predatory. Like a cat deciding whether the mouse was entertaining enough to keep alive.
"I'd hate to kill such a deadly opponent and not have a name for storytelling purposes," I went on, because if I stopped talking my fear might catch up. "You already know mine. Seems only fair. Or I can make one up. Pantera. Tiger Claw. Something edgy. I'm flexible."
Matthew made a choking sound behind me that might've been a laugh. Or pain. Hard to tell.
The Hollow scoffed, a low, dismissive sound that echoed wrong in the ruined room.
"Names are for the living," she said. "For those who expect to be remembered."
Then her gaze sharpened.
She looked at me again—really looked at me—and something shifted. Interest. Calculation. The moment a predator acknowledges that the prey might actually draw blood.
"…But," she added slowly, "you've earned one."
The air felt heavier. Thicker. Like pressure building before a storm breaks.
"Remember it," she said. "If you survive."
She spoke her name with a cadence that felt ominous, "Adhaera"
The sound of it didn't sit right in my ears—too smooth, too sharp, like it slid sideways through reality instead of obeying it. My skin prickled as it settled into the room, into me. A name with weight. With history.
Then—nothing.
She was gone.
Not retreated. Not masked. Gone.
Her spiritual pressure vanished so completely it was like someone had ripped a page out of the world.
My stomach dropped.
"No," I muttered, spinning, lightning flaring instinctively as I scanned the ruined room. Nothing. No distortion. No pressure. No ripple.
That was worse.
She hadn't fled.
She'd hunted.
I swallowed hard, jaw tightening as adrenaline spiked all over again.
"…Matthew," I said quietly, never lowering my guard, "if she reappears, run."
"Not happening," he shot back immediately.
I exhaled through my nose, grim. "Yeah. Figured."
The silence stretched—too long, too wrong.
Every instinct I had screamed that she was still here.
Just waiting for the moment we made a mistake.
"Any bright ideas?" I asked, keeping my voice steady even as I hoped Matthew had something—anything. He loved tactical games like Fire Emblem more than I did, and I really liked tactics. That had to count for something.
He paused, then shifted until his back was pressed against mine. Together we scanned the ruined room—the collapsed walls, the debris, the jagged holes my entrance had carved through concrete and steel.
"Well," he said slowly, "I briefly considered covering her in my blood so she'd be more visible. I'm already bleeding out—might as well be useful." A beat. "Honestly though? This doesn't look good. If I had powers like yours, different story. But based on what you told me earlier, she's stronger than anything you've faced so far. Best idea I've got is getting her to blast her own ooze. That stuff really reacts to those red attacks."
I nodded. He wasn't wrong. This Hollow was strong—too strong.
"Then we need to get tricky," I said. "Unpredictable. Something crazy."
I knew I was stating the obvious, but what else did we have? We were outmatched, clinging to the hope that some miracle—some Araki-level JoJo-ass-pull brilliance—would save us.
That's when I felt it.
An electric twinge brushed the edge of my reiatsu, behind me—too close. Somewhere near Matthew.
I turned, choking out a warning that barely made it past my lips.
Matthew slammed into me, knocking me flat. The impact drove the air from my lungs. It took a split second to realize it wasn't just him being thrown—it was him choosing to shield me as ropelike streams of ooze lashed out. He hit the outer wall hard, already weakened from my earlier, less-than-subtle entrance, and stuck there.
Pinned.
Not by a single massive glob like before, but by multiple strands—sticky, elastic, more than enough.
"Matt!" I shouted.
Pain exploded across my back as claws sank in—not deep, but sharp, anchoring me to the floor. I cried out despite myself.
"What an interesting plan you had," she crooned, her voice thick with amusement. Up close, her predatory presence was suffocating. I knew what was coming.
I didn't think. I acted.
A massive, arcing axe of lightning manifested in front of Matthew just as the familiar red blast screamed toward him. The beam split against the blade and detonated into the wall behind him.
The explosion tore the wall apart.
Matthew—and the chunk of concrete he was still glued to—vanished outward.
Off the side of the building.
My stomach dropped as the realization hit: third floor.
The world slowed, like a bad movie scene. Sound dulled. Thought fractured. I couldn't even form words.
Then came the crash below—concrete, steel, rubble slamming into the ground in a deafening roar.
My heart stopped.
What… what had I done?