The victory against the Onyx Spider feels hollow. We know it is just one thread in the Spinner King's web. The information we beat out of that Elite demon before it dissolved is our only lead: a surge of demonic energy concentrating in the old industrial district, a place swallowed by urban decay long before the demons ever showed up.
"So, this is the place," Kizawa says, his voice a low rumble beside me. We are standing on the rooftop of a derelict department store, overlooking a sea of rusted warehouses and crumbling factories. The sun is high, but it does nothing to warm the air here. A strange, unnatural fog, thick and oily black, clings to the streets below, swallowing the light. It moves not like weather, but like something breathing.
"I don't like this," Erima murmurs, her bow already in hand. Her eyes, sharp as they are, scan the perimeter. "This fog... it's not normal. It's saturated with energy. Dark energy."
"Tell me something I don't know," Yogawa grunts, pulling his grimoire from his satchel. The book seems to hum in his grasp, its pages flipping nervously. "This is a high-concentration miasma. We stay in it too long, it'll poison us. Regular humans would be dead in minutes."
"Heh. So it's like a big, stinky demon fart!" Hachiro beams, cracking his knuckles. "This is getting good! My fists are itching for a real challenge!"
"Hachiro, this isn't a game," I warn him, my hand resting on the hilt of my dagger. The red and black fabric of my kimono feels heavy, almost suffocating, in the oppressive atmosphere. "This... this is different. The Onyx Spider is a hunter. This feels like... an occupation."
"Mizuki is right," Kizawa says, drawing one of his katanas. The steel sings softly as it leaves the sheath. "Whatever is down there, it's not hiding. It's claiming territory."
We descend into the fog. The moment it touches my skin, I feel it. A creeping cold, a whisper of despair that tries to worm its way into my thoughts. It smells of ozone and ancient dust. Every sound is muffled. Our footsteps, usually silent, echo weirdly, as if the fog itself is listening.
"Stay close," Kizawa orders, his blue hair a beacon in the gloom. He takes the lead, his blade an extension of his senses. Erima and I fall in behind him, moving back-to-back, while Yogawa and Hachiro cover the flanks.
"This place is a maze," Yogawa mutters, one hand glowing with a faint blue light, a simple locator spell. "The energy... it's thicker to the north. Towards that old steel mill."
"Then that's where we go," I reply.
The steel mill looms out of the black mist like the skeleton of a forgotten god. Rusted gantries twist towards the sky, and broken windows stare out like hollow eye sockets. The fog is so thick here it's almost liquid, swirling around our ankles.
"It's quiet," Erima whispers, nocking an arrow. "Too quiet."
"The little ones are afraid," Hachiro says, his usual cheer gone, replaced by a focused grin. "Even the basic demons won't come near this place. That means the boss is home."
We step inside the main foundry. The space is cavernous, large enough to hold a titan. And in the center of the room, the fog coalesces. It rises from the ground, swirling and thickening, until it forms a shape.
It is a man, or at least, it holds a man's form. He is tall, easily seven feet, and clad in ancient, black samurai armor that seems forged from solidified shadow. Where his face should be, there is only a swirling void, two points of crimson light burning within it. The fog is not around him; it is him. It pours from the gaps in his armor like a ceaseless, dark river.
He doesn't turn. He is just... there.
"Insects," a voice rumbles, seeming to come from every direction at once. It is the sound of a thousand dying whispers, a gravelly chorus of malice. "You reek of the Spider's defeat. You dare to come here? To the domain of Kuro-Kiri, General of the Black Fog?"
My blood runs cold. A General. Not an Elite. A General. This is one of the Spinner King's inner circle. We are not ready for this. We are so, so not ready.
"A General, huh?" Hachiro, bless his stupid, brave heart, steps forward. "You look tough! Let's see if you can take a punch!"
He rockets forward, his fist cocked, a blur of motion. "Hachiro, no!" I scream.
Hachiro's fist, strong enough to shatter stone, connects with the General's chest plate. There is no impact. No sound of metal on metal. His fist just... sinks. It passes into the General's armor as if it is smoke.
"What-?" Hachiro's eyes go wide.
Kuro-Kiri slowly looks down at the arm embedded in his chest. "Such crude strength. It is meaningless."
With a flick of his wrist, a tendril of black fog, solid as steel, lashes out and wraps around Hachiro's throat. It lifts him off the ground, a sickening gurgle escaping his lips.
"Hachiro!" Erima screams, loosing her arrow. The arrow, imbued with her spirit energy, flies true. But just before it hits the General's helmet, the fog parts, and the arrow vanishes into the void of his face.
"Such a pretty toy," the General's voice echoes. A moment later, the arrow shoots back out, redirected, aimed right at Erima.
"Move!" Kizawa tackles her, the arrow shattering on the concrete floor where she just stood.
"Yogawa, now!" I shout.
"I'm trying!" Yogawa roars, his hands alight with crackling red energy. "Inferno Burst!" A torrent of fire erupts from his palms, engulfing the General. The heat is intense, the light blinding. The fog shrieks and pulls back... for a second. Then it surges forward, smothering the flames, snuffing them out like a candle.
"Your magic is childish," Kuro-Kiri rumbles, his grip on Hachiro tightening. Hachiro's face is turning a deep purple.
"Let him go!" I snarl, and my hair ignites, silver and gold threads blazing to life. I draw my second dagger and lunge, a whirlwind of red and black. I am not aiming for his armor. I am aiming for the gaps.
My daggers, sharp enough to cut a demon's hide, meet the fog. It is like stabbing water, then ice, then stone, all at once. The fog resists, pushing back with a physical, crushing force. It's a pressure I've never felt, a weight that isn't just physical, but spiritual. It feels like despair. It's telling me to give up. That I am nothing.
No.
I channel my energy, the phoenix's flame, into my daggers. The golden light flares, and the fog hisses, recoiling.
For the first time, the General seems... interested.
"Ah," he whispers, dropping Hachiro, who falls to the ground, gasping. "A little light. A tiny, flickering ember in the dark. The Phoenix."
He raises a gauntleted hand, and a massive sword, forged of the same black, smoky material as his armor, forms in his grip. It is a no-dachi, a battlefield blade, and it radiates an aura of pure entropy.
"The Spinner King wants your light extinguished," he says. "I am here to oblige."
Kizawa is at my side in an instant, his dual katanas a blur. "Mizuki, his armor is a feint. His body isn't solid. He is the fog!"
"Then how do we hit him?" I pant, the energy from the fog pressing in on us. It's getting hard to breathe.
"We... we don't," Yogawa stammers, his face pale. "This isn't a physical entity, not entirely. He's a manifestation. A walking natural disaster. We can't fight this!"
"We have to!" Kizawa yells, parrying a blow from the General's massive sword. The impact sends Kizawa sliding back ten feet, the pavement groaning under the force. The General didn't even seem to move, yet the power is... absolute.
"You are already lost," Kuro-Kiri's voice drones, the sound vibrating in our bones. "You just do not know it yet."
The fog in the room thickens, surging from the General in waves. It's not just fog anymore. It's taking forms. Shadowy, indistinct figures with glowing red eyes emerge from the miasma. Dozens of them. Hundreds.
"He's not alone," Erima says, her voice trembling, but her arrow is already nocked. "He's an army."
"Stand your ground!" Kizawa shouts, his blue hair wild, his eyes blazing. He plants his feet, one sword high, one low. "We fight, or we die!"
I look at him, at the desperation in his eyes. I look at Yogawa, panting from his spent magic. At Hachiro, struggling to his feet, clutching his bruised throat. At Erima, standing her ground despite the terror. This is not a battle. This is a slaughter.
"No," I say, my voice low. My golden hair flares brighter. "We don't die here. Not today."
I sheathe one dagger and press my hand to the ground. "Yogawa, I need a diversion. A big one. Erima, Hachiro, on me. Kizawa... buy us ten seconds."
Kizawa doesn't hesitate. He doesn't ask why. He just nods. "Ten seconds. Go."
He turns to face the General and his army of fog-spawn. "Come on, then!" he roars, channeling all his energy into his blades. "Let's see if a General can bleed!"
He charges, a blue-white comet of steel, into the heart of the black fog.
"Mizuki, what are you doing?" Erima demands, grabbing my shoulder.
"He's right," I say, my eyes closed, focusing. "We can't fight the fog. So we don't. We give it something else to fight." I can feel the energy in the earth, the old steel, the dormant power lines. I pull on it, a dangerous, reckless gamble.
"Yogawa!" I scream.
"On it!" he yells, thrusting his hands forward. "Delusion of the Thousand Mirrors!" The air shimmers, and illusions of our team flicker to life all over the foundry, drawing the attention of the fog-spawn.
"Kizawa, back!" I yell.
He disengages, leaping backward over our heads just as my palm hits the concrete. "Phoenix Wake: Sacred Ground!"
A torrent of silver and gold energy erupts from the floor. It doesn't attack. It doesn't burn. It purifies. It forms a perfect, ten-meter circle of glowing light around us, a shining, golden-white barrier. The black fog hits it and screams, vaporizing, unable to cross the line.
The fog-spawn dissolve, unable to exist within the sacred space. Kuro-Kiri stops. He stands just outside the circle, his crimson eyes fixed on me. I am on one knee, panting, my arm shaking from the exertion. That one move took almost everything I have.
"A sanctuary," the General muses. "Impressive. A holy light. But your light is finite, little phoenix. My darkness is... eternal."
He doesn't attack. He just stands there, a mountain of shadow. "You have made your stand. You have carved out a tiny island of safety. Now... drown in it."
The fog outside our barrier thickens. And thickens. It rises, forming a solid black wall around our circle of light, climbing the walls, covering the ceiling. He isn't trying to break the barrier. He is sealing us in. He is entombing us in his darkness, waiting for my light-my life-to fade.
"Mizuki," Kizawa says, his voice grim, as the last bit of natural light is choked off, plunging us into a world lit only by my fading golden aura. "He's not attacking. He's just... waiting."
"He's waiting for us to suffocate," Yogawa whispers, his voice shaking with rage and fear. "On the miasma. On our own air running out. That... that absolute bastard."
The circle of light flickers. I feel a wave of dizziness. My energy is draining, fast. "We're trapped," Erima states, her bow lowered. "He's won."
I look at the wall of impenetrable darkness. At the crimson eyes of the General, watching us from within the murk. "No," I say, forcing myself to stand. "He's just made his first mistake." My hair flares, silver and gold, a defiant bonfire in the suffocating dark. "He locked us in here with me."