As Howard's voice murmured through the comms, "Hoshiguma. Now," the quiet hum of the drone echoed outside the glass window.
It hovered with purpose, then released its cargo—five polished stones, no larger than a child's palm, falling with unnatural precision in a wide arc around the base of the window.
They did not clatter.
They floated.
Each began to glow with a soft, deep blue light, strands of ethereal script coiling from their centres.
The room shivered.
A portal, oval and liquid-like, bloomed in the air.
Like oil splitting water, it shimmered before parting. From within stepped a shadow in black—Hoshiguma.
Her coat cloaked her entire frame, mask hiding her face, hood drawn low.
The Oni's very presence was thunderous.
And then came chaos.
"FIRE!"
The guards opened fire, the first volleys already mid-air as Hoshiguma stepped through.
But before they could hit—something appeared in Howard's hand.
Not drawn, not summoned in a grand gesture—but formed, bled into being.
An ink-black sword poured itself out of the air, coiling like liquid shadow before hardening into a blade of nightmare geometry—angled wrong, gleaming wet, and rimmed with the hues of midnight.
The air bent around it.
Howard raised it gently.
And swung.
The arc it cut was slow, almost serene. But where it passed, space rippled.
A wide black mark slashed across the air like someone had dipped the world in calligraphy.
The bullets never landed.
They vanished—absorbed into that mark, devoured in silence.
The entire half of the room behind Howard shimmered with that unnatural ink sheen.
Even Hoshiguma paused, astonished.
"What the hell—?"
"Later", Howard said calmly.
"Get him secured. Tight shoulders and ankles."
Hoshiguma moved without another word.
She hoisted Yansheng's unconscious body over her shoulder like a sack of grain, wrapping the containment straps Howard had left on the floor.
The portal shimmered behind her, beginning to shrink.
She glanced back at Howard, saw the tension in his eyes, and didn't argue.
She stepped through.
The portal closed.
Howard turned back toward the room. His sword was still raised—but the shimmering barrier of ink had begun to crack.
A few of the guards had broken through.
He tilted his head.
Interesting.
They're stronger than expected.
He lowered the blade slowly. His eyes half-lidded.
And then, with a curt bow—like a proper maid awaiting instruction—he whispered,
"The Merciful Sword".
The ink blade in his hand began to dissolve. Not vanish—transform.
It brightened, from its core outward, becoming something crystalline, pure.
This was the previous Howard Art technique.
A sword of radiant white.
It gleamed with cold mercy, not vengeance.
Justice dressed in silence.
Howard, still in the feline form, narrowed his crimson eyes. A wry thought crossed his mind.
Might as well use this form properly.
With no warning, the lights died.
Darkness drowned the room in an instant.
The only illumination came from the red emergency lights—flashing ominously, erratically, like a dying heartbeat.
And there… amidst the red hue… was a figure.
A maid. Featureless now. Shrouded in shadow.
Only the uniform remained—clean, perfect.
One of the guards stammered.
"Where is she…?"
Then, he noticed something strange.
His vision was wrong.
It was… upside down?
No… it wasn't his eyes. It was his head.
Thump.
A body collapsed.
No scream.
Just the sound of fabric brushing the floor.
And then another.
And another.
A subtle splash of ink, like someone had flicked a quill—marked every neck that fell.
So precise. So clean.
To the few who retained their consciousness, Howard did not look like a swordsman.
He looked like a monster from horror stories.
Not running, not leaping. Just walking. Slowly.
In rhythm. And as he walked, heads fell. No screams. Just silence.
And then there was one.
The last guard.
A young man, perhaps no older than twenty, with tears in his eyes and legs trembling. He fell to his knees, staring up at the figure.
Howard stood before him.
Unmoving.
Silent.
Then he leaned down, his voice a whisper only the guard could hear.
"Always remember… I am watching."
And then… he smiled.
A beautiful, cruel smile. The kind one might mistake for gentle if they didn't know better.
The kind people never forgot—not because of affection, but because of terror.
The guard fainted. Collapse. Not from a strike—just from fear.
Howard exhaled softly.
He walked to the window, the emergency red light glowing behind him.
He was on the 105th floor. The view from here was breathtaking—other skyscrapers below, the neon veins of Lungmen stretching into the horizon.
He took a step forward.
And jumped.
***
Hoshiguma adjusted her collar as she walked briskly through the corridor.
The blue shirt she'd worn earlier—clean, unassuming, and civilian enough to blend—was once again wrapped neatly over her frame, sleeves rolled up to the forearms.
Her trousers were just a shade more practical, allowing her to move with ease through the crowd.
Her long hair was tied up, the trace of the mask and armour now gone.
She carried no weapons.
Only the abnormally large duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
It stirred slightly.
Thanks to Howard's rooftop chaos, the guards had been pulled away.
No one questioned a woman with a packed bag heading toward the lobby. She simply looked like a tired guest checking out.
The elevator was crowded, packed with murmurs of confusion, subtle dread, and the usual Lungmen apathy.
Someone had heard gunshots.
Someone else said a fire alarm had gone off on the higher levels.
No one knew the truth.
Finally, she reached the ground.
Without hesitation, she broke away from the herd and ducked into the nearest washroom.
A quick glance ensured it was empty. She locked the door behind her.
From her pocket, she pulled the five enchanted stones—twins of the ones Howard had used earlier.
She placed them precisely across the floor.
The air hummed.
A soft whine began to rise, low and harmonic.
A portal shimmered into existence—stable, oval, pulsing faintly. It connected cleanly to the inside back of the van, parked in the building parking space.
She shoved the duffel through.
A dull thump echoed from the other side as the bag landed inside the van.
Then she followed.
The portal blinked shut behind her, stones already beginning to heat—programmed to self-destruct in an hour.
The van interior was quiet and dim.
Yansheng's body remained still in the bag.
Then the earpiece crackled.
"Hoshiguma".
Howard's voice, clipped and urgent.
"I've got him," she responded, sliding into the front seat. "What about you?"
"Leave. I'll find you at the base."
"What? Why—what happened?" she asked, concern flaring sharp.
"No time to explain."
The line went dead.
She clicked the comm once, then twice.
Nothing.
Her jaw clenched.
"Damn it, Howard…"
Turning the ignition, she checked the mirrors, then pulled out into the night. The van rolled off into the night of Lungmen.
-
Howard cut the comm after his last word to Hoshiguma.
But he didn't move.
Couldn't move.
His eyes lowered slowly.
A clean, circular large hole gaped in the centre of his chest.
Blood wept from the torn fabric of his maid outfit, soaking into the white apron now stained a deep, ugly red.
The air around him was still—too still.
Even the distant sounds of the city had faded into a dull hum, as if time itself held its breath.
He stood inside another building now—no, what remained of it.
The walls behind him were torn open in a perfect arc.
Glass had fractured and collapsed in a wide radius. He hadn't landed.
He had been sent.
Across rooftops.
Through reinforced concrete.
By that.
Before him stood a mountain of a man, framed against the breach like a dark god of war.
His skin was pale, unnaturally so, veined with something that looked like steel under flesh.
A snowy mane of white hair cascaded wildly down his back, almost touching the floor, unbound.
His suit—tight, black, and stretched over his massive frame—bore the unmistakable mark of high-tier security personnel, though this man was no mere guard.
His presence was suffocating.
A walking fortress.
No… worse.
Howard's crimson eyes narrowed as he forced himself to straighten, the torn edges of his chest crackling with black energy as tissue began to knit itself, painfully slow.
He had met a true monster.
One who didn't need to speak to be feared.
And this monster was staring right at him.
Silently.
Unmoving.
Waiting.
Howard exhaled, a mist of blood escaping his lips.
His fingers twitched once—then steadied.
This wasn't over.