. The inside was anything but. Huge, heavy machinery dominated much of the available space, leaving only so much for walking. They were made as much of flesh as they were of metal—fangs slotted where batteries might have gone, vials of blood sticking out, tendons in place of wires.

  At the center of the structure, nestled within the central pillar that upheld the entire structure, atop a tangled mass of cables, metal, and bone, stood a tall flower over two stories in height. Its vibrant red petals were closed, yet to bloom, masking the light pulsing through from within. Multiple levels of circular walkways enclosed it, reaching to the stairs at the far walls of the pagoda. All throughout, the air was infused with an ethereal cyan mist—oversaturation of mana, to the point that it manifested as a visible, physical substance.

  Dark metallic greaves clacked against the floor as Asayuki strode down the walkway. The workers parted readily for their leader as she strode through their midst.

  "Asayuki!" Watanabe looked up from the controls. Papers and envelopes littered the desk overlooking the core, detailing its research and usage. "You're here!"

  "Watanabe." Asayuki stopped. "What's going on?"

  Not all of these men were hers.

  Her division wore the same colors—red, white, and black, dressed in traditional garments. But for each one of her men she saw, she saw as many suits and men in tactical equipment. Their guns were drawn and waiting idle, ready to fight at a moment's notice.

  Internal audit, thought Asayuki.

  "Asayuki-san." The leader of the auditors stepped forth. He gestured to the controls behind him, the papers and design notes littering it. "This collaboration between you, Darius-san, and Julian-san has come to our attention. The acquisitions required to construct this facility… neither the artifacts nor the funds were recorded within our knowledge. Julian-san provided us the design documents for this improved Lynchpin network, but it doesn't align with the documents stored on-site, or the architecture of the site itself. We were under the impression that this would be used to reinforce the Lynchpins, and yet judging by what we've gathered so far…"

  He rifled through an envelope with his fingers. His eyes didn't leave hers.

  "If there's something you ought to explain, now is the time to do so."

  Icy blue eyes moved to Watanabe. The first signs of a film of sweat were beginning to form on his face. His eyes implored her to understand. He hadn't done anything by choice. The auditors already had an inkling of what lay in store, and came prepared. He and the rest of her men couldn't have resisted without risking compromising the system.

  Asayuki's gaze drifted past him. She moved to the table he stood over, one hand drifting idly across the papers there.

  "…Fine," she said.

  "Thank you for your cooperation." The auditor stepped closer. "Then, if you'll—"

  Asayuki's hand moved to the sheathed katana propped up against the table.

  A flash of steel.

  Shards of a shattered mana shield blew away.

  The katana clicked back into its sheath.

  "Eh?" The auditor blinked. The lower half of the front of his tactical gear hung limp by the straps. A thin line of dark red stained his front, spreading across his clothes with every second.

  Asayuki's talisman-covered bag hit the floor, and the control floor burst into movement.

  Yells filled the air. Her conflict resolutions team dived to the floor and the air flooded with steely arcs.

  Her men knew they'd only get in her way.

  Asayuki was a blur of motion, her blade snapping from one target to the next as they scrambled away to build distance, to raise their weapons, to radio for support. Metal screeched as her steel ripped through the barrels of guns and struck batons aside on its way to strike down their wielders.

  "Traitor!"

  "What's the meaning of this?!"

  "You won't get away with—"

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Bullets riddled the floor half a step behind Asayuki as she dashed forward. Anyone still standing now crumpled in her wake. The katana rang as one, two, three bullets glanced off it, and then a mixture of ether and blood splattered the floor and dripped through the grating as she found her mark.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Come in!" One man stumbled back as Asayuki struck once more, leaving him the last one standing.

  A flash of red. Nanashi hardly left its sheath and found no flesh.

  Flecks of blood stained her face as she advanced towards him, calmly stepping over the gun he dropped in his panic. "Target is resisting arrest! I need backup!" He retreated all the way until he backed himself into the control panel, and could retreat no more. "Come in! Do you read me? Do you—"

  One more blow, blood and ether splattered the terminal, and he fell silent.

  The radio dropped to the floor, crackling with static. The connection had long since been severed by the crimson blade.

  The fight was over as quickly as it started.

  "For the likes of you, this blade is enough." Asayuki swiped the blood from her borrowed katana, sheathed it, and tossed it aside. "Anyone else have objections?"

  Blood dripped through the mesh flooring. None of the men remained standing to hear her.

  "Watanabe." She said as he got up, "I avoided cutting too deep. Have everyone treat their injuries and take them elsewhere. I need to prepare."

  "So you have it," he said.

  Asayuki knelt and picked up the chunk of glowing metal pilfered from the base of Orochi's spine, still wrapped in its talismans. "I do."

  "What about their backup?"

  "I already cut the connection to the outside."

  "Even so, information has leaked."

  "That's fine. Intercept them en route and stall for time. I'll be done by sunset." Asayuki strode away. "Clear out as planned. Leave the rest to me."

  Watanabe looked down at the bodies at his feet. A handful of talismans, a flash of light, and an array of ethereal white falcons perched on the rails and over his shoulders. "Understood. Consider it done."

  Within minutes, they were gone. The building was devoid of life. The blood on the terminals faded from vivid red to dark muddy maroon. Somewhere in the distance, the deep, rhythmic clanking of machinery marked the passage of time.

  When Asayuki stepped out before the core again, it was not at the control panel. It was at the base of the great spire, ground floor before the tangled winding mountain of flesh and steel upon which the bulb rested. Thick ropes looped around it, decorated with zigzagging traditional paper streamers. The iconic attire of the dark red swordmaster was gone—in its place, an outfit she never thought she would wear again.

  A long scarlet hakama reaching near to the floor. The usual metallic boots clacked against the floor with each step, barely visible under the red hem. A pristine white robe and haori paler than her own hair. It was the garb of the Asayuki family shrine maiden.

  Asayuki turned her arm one way and then the other, watching the fabric bend and flex with her. The sensation was both familiar and not.

  A single falcon remained, watching inquisitively as she passed. Small bells chimed faintly as she bent down and lit the candles at her feet. She went one by one, slowly, deliberately, as if each little pillar of wax demanded respect unto itself.

  Asayuki stood up and looked around. The light of the candles flickered and wavered in the fog, marking the edge of a grand circle with innumerable inscriptions etched within it. Satisfied, she unslung the talisman-wrapped chunk of metal and unwrapped it. As soon as the first of its wrappings lifted away, it pulsed to life, and the core's glow responded in kind.

  "Too soon," she murmured. "It didn't have enough time to mature in the dragon… but I prefer it this way. A straight sword wouldn't suit me."

  Asayuki made for the strap holding her katana at her hip. Her hand wavered at the clasp, unwilling, just for a moment, to part with her ever-faithful blade—but the moment passed, and she set it down before her alongside the glowing metal. The absence of its weight was uncomfortable. A part of her had surely been left on the floor with it.

  "Thank you, Watanabe," she said. "That will be enough. Go. Now."

  The falcon cocked its head, then spread its wings and took flight. Asayuki was truly alone, with only the tangled machinery for company. Glassy, bestial eyes, wedged into various parts and half-buried by the cables and plating, stared blankly at her.

  "Mother," she murmured. "Watch over me."

  Asayuki took a breath, and began to move.

  It was a ritual of movement—a ceremonial dance. Graceful and frenetic at once. Every movement was an offering, a plea to be heard by the unseen. Only the faint rustling of cloth and quiet bells accompanied her. The humming of machinery and distant low rumbling of the great system continued unabated. Each step wound and turned, the hem of her skirt at times brushing over the flames of the candles surrounding her. Though her body arrived nowhere, every shift of her feet brought her closer to her destination. Asayuki's heart beat with anticipation. Finally, the time had come.

  The glowing chunk of metal shifted. At first, it only wobbled. Then, it turned, rocking, inching its way across the floor as if pulled by a magnet. Asayuki's eyes were closed, her mind focused entirely on her movements, but she could feel it nonetheless. She could feel the metal lift into the air, as if every sway of her arms and every step she took physically carried it to its final resting place, one motion at a time.

  The metal rose to the unblooming bulb and slipped through its petals. The change was immediate. A fierce glow burst forth, shining through her eyelids with a high-pitched ringing. The fog shifted, swaying in and out as the air rippled with power. Asayuki didn't miss a step, her dance reaching a fever pitch at this most critical moment.

  The bright glow receded and steadied, its brightening and fading stabilizing. Asayuki's motions slowed with it, bit by bit, until she came to a rest bowed low before it. The light had settled into a slow, throbbing pulse. The ceremony had reached its conclusion.

  "…Even now?" Asayuki raised her head. "After all this time, you would answer my call? Knowing what comes next, you continue to bless me?"

  The core remained unopened. There was no reply.

  "Then I will repay it in kind." The crimson blade sang a pure, high note as she unsheathed it. Light glinted off its blade, a bright sheen gliding along its length as she admired its steel. "I am the blade that purges evil. May the sun set on a peaceful world this day."

  The beat of her heart was the pulse of the core. At this moment, she was one with it all—the metal of blade and core, she herself and the sword she wielded. This blade was her very being. It always had been.

  She always hated it.

  She couldn't wait to be free of its filth.

  Asayuki sheathed it and set it to the floor with a sharp, decisive movement. She knelt down, sitting as she had always been taught, closed her eyes, and waited.

  The paper streamers decorating the mountain shifted. There was no wind. Nigh-imperceptibly, the glazed eyes of countless dismembered youkai buried within the machinery twitched. The petals of the core drew in tighter—whether to shelter what lay within from the world, or to shelter the world from what would come forth.

  The corners of Asayuki's mouth shifted ever so slightly.

  Before evening fell, she would be free at last.