¬8,340 Wörter.
23:51
Tsukishiro's deep voice was barely audible over the clamour of the students in the background as he fixed a stray strand of hair over his face and continued. "-if not for the urgency of these circumstances, I suppose I'd say it's a pleasure to see you again. Oh, and hello to you too, failure."
He directed that toward Amasawa, who visibility winced at the word, yet she quickly retorted, "Hello to you, old man, but wow, if I'm a failure, I shudder at what word best describes your efforts. Pathetic? Incompetent? Though, I might be unqualified to give out such critique; senpai, what word would you use to describe our dear former chairman here?"
"Hello, Tsukishiro. I would say it's a surprise to see you here, but it isn't. I suppose, if I had to choose though, I'd pick the word obvious."
Truthfully, I had figured out Nanase was planning on leading me somewhere ever since she appeared. The question was mainly of who would be here, but, with my father's nature, I doubted he would come himself, instead sending a lackey.
"Mmh. Obvious, is that right? Might I ask what you're referring to exactly?"
"His entire plan. From the outset, the lie given to me 3 years ago was dubious, but its plausibility has been irrevocably tainted by yourself, Nanase, and him."
"Wait, what are you talking about senpai? I'm just a little confused."
"My supposed 'escape' to ANHS was a ruse created by my father from the beginning. In reality, he wanted me to be here yet make it seem as though my being here was in opposition to him. I was fine playing along with the lie, since I was content to learn more about society and life as a whole, but it simply isn't necessary anymore."
"...how quaint. Might I ask, when did your suspicions arise, and when did you become convinced of them?"
"As soon as Matsou asked me about leaving, and, while I was almost fully confident the entire time, it wasn't until after you were excused as chairman that the 99% became 100."
"So that early on, eh?" Tsukishiro murmured, brushing a speck of dust from his lapel with meticulous care.
His cold and appraising gaze flicked between the two of us, as if weighing how many more lies he could afford to stack before the house of cards collapsed.
He exhaled right after, "Well then, let's not idle in the open like sitting ducks." He looked at me and bent a little.
"May we continue this discussion somewhere less... acoustically compromised." His finger pointed toward a narrow dirt trail between two buildings.
In the distance, the unmistakable silhouette of a helicopter's rotor blades sliced through the smoke choked skyline, its nigh-imminent presence cloaked until now by the ambient roar of distant sounds of sirens and clamours of students.
"Shall we walk to the ride?" he added with a smile. "The air's ripe with change tonight. Best to greet it moving."
Motioning his hand towards the area where the helicopter was about to land, he cast an indifferent look at Amasawa.
23:59
The interior of the helicopter hummed loudly, the rotors above beating in a steady rhythm like that of war drums.
I sat beside Amasawa; while she had been overly clingy up until now, now that Tsukishiro was here, she was no longer holding my arm, understanding the company we were in.
Across from myself was Nanase, who was sitting along with Tsukishiro, the closest one to the cockpit.
Each of us had said more than we wanted during that short walk, yet nothing worth preserving. Just clarifications, evasions, and warnings veiled beneath veneers of false control, façades of calm.
Nanase didn't apologize, discarding her false persona, while Amasawa was silent, still contemplating everything she had seen and heard. While Tsukishiro mostly tried to stay humble to me, I could tell something strange was coming. I could feel it, like bugs crawling over skin.
My eyes drifted to the window.
Below, the city stretched out like a circuit board on the edge of a destructive overload, pulsing with red and orange and gold. Shibuya's heart was a void—no lights, buildings, people or terrain to speak of—only an absence of life, densely populated with ash and cinder.
I let out a deep breath and sighed, however, the voice of it was muffled.
All kinds of noise had been muffled by more noise recently.
[Statue of Liberty - Odaiba, November 1st. - 00:00]
Suddenly, through the helicopter window, my view of Shibuya was obscured.
Outside, a soft ripple shimmered into existence across the skyline, like a glass pane catching moonlight at a refracted angle. It materialised from thin air in the blink of an eye, a semi translucent column erupting around us from the cityscape below, surging upwards like a reversed waterfall before snapping taut.
Looking out from the helicopter windows, it appeared as a colossal wall of shadow, our view of Tokyo and the world beyond gone in an instant.
"Wha—" Tsukishiro breathed out, but his voice was cut short.
The helicopter jolted violently right as a siren blared inside the cockpit. Tsukishiro lurched against his harness.
"Fuck!" Amasawa cursed under her breath as she tried to clutch on whatever thing she could, which happened to be me...again.
"Collision course! Hold on—!" the pilot shouted, yanking the controls hard just as a white-hot gleam streaked through the night and—
CRACK.
A loud and heavy deluge of shrapnels splintered and flew everywhere as the helicopter was thrown off-course before ramming into the wall of black.
I looked up.
The pilot had slumped forward, a slick splatter painting the front windshield red. A jagged shard—metal? tempered glass?—was embedded clean through his throat as he laid lifelessly in his seat.
Without wasting a moment, I unbuckled, forcing my body toward the cockpit through the shaking frame. My hands gripped the dead man's shoulders, pulling him aside as gently as time allowed.
The controls buckled like a wild horse; altitude was bleeding fast.
I grabbed the cyclic with both hands and pressed my foot against the rudder pedal, hoping theory could compensate for the absent field experience.
I tilted the nose slightly up, counterbalanced the tail drift, and flicked the altimeter—900 meters.
"Senpai, please, you have to brac—"
Ichika's panicked voice sounded behind me, I pushed it to the back of my mind.
However, before she could finish her sentence, a sudden impact to the helicopter's nose sent me flying towards the windshield. The glass cracked and then the entire structure of the helicopter collapsed on me.
It wasn't panic that gripped me, no...it was much more tactile.
The compressed, collapsing structure stopped a breath away from me as I tried to inch my way out from under it, the helicopter's body ragdolling all the while over the earth.
And then...a bright white flash and a deafening explosion turned everything black.
[Daiba Park, November 1st. - 00:01]
The night shattered into fragments of conflagrant flames and galling pain.
Kiyotaka was flung through the helicopter's cracked windshield as it broke, shrapnel flying everywhere. Like a marionette cut loose of its strings, his body ragdolled towards the ground.
Flailing his arms as blood trickled over his eyes, obstructing his vision, he struck the soft, grassy earth of Daiba Park with a sickening crunch before skidding across dew-slick grass and jagged gravel here and there, each wild roll grinding his broken ribs against his cracked sternum.
His right shoulder dislocated almost instantly from the impact and a white-hot pain exploded behind his eyes, almost rivalling the deep laceration in his left thigh, where blood gushed copiously.
Cuts—shallow but countless—lined his arms and face, stinging like salt in an open wound. His abdomen throbbed with the deep, mottled bruising of internal trauma, and a concussion blurred the world into a feverish haze.
However, the sheer survival instinct that was honed in the White Room numbed it, for the time being, as he tried to balance himself.
Digging his one healthy arm and leg into the ground, he slowed his impact and rubbed his eyes with his blazer, trying to see something—anything.
After a few seconds of rubbing, the world around him finally came into view.
The helicopter had already crashed, a few yards away from him, at the corner of Daiba Park, right at the precipice where the park's boundary met the lake.
The helicopter groaned as a budding inferno began to bloom from amidst the corpse of mangled steel and shattered glass. Kiyotaka took a stumbling step forward, when he saw something.
Ichika—she was trapped in the crumpled cockpit, her cheek split open, blood tracing rivulets through the ash caking her face, left elbow hanging limp, while the skin on her back blistered beneath scorching clothes.
However, despite how bad her condition seemed, she looked alive. Her pale and shaking hand clawed through the broken windshield, as if trying to claw her way to Kiyotaka.
Kiyotaka took a steady breath. There was a lot going on. However, he noticed something. The flames were soon going to break through the thin casing and infiltrate the fuel box.
He was under no obligation to help Ichika...under the condition that he was healthy and fine, he was confident in himself.
But...in his current condition, and given the abnormal circumstances, he needed someone.
A crutch. A crutch to lean his weight on. Despite how much wear and tear the crutch had been subjected to.
A tool—regardless of how worn and damaged—still had its uses.
Kiyotaka shivered to his feet and almost fell back but managed to hold his weight. His vision swam with translucent insects, but he took one steady step after another before reaching the cockpit, as he grasped Ichika's hand.
Her fingers were slick with blood and icy cold.
Kiyotaka let out a few ragged breaths before looking in her eyes. "Can you feel your legs?"
"Yes..."
"Are those two..." Kiyotaka stopped midway as Ichika shook her head before he could finish her sentence.
Not paying any heed to it, Kiyotaka continued. "I need you to hold your breath and push as hard as you can."
"...got it."
With one quick snatch with his good arm, he pulled her free. The momentum caused her body to collapse against his as Kiyotaka groaned mentally. They stumbled away, half-carrying each other, limping as quickly as they could before the helicopter erupted into a blazing tomb.
The pilot's limp body, Nanase's severed remains and Tsukishiro's crushed corpse vanished in the inferno, swallowed by a maelstrom of burning fuel and twisted, melting metal.
00:05
Legs shaking and chests heaving, we reached a small knoll overlooking the park and promptly collapsed in a ragged heap of trembling bodies.
Sitting up to raise my neck, my gaze found the city skyline draped in ash and cinder like a crimson slit torn across the sky.
The acrid bite of smoke clung to my throat with every breath I took and the smell of iron filled my nose as the metallic tang of blood lined my mouth.
My mind flickered, clawing through the fog of concussion as I grasped at my thoughts, finally arriving upon a coherent train of thought.
Looking down, I began to properly assess my physical condition for the first time.
Cuts and ripped skin littered my body, bleeding through the tatters of my ravaged clothing. A jagged laceration stretched up half my left thigh, flesh peaking through, and my right arm hung loose, shoulder perceptibly lower than normal.
Dislocated, I noticed.
Pausing my physical self-assessment, I shifted my gaze to Amasawa splaid on her stomach beside me, her back to the sky.
"You look like death."
Not bothering to meet my gaze, Amasawa breathed a retort through gritted teeth.
"Oh, shut up...
...What's the damage?"
My eyes fell to her back, taking in the charred clothing, her welted skin blistering through the gaps.
"2nd degree, extensive."
"Well, shit."
"Any numbness?"
"Don't I wish..."
Pain means her nerve endings are still intact which rules out any 3rd degree burns for now, but the risk of infection remains.
"Amasawa, we need to remove your top."
She gave a laboured response, her breaths shallow. "Check for adhesion, so the skin doesn't rip. I prefer my skin attached to my back, thanks."
"Don't worry."
Checking for any adhesion between the top and her skin, I carefully lift the fabric from each portion of her back, ensuring no skin is removed.
"Amasawa, raise your torso at my say."
Amasawa gave a weak nod in reply.
Holding the edges of her top, I precisely raised the fabric from her back.
"Now."
At once, Amasawa's arms and torso lifted from the ground, while I raised the scorched top up to her neck, and finally pulled it over her head, removing the top completely, leaving her back bare.
"Haaah..."
Chests heaving, we fell to the ground as adrenaline wore down and the pain of the wounds began to fully register, exceeding anything felt prior.
Amasawa's expression was grim, her gaze sharp and purposeful, as she tried to hide the subtle tremble in her lips, and the furrow of her brows.
"We really need to get patched up, Senpai."
...
"Yes...
...Yes we do."
00:11
After a few moments of idly laying down and getting their instincts under control, they sat back up in tandem.
Kiyotaka tore a strip from his tattered blazer—lending some of it to Ichika—the fabric catching on his cuts in an uncomfortable manner as he wrapped it tightly around his thigh. Blood seeped through, but the pressure slowed the flow.
Ichika used the scraps of his blazer to press against her cheek. Her back burns sizzled under the firelight, the skin peeling in places, and she hissed as the night air kissed the raw flesh.
After a while, Kiyotaka looked back, the fire in the helicopter slowing down. "I'll see if there's anything left."
Saying that, he left Ichika and limped towards the helicopter.
After scouring the helicopter and the park office by breaking its door open, Kiyotaka managed to scavenge a bottle of water, some candies and most importantly, a first aid kit half-buried beneath a toppled signpost.
Inside it was a gauze, antiseptic wipes, bandages, and a small splint.
Once he was back, Kiyotaka and Ichika used some water to wet their parched throats and the rest to wash their dirty wounds and then used the antiseptic swipes to properly disinfect them.
After another short while of resting, and eating the small chocolate bars and sour jellies, Kiyotaka braced himself, gripping his dislocated shoulder. With a little help from Ichika and a bloodied cloth clenched between his teeth, they forced his dislocations back into place.
Sweat beaded on his brow, and then he did the same again, but this time for Ichika. A choked cry escaped her, but she clamped her lips shut. After that, Kiyotaka made a few more make-shift bandages to cover Ichika's burns.
Ichika's brows were furrowed in thought, her lips drawn tight in uneasy contemplation.
Kiyotaka followed up. "What's on your mind? You're staring at your knee like you can derive its formula if you think hard enough."
She let out a ragged breath, her chest rattling as the pent up air and tension left her body.
"...how did we survive the crash?"
...
"I mean, just look at-" Ichika gestured towards the blackened wreckage. "...that! Tsukishiro got turned into a red cloud of mist, and puppy-"
She stopped herself.
"...she didn't stand a chance. But somehow, we got away with cuts, bruises, a couple dislocations and one really bad sunburn."
...
Kiyotaka wasn't sure what to say.
He couldn't exactly explain how they had survived either. He had been flung from a careening helicopter and thrashed across solid ground at high speeds. He should be thoroughly incapacitated, if not dead.
But he wasn't, and neither was Ichika.
"Fuck! What the hell has been going on these past couple hours? And what was that wall we crashed in-"
Cutting into her sentence, was the sudden manifestation of a strange light, pulling itself out of thin air.
Amidst the bright spark, two small...creatures? emerged. Winged and insectoid abominations made out of mauve flesh that stretched tight over bulbous muscle, corkscrewed snouts that twitched and wings buzzing like a plague of locusts.
The larger one of the two hovered above Kiyotaka. The smaller skittish one lingered near Ichika.
Before Kiyotaka or Ichika could react, the creatures spoke in a grating dissonance of soprano and baritone.
"You have been registered as a player! Your point tally must experience a change in value within 19 days, or else you shall be subject to Cursed Technique removal! I am Kogane, and I shall assist you for the duration of your participation in the Culling Games!"
Kiyotaka's gaze sharpened, his concussion dulling his reflexes but his brain working properly.
Ichika's hand was still pressed to her cheek as she glared at the creatures.
After a moment of silence while they assessed the harmful intent from the Koganes, Kiyotaka and Ichika calmed down until Ichika broke the silence. "What the hell does 'registered as a player' mean?"
Her Kogane, the smaller one, tilted its head, its wings emitting a subtle, ominous hum. "You are bound to the Culling Games. As a player, you must fight, or perish, earning points by fighting with others marked as you are."
Ichika's lips curled in skeptical grimace. "And this Culling Games? What's the deal? Some kind of demonic fight club?"
"A battle royale across colonies," her Kogane intoned, its snout twitching. "Players vie for points through elimination."
Kiyotaka, tying off his bandage, addressed his Kogane, the larger one. "Points. Explain how they're earned."
"Combat," it chirped, "Defeating other players rewards you with a corresponding number of points!"
Ichika's eyes narrowed at its response, and she voiced her request.
"Define 'defeat'."
Both their bearings tensed almost imperceptibly in anticipation of its answer, a terrible possibility looming in their minds.
"Death. The only form of defeat acceptable is an extinguished life."
...
"Damn it, because of course it is."
Neither of them were particularly surprised, but the confirmation certainly served to sober their expectations, no longer holding out any hopes for anything less than the worst case scenario.
Kiyotaka hummed and then looked back up.
"The rules of the Culling Games. List them."
His Kogane's wings stilled and it transitioned into a low dirge.
"The rules of the Culling Games are as follows:
After awakening a cursed technique, players must declare their participation in the culling game at a barrier of their choice within 19 days.
Any player who breaks the previous rule shall be subject to cursed technique removal.
Non-players who enter the barrier become players at the moment of entry and shall be considered to have declared participation in the culling game.
Players score points by ending the lives of other players.
Points are determined by the game master and indicate the value of a player's life. As a general rule, sorcerers are worth 5 points and non-sorcerers are worth 1 point.
Excluding the point value of a player's own life, players may expend 100 points to negotiate with the game master to add one new rule to the culling game.
In accordance with the previous rule, the game master must accept any proposed new rule unless it has a marked and long-lasting effect on the culling game.
If a player's score remains the same for 19 days, that player shall be subject to cursed technique removal.
These are the rules of the Culling Game!"
Ichika, wincing as she adjusted her gauze, cut in. "Cursed Technique removal, rules 2 and 8. What the fuck does that mean? Spit it out."
Her Kogane's wings froze.
...
No answer.
Kiyotaka, undeterred, pressed his Kogane. "Cursed Techniques—what are they? And are we among those who've awakened one?"
His Kogane's snout curled into a twisted mockery of a jeer.
"Cursed Techniques are innate abilities fueled by Cursed Energy, and can be hereditary or can emerge spontaneously at birth."
Ichika shot a dubious glance at Kiyotaka's Kogane before turning her head back to him with a question written in her eyes.
"Senpai, you don't happen to have been hiding a super special superpower since birth, have you? I certainly haven't."
Kiyotaka certainly thought it was strange.
This Kogane had said cursed techniques were innate, belonging to an individual since birth. Yet, neither Kiyotaka nor Ichika were aware of having any such thing.
"Kogane, have we 'awakened' cursed techniques?"
The Kogane stared blankly.
...
No answer.
00:27
Kiyotaka's ribs burned with every breath while Ichika's burns burned under the gauze, her elbow stiff but mildly functional. They sat for around 10 minutes, stretching themselves while the Koganes hovered over them like carrion birds.
"This settles it," he said while Ichika had closed her eyes, and her body was leaning against him. Although her eyes were closed, her ears were fully focused on him. After all, more than the Koganes, the one she should've been worried about was him.
"The meteor, and that column of fire. Those creatures—the ones on the students, in the mall. Then the Culling Games, and those supposed Cursed Techniques. They all exist within a larger context, one we've been dragged into, and one which we know little to nothing about."
Ichika grimaced as she shifted. "No kidding, senpai. But what are we supposed to do? Fight those... things? Other people? I'm barely holding it together here." She gestured to her bandaged cheek, her bruised legs, her scorched back.
Kiyotaka's eyes flicked to his Kogane, its wings droning softly.
"Realistically speaking, our chances of survival are fairly abysmal as of present. Survival—that's the first priority. We need information—about the colonies, the players, these Cursed Techniques. If this is a game, it has logic and structure."
"—and structures are made to be exploited via loopholes." Ichika finished with a dry laugh. "WR 101...hehe."
Then, she snorted. "But, but, but!" She got off Kiyotaka and looked at him.
"Ok, first off, the idea that people have superpowers is going over my head. But let's say this is the reality we are in. What if we're just normal? No fancy powers, no Cursed-whatever. From what those bugs said—or rather, what they didn't say— we might not have Cursed Techniques. Then what?"
Kiyotaka stayed silent for a while and looked up at the sky. One of the stars twinkled as he closed his eyes. "We've outmaneuvered worse."
"Uh, no we haven't. Unless, unbeknownst to my knowledge, the infamous 4th generation of the Whiteroom was privy to supernatural instructors, hmmmm~?"
Kiyotaka could only deadpan at that.
A smile graced her lips as she shot her Kogane a withering glare. "That settles it! You, cockroach! Got a map to the nearest colony, or are you just here to creep us out?"
Her Kogane's wings buzzed.
"The player Amasawa Ichika is already registered within an established Colony, transfer to another Colony is not possible."
"Hah?"
"The player Amasawa Ichika's current Colony of residence is designated as Tokyo Colony No. 2."
...
"The wall, huh?"
Kiyotaka gave a nod of affirmation.
"Oh come on, is our luck really that bad? Rammed into the inside of the damned Colony barrier just as it was appearing!"
It certainly was quite a spot of bad luck.
...
After a moment of coming to terms with the information, Kiyotaka turned his head towards Ichika. "We need supplies—food, water, ideally weapons as well, assuming weapons will be of any use."
"Do you have a plan, Senpai?"
"First priority is survival—that hasn't changed but we need to observe, track and get familiar with the players and terrain, while avoiding fights until we understand the rules, or recover enough to fight back."
Ichika grinned; her pain etched into the lines of her face.
"Look at you, senpai, plotting our epic getaway. Guess I'm stuck with you, huh? Someone's gotta keep you from overthinking yourself into a coma."
Kiyotaka's lips twitched. "We are splitting up."
Ichika stared at Kiyotaka's face for a good minute.
"What, the FUCK, did you just say?"
01:30
The entire ordeal surrounding Cursed Energy and Cursed Techniques was something I still had to completely wrap my mind around. Despite the "conventional" logical framework—which is based around an average human's thinking capabilities—it should not be possible, yet, my personal, empirical observation denies it.
I have not yet experienced Cursed Energy though—at least not deliberately. I am sure it was Cursed Energy that helped both me and Amasawa survive the crash. Because seeing how Nanase and Tsukishiro were cleaved and crushed to death, there was no way for either of us to survive it.
A long sigh left my lips as the dislocated shoulder—that I had snapped back into place—throbbed with a dull ache. As I turned through the corner and the narrow alley at the left, I suddenly felt someone behind me. Instead of quickly looking back, I kept walking until the alley began to diverge into different directions, giving me just enough space to swing my limbs around.
I stopped and looked over my shoulders. Much to my own mild surprise, there was nothing—or no one. However, as I looked back in front, the hair over my body stood on edge. Goosebumps bloomed all over and I instinctively lurched back, creating as much distance as I could from the place where I was standing initially.
Tottering slowly with its stick-thin legs trembling beneath it, its steps looked like a drunk man trying to outpace his own inevitable collapse. Once it was completely out of the dark, and underneath the flickering lamp post was when I finally took in its entire form.
It was...unnatural. I had already seen those weird creatures that the Kogane had referred to as 'Cursed Spirits' on the backs of those first years just hours ago, but none of them were as...abhorrently hideous and lurid as this one. It was an emaciated humanoid with a hunched, skeletal frame—bones visible underneath the eroded leather-like skin—that seemed to writhe under its own weight.
Its skin smelled so putrid that I felt bile press against the back of my throat. It was a mottled green-gray, stretched tight over protruding bones and throbbing with oozing, pus-filled sores that dripped a viscous, envious-green ichor.
Instead of a face, it had a gaping, toothless maw lined with wriggling, worm-like whorls that quivered continuously. Its eyes were sunken deep, glowing with a sickly green light while leaking a tar-like substance that continued to stain its chest. Tattered, fleshy remnants hung from its body like a shredded cloak, giving off a rancid stench of decay.
A green, fetid, noisome mist hovered atop its head.
"...why...not...me?" It rasped, its voice like a little girl crying underneath the sound of stones grinding against each other. "...why...why...why?!"
Suddenly, it screamed and the mist formed a dense cloud as it whooshed towards me.
Once again, the strange sensation of gooseflesh exploding all over me invaded me and I jumped to the side. Perhaps it was due to the aforementioned "Cursed Energy," I jumped way too much to the side and slammed into the wall.
The wall broke on impact and before I knew it, the curse was on me. "WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!" It swung its giant, spiked limb and I rolled just in time to dodge it.
The searing pain from my shoulder was still there and the laceration burned as if it had caught on flames.
"WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!"
"You're too loud and I need another paracetamol." I quickly got up and picked up a brick before throwing it as hard as I could at the curse. Before it could hit its grody face, the mist appeared in front of it and caught the brick. Before I could blink, the brick was decomposed, and a foul-smelling gray mist wafted into the air.
Not wasting a moment, I reached out for the steel putty that was wedged inside the splintered wall and ripped it out before reaching for another brick. Twisting my body just in time, I avoided the mist attack as it deliquesced in an instant before travelling towards me.
I jumped over the splintered wall and tried to run away, but the curse was in front of me, its long limbs reaching out for me while the mist took the shape of a boomerang, trying to catch me in a pincer attack. Bending the putty with my bare hands—which felt strange—I threw it at the curse as hard as I could and followed with the brick.
The mist stopped the attack and quickly returned, and the heavy brick sank into rot the moment it engulfed it, but the putty clanked harmlessly against the curse's blighted face.
My analysis of the curse was almost complete. However, if I were to defeat this curse, I needed to kill it via the so-called 'Cursed Energy.' However, so far, I have no idea how to use it on my own. My body had willed it into existence when I was about to crash. That time...
I tried to reach out for the extra layer of warmth that had enveloped me like a skin and stretched it over me. Almost instantly, I felt it, the warm sensation of hands all over my bare body—my body light as a feather, yet so grounded that it seemed like not even a wrecking ball could move me from my position.
The curse suddenly took a step back.
My body hummed with Cursed Energy. A strange warmth pulsed through my veins like a second heartbeat, sparking amber in the shadowed alley. The spirit's skeletal frame was quivering under the flickering lamplight, green mist swirling above its head like a noxious crown. Its toothless maw rasped once again, "WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!"—a grating wail once again scraped against my nerves.
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself.
I needed to find a clinic or a pharmacy. The lacerations and cuts from glass shards still burned, and it was greatly impacting my reflexes—in the worst ways possible.
Focusing back on myself, I took another sharp breath. This 'Cursed Energy' was still foreign, but I had pieced together its basics from the crash that spared me and Amasawa and the way this curse was manipulating the strange 'aura' around it.
I flexed my fingers, feeling the energy ripple beneath my skin, pliable yet volatile, like a compressed spring. The curse lunged while swinging its spiked limb wildly. I sidestepped immediately—almost unnaturally quick. The Cursed Energy was sharpening my reflexes beyond my usual precision.
"Not bad," I muttered under my breath, dodging another swipe. To test my control, I channelled the energy into my legs, feeling a surge of power. I leapt, vaulting over the curse's outstretched arm, landing lightly behind it.
The creature swivelled, its mist coalescing into a boomerang—once again—as it sliced through the air towards me. I ducked, watching as the mist dissolved one of the faulty lamp posts into gray sludge.
Hypothesis: 'The mist prioritizes threats based on perceived danger. It's biological, reactive, not sentient.'
Time to play.
I scooped up a splintered plank from the ground, channeling as much Cursed Energy into it as I could however, my control of it was so bleak that only a small portion of it was imbued into it and even that was fleeting.
I hurled it at the curse's head before all of the cursed energy had left it. The mist snapped forward, engulfing the plank, which disintegrated in seconds. The curse screeched, its glowing eyes locking onto me.
I darted from wall to wall, grabbing another brick, this time keeping it unaugmented. I tossed it lazily, without much force, as I watched the mist ignore it, letting it clatter harmlessly against the curse's bony frame without harm.
It was confirmed now.
'The mist only reacts to Cursed Energy or high-threat objects.'
The curse had lost its composure ever since I started using the Cursed Energy. Circling the creature, I tried testing its limits. Infusing a pebble with a burst of energy and flicking it at its leg, I waited and observed. The mist surged like a wave, dissolving the pebble mid-air.
The curse swung again, but I was already moving, weaving Cursed Energy through my muscles, amplifying my speed. There was some kind of instinct that helped me wield it. While there was no formal training in the White Room to control it, the multiple forms of meditation ingrained in our curriculum was still helping me.
From how the energy flowed from my gut towards my entire body, there were multiple forms of meditations that also helped us in that.
Well, that doesn't matter for now. As the pain in my thigh and head reached a crescendo, I decided it.
"I am done keeping you alive. Let's end this."
I picked up another brick, holding it in my palm. This time, I didn't augment it, instead, I focused my Cursed Energy behind it, condensing it into a tight, invisible sphere of raw force, like a compressed explosion. I hurled the brick straight at the curse's maw.
The mist reacted instantly, surging forward to envelop the brick, deeming it the primary threat due to the dense Cursed Energy trailing it. The brick dissolves into ash, but I was already moving away.
In that split second when the mist was burst, I closed the distance, my fist crackling and popping with Cursed Energy. I poured everything I could into it—every ounce of the warm power surging through me—augmenting my arm to the absolute limit I could manage.
My knuckles glowed faintly. The curse—distracted by the dissolving brick—doesn't see me coming. I drove my fist into its chest with a force that I had never used before. The impact unleashed a shockwave of Cursed Energy, a bright, explosive burst that tore through the creature's emaciated frame.
Its body disintegrates in an instant without any theatrical scream, contrary to its gaping mouth as it was reduced to a scattering of green ichor and ash. The alley trembled—bricks and debris flew outward, clattering against the walls as the ground cracked beneath my feet.
I fell on my back as I gasped for air.
Good thing the mist was a part of the curse's biology and the curse itself wasn't intelligent in the slightest.
Phew...
I did not hear from the Kogane about any points earned. I suppose Cursed Spirits are not counted as "players." Which is fair enough I guess.
...
That said, I really need to "visit" a pharmacy.
05:00
The entire shelf clattered to the tiled ground as Kiyotaka rummaged through the abandoned pharmacy. Using high quality antiseptics and quality gauzes and bandages, he had patched himself up. As for the burnt regions, he was able to look at formulas of the ointments and had it covered as well.
After patching himself up, he took a few painkillers and mineral water before eating some protein bars and drinking some energy drinks.
For the most part he was done, as long as it concerned his personal well-being.
After this, he sat on the chair and focused on himself. During the fight with the curse, he had managed to use Cursed Energy. Before that, in the helicopter, it was purely out of instinct but after the crash he had forgotten about it. Since the "feel" of the usage was still fresh in his mind, he decided to ingrain it into his mind, so he doesn't have to get into some serious trouble for it to activate.
When he had used it against the Grade 4 Curse, he had felt a warm feeling from his stomach. Reaching out for it again, he focused on it. There was a distinct exercise called achieving the state of "zen" during an Island Exam. Using the same principle, he tried to focus on it.
It didn't take long for him to suddenly feel a ball of energy snaking around his guts. It wasn't moving, but concentrated in a single place, occupying space without having a material presence. However, there was something odd about it.
"It is dormant..." Kiyotaka mumbled to himself.
'It had felt hot when I used it. Then...I need to ignite it somehow. Ignite it and then use it. In its dormant state, it is like a roll of hay, waiting for a match.'
'Cogitation,' he thought, suddenly.
It wasn't just meditation; it was deliberate, structured thought—a mental forge to shape raw instinct into precise control.
"I need to focus on the trigger," he murmured to himself. "Not the energy itself, but what makes it move."
He replayed the moment of the curse fight in his mind.
The adrenaline, the pseudo-desperation, the clarity of purpose—to exorcise, kill the curse—those had been the catalysts. He needed to simulate that state. Slowly, he began to manipulate his "emotions."
He conjured the image of the Grade 4 Curse lunging at him. Kiyotaka felt his heartbeat quicken, not out of fear, but as a controlled response to the imagined threat.
The energy stirred but it wasn't enough. He needed more than a memory; he needed intention, a materialised intent for the ball of energy to ignite. Kiyotaka shifted his approach, treating the energy like a circuit that required a current to flow. He visualized a spark—his will to understand this alien concept—as the catalyst.
"Fuuu," he breathed and then went silent as all of his focus went into that single point in his core.
A faint warmth flickered in his stomach, like a match catching on kindling. His eyes snapped open, and he noticed a subtle shimmer in the air around his hands, a faint distortion like heat rising from the pavement on a hot summer day. The Cursed Energy was responding, but it was weak and unsteady.
He flexed his arm and saw the cursed energy react to it. "Too diffuse. I need to channel it." He hummed before disregarding the current approach as well.
Kiyotaka stood, shaking off the stiffness in his limbs, and assumed a familiar stance—feet apart, hands relaxed but battle ready. He recalled the concept of Flow State, another principle from his training: the alignment of mind and body to achieve peak performance.
If Cursed Energy was an extension of his "will," then his body needed to be a conduit, not a barrier with an on and off switch.
He decided to remodel his approach.
Kiyotaka closed his eyes again and visualized the energy as a river. In its dormant state, it was a stagnant pool. To make it a torrent, he needed to carve a path for it to flow. He focused on his breathing, each inhale drawing the energy upward, each exhale pushing it through his limbs.
After only two minutes, the warmth started to tangibly grow, spreading from his core to his chest, then to his arms and legs. He opened his eyes and extended a hand toward a nearby shelf. The air around his fingers crackled faintly, and a single bottle of antiseptic wobbled, then exploded like it was shot with a pistol.
Kiyotaka let go of the energy as all of it receded back to his core before calling it back as he shot it towards the shelf. The shelf's glass shattered as shrapnel flew everywhere.
He willed more Cursed Energy over his body and the shards hit him harmlessly before clattering to the ground in an anodyne manner.
"I suppose that's a start for the control part of the cursed energy." He spoke to himself, trying to fight the creeping dizziness and sleep. "That said, I still need to learn about this supposed Cursed Technique."
05:55
The sky above was a few breaths away from daybreak—dyed in a hesitant ultramarine. Kind of like blue ink thinned with milk...and something ominous. Something that felt dangerously close, but he couldn't put his finger on that feeling.
The pre-dawn air was heavy with mist, like a gossamer shroud that clung to the half-protruded roots and dew-slicked ferns of the trees clearing, poking out of each house, and casting dull shadow on the road.
Kiyotaka was walking with his ears perked while his senses were augmented to a razor's edge. The world was still and quiet. Eerily quiet, save for the distant lament of a nightbird.
A tremor of intent prickled his nape.
He felt it before he even saw it—a whisper of malice and delightful groan of ecstasy.
CRACK
Acting on a pure instinct, he drove his right arm upward in a hastily readied guard, the strike landing with debilitating force and devastating momentum.
Kiyotaka clenched his teeth as his ulna fractured midshaft—the bone splintering in an instant.
Pain seared through him, a white-hot lance, and if not for the sustenance he had taken in the pharmacy, he was sure he would've buckled to his knees.
The warm feeling from his core rushed out instantly and coated him, albeit in a modest layer. His nigh-barebones state was offering hardly a modicum of defence.
Kiyotaka staggered as his boots scuffled against the damp earth.
The pain—albeit making him reel a little—sharpened his focus to a needle's point.
His left arm was still fully risen in a defensive arc and his elbows scuffed tight to his ribs.
A shrill, metallic whine blasted in his ears.
The sound felt like a dull blade grinding against his bones.
Suddenly, the house behind him collapsed down, as if a small car had fallen through.
Taking a few steps back from it, Kiyotaka readied himself.
From the rubble of a collapsed structure, something shot up and then landed right in front of him.
It was massive. And ugly. Really ugly.
Kiyotaka took in the menacing titan that looked to be over two and a half meters long.
Where the legs of an insect should have been, six humanoid arms sprouted, skin taut over the gaunt limbs and each one of them tipped with claws large enough to cut down to the bone.
Its face, if it could be called that, was a shield of bulging, pulsating eyes, three sets of them framing a circular maw of mandibles and weirdly oversized molars.
On its back, its translucent wings were thrumming with a low buzz, stirring the air into a vortex of dust.
All six of its eyes locked on Kiyotaka, and suddenly, something between its legs—arms? twitched. Kiyotaka tilted his head at it.
'Definitely several leagues higher than the mist spirit from the alley in terms of threat level.'
From between its legs, a long, 50 inches barb-like stinger was swaying sideways, oozing a white acidic substance that ate away at the asphalt in an instant.
'Not many acids can do that...even in their most concentrated form.'
Suddenly, the stinger hardened and it shot a pale, acidic substance at Kiyotaka.
His senses that had been razor sharp already, were enhanced even further by the cursed energy that now coursed throughout his body.
Rolling over the ground, he avoided it but at the same time, the spirit blitzed from his place and arrived behind him in an instant.
He brought his arm just in time to block it and then channelled a stream of cursed energy to coat his arm. His cursed energy flickered faintly, like a gossamer veil too frail to blunt the blow as the spirit's mandibles clacked in a snarl.
As the curse saw Kiyotaka's legs dig deep into the asphalt, but still absorb the impact, it shrieked once again.
It darted skyward ricocheting off a shattered concrete pillar with explosive speed, leaving a trail of acrid vapor.
As he reeled back, Kiyotaka tried to catalogue every action.
'The stinger's drip was nonstop—three drops per second. Its flight bursts lasted precisely 1.2 seconds, followed by a 0.8-second hover to reorient. The eye-shield's inner set of pupils dilated fractionally before each claw strike.'
The air stung with the chemical reek of its acid, burning his throat, yet he noted its trajectory: a 15-degree arc when sprayed, less accurate at range. He shifted his stance on the rubble-strewn ground, his boots grinding against gravel.
The spirit lunged again, thrusting its stinger with a hiss as a jet of acid sizzled inches from his boots. Kiyotaka sidestepped, the fumes prickling his eyes, and deflected a claw swipe with his left elbow.
Pain flared once again.
'Just now, its leftmost arm lagged slightly, a millisecond slower than the others, likely a structural weakness.'
With his enhanced senses, Kiyotaka took in everything. Its wings buzzed at 120 or so hertz during flight, dropping to around 80 when hovering.'
CE began to coalesce around his limbs, a thin, shimmering film of cursed energy—opalescent amber, like molten resin catching the light—dulling the pain's edge. The spirit's CE clashed with his as their blows collided, a faint spark igniting in glimmering wisps like embers, fleeting warmth blooming in the space between impact and recoil.
However, the spirit's strength toppled him and Kiyotaka was thrown back like a ragdoll.
As he crashed into a wall, the spirit arrived in front of him again and kicked him in the guts, throwing him through another wall and a house. The cursed spirit—visibly irritated from Kiyotaka's spark—was enraged, and punched Kiyotaka down, causing him to break through the soft floor of the house, the dark concrete base, and the soft soil and against the sewerage pipe.
'That hurts...'
He groaned mentally and before he could think of a counterattack, the curse delivered a back breaking kick to his spine that launched his back to the surface, hurling into the air before the curse kicked him once again, throwing him back down to the surface like a puppet cut of its strings.
As Kiyotaka laid down, bloodied, and looking at the navy blue sky, he sighed. "I suppose the term 'manhandled' is made for situations as such." He lampooned, cursed energy evenly coating his entire body.
Through the haze of pain of broken bones, he stood up. As he pressed his hand against the wall to take some support, the wall sizzled, giving under his cursed energy.
Pulling his hands from the wall, he saw it.
A charred handprint, branded into the wall.
'...Was this me?'
Kiyotaka looked at it. "Strange."
The billows of smoke and dust settled and the curse arrived in front of him, 3 yards away. Its eyes were focused on Kiyotaka who sighed.
'I need to break down its fighting style and think of counters as fast as I can. Or else I am done for.'
The Curse, seeing Kiyotaka alive, was frothing from its maw with agitation. It lunged, letting its claws out and attacked him.
He dodged a flurry of claw strikes, stinger grazing the air with a whistle.
While Kiyotaka tried to keep his movements minimal and his body packed with cursed energy, some of its attacks were making their way through. Each strike against his cursed energy was like beating a hammer against an anvil.
The air around Kiyotaka was growing hotter.
'Its attacks followed a three-strike rhythm: two claw swipes, then a stinger thrust.'
He tested this, baiting a charge by stepping into its strike zone, then ducking as the stinger lanced forward, missing by centimeters.
The collision of their CE sparked again, a fleeting heat that pulsed through his veins, thrumming with energy flowing ever faster.
He redirected a claw with his left forearm—the impact bruising but not breaking—then quickly initiated a grapple, locking the redirected limb and snapping it at the elbow, and noted the spirit's recovery: '0.5 seconds to retract the arm.'
The curse frantically kicked Kiyotaka back—its broken arm laden with scorch marks like melted tar—as it tried and failed to comprehend what had happened.
As Kiyotaka regained his footing, he looked himself over.
His cursed energy flickered in hues of opalescent amber as a searing aura billowed from his fists.
"This heat..." Kiyotaka pondered.
This wasn't stemming from a function of his cursed energy, that much he could tell.
So then...
'...my cursed technique?'
Each collision of their cursed energies stoked the coals of his own cursed energy's ardour.
In simple terms: Vibrational kinetics eliciting thermal escalation.
Even now, he could feel his cursed energy thrumming with heat and motion in response to the aftermath of clashes.
He delivered a swift jab to the spirit's leftmost arm, targeting its lagging joint. The strike sparked—literal embers crackling like forge sparks—blistering the spirit's mottled chitin.
The creature recoiled and its mandibles gnashed in frustration.
Punching it once again, he threw the curse toward a cluster of jagged rebar, where its flight was hampered by protruding steel.
When it charged, spraying acid in a wild arc, Kiyotaka ducked beneath a claw swipe and drove a searing fist into its underbelly, the impact sending sparks cascading like fireflies.
The spirit's hide scorched, faint indentations marking the strike, and its buzzing. Kiyotaka's mind catalogued, once again: the spirit's acid sprays were less frequent now. Likely due to depletion of its reserves, and Its outermost set of eyes flinched before each stinger attack.
The vehemence of his CT surged, precision, strength and speed were amplified multiple times over as his cursed energy performance ramped up. As Kiyotaka launched one strike after another, the curse seemed to barely even maintain balance.
As the sun started to show over the horizon, bathing the ruined area of the colony in gold, the spirit had reached its breaking point. Its remaining five arms were flailing in desperation and stinger spraying acid wildly.
It scrambled across the ground, slipping on its own corrosive trails, its mandibles gnashing in a desperate rage.
Kiyotaka looked down at his body. Every step he took was searing the blackened concrete beneath his feet, releasing noxious smoke.
'One last move to end this.'
Just as he thought, the curse let out a horrifying screech. It sprung at Kiyotaka in a burst of desperation, wings thrashing forwards.
The heat, his blood flow, the flow of his cursed energy and its output...everything rose as the motion of his cursed energy grew with vibration.
The pest now just an arm's length before him, which had once been difficult to track with the naked eye, seemed almost slow now.
Kiyotaka ducked underneath the claw attack and then jabbed upwards. The torrid flare from his fist surged through its skull as the wisps crystallized.
Scattered shards of flagrance bloomed in its wake, as the spirit's form convulsed and its eyes burst like an inflated, overripe fruit.
Its body withered into a heap of ash and smouldering embers as Kiyotaka let out a breath of relief.
As he did, the first streak of sun finally kissed the darkness infested sky.
The fight was over, signified by the slowly disintegrating curse.
06:03
In the wake of the first night of the Culling Game, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka had defeated a Grade 3 Cursed Spirit and the Semi-Grade 2 Murder Hornet Spirit, marking the first successful activation of his Cursed Technique's Neutral Application.