There was a moment of silence as I was considering my options when fighting three opponents. It did seem reckless to fight three opponents, but in the supernatural world, it was common sense that the weak would tag along and prove to be a challenge.
I stared at them discussing their own battle plans in whispering voices, unfortunately I didn't have senses sharp enough to pick up their voices. My stats, while a considerable jump from the trash E-tier that made me a useless, human weakling, were still as life was harsh; you deal with the hand of cards fate gives you.
Finally after some minutes, their first action was to taunt and ridicule me. Ahh, you might think these Yokais are scary, capable of haunting your dreams and whatnot, but deep down if you could perceive their personalities and way of taunting, it would make them look pure.
"Still hiding in your human skin, Aono?" Hitodama crackled, his blue-flamed body bobbing in the air. "Too ashamed to show your true form?"
"Maybe he's a Slime!" the Namahage roared, pounding his chest with a meaty fist that sounded like a drum. "A weak, squishy Slime pretending to be tough! That's why he needs the girls to protect him!"
Bunta, the Tanuki chittered, his beady eyes glinting with mirth as he patted his large belly. "Heh! Or a scared little Nue, all bark and no bite! Come on, transform! Let's see what pathetic creature we're really squashing!"
They got annoyed that I remained silent, not even reacting to their perceived insults and taunts.
'Wait, are they trying to incite an emotion out of me? Bro, have their brains turned into piles of zombie mush?'
'As any of my contemporaries can confirm, us, who grew up with the internet, are completely indifferent to such tactics. The amount of trolls and flaming I encountered and received, I can't even think about an estimation, especially while on YouTube or Reddit, you would get into arguments with all sorts of walks of life.'
"He's not biting," the Tanuki muttered, just loud enough for me to catch the concern, not the words.
"The silent type, eh?" the Namahage grunted. "Makes no difference. We just smash the shell to get to the soft inside."
"Fine," Hitodama sizzled, his light brightening with aggressive intent. "Plan B. I'll float high and distract with soul-fire. You two close and crush him from both sides. Don't give him room to dodge."
They mistook my silence for fear, my stillness for paralysis. The Namahage let out a booming laugh, thinking he'd diagnosed me. "See! He's frozen! He doesn't know what to do!"
It was also my cue.
Letting them have their moment, acting like jumping monkeys, I simply shrugged, clenching my fists before suddenly, without a dramatic charge or banter, I moved.
Then to all of their shock with a burst of speed that wouldn't give the impression I was only at D-tier at my agility, I arrived before the Tanuki.
My target was the Tanuki, seeing him more of an DPSer that could be troublesome if left to fester like maggots around a piece of meat. Usually, in terms of strategy, you would first target their support, in this case the Hitodama, but it so happens that this Yokai had an intangible form, making it harder to target without holy relics (yeah I got my hands on one or two blessed crosses) or silver items.
It was common sense, you would break the weakest link first, then like puppets losing their puppeteer, they would crumble with no morale to fight back. Or better said, would it be easier to kill the mage (cannon glass) hiding behind the tank or soloing an assassin (stinky hyena) who was just a nuisance.
I wanted to believe that I was fast, especially when I compared myself with my previous 'normal' state, and because of my constant training that had bolstered my strength and agility, polishing my reaction speed and adapting to the new supernatural senses that came with breaking my shell, I was now able of pulling such moves on my foes.
That was on the premise we are equally rated.
The Namahage's triumphant grin vanished into slack-jawed confusion.
The Hitodama's flames froze mid-flicker. And Bunta… Bunta's beady eyes bulged, his smugness evaporating into pure, unadulterated "Oh, shi—"
He didn't get to finish. He was already bringing his arms up in a panicked guard, but I wasn't aiming for his face. My shin, hardened by countless kicks against stone and tree trunk, slammed like a piston into his midsection with a sickening thump of displaced air and impacting flesh.
"GUH-OOF!" The air blasted from his lungs in a pained wheeze. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met mine for a split second—how are you here already?—before the force of the kick lifted him off his feet and sent him skidding backwards through the dirt, a furred cannonball pure unadulterated pain.
"YOU LITTLE—! GET BACK HERE!" the Namahage bellowed, his confusion igniting into rage. He wasn't fast, but he was powerful. He abandoned all finesse, swinging a massive, tree-trunk-like arm in a wide, clotheslining arc meant to crush my spine if it connected.
The wind of it whistled past my ear.
Simultaneously, a searing heat lanced toward the side of my head. "Burn, coward!" Hitodama screeched from above. A concentrated bolt of sickly blue soul-fire, cold and hungry, streaked down like a malevolent meteor.
I didn't stop moving. Momentum was my weapon. As the Namahage's swing passed harmlessly through the space my head had just occupied, I dropped my center of gravity, letting the force of my own kick to the Tanuki spin me. The bolt of soul-fire sizzled through the air where my shoulder had been, scorching the earth and leaving a patch of frostbitten grass.
My spin seamlessly became a forward roll that carried me out of their immediate kill zone and back onto my feet, now positioned between the staggered Tanuki and the charging Namahage.
My body fell by instinct into the stance that was punched into my body by Inner Moka, and on the outside it would look like a mix of karate, muay thai, aikido and other martial arts that were brewed out of the human mind's creativity and desire for violence.
The Namahage, huffing now, was a classic bulky oni/ogre-type. Strength was his entire language. He saw me plant my feet and roared, charging like a bull, aiming to tackle me through the nearest tree.
This time, I didn't retreat. As he closed, his meaty hands reaching to grab and crush, I didn't make a large, flashy dodge. Instead, I stepped into his charge, so close I could smell the sour sweat on his hide and the acrid scent of his panic. His eyes widened in confusion—why is he coming closer?
While striking with a cross to his body, the Namahage actually managed to block that first strike, and I couldn't help but notice how big of a thing the survival instincts of a monster race could be. Maybe this Namahage being related in a way to Onis had the potential of getting to a higher rating, and only because this guy was young, his rating was lower.
The following clash proved why sparing with a higher being was akin to cheating an exam, when facing the same level of opponents. This time, I didn't go for something big, just one nasty strike that Inner Moka drilled in my head and body.
I pivoted on my lead foot, my body flowing inside his guard. As his arms closed around empty air, my left palm, fingers bent back for structure, shot upward in a brutal shotei (palm heel strike).
Who said that supernatural fights was all about being a strength brute? It was also a skill mastery game, since duels against Gods or other divine beings could end in a moment just because their mastery over their divinity was greater.
With my Shotei, I focused the crimson Yoki churning in my body, condensing it into a precise, penetrating wave that coated my striking limb in a faint, visible red aura that landed on the ribs of the Namahage.
His charge stopped dead. All the air and fight left him in a single, choked gasp as he stumbled back, clutching his side, his face a mask of agony and stunned disbelief.
'Good, I got the Tank disabled. It's time I stomp on the assassin.'
Now that I wasn't bothered by their Tank, I could switch to their DPS, but it seems even with the Namahage temporarily taken care of, I couldn't relax my nerves. My instincts, honed by countless near-death corrections from Inner Moka, screamed a warning a fraction of a second before the ambush materialized.
The groaning Tanuki I'd kicked away, clutching his guts in pain, was no longer where he'd landed.
"Think you're clever, you lowly bastard who spits on the honor of us Great Yokais?"
Bunta's voice echoed, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. He emerged from behind a tree, but not alone. With a shimmer of deceptive light, the air around him split.
One Bunta became two, then two became four, then five identical, smirking Tanuki formed a loose, encircling half-circle around me. Their forms wavered slightly at the edges, like heat haze. "Behold the glory of my Phantom Swarm! Let's see your fancy footwork handle five of me!"
The four illusions and the real Bunta—all chittering with identical malice—charged as one. At the same time my eyes flickered, not in fear, but calculating in my mind the best path of action since there were certain openings in their encirclement.
I ignored the nonsensical boasting, and kept on a small smirk at the ensuing encirclement, but a thought lingered longer in my mind.
'Why did these Yokais have such a bad tendency of calling their techniques names? Does it boost its power output or something? It was so stupid…maybe I should try it in the future.'
I didn't wait to be surrounded. I met the charge of the two front-most duplicates. I deflected a swipe from the first with a forearm block, and to my surprise it wasn't some 'Kage Bunshin no Jutsu' bullcrap, since the clash against those Tanuki's duplicates had no impact, no mass behind.
Pivoting again, I drove an elbow into the chest of the second 'shadow,' and again, my limb passed through with only a faint resistance. To my shame, and after expending some energy to block and counter some of the Tanuki's hits that were hidden amongst these fakes, I discovered that they were illusions dissipating like smoke.
The expenditure of energy to block and counter nothing was a trap in itself. And in that split second of committed motion, my senses screamed again. A blur of movement from my blind spot—the real Tanuki, having used his illusions as the perfect screen, was almost upon me, his claws aimed for my kidney.
Out of nowhere, I twisted my torso in a move that would have shredded the ligaments of my old human body. My forearm came up, not in a frantic block, but in a precise, almost casual intercept. The Tanuki's claws, meant to rake my kidney, screeched against the hardened bone of my wrist, sparks of discharged dark and crimson Yoki flickering in the dim light.
From there, with my initial increase in anger, unknown to me, my eyes started to flicker between two states, human and then crimson.
A low, inhuman sound rumbled in my chest, and my voice, when it came out, was layered with a cold, alien amusement that wasn't entirely my own.
"Not bad for a glorified mascot," I said, my gaze locking onto his beady, shocked eyes. The crimson flicker in my own vision intensified. "Turning you into a stuffed souvenir for my cousin wouldn't be a waste of material."
'Whoa, I think I'm turning into a Ghoul. That sounded so nasty and brutal even hearing it.'
The insult, delivered with such chilling calm, was the final straw. Bunta's face, already contorted in pain from my earlier kick, twisted into a mask of pure, sputtering rage. Hurt pride burned hotter than any physical wound.
"You DARE?!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. He abandoned all subterfuge. His body glowed with a sickly, ochre light as he poured his remaining Yoki into one concentrated burst. "Sensory Overload!"
A visible wave of distorted air erupted from him. It wasn't an attack aimed at the body, but at the mind. The world around me warped. The trees seemed to lean in, whispering threats in guttural tongues.
Kurumu's distant, worried face multiplied and swirled, her cries echoing from a dozen directions. A phantom smell of rot and decay filled my nose, and a deafening static roar drowned out all real sound.
'Interesting, but it's not that bad of an experience. I've been on datura trip and even met Satan. So, yeah, I've seen worse.'
I let it seem to work. I staggered, my hands flying to my ears, a convincingly desperate grimace on my face. I allowed my stance to become wide, unstable—a perfect, open target.
'Come on, you arrogant plushie. Take the bait.'
He did. Seeing his "winning" technique land, Bunta's rage morphed back into triumphant smugness. He didn't charge immediately; he sauntered, savoring his perceived victory, his eyes greedily stealing a glance past me at Kurumu's horrified expression.
"See that, my Goddess?" he called out, his voice dripping with conceit even as he clutched his injured side. "This is the power of a true warrior! Once I finish this pretender, I'll take very good care of you. You won't need to look at weaklings ever again."
That was my cue.
As he finally stepped into range, believing me helpless, the disorientation I'd feigned vanished from my eyes, replaced by cold, surgical clarity. My voice cut through his gloating like a shard of ice, spoken from a position directly in his blind spot as I completed a fluid pivot he never saw coming.
"Is that so?" I murmured, the words chillingly close to his ear. "Then let me fulfill that wish for you... in your dreams."
My left palm shot forward in another shotei. This one wasn't powered by my full, concentrated Yoki—I was conserving, the well running lower than I liked—but it didn't need to be. It was a distraction, a sharp jab to the center of his mass meant to stun and stop his forward momentum.
It landed with a solid thump, rocking him back on his heels, the breath huffing out of him once more.
But the true attack came from the other side. My rear leg swept forward, my entire body pivoting. Then, unleashed like a sprung trap, I didn't throw a punch instead I launched my bodyweight behind the hardest, most unforgiving point I could muster—my right elbow.
This was one of the most vicious basic attacks I learned from Moka, since the bone of the elbow was far stronger than the weak, brittle bones of the hand.
It was a vicious, short-ranged elbow strike that also contained some of my Yoki that I aimed towards his floating ribs, beneath his extended arms.
The impact was a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone as Bunta, the Tanuki, had the air leave him, wheezing a pathetic squeal. It felt like a mistress finding out that she was played as the second fiddle to an asshole.
'Does it hurt, you little shit?'
'You don't know my pain! I ate that elbow from Moka at 50% power and it broke plenty of ribs, putting me in constant, nightmarish suffering for a whole week until they naturally healed themselves.'
Grabbing the scruff of his neck with my left hand, I used his collapsing momentum to yank him down and into the path of the retaliatory attacks I knew were coming.
Right on cue, a guttural roar announced the Namahage's, Gorou's charge, his massive fist swinging in a wide, powerful arc meant to pulp my skull. And from my periphery, a searing blue Hitodama screamed toward my back.
In the split-second calculus of the fight, I used the stunned Tanuki as a living shield. I shoved Bunta's bulky form sideways, directly into the path of Kazemaru's soul-fire.
"GYAAAAH!" The Tanuki's shrieked in agony as the blue flames washed over him, not burning flesh, but searing his spirit, scorching his essence. The smell of ozone and burnt sugar filled the air.
Simultaneously, I dropped my center of gravity, letting Gorou's enormous fist whistle over my head.
The wind of it ruffled my hair, but my eyes have settled on a new form, now they turned completely crimson, emanating a strong yoki as they displayed vertical predatory slits. The transition felt strange because as the fight went on, I could feel my senses growing sharper, making it feel like their moves were slightly slower.
Before he could recover from the over-extension, I was inside his guard. The Shuzen katas flowed again. A driving front kick slammed into the side of his leading knee. It wasn't enough to break it completely, but the sound of the bones cracking was like music to my ears.
He bellowed in pain and surprise, his leg buckling.
The battlefield had transformed in three seconds. Bunta the Tanuki was rolling on the ground, whimpering, his fur smoldering with spiritual embers, clutching his cracked ribs. Gorou the Namahage was limping, fury and confusion warring in his masked eyes as he tried to reorient his bulk. Only Kazemaru, the Hitodama, remained unscathed, hovering erratically, his flickering form betraying his shock.
He'd just attacked his own ally.
I stood in a ready stance, my breathing barely elevated. My crimson gaze was cold, devoid of triumph or anger, but even thought my breathing hasn't increased from the effort, my blood was pumping chaotically, as if a hungry beast had awakened from a long slumber.
"You… you fight dirty!" Kazemaru screeched, the flames around his head flaring.
Giving him a dismissive look, like he was some trash, I finally spoke, my voice flat filled with sardonic intent that could sizzle like acid. "Dirty? You might want to take out your eyes and check again your conditions. What have you expected to happen when you decided to take on me?"
"To let you, hit me, while I beg for forgiveness?"
"Baka ja nai no?"
"I only allow myself to act foolish in front of my women since I don't have to be on guard against them, but now it seems I've been taken for fools by you pests."
"Anything else you might want to add, since I was giving you a small break? No?"
"Then, let me force fate's hand for you."