Convulses.
Dies gagging on herself.
I rise and move on.
Two more rush me. One dies to a clean slice across the neck. The other to a stab under the ribs that punches out her back. I twist the blade free just as something heavy whips toward my face.
Chain.
Kusarigama.
I spin behind a pillar as the weighted end slams into stone with a violent crack. The chain wraps uselessly around the column.
I step out and slash.
Brutal. Efficient.
Her abdomen opens cleanly. Intestines spill out in a slick, steaming mess, hitting the floor with a wet slap. She slips in her own blood, feet flying out from under her, hands clawing uselessly at her stomach as she bleeds out screaming.
I don’t watch her die.
I’m already moving.
But something’s changed.
They’re not rushing anymore.
They tighten their formation. Adjust spacing. Blades angle differently. They’re herding now, not chasing.
They’re learning me.
Nope.
I kick backward, flip a table, and sprint for the stairs.
They follow immediately.
I take the first three on the steps, blade flashing in tight quarters. One tumblesbackward, taking another with her. I vault over their bodies, hit the landing at the top of the stairs, and don’t slow.
I plant a foot on a table and hurl myself forward, launching in a clean arc over the banister.
White fabric flares below me.
I land hard on the upper walkway, boots skidding, knees bending to absorb the impact. I spin as soon as my feet settle, blade coming up just as the first of them pours onto the stairs behind me.
I have exactly one second to catch my breath.
I take it.
Then I smile.
Ready for more.
Three of them push me back at once.
Not wild. Not desperate. Precision cuts, staggered timing, blades moving in clean arcs meant to herd me toward the rail. Steel flashes left, right, high. I give ground by inches, parrying just enough to keep my throat attached to my body.
Fine. You want choreography.
