Shinjuku burned.
Skyscrapers listed like dying trees, their glass faces shattered, bleeding light. Smoke rose in braids thick enough to choke the sky. The air itself tasted of char and copper and something older—cursed energy so dense it pressed against the teeth.
Choso
lands hard on a rooftop edge, one hand bracing against crumbling concrete Still breathing.
Below, chaos moved in waves. Sorcerers and curses alike—spilled across the streets like a spilled inkwell. Yuji was out there somewhere. She could feel it. The pulse of his cursed energy, frayed but unbroken.
Choso
rolls her shoulders, cracks her neck Yuji.
The name left her lips like a vow.
Behind her, the barrier around Tokyo's core shimmered—layer upon layer, woven by hands long dead. But it wasn't the barrier that made her pause. It was the crack in it. Hairline. Almost invisible. A fracture that hadn't been there an hour ago.
Choso
tilts her head, eyes narrowing That's not—
The air shifted. Pressure, like the moment before lightning.
Choso
turns sharply, blood already gathering in her palm Whoever's there—show yourself.
Silence. Then, from the smoke, a voice. Low. Amused. Familiar.
???
You always did have good instincts, Choso.
A figure stepped through the haze. Tall. Scarred. And impossibly, impossibly alive.