Chapter 87 - Miharu Kozuki
Hollow Night
03:53:46
Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Forty.
Forty-one—or rather, what remained of forty-one—collapsed with a dull thud. I exhaled slowly, watching as its black essence dissolved into ashen wisps, curling upward like wildfire smoke into the starless void. Perhaps it was returning to where it belonged.
Not that it mattered to me anymore.
I loosened my grip on my blades and scanned the area. No movement. That familiar prickle along my spine, the warning that I was being watched, was conspicuously absent. I’d grown so accustomed to its presence these past nights that its absence left me hollow. I wondered if this was how soldiers felt upon returning from war—so reshaped by carnage that they no longer fit into the moulds of ordinary life.
Yet only forty-one Noise in the entire district surrounding Hachiko? This area was my direct route north, straight into his territory via the Scramble Crossing.
...Just what game are you playing, Tyrant?
My mission remained unchanged. Sheathing my weapons, I vaulted onto a nearby streetlamp—the same one I’d used to crush twenty-four’s skull. Though bent and battered, it would serve as a vantage point. The air hung still, indifferent to the destruction strewn below: shattered windows, crumpled cars, scorch marks seared into the asphalt. The moon alone bore witness, its pale gaze not just observing but sanctioning the violence from its perch in the endless dark.
The district was clear. In the distance, toward the Scramble Crossing, a lone white flag fluttered in the breeze. I leapt from the lamp onto a café awning, then rebounded to another streetlight, weaving through the ruins while keeping to the heights. When I reached the flag, I gripped its pole, and the fabric darkened to a vivid crimson. Ahead, a monitor flickered to life on a storefront, displaying the current state of our twisted war game.
[SPOILER="[ THE MAP ]"][/SPOILER][SPOILER="[ THE MAP ]"]
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My stomach dropped. While the others had pushed northwest into Shibuya, he was advancing south.
Straight toward me.
This was it. My chance to atone—to undo the devastation I’d helped him unleash.
It’s not your fault, Kozuki’s voice murmured. You were lost. Confused.
And the others? Red countered. They were lost too, yet they resisted. You succumbed. Weakness, plain as day.
How long had I been his puppet? Only one night of true allegiance—yet that single night had brought the world to ruin.
You weren’t weak, Kozuki insisted. You were manipulated. It could’ve happened to anyone.
I could almost feel Red’s derision. Really? Would Hoshino or Junko have fallen so easily?
That’s not fair! Kozuki snapped. We’re not them! We’re us! What’s the point of—
“Quiet.”
The word escaped before I could stop it. Their bickering ceased, leaving only the Hollow Night’s silence, the weight of my sins, and the task ahead.
“I was manipulated. I was weak. That’s the truth,” I admitted. “What Hoshino or Junko would’ve done doesn’t matter. They weren’t the ones he turned into puppets. We were.”
I embraced the pressure building in my chest.
“But it’s fine. We’ll make it right.”
Relief washed over me as their energies aligned—my yin and yang, love and hate, merging into a single resolve.
“Rusuban…” I turned, staring down the pitch-black avenue leading to the Scramble Crossing.
Time for our curtain call, old friend. Let’s hope I’m in a gentler mood when we meet.
For your sake.
[HR][/HR]
This time, I stopped counting after ninety-three.
I’d found exactly what I was looking for when I arrived at the Scramble Crossing. Usually the heart of Shibuya, the place now resembled a horror movie set—swarms of inky, formless creatures clung to monitors, crawled up building walls, and glided through the skyscraper-choked sky, as if Japan had been invaded by extraterrestrial shadows.
How lovely that I finally get to star in a sci-fi piece, I thought, as I began culling them by the dozens. Their screams and garbled pleas had long since faded into background noise, so I took my time, dismantling them piece by piece.
At first, I tried to kill cleanly, precisely—suppressing my emotions, just like Red would. Until I remembered: I’m not her. Not exactly, anyway.
Then, my mind detached, slipping into the role of a director.
Make sure it has time to scream before you decapitate it.
…Miharu?
Smear yourself in its ‘blood’ before tearing out its insides—sell it to the camera. Audiences love that.
…Miharu!
I could practically see the shots—each kill framed from a different angle. Still no sign of Rusuban, or anyone else, but this little experiment did offer stronger Noise to test new techniques on.
Rin had always sworn by scream therapy as a way to vent. Frankly, it didn’t hold a candle to this.
My stars, has killing always felt this good? I was starting to understand Daisuke and Katoru.
Let’s just hope this isn’t habit-forming.
Just as I considered redefining sliced into ribbons—
MIHARU!
The snap back to reality came only after I tried to lock eyes with one, crushing its head into goop. (No dramatic effect—just shallow cuts across my arms as it thrashed, making a mess of everything.) The voice that tore me from my bloodlust was… my own.
…W-What on earth did I just…?!
The Scramble Crossing looked like a warzone. Smears of black—what remained of the Noise—splattered the walls, streaked across the pavement like some grotesque inkblot test. Windows were shattered, billboards cracked, streetlamps uprooted and snapped in half.
And at the epicenter, like ground zero after a bomb—there I stood. Suddenly, as if I’d been submerged in deep water the entire time, my lungs heaved, gulping air so violently I thought they might rupture.
…A-Are you okay? Kozuki’s voice wavered. You were gone for a while there…
Red stayed silent. I couldn’t tell if it was admiration, disgust, fear—or some sick cocktail of all three.
The time between entering the crossing and now was so blurred, unreachable. All I remembered was the all-consuming brutality, the hunger—to bathe in their blood, to carve them apart.
The fact that I’d enjoyed it was the most terrifying part.
God, how I’d loved it.
As the savagery threatened to rise again, I forced myself to focus on the details. Two of them—Numbers Fifty-Seven and Eighty-Six, if I remembered right—had dropped white orbs as rewards for my… diligence. I wasn’t sure what parts of my repertoire they enhanced, but then again, I’d stopped reading those stupid stage directions long ago.
I’d find out soon enough either way.
A bright white light flickered at the edge of my vision. At first, I dismissed it as another billboard flashing the map’s status—until it grew blinding.
What descended could only be described as an angel.
Tall, poised, her figure curved in ways that struck me as undeniably feminine. Her skin, a stark paper-white, devoured the Noise’s usual inky blackness, save for shadowed patches tracing her body. Lavender hair—straight, waist-length—drifted in the wind as she floated down. The other Noise recoiled in reverence, forming a circle around us, bowing low.
When her feet finally touched the ground, I was speechless. Oddly moved.
Oddly aroused.
Her eyes—amber-gold, piercing—dug into parts of my soul even I didn’t know.
Slowly, she extended a hand. Hypnotized, I reached back.
Her lips parted. What would she say?
“…I believe you have something of mine, you disgusting beast.”
[HR][/HR]
Before I could react, my white blade shuddered violently in its holster. I grabbed its hilt, trying to steady it—but the harder I gripped, the more it resisted. With a final, furious jerk, it tore free from my grasp and flew toward the Noise’s outstretched fingers, as if answering a call.
“How long has it been, my blade…? Ah, but what a sorry state you’re in.”
The Noise—no, she—crooned, inspecting the weapon with something like pity. Then, in one fluid motion, she thrust it skyward. A blinding white light erupted, swallowing the world in radiance. When it faded, the sword had transformed—wider, sharper, its glow now a brilliant white streaked with gold.
“Behold, beast!” she declared, leveling the reforged blade at me. “Urteil, the blade of I, Divine Messenger Selaphiel!”
Selaphiel?
“…So the sword was yours,” I said, rising slowly. “Does that make you another relic of this game’s past, Divine One?”
“Silence, heretic!” Her voice was thunder and silk—commanding, yet hauntingly beautiful. “What use is the past to one with no future?”
I drew my rapier, the same weapon I’d carried since the beginning, and immediately felt the absence of my other blade. The emptiness in my right hand was staggering.
I suppose I’ll find out if I’m anything without it.
“You have done well to come this far,” Selaphiel mused, her gaze flickering to my awkward stance. “To wield Urteil, even diminished, is no small feat. Your faith is… admirable.”
Before I could press further, she stepped forward.
“…Which is why your refusal of our Lord’s grace is unforgivable! Come, foul beast—architect of my brethren’s slaughter—and die like the dog you are at my Lord’s feet!”
I barely processed the words before she moved. One moment, meters stretched between us; the next, her blade was a hair’s breadth from my throat. I jerked back just in time, feeling the whisper of steel trim my forehead.
Before her swing even finished, her elbow cracked into my ribs, slamming me onto the concrete. I rolled as Urteil stabbed down where I’d lain, the impact spraying dust and debris. Gasping, I scrambled up, rapier raised, scanning the haze for any sign of her.
The dust settled in tense silence. Nothing.
Then—
A flicker of red and blue text above. No. Not now. I don’t need them!
A white glow cut through the haze—Urteil, streaking toward me like a bullet. I sidestepped, bracing to counter the moment Selaphiel followed through.
But she never appeared.
The blade changed course, veering midair. I twisted, but too late—an unseen force hammered into my side, hurling me across the pavement. Wheezing, I pressed a hand to the impact. No blood. No wound.
Relief lasted a second before Urteil came again—this time halting abruptly as a hand snatched it from the air. A grip seized my hair, yanking me up until my feet dangled. My rapier clattered to the ground as I clawed uselessly at her wrist.
“…Is this all?” Selaphiel sneered. “How disappointing. A weakling like you could never threaten my Lord.”
A pained groan escaped me as her fingers tightened. Around us, the Wild Noise howled—a grotesque audience cheering an execution.
“Now, my brethren!” She raised Urteil to my throat. “Rejoice—another heretic meets her end!”
Is this it? Will I die here, unfinished?
Please. Just one more chance. I don’t want to die.
…I don’t want to die.
But no stage directions came. No voices. Just silence.
“…Now, begone.”
Urteil flashed toward my neck. I shut my eyes.
That was the moment the world froze—
—and the moment I realized that even death was far too slow for me.