Chapter 82: The Witching Hour

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From three to five in the morning, the Japanese Onmyodo refers to this period—when spirits and demons are most likely to appear—as the Witching Hour.

Figures in the mist gradually became clearer, tall or short, near or far, but all shared one trait: every one of them fixed their gaze upon the people trapped at the center of the fog.

Taku Ichihara burst out of the izakaya and onto the street, his expression icy. He paid no heed to the already dead Ishihara, retreating toward the izakaya, shouting at Kyuukawa, who held the Demon Blade Kunikane, "Run!"

Kyuukawa had no time to respond. Before he could, a handsome youth with a wine gourd at his waist gripped the blade of Kunikane in Kyuukawa's hands. It was as though pale ice met burning steel; his fingers sizzled and blackened, but the youth remained unmoved, coldly locking eyes with Kyuukawa as he tried to draw the blade. "This sword bears my clan's resentment—is it the Demon Blade Kunikane? Demon Slayer, you too must meet your death!"

With the utterance of "death," the youth's handsome face began to twitch and convulse, transforming in the blink of an eye into a hideous demon. Kyuukawa felt the Demon Blade in his grasp drained of energy, as if being absorbed by a demon hand inscribed with Onmyodo curses, losing its former eagerness to strike.

"Shuten Doji," flashed through Kyuukawa's mind as his last thought. In the instant when the blade's cold gleam extinguished, the demon efficiently seized his throat. The next moment, a mist of blood filled the night, like a drizzling rain. With Kyuukawa's death, the Demon Blade dropped to the ground, and Shuten Doji casually picked it up, tucking it at his other side. The overwhelming spiritual pressure rendered the weapon, born to slay demons, utterly unable to resist.

Just as he was about to speak, a dull gunshot tore through the fog. An invisible sledgehammer struck Shuten Doji's chest, blasting away half of it. Shattered organs and blood spilled freely from the wound. Enraged, Shuten Doji uttered a shrill, air-slicing scream, then vanished without so much as glancing at his injuries.

Jihei, who had just fired the demon-banishing bullet, hadn't yet confirmed his success. A scent mingling faintly of alcohol and thick blood stopped his heart for an instant; years of missions had taught him to fear such moments more than ordinary men.

Before Jihei could rise, a shadow loomed over him. The icy blade, which should have pierced the bodies of monsters and burned away their magic-fueled vitality, now was no different from any ordinary knife, serving its most basic function: killing humans.

The rooftop, acting as a vantage point, was drenched in blood rain. The grisly sounds of shattered bone and flesh pierced the ears, and the crunching gnawed at Arthur's nerves, making him want to grab Momiji and flee this place of carnage.

"Miss Togakushi Demon Woman, it's been a long time," said a fox-faced, peculiar creature, spreading its wings and landing before Momiji.

"Senior Tengu, thank you for your help," Momiji bowed slightly in thanks. With her daughter in her arms, she could not express gratitude in the manner of yokai, but the Tengu glanced at the peacefully sleeping child in her embrace and nodded.

"Her name is Shiori, right?"

"Yes."

"She sleeps so soundly. This child truly is the beginning of the Millennium Tide. We should have arrived sooner, but were blocked on the road by the onmyoji of the Kamo and Abe families." With his explanation done, the Tengu turned to Arthur, "Should I kill him?"

Though his gaze was directed at Arthur, Arthur knew the question was not for his opinion.

"No, of course not. These days, thanks to Mr. Arthur's help, Shiori and I have survived—please, never say such a thing again." Momiji quickly explained, holding Shiori between Arthur and the Tengu.

"Humans who help yokai are rare indeed. I apologize for my earlier rudeness. To show our gratitude, Mr. Arthur, you will forever be an honored guest of Japanese yokai. Hyakume, escort Miss Togakushi Demon Woman away," the Tengu said calmly, his words lacking any real apology.

Arthur hurriedly waved his hand. Once Momiji departed, the first thing he intended to do was catch a plane at the airport to some obscure European country and lay low. Even if asked to return to Japan as MacArthur, he would refuse. As a former GOC agent, he understood his colleagues well—they excelled at cleaning up their own kind, not dealing with anomalies.

A woman, completely wrapped in clothing, approached Momiji. "Miss Togakushi Demon Woman, please come with us. Leave the rest to them."

Momiji could only bid Arthur farewell. He had considered many things to say at parting, even planned what gifts to buy for Shiori. Arthur clenched the anonymous credit card in his pocket; he had spent half the previous night scraping together some money, intending to buy a farewell gift, but no one expected the parting would come so swiftly, so abruptly.

He felt somewhat like a clown, but he was used to the absurdity—this wasn't the first time fate had played games with him. Past disappointments and regrets had been enough; he was experienced at keeping silent.

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He waved to Momiji, and inadvertently saw that the woman walking beside her, as she moved, revealed her wrist, no longer concealed by clothes. Only then did he understand why the Tengu called her Hyakume—her exposed wrist was covered in countless eyes, all staring at Arthur, as though determined to remember his face.

Some vague emotion in Arthur's heart faded away. Yokai, after all, are yokai; Hyakume is a yokai, Momiji is a yokai.

Perhaps fate might turn, but those who began as strangers could never walk the same path to its end.

"Mr. Arthur, do you mind if I kill someone in your presence?" the Tengu asked casually, but before Arthur could answer, it strode straight toward the izakaya.

In Japanese Onmyodo, houses are inherently endowed with protective qualities. Aside from yokai who live near humans, most would not actively invade—a tacit rule established over a thousand years between onmyoji and yokai. Yet the Tengu cared nothing for this. It intended to slaughter all those pursuing Momiji, using such decisive violence to declare to all Japan humanity the yokai's stance on the Millennium Tide.

Only one race could claim sovereignty over this land.

Inside the izakaya, Taku Ichihara had no time to explain to Aoi Fukikoshi. He shut the back door swiftly, as though born to defend a solitary fortress. GOC agents were used to change; they always confronted the world's anomalies passively.

Human fragility was laid bare in the face of the mysterious unknown, like a solitary island in the center of the sea. Yet still, when storms come, someone must stand watch, must not fall.

"Send a distress signal to headquarters."

Taku Ichihara bitterly regretted refusing cooperation with other teams. Though Momiji's bounty was tempting, one had to survive to claim it.

"Hello, is this the police? I am..." The izakaya owner, Ryo Takenouchi, still trembling on the floor after the chaos, called the authorities.

Not everyone could remain calm after a gunfight, so the youth in the corner, overturning tables and chairs to create a makeshift barricade while continuing to eat his eel rice, stood out.

Taku Ichihara ignored the man's coarse manner, saying, "It's not safe here, there may be a gunfight, please stay low on the ground," while thinking of how to break through the siege.

Having just witnessed his companion's death, Taku Ichihara could no longer remain calm. The desire to live made him vigilant every second; even his words were uttered subconsciously.

He knew that if he left the izakaya before GOC reinforcements arrived, his fate on the empty streets would be a foregone conclusion. So he drew his pistol and aimed at the back door.

No knocking came—a hand, clearly not human, punched through the aluminum door, screeching metal twisting as the Tengu began to scan the humans inside through the gap.

Taku Ichihara and Aoi Fukikoshi unloaded all their bullets at the Tengu—not at it, but at its front, because even a fugitive yokai like Momiji could construct magical defenses. How could the mightiest yokai, the Tengu, regard bullets as a threat? Two full magazines emptied, yet the Tengu's stride never faltered.

"Humans, this is our attitude," the Tengu declared before striking. It knew that when all was over, onmyoji would appear to verify what had happened here—whether from Japan's own Onmyodo, or the ascendant SCP Foundation and GOC. They would all hear these words.

With technological progress, yokai had retreated before humanity's rise; some fabricated tales of their own demise, others simply vanished within their domains. Time let humans pass stories down, memories became tales, tales became legends. The yokai who once ruled the Japanese archipelago were long forgotten, but these former overlords never forgot their glory. They lurked in the deep darkness, awaiting a chance—a moment to overturn dominance. The Millennium Tide was such a moment.

The Tengu drew its katana from its waist, wooden clogs striking the floor with a hopelessly crisp sound. Taku Ichihara and Aoi Fukikoshi turned to flee, but before drawing the blade, the Tengu had sealed the space with advanced magic. No one would leave here alive.

The slightly ajar door swayed visibly in the night wind, but no matter how Taku Ichihara and Aoi Fukikoshi pushed, the door—a symbol of hope—would not open.

A simple horizontal slash tore the air with a sonic boom. If all went as expected, the two GOC agents would soon join their comrades on the banks of the Sanzu River for a postmortem review.

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A metallic clang echoed harshly in the cramped izakaya. The abrupt halt of the slash seemed absurd—could it truly be blocked?

The Tengu stared in astonishment at the man who had parried its sword. From the moment it entered the izakaya, it had noticed the man hiding in the corner, even watching him eat eel rice despite the chaos. The stern-faced young man, gripping an 80cm-long tachi, blocked the blow, then retreated, calmly adopting the upper stance of kendo, waiting for the next strike.

He was still chewing his eel rice!

This man, who had just finished his last bite, was Zhao Tianxing, returning from Kagoshima. After driving nonstop, he entered Tokyo an hour ago. Perhaps by fate, his hunger led him to this izakaya for an eel rice bowl.

Neither spoke. The proud Tengu would not ask the name of a human who had just blocked its sword; it preferred to speak when its opponent was on the verge of death.

Zhao Tianxing had hoped to quietly finish his less-than-authentic eel rice and drive away, but the sudden incident forced him to intervene. Whether or not the GOC agent had spoken those kindly words, he could not stand idly by while humans were slaughtered by yokai before his eyes.

The izakaya fell into an eerie silence. Both Tengu and Zhao Tianxing sized each other up, wishing to settle the matter in the next strike. After all, time was precious.

In this state of intense concentration, Zhao Tianxing suddenly recalled a question a girl had once asked him.

"Skyline, will my future self encounter the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons?"

Now, if you were beside me, you could witness it yourself.

As the standoff continued in the izakaya, Arthur watched the receding figures fade into the night, his heart settling. Days had been spent walking on the edge of a knife; no one knew if the next moment would bring death. It was an unsettling feeling.

He thought of the baby always cradled in Momiji's arms—little Shiori, who was the most at ease. She never cried or fussed, sometimes giggling at explosions in her mother's arms. Even tonight, she seemed to have enough confidence in her mother and the uncle, sleeping sweetly without waking.

Farewell, little one. Uncle once saved you. If you ever visit Europe, don't forget to see me. Arthur felt a tinge of sadness, but it was quickly washed away by relief. He was ready to leave the fog, hail a taxi, and head for the nearest airport.

A flurry of white snow began to fall. Arthur picked up a paper slip from his shoulder, adorned with a crest he did not understand. But soon, he realized he'd seen it in Alexylva University's classes—it represented Japan's Onmyodo Bureau.

The scattered slips quickly gathered together, forming a towering shikigami. A man wearing an eboshi, clad in white ceremonial robes and gloves, stepped forth into the night. Upon discovering that the divination board in his hand reacted not at all to Arthur, he frowned lightly. "Leave this place."

He then stood in the shikigami's palm and pursued the direction Momiji had departed. Arthur nodded and turned to leave, but as soon as the onmyoji vanished, Arthur immediately followed after.

This onmyoji, arriving alone to hunt yokai, was proof of his strength. Sure enough, Arthur soon saw the remnants of yokai, slaughtered all the way through the fog.

This middle-aged man was Hyuga Kamo, head of the contemporary Onmyodo Bureau. Upon sensing the rare occurrence of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons in Tokyo, he immediately understood why the yokai were brazenly provoking—besides the girl, daughter of Momiji and the symbol of the Millennium Tide, nothing else was worth such desperation.