Forward

Mishima stood on a familiar street.

The sun shone brightly, casting a faintly dazzling glare across the asphalt.

"My big brother is my hero!"

A clear voice rang out nearby. Mishima looked up and saw two boys, one older and one younger, walking hand in hand along the sidewalk ahead. The younger one was about nine. His large, bright eyes gazed up adoringly at the taller boy holding his hand. Every few steps, he skipped, his schoolbag bouncing against his back.

Whatever the taller boy said, the little boy agreed with a look of worship, his clear laughter carrying far down the street.

Watching their backs, Mishima abruptly stopped. His breathing grew uneven, and he instinctively stepped back, bumping into something soft.

Mishima turned to look, his pupils contracting sharply-it was the male Swimmer, one of the two who had hunted him in the sewers.

Mishima went rigid with fear and involuntarily backed away half a step.

But the man did not look at him. He walked straight through Mishima's body, his steps leisurely, as though he were out for a stroll.

Only then did Mishima realize the scene had changed. The familiar street was gone, replaced by shattered bricks and rubble.

The female Swimmer sat on a broken slab high atop the ruins. A small corpse lay at her feet. A blue school uniform, a black schoolbag, and the cartoon charm he had tied onto that bag himself.

Mishima's pupils shrank to pinpoints.

"You couldn't even catch a kid barely in his teens? How did you get chosen to become a Swimmer through incarnation?" the female Swimmer asked contemptuously.

The male Swimmer folded his arms and closed his eyes, as though savoring something exquisite.

"You don't understand. This feeling of hunting the weak-it's simply wonderful."

Trembling all over, Mishima raised his right fist. Cursed energy gathered over his knuckles in a ball of ghostly blue light, and he swung at the male Swimmer's face with all his strength.

But his fist passed through that face, through that body, as though striking empty air.

The scene around him blurred and gradually dissolved. The ruins, the Swimmers, every sound faded like paint washed away by water, leaving only Mishima and the small corpse.

A voice sounded from somewhere, young and bewildered.

"Isn't it a little late to fight back now-big brother?"

Mishima jerked his head down. A dense aura of curses drifted from the boy's corpse before him. Black and viscous, it welled out like asphalt and took shape in midair.

A cursed spirit formed. He had Xiaozhi's face, but there was no admiration in those eyes, no smile, only a chilling emptiness.

"My big brother is my hero... but my big brother ran away..."

He repeated those words, his voice growing shriller and more broken. Then he suddenly lunged at Mishima, pinning him to the ground. His tiny hands gripped Mishima's shoulders with enough force to make his bones crack under the pressure.

"Why! Why! Why did you run away! Why didn't you save me! Aren't you a hero! Aren't you my hero!" the cursed spirit demanded wildly, every cry stabbing into Mishima's chest like a knife.

Clearly, Gu Yanzhi was not the only cursed spirit haunting Mishima.

His younger brother, who had been killed by the two Swimmers, had seen the older brother he idolized turn and flee. The collapse of that heroic image had spawned a flood of negative emotions. Perhaps the boy had possessed some talent for jujutsu, for he had actually cursed Mishima just before dying-and attached himself to Mishima alongside Gu Yanzhi.

Mishima did not resist. He lay on the cold ground, looking at the face above him. Tears slipped silently from the corners of his eyes and mingled with the dust.

"I'm sorry, Xiaozhi." His voice was hoarse and broken.

"I'm no hero. I'm just a coward."

"I was so scared. I was so scared they would kill me."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Xiaozhi."

On the bridge pier, Mishima suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood and gasped for breath. The rusty taste nearly choked him. His throat was full of blood.

"Dying really is terrifying."

He murmured so softly he could barely be heard, "It hurts so much. I don't think I can even feel my left hand anymore."

He braced his still-functional right hand against the ground and shakily pushed himself up. Then he raised his head and saw the scene before him.

In the ruins nearby, a swarm of cockroaches had formed a black tornado. Countless cockroaches whirled through the air at high speed, the rustling of their shells scraping together deafening.

Violent tremors came from inside the tornado at intervals-the dull thuds of fists striking flesh, the explosions of cursed energy projectiles blasting against shells, one after another, like two cornered beasts fighting to the death at the heart of the storm.

An overwhelming premonition of death surged through Mishima's mind. His body's instincts screamed at him to retreat and flee.

"I'm sorry, Xiaozhi."

Mishima took a step forward.

Then another. His strides gradually lengthened, his stumbling walk becoming a run.

He ran over broken chunks of concrete toward the cockroach storm. Every footfall sent agonizing pain through the wounds on his left side. Blood dripped from his sleeve, leaving a broken trail behind him.

"I'll be there to apologize to you soon!"

Debris swept up by the storm sliced his skin. Sharp fragments of stone cut across his cheeks and arms like knives. The wounds Thin Ice Breaker had inflicted earlier tore open again, blood seeping through the rips in his shirt and staining his entire sleeve dark red. But he did not stop.

He gathered cursed energy in his still-functional right arm to shield his head and plunged straight into the black tornado of cockroaches. Countless shells and antennae scraped across his body.

Pain. Piercing, unbearable pain.

He had too little cursed energy to control such an enormous swarm. The cockroaches began chewing fresh wounds into his body-his legs, his waist, his arms. Every one of them bled.

But he did not stop, struggling onward through the cockroach storm.

At last-his bloodied body broke through the swarm.

Mr. Gu's outline appeared, but blood blurred Mishima's vision. He could not make out what Mr. Gu looked like.

He could only vaguely discern Uro engaging the enormous cockroach figure at close range. The Festering Life Sword had already been knocked from his hand and was spinning upward through the air.

The glow of Thin Ice Breaker lit Uro's palm. Mr. Gu was trapped, unable to advance or retreat.

Mishima used the last trace of cursed energy in his body and leaped into the air.

His body traced a graceless arc-all the wounds on his left side ripped open as he jumped, droplets of blood trailing behind him in a fine red mist.

He reached out with his still-functional right hand, his fingers closing precisely around the hilt of the spinning Festering Life Sword.

"Don't hesitate, Mr. Gu!"

He roared, his voice so broken the syllables were barely recognizable, but every word seemed to explode from the depths of his chest. "Do it!!"

Mishima's figure appeared in Gu Yanzhi's compound eyes, startling him. What was this kid doing here?

But he hesitated no longer. He poured all his strength into his fist and drove it viciously toward Uro.

Now Uro was the one trapped, unable to advance or retreat.

Her Thin Ice Breaker was aimed at Gu Yanzhi's left arm. She had just used Spatial Manipulation to fling the Festering Life Sword away and had not yet withdrawn it-she had no third hand to block Mishima as he descended from above.

Either the Festering Life Sword's attack or Gu Yanzhi's fist would deal her a devastating blow.

In other words-

Gu Yanzhi and Mishima had won.