“Above us! Kill the fucker!!”
Gunfire erupts. The Exorcists open fire toward the ceiling as the Demon vanishes between the topmost shelves.
“We’re going up! Don’t lose it!”
No time to mourn the fallen. The team scales the shelving with practiced ease, even under the weight of their gear.
I watch from below, scanning for the Demon’s shadow.
Ophelia saunters around like she’s window shopping.
“Its head shape was different!” someone shouts.
“The mutation’s accelerating. Stay sharp!”
“Meow-meow!”
Demons get sorted by threat level and type.
Most common are Category 1: Possession-Types. Former humans, recently turned. Dangerous, but still wearing the shape of a man.
But the longer they stay transformed, the more their bodies twist.
The more human they lose? That’s when they shift into Category 2: Mutation-Types. New organs, freakish growths.
And the threat level? Through the damn roof.
“It spits stones from its mouth!” I yell the warning.
No reply. They’re too busy up there.
Gunfire. Pop.
Screams. Wet bursts. Pop.
Then come the bodies—two of them.
One lands hard, a perfect hole through his chest. Dead before he hits the ground.
The other crashes down clutching his shoulder, crying but conscious.
Took an eight-meter fall and lived. Guy’s built like a truck.
“Ughhh… It hurts, it hurts so much!”
“Over here. Pressure on that wound.”
She drags herself over. Young woman, early twenties. Blood pouring from the hole in her shoulder.
I haul her behind a pillar.
“Need a transfusion?”
“Hip... pouch... ngh...”
I fish out a syringe, jab it into her neck artery.
Blood’s pumping too fast. It’s a matter of seconds now.
If she’s Ichor-compatible, she might pull through.
“Name?”
“Sniff... Kaede.”
“Kaede. You’re lucky. It’s not that bad. Stay awake. Demon’s still lurking. Got it?”
She nods, face pale but eyes fierce. Drags herself deeper into the shelves like she’s making camp for life.
“Damn it! Let go of me! I said—aaahh!!”
I bolt toward the scream. Demon’s on top of the next rack, gripping an Exorcist’s head like a melon. The guy fumbles for his sidearm.
I shoot. Three rounds.
The Demon shrugs it off, flings the man aside, and slips behind the shelves.
“Not enough firepower.”
This gear’s from the Akachi house. Standard mercury rounds—no blessings, no armor-piercing, no quadruple charge.
Even my Ikaku Special felt weak as they were. These are worse.
And wait—that one’s head wasn’t deformed. One Mutation-Type, one Possession-Type?
Two of them. No wonder they’re all over the place.
I sprint to the downed Exorcist. Skull’s caved in like a dented helmet, but he’s still breathing.
I grab a cross-marked pouch, find a syringe, and stick him.
“Heh... meh... hep meh...”
“Stay in the shelves. Don’t move.”
“Ahh...”
I shove his half-dead body between boxes and hope for the best.
“You’re kind.”
Ophelia’s voice, low and amused as she surveys the mess.
“People like to say I’ve got a generous spirit.”
“Mew~”
“Hey, you guys!”
Two Exorcists drop down from above. The last is a grizzled veteran with three scars across his face. His jaw’s clenched tight.
He stares at me, then Ophelia.
“Inspector, please! We can’t handle this. We need backup. Please...!”
Pop.
The guy next to him takes a round through the throat. His head drops off clean.
We dive behind the shelving.
On this side: me, Ophelia, and Lady Ayano. Two civilians cower in the next aisle.
“Ahhhh! We’re dead! We’re all gonna die!”
“Calm down! Breathe!”
“Fuji, that thing’s Category 2! The intel was wrong! And there’s two more! Their movement’s insane—they’re syncing to confuse us! They’re sniping us from beyond our range! This piece of junk can’t even reach!”
He slams his MP5 on the floor, close to losing it.
Fuji—the scarred vet—steadies him, then turns to me and Ophelia.
“Top of the racks is a death trap. Good sightlines, no cover. The stones they fire hit like rifles. Only solid walls block ’em. Body armor’s useless.”
Fuji rubs his chest like he’s got phantom pain. Then eyes me sideways.
“You. Akai house, right? Where’s your weapon?”
“This is it.”
“That little thing?”
“Yep.”
“You brought just a pistol?”
I glance at it.
Fuji exhales hard. “You should’ve brought a submachine gun.”
“I don’t operate on sound logic.”
“That’s useless. Grab that one.”
He points to a fallen Exorcist. MP5 next to a blood-soaked hand. Standard 9mm mercury. Less punch than my pistol, which already can’t breach mana armor.
“Don’t need it.”
“What? It’s still better than a pistol.”
“I said I don’t need it. Don’t give me orders.”
They stare. Suspicion thick in the air.
“Wait... I couldn’t sense any mana from you, but—you can’t infuse mercury bullets?”
“I’d rather not answer that.”
“No way. No freakin’ way. We’re out here dying, and you’re just dead weight? You can’t even use mana? We’re screwed!”
The panic starts to spread.
They can feel it now—the complete void where my mana should be.
I glance at Ophelia, and she starts talking.
“I see. That explains the lack of mana.”
“I haven’t admitted anything.”
“How someone like you got into the Coral Terminators is beyond me.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Then do us all a favor and fold that oversized body into a corner. Stay with the civvies, commoner.”
“Gfff...”
“What was that? You chirping at me like a cricket?”
Ophelia steps out and opens her jacket. Moves from cover—right into the crosshairs.
“Inspector! That’s suicide!”
“She’s gone nuts! She’s seriously gone—!”
“Stay put. All of you. Cower like bugs under a rock.”
She walks forward. Calm. Poised.
The only sound is the tap of her heels and the groans of the wounded.
Her back turns on us.
Movement. Then—pop.
I catch it. Barely.
It was a black seed fired like a bullet. Headed straight for her skull.
A silver flash cuts it down.
Ophelia now holds three thin, silver swords between her fingers like claws. Must’ve drawn them mid-step.
I didn’t see a damn thing.
“Found you.”
She swings.
The blades vanish in the follow-through—thrown. Tracing the shot back to the source.
One of them punches straight through the Demon and pins it to a support beam.
“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust—return, defiled soul.”
She murmurs the prayer like a hymn. Soft, clear, and noble.
She dealt with a Category 2 like it’s nothing.
It’s surgical. Gorgeous.
And terrifying.
This is what Exorcism looks like when wielded by the aristocracy.