She forced herself to stop wondering and do. She drove her blade toward the spirit's chest. The spirit blurred and the tip of Kira's blade nicked shoulder and arm — flesh tore, the wound dripping, but as the arm separated it seeped and knit back together. The threadlike veins on the spirit's back twitched like spider legs; the flesh reformed as if nothing had happened.
"Did you just… hurt me?" the cursed spirit hissed, surprised and angry. "Do that again and I'll kill you."
Kira smiled through the rush of adrenaline. She moved to cut again — and the spirit vanished.
A whisper curled in her ear.
Kira spun.
The cursed spirit's palm slammed into her face. A fingernail — a blade of bone — dug into her cheek, pain flaring white-hot. It lifted her by the face, and the world tilted. Blood welled at the wound.
"How dare you make me feel pain," the spirit spat, venom cool. "You bastard. I was going easy on you. I could have killed you anytime."
