—The ground was cold; the sky felt close enough to touch. Bells packed tight along the tower's outer wall quivered though no wind blew—no, it was the contestants' footfalls and curses making them sway.
Sekou Kagetsu hooked a grin at one corner of his mouth and shouldered Vajra.
"Now we're talkin'. Better thrill than any theme park."
Ahead: a narrow beam running between bells, and past that, a pentagonal landing. Miss your step and there was only an endless hollow below—fall, and you were done.
He ran. The beam sang. Straight at him came three Umibito, lashing whips of water.
"Oooh, they're spittin' tide at me."
Sekou snapped a lateral strike into a whip's root, then planted the haft underhand as a vaulting step. He hooked a foot on a bell's lip, used the recoil to spin—brought his heel down on an Umibito's shoulder.
A choked breath. One slipped; the bell he hung from swung sideways. Another racer coming in from the flank ate that bell full on, spit flying—then vanished into the void.
"One down. Bye-bye."
On the landing, two Tsukumo raised an enormous pair of clappers, cleverly snaring bell chains as they moved. Sekou slid in low; the clapper blow met his staff and shuddered bone.
"Wood-on-wood—what's your favorite flavor?"
"Show some respect for objects."
"Fair."
Mid-banter he kicked forward. With Vajra's haft he swept an ankle. The Tsukumo tried to brace with the clappers—and that backfired. The clappers became the fulcrum; the bell chain wound around them; the bell came skidding in from the side.
Iron met face. Both Tsukumo pinwheeled off the platform and were sucked outside the course.
"Two down. Bye-ee."
Behind him—white fingertips stretched without a sound. Jorō thread.
Sekou stabbed the floor with Vajra as he turned, floating his body just enough to slip over the thread's line. It skimmed the air, tangled a beam, went taut—and yanked the Jorō shadow off-balance by her own strand.
"Okay then—my turn."
Faster than he could step in, water, thread, old implements, and bone came from all sides. The rumor had already made its rounds:
—Half-yōkai brat.
—Weakling hid behind women? Or a monster?
"Let's find out," someone thought—and in a blink four clans closed in, cooperating without a word.
A brawl on a beam leaves fewer excuses than one on the ground.
Sekou laughed—and got sloppily fast. Hit, kick, slide, slip.
He "switched" an Umibito's whip with his staff and let it coil a different Umibito's leg.
He planted a sole on Jorō thread, took its tension on purpose, and turned it into leap distance.
An old Tsukumo gong, once struck, swung. Swinging shifted a beam's balance; the Yūrei nearby felt his footing go slick.
"Oops, you slipped."
The Yūrei recovered on the shadow of his foot—but a bell shoulder-checked his back the next beat, and he popped off the course, no drama.
Do bells ring? Here, they hit first. If they hit, you fall. That's the rule.
Get cocky and the world bares its teeth.
From above, below, diagonals—
Jorō threads bundled. Umibito water thickened pressure. Two, three clapper-men. Yūrei cold hands ghosted for his ankle.
Breath quickened. Fingers felt heavy.
By the beam's end, onto a narrow landing, dullness crept into his core.
One thread looped his left shoulder.
One whip cinched his waist.
Tie him up—slower than falling, but still a way to die.
"All right then—together—"
—A blade-line existed before the wind did.
To those watching, it must have looked like it "appeared on its own."
A white edge unraveled the bundle of thread. Whip and thread weren't cut on contact; they were cut before contact.
Aki.
"Joining late," she said—nothing else—and stepped forward, shoulder checking Sekou toward open space.
"Oh, you made it. Been waitin'."
"Don't. Eyes front."
Her voice was cold; her spacing was warm. Their motions meshed without strain.
The hole Sekou tore open rough, Aki widened clean.
The straight line Aki drew, Sekou abused, shaving enemies' footing away.
A whip darted again.
Aki half-stepped back, read the whip's joint at a glance, and cut there.
Threads from four directions.
Sekou drove Vajra down; the spring of the beam kicked a bell chain loose.
The chain gave; a side bell slid sideways, pure iron. Momentum did the rest: two opponents got swept off together.
"Hit equals out—love a rule you can understand!"
A Tsukumo clapper-man backpedaled, rolling an old drum off his spine—trying to break their footing.
Aki sheathed her blade, tapped the beam's lip with her heel, tiny.
The beam sagged a hair. The drum's path shifted that same hair and snagged on a bell's protrusion beside them.
Sekou put his whole weight into the follow-up.
The drum launched.
It tore a messy line through the bell ranks and smashed into the backs of two retreating Tsukumo—both vanished in the same instant.
"Path, clear!"
"Not as good as the rumors," someone behind them muttered. Jorō—thin smile under a veil, ten shining threads at her fingertips.
"Half-breed. Child. Luck only."
Aki glanced sideways at Sekou. "Insufficient evidence to refute."
"Honest, huh."
"Honesty's a weapon. Forward."
The higher they climbed, the nastier the tower's layout got.
Beams slanted; landings rotated; bells moved themselves sideways before anyone touched them.
Sekou looked delighted.
Right on the edge of danger was where he felt most alive.
Hold your ground where you might fall, and the cold air in your chest turns sweet.
"Y'know—I love this kinda—"
"Watch your feet."
Even scolded, the grin wouldn't leave his face.
Up ahead, a pack of young Yasha blocked the way.
Workman fists. Core strength obvious from a distance.
Meeting them head-on would be dumb.
Aki instantly ran a diagonal cut through the right wall's bell-rank and severed the upper chains evenly.
Even drops. Even gaps.
Sekou slid through those gaps and triple-tapped the outside of a Yasha's elbow. Reflex folded the joint in.
In tight quarters, tucked elbows make your own fist punch your chest.
The Yasha's breath hitched; his feet paused.
Aki's two-count followed.
"Out."
Hard bodies are just baggage without footing. The bell drift pushed the Yasha—ladder and all—off the edge.
"Gonna... remember that one."
Sweat stung his eyes. His palms smelled like iron and bell-metal.
Ahead, beyond a forest of chains, a round stone dais floated. A marker—anyone could tell it was the next checkpoint.
"Right. Sprint to there. Let's go."
Sekou dropped his hips and kicked—shadow from the side.
High-tier Jorō. Thicker thread. Each strand a vine.
Three lines on his ankles, two at his waist.
Pull and they'd cut—but the wrap would finish first.
"Got you."
A laugh under the mask.
Aki raised her blade—then didn't swing.
Instead, she kicked Sekou square in the back.
"Wha—!"
The boot launched him forward. The threads stretched behind him, tightening into lines for a blink, nothing more.
Aki's edge passed through that blink.
Line-time is short. Short's enough.
Twenty threads parted at once; the Jorō went over backward.
Sekou rolled up, swept Vajra sideways, and smacked the beam's edge.
The beam dipped, then rebounded; a bell overhead slid across and bulldozed the fallen Jorō—and her friends—away in one sweep.
Aki said one word. "Go."
"Thanks."
The last beam wasn't even a person's width.
Void below. A forest of bells above.
Sekou bit off a click of his tongue and went.
Skin of his soles learned the now. Running a line had been burned in by Shibu's hell training.
A tilt of bells left. A chain dropping right.
Head low, weapon high.
Cold iron brushing his shoulder.
Call. Plant. Jump.
Onto the stone—landed.
The rock glowed faint; something inside the tower switched. A partition. Someone else's footing vanished; thin screams threaded down from far away.
The rules were quiet and cruel.
Aki slid in a breath later and stopped her speed in one breath.
From the look of it, not many had made the dais.
Two Jorō. One Umibito. One Tsukumo. One Yasha.
Sekou laughed and rolled his shoulders. "Not bad. Started solo, landed duo. I'll take it."
"Don't get carried away."
"Getting carried away is my thing."
Aki flicked his forehead. It hurt. He was a little happy.
Then, above, a wall split—and the next route showed its face.
Four mouths opened. Each looked warped. Each looked right.
Someone snorted. Someone swallowed a click. Someone passed a "silent" signal with their eyes.
Sekou twirled Vajra once and looked at Aki. "Which one?"
"The one that smells worst."
"Roger."
They stepped in together.
Behind them, bell chains shifted again.
No need for sound.
If there's ringing to be done—drop them.
If there's falling to be done—run before that.
—-