Luckily, crow wisdom is seldom faulty; luckier still are those who receive it. I could have sworn their instruction was little more than play at my expense, but as I trek in the direction they suggested, a tsunami of smells crashes over me, driving back the city's standard aromas.
Charcoal smoke, frying dough, fresh vegetables, candied fruit, sizzling beef, rendering fat, and fish—sweet, sweet fish—overwhelm my nostrils as I follow their beckoning around a street corner, eyes wide. I've never encountered a shopping street, but there's no mistaking it when I arrive.
Structurally, it's a typical human road, same as any other. Tall buildings watch over a wide, central pathway, everything drenched in concrete, metal, and glass. Noisy and not a thing left to its natural state—besides the humans themselves, I guess. However, it's the details that differentiate this not-so-typical street. Instead of hulking metal steeds, humans occupy the central pathway. Feet tread where rubber typically reigns supreme. It's a nice change. If only all human roads worked like this, then perhaps Chiyo would still be with me.
The humans here conduct their business in the open, hunting at booths, counters, or inside of merchandise dens with no outer wall to cut off view. It is starkly different than their typical method of scurrying into discrete commerce realms only to reemerge with bags full of secrets.
Though these humans may have nothing to hide, they're still human all the same. Countless droves follow their hive-minded order up and down the street, careful to stay within the appropriate directional current. Hundreds of them, all flapping their lips or staring at their rectangles. All utterly unaware that an alpha predator is perched atop a stack of boxes surveying their territory, wondering what manner of creature decides to hunt like this? Confusing as their ways may be, I'm in no place to complain. It frees me to focus fully on my task at paw.
High atop the cardboard, I pull in a long sniff. The nasal cacophony fills my nostrils, my throat, my skull, until my jowls glisten and my head is ready to burst, but I will not lose the scent of fish in the chaos. An honorable cat must ignore distraction when on the hunt. I close my eyes. Focus. Picture the fish. Isolate the smell. Filter out the extras. Take in the surroundings with another deep breath.
There!
I drop down from the boxes and wind my way through the human currents, weaving between unaware feet with ease. Slinking this way and that, scoffing at the freedom of travel these strange creatures afford me. One could not move so liberally through another cat's hunting ground, that is certain. As I wind, a human cub reaches down for my tail. A sharp hiss and show of fang deters the loathsome thing's grubby hand. Smart child. With a final burst of speed, I reach the far side of the street. Fish scent guides me past stalls and booths congested with frail hagglers, busy dens coated in disgusting, false light, and a glass-encased area full of humans blowing acrid smoke. But the smell of my prey draws ever closer.
Finally.
One last push through the forest of legs brings me face-to-face with my target. An elderly human stands hunched over an inclined table covered in ice. There's so much of the stuff my nose tingles with chill as I approach. Atop the endless expanse of glistening cubes sits an unfathomable bounty of fish. Row after row. All shapes and sizes. More fish than I have ever seen. Streams and seas alike must have been emptied to amass such an endless supply. My pupils widen. My eyes dart wildly, heart pounding. The smell overtakes me; saliva rains onto the concrete.
Focus.
As I slink forward, peering up, analyzing my options, the old man eyes me. His pleasant grin sours. Finally, it seems, I have found a human wise enough to spot a predator on the prowl. The wrinkles on his weathered face droop into a guarded expression. Spotted hands flap my way, shooing me unsuccessfully as I peruse. A defense so pitiful I could take it as an insult. Maybe these stout, flat fish would be nice. Perhaps those long, spear-like ones with their alluring shine. Hmm, neither looks fat to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the old man working in his apron, murmuring bitterly. He pulls out a limp towel, spins it, and flicks it at me; yet another pathetic attempt to fight me off. He'll need far better to stay my paws.
"Get!" He grunts. Other nearby humans take notice.
Some coo and smile, others shake their heads, and some point their rectangles at me and giggle. Why must they always act so unnaturally? I, a rival predator, dare to show myself in their territory, clearly in search of their prey, yet not a single one has the backbone to fight me off with more than a pathetic length of cloth. If not for their size and hive-mind, these beasts would surely fall below even squirrels on the food chain.
I ignore their spineless efforts to defend territory and go back to surveying the fish selection, forepaws now up on the icy display. Perhaps those reddish ones with the bulging eyes would please Master Chingon. Oh! Maybe these blue, tiger-striped ones with the foolishly stern expression. The towel slaps down again, striking me with the strength of a peaceful breeze. Hiss. A kitten's paw could do more damage, frail old man.
Shimmering silver scales glistening with hues of blue steel and sunrise pink catch my eye. The ancient towel wielder, the rest of his kind, and all of their troublesome noise melt away until all that's left is the most beautiful fish one could ever see. Its eyes, round and clear, are the image of health. Its smell, that of a fresh kill. There's honor in its simplic allure, nobility even. This glorious fish does not need flashy markings or exotic shapes to stand above the rest. It must have been a king of its waters, a valiant warrior at the least. Yes, there can be no doubt. I'm not sure if it's of the fatty variety, but who cares? Its size alone makes it a much more respectable catch than the measly cut of sea bass Azura provided. This is the one.
My jaw tightens, my muscles tense, primed to pounce. The hunched human discovers his last shred of honor. Forgoing the towel, he sends an open-palmed strike at the top of my head. A commendable effort, but he is far too feeble to cause any concern. With great ease, I duck the blow and tag the side of his wrist with a mild swipe of my claws—a warning. Beads of blood peek out of the minuscule wound. The coward howls like I stole his hand.
Never mind that last shred of honor.
He twists, clutching his wrist, sucking and puffing wind, eyes wide on the wound. I hop up. Ice stings my paw pads with the most uncomfortable of chills. I quick-step over less favorable fish, and—
Whack!
The old man nearly sends me flying. Ice explodes from the table as I dig in a whisker from the edge. The man's sour wrinkles have morphed yet again, sagging into a display of pure, desperate anger; the look of a wounded beast. Curses fly from his quivering lips. Other humans laugh or gasp as more rectangles point at me. Seems they have no pack honor either. My hunched rival swipes another slow strike at me. I jump it without worry. Before he can pin me with his other hand, I have the fish in my grasp. My teeth sink in just behind the gills. Sweet juices run onto my tongue, providing further incentive to escape with my prize.
"Damn cat! Drop it!" He foams, scooting around the table with the speed of a rock. I'm on the ground, darting between feet well before he gets within reach. Curses and cheers alike fade behind me as I rush, retracing my steps. Humans point, clamor for their rectangles, stop and stare, but not a one thinks it wise to halt my escape. Strange creatures indeed. Is their prey so trivial? Or perhaps their instincts are just this dull.
The fish is a burden, but one worth carrying. With the right angle, I manage to lift it high enough that only the tail drags on the ground as I leave the smells of the shopping street behind me. A hearty chuckle finds its way out around the fish. How great! I can't wait to see the look on Azura's face when she sees the size of our meal! Master Chingon will be so impressed by the skills of his new top pupil. I'm sure a fish this grand will encourage him to accelerate my training timeline. Perhaps now he'll even teach me the secret to his power. Crows follow from above as I daydream about Zei Sho's corpse, fried and smouldering under the wrath of my electric paw.
"Whoa 'dere! Aye, you, hold up a sec."
The hairs on my neck rise as a slender orange tabby slinks from the shadow of a metal box covered in human symbols.
"Would'ya look at 'dis, boys," he calls ahead, inviting two more scraggly cats out into the center of the alley to block my path. "Looks like we got us a stray."
"Looks like he found that fish you lost, eh, boss?" The matted manx snickers. His shoulders wide and his face twisted into a sinister smirk.
"Yeahhh… Good kitty, thanks for returning it," a gray and brown patched cat with elongated ears and a pointy face jeers, his eyes darting from one ally to the other and back again in search of validation; or, perhaps, reassurance.
Surrounded. Common thieves, by the look of it, each reeking of dishonor. Their motives are clear, but I won't lose this fish. Can't. I test a forward step. All three mirror me, closing the distance. Must it come to this? I set the fish down carefully on the asphalt.
"There is an entire street full of food within minutes of here. The humans who guard it are weak and slow. I'm sure you'll have no trouble procuring your own prey," I advise.
"How about 'dat?" The orange mocks. "'Den you'll have no issue leaving 'dis one here, right?"
"I will not part with this fish." I lower my head and arch my back. "It has been carefully selected."
Deafening silence sucks the air from my lungs as they lower themselves into aggressive stances. They bear fangs. Claws flex from grimy paws. Whisker by whisker, they inch closer at a maddeningly slow rate. Flapping wings crack through the silence as a crow flees. A single black feather falls from its perch.
"Last chance," I say, forcing the words to sound confident.
"'Dat's my line," the orange hisses.
The feather meanders down, cutting through the quiet tension as it floats back and forth. Side to side. Zigging and zagging to the ground between us. It lands. I spring to the side, targeting the pointy-faced cat first. Scrawnier than the rest and noticeably reliant on the strength of his gang, the choice was easy. Unprepared, the cat scrambles to raise his guard. Too slow. My claws dig into his shoulders as I jump and roll over his head. I pull him back, forcing him to join the tumble. As he flips, I plant my hind legs on the center of his spine and launch him into the alley wall with a strong double kick. Nose-first, he smashes into the bricks with a thwack.
The manx charges with a roar. He's quicker than the first, tougher too. I roll, narrowly avoiding a downward slash. The orange is there to meet me at the end of my dodge. His claws swipe through the base of my ear and across my cheek. Heat stings my face. I jet backwards. The manx is there.
These two are well accustomed to fighting together.
Even so, I meet the manx's strike with a block. I snap forward, catching a bit of his ear in my teeth. My mouth fills with the taste of foul iron. The manx yelps as the orange's claws slice down my back.
I stumble away. The manx jumps me. Instincts help me block the worst of the attack, but he still inflicts gaping slashes across my legs before I escape the barrage.
Pain pulls at my attention, but—
Wait.
Where's the orange?
I spin. Too late. His fangs bite deep into my shoulder. I scream out in pain. Blood soaks my coat. Still in the orange's grip, the manx charges, cracking my jaw with a devastating kick. My head spins. My vision goes fuzzy.
I topple. Blood gushes. A pool of red grows under me.
"All over a fucking fish!" The orange laughs wickedly. I strain to focus my vision. Can't. I watch his blur bend down and lick my prize.
"Bastard!" I force my throbbing body from the ground. My legs are as unstable as my eyesight, but I manage to stumble into the fish, biting down hard near the tail.
The orange tries to yank it away, but I won't give. I shake my head, trying to slip the fish from his teeth. Bits of scaly skin tear as we tug against each other for the delicacy.
Pain engulfs me.
The manx is on me, thrashing at my ribs with a flurry of claws. Black borders my vision. It comes on me fast. Blood loss threatens to take me.
The fish falls from my mouth.
Can't withstand…
The scrawny cat is up, a blur stalking my way. He looms over me, paw raised above my head. I wince.
But the strike never falls.
There's a grunt, then gurgling. I open my blurred eyes to find the long-faced cat tipping over, his throat slashed deep. Blood hisses from the slice.
A shadow has descended upon the battlefield, moving with the deadly grace of a winter wind. It ducks, rolls, spins, and sidesteps every strike thrown its way. Each evasion leaves its attackers bloodied. They limp and stagger as the dance pulls and pushes them around the alleyway. The manx falls forward, paws gripping desperately at bloody pools that were once eye sockets. Screams and the smell of carnage fill the air as I look on in horrified awe.
The orange jumps back, creating separation as the shadow finally stands still. I strain through my fading vision to see Azura flick blood from her claws. She stands between the orange bastard and me, her presence exploding to that of a panther. Then I hear it. A strange purr emanates from deep in her chest. I fight to stay conscious despite the blood loss. I must see what Master Chingon's tutelage can accomplish.
"Y-you, you monster!" The orange hisses desperately. "Look what you—"
Before he can finish, Azura makes her move. A flash. The shadow of death's scythe. Her paw presses gently into his chest as her purr amplifies. She takes a calm step back as the orange hunches over, wheezing desperately. The sound of dry gasping crescendos. The cat falls limp with a hollow thud.
"Bokuden," Azura says calmly as she saunters over.
"You… win…" The words take off from my lips with the strength of sickly butterflies. My whole body is cold and numb. So numb. I guess I'll get to find out if this whole curse thing works the way Master Chingon said it does. What a pain… To die again, and so soon. How embarrassing… I was supposed to bring back a huge fish. I put my honor on the line and I… failed… again.
"What're you mumbling about?" Azura leans in close, analyzing my wounds. "Shut up and fight, you're not dead yet."
Darkness creeps closer, claiming more and more of the light from my vision. But then I hear it, her strange purr. Vibration flows from her. Moving even closer, she places her forepaws on my back. Numbness dulls the sensation at first, but as her paw pads press in, the sensation breaks through. They buzz and tingle like a sunbeam breaking through a snowy dawn, thawing the icy grip of death.
Pain strikes hot across my body. I writhe on the ground, but soon, just like the numbness, the pain begins to fade. Darkness recedes, scampering back to the shadows where it belongs. My muscles, though throbbing with fiery pain, regain their mobility as the warmth of her touch, of her purr, fills me with strength. Able to move again, I scan my body to find my wounds closed, nothing remaining but tender scars and slick blood.
"Try to breathe," she instructs. The warmth of her golden gaze radiates down on me like twin suns. As I draw in air, my muscles scream. Though the wounds have miraculously closed, their damage still afflicts me. "What?" She asks as I wince through a painful smile.
"The pain, it's proof of life," I grunt, trying to rise to my paws.
"You don't have to act so tough." She rolls her eyes and helps me up from the ground. "You were just about dead a minute ago, you know?"
My countless cuts, now scars, sing a searing symphony as my muscles lurch back to life. Each movement furthers the crescendo. I test an arduous step towards my fish. Fire bolts through my legs. My entire body beats like a drum played by an angry giant, but I won't let the pain keep me from my prize.
"Take it easy, or you'll start bleeding again."
"Did you see it?" I force through gritted teeth as I try to scoot myself towards the fish.
"Are you insane?" Azura chuckles, shaking her head. "What were you thinking? Taking on three opponents over a fish?"
"But did you see it?" I can't suppress the groans and grunts as I bend down and lift up the fish. A proud, victorious smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, but it falls away quickly, killed by the discomfort.
"You think that thing is worth dying over?"
"My honor surely is," I assert. "I guaranteed Master." Damn, would it kill her to seem at least a little impressed? I know she saved my life and all, but come on. This is a truly exceptional fish, isn't it?
"And how much do you figure honor is worth to the dead?" She asks, thoroughly unimpressed.
"Everything."
"Hmm." She shakes her head. "You know, it's a miracle that such a stubborn cat could be so lucky. If not for Radu's quick flight, you'd be waking up at the shrine, one death closer to…" She sighs deeply, a whisper of amusement playing in her eyes. "Never mind… Let's head back. Will that honor of yours allow me to carry the fish? I'm worried it'll take days for you to limp it back on your own."
I place it down with another spattering of grunts and groans while Azura chuckles heartily at me. Despite the torn flesh and bite marks it received during the battle, my prize is still relatively pristine. Her head slowly tilts to the side as she takes an investigative sniff. Perhaps I'm delirious from the pain, but for a moment I could swear a smirk twists her whiskers.
"This happens to be my favorite kind of fish, you know?" She muses. "Now, try to keep up. We shouldn't keep Master waiting too long."