hellfire. Boils covered their livid flesh.
Spotting Tsukune, the creatures howled a hideous war cry and charged.
Tsukune turned back to the undead parents. They had reached the quagmire and shambled in. The child, crying, clung to the waistband of Tsukune's red silk pants.
Tsukune jumped to the edge of the mud, dragging the child with her. The boy let go of Tsukune's belt and fell facedown in the mud. Tsukune didn't have time to tend to him. Besides, with his face in the mud, the boy wouldn't see her slaughter his undead parents.
The samurai-ko's katana flashed and split the undead woman from collar to hip. The pieces fell to the ground but kept twitching.
The dead man tried to grab Tsukune's arm, but she whirled and elbowed him in the face. His nose broke, and his skull caved in, but still he clawed at her.
The other undead slogged through the wide puddle. Using her free hand, Tsukune grabbed the dead man's shirt and used a hip-throw to toss him in front of the advancing samurai. The undead father tripped his fellows. All four of them went down, thrashing.
Tsukune grabbed the boy and pulled him out of the mud. He bawled, tears washing the dirt from his eyes. The drying mud on her clothes slowed Tsukune's movements. She cursed silently and dashed into an alley between two burning huts.
Between the flaming buildings, an undead horseman reared up. Tsukune saw his blazing green eyes, the rotting flesh on his face, the obscene leer on his mouth. He held a barbed spear in one arm and the reins of his steed in the other. The bottom half of the horse's face was missing, and two white ribs poked through where the animal's black skin had ripped away.
The child screamed as the horseman charged. The undead rider aimed its spear at the boy's chest. Tsukune stepped between them. She whipped her sword around, trying to ward off the creature's spear—but her blow wasn't strong enough.
The tip of the spear raked across her breastplate, and caught between the rolls of metal. The impact yanked Tsukune off her feet, and she fell. The spear came loose, and the horseman rode on. Tsukune hit hard and nearly rolled into one of the burning buildings. The child fell to his knees as the undead rider wheeled his steed for another pass.
"Run, boy," Tsukune called, "run!" But the child didn't listen.
Blood pounded in Tsukune's ears as she scrambled to her feet. The undead advanced on her, three samurai, the child's father, and the horseman. The heat of the building next to her singed Tsukune's flesh; the monster's cold gaze froze her soul.
She wheeled and slashed her blade into the burning house. Her gambit worked. The structure, weakened by the blaze, tumbled down between her and the undead. The child's father caught fire. He flailed his dead arms wildly as he burned.
Tsukune grabbed the child by the collar and ran. Her chest ached from where spear point had struck her armor. Her back throbbed from where she'd landed. Her lungs burned with smoke. The child cried.
My army is gone by now, Tsukune thought, either perished or fled. No sense calling for them and alerting the enemy to my position. She cursed herself for having gotten into this fix.
She dodged between burning houses without any clear idea of where she was going. The child staggered along with her, tripping with nearly every step, slowing her down, but Tsukune refused to give him up.
A burning building toppled in front of them, nearly crushing them both under its heavy timbers. Once it had been the village chief's house. Now it was a flaming rampart, cutting off Tsukune's retreat.
Tsukune whirled, seeking an alternate way out. All she saw was fire and death, and shadows moving through the smoke. Damn you, Doji Hoturi! she thought. If we meet again I won't pillow with you. I'll kill you.
Out of the smoke appeared the horseman and his four comrades. The boy's father had been burned beyond recognition— almost beyond semblance of humanity. His burnt flesh cracked and flaked off
Spotting Tsukune, the creatures howled a hideous war cry and charged.
Tsukune turned back to the undead parents. They had reached the quagmire and shambled in. The child, crying, clung to the waistband of Tsukune's red silk pants.
Tsukune jumped to the edge of the mud, dragging the child with her. The boy let go of Tsukune's belt and fell facedown in the mud. Tsukune didn't have time to tend to him. Besides, with his face in the mud, the boy wouldn't see her slaughter his undead parents.
The samurai-ko's katana flashed and split the undead woman from collar to hip. The pieces fell to the ground but kept twitching.
The dead man tried to grab Tsukune's arm, but she whirled and elbowed him in the face. His nose broke, and his skull caved in, but still he clawed at her.
The other undead slogged through the wide puddle. Using her free hand, Tsukune grabbed the dead man's shirt and used a hip-throw to toss him in front of the advancing samurai. The undead father tripped his fellows. All four of them went down, thrashing.
Tsukune grabbed the boy and pulled him out of the mud. He bawled, tears washing the dirt from his eyes. The drying mud on her clothes slowed Tsukune's movements. She cursed silently and dashed into an alley between two burning huts.
Between the flaming buildings, an undead horseman reared up. Tsukune saw his blazing green eyes, the rotting flesh on his face, the obscene leer on his mouth. He held a barbed spear in one arm and the reins of his steed in the other. The bottom half of the horse's face was missing, and two white ribs poked through where the animal's black skin had ripped away.
The child screamed as the horseman charged. The undead rider aimed its spear at the boy's chest. Tsukune stepped between them. She whipped her sword around, trying to ward off the creature's spear—but her blow wasn't strong enough.
The tip of the spear raked across her breastplate, and caught between the rolls of metal. The impact yanked Tsukune off her feet, and she fell. The spear came loose, and the horseman rode on. Tsukune hit hard and nearly rolled into one of the burning buildings. The child fell to his knees as the undead rider wheeled his steed for another pass.
"Run, boy," Tsukune called, "run!" But the child didn't listen.
Blood pounded in Tsukune's ears as she scrambled to her feet. The undead advanced on her, three samurai, the child's father, and the horseman. The heat of the building next to her singed Tsukune's flesh; the monster's cold gaze froze her soul.
She wheeled and slashed her blade into the burning house. Her gambit worked. The structure, weakened by the blaze, tumbled down between her and the undead. The child's father caught fire. He flailed his dead arms wildly as he burned.
Tsukune grabbed the child by the collar and ran. Her chest ached from where spear point had struck her armor. Her back throbbed from where she'd landed. Her lungs burned with smoke. The child cried.
My army is gone by now, Tsukune thought, either perished or fled. No sense calling for them and alerting the enemy to my position. She cursed herself for having gotten into this fix.
She dodged between burning houses without any clear idea of where she was going. The child staggered along with her, tripping with nearly every step, slowing her down, but Tsukune refused to give him up.
A burning building toppled in front of them, nearly crushing them both under its heavy timbers. Once it had been the village chief's house. Now it was a flaming rampart, cutting off Tsukune's retreat.
Tsukune whirled, seeking an alternate way out. All she saw was fire and death, and shadows moving through the smoke. Damn you, Doji Hoturi! she thought. If we meet again I won't pillow with you. I'll kill you.
Out of the smoke appeared the horseman and his four comrades. The boy's father had been burned beyond recognition— almost beyond semblance of humanity. His burnt flesh cracked and flaked off
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