as he shambled forward.
Tsukune turned and pulled the child toward the one remaining space between two flaming buildings. The alley was narrow, but if she pushed the child in before her and defended their backs—
Another undead samurai appeared on the far side of the space, a long pike barring their escape.
"Nooo essscape for you, Phoeniksssss," hissed the horseman. He lowered his spear to charge.
"Stay behind me," Tsukune said to the boy. The child cowered behind her back, clutching at the samurai-ko's mud-caked pants. "And don't grab hold of me," Tsukune said sharply, "or you'll get us both killed." The boy let go and stood shaking and bawling.
Tsukune steeled her jaw as the horseman rode toward them. If she dodged the blow, the child would certainly die. She said a final prayer to her ancestors. Then an idea came to her.
As the horseman rode in, Tsukune stepped up to meet him, her sword held low. He thrust at her chest. At the last instant, she stepped aside, and the point of the spear lunged between her right arm and her ribs, into empty air.
Tsukune clamped down on the spear with her arm and grabbed the shaft with her left hand. She thrust herself backward with all her might, planting the spear point into the soft mud. Surprised, the undead horseman was yanked from his saddle and into the air.
He didn't have time to let go of the spear before Tsukune twisted and threw him into the inferno that had been the chief's house.
The rider screamed as he caught fire. Tsukune rose and thrust her katana into the undead horse's ribs, just behind its left foreleg. The horse bucked wildly as Tsukune yanked the sword free. The horseman staggered, burning, out of the fire. She wheeled and decapitated him with two messy chops. The horseman's body slumped heavily to the ground.
The other undead charged forward. Tsukune silently thanked the Fortunes for the fire that made the boy's father unrecognizable. Her first blow took the burned man's left arm; her second cut him in midabdomen. Before his torso could fall, she separated his head from his body. He, too, returned to death.
However, slaying the father left Tsukune vulnerable to attacks from the undead samurai. Her armor turned aside one cut to her ribs, but a tetsubo landed a crushing blow on her arm.
Tsukune winced and nearly cried out. Her hand flinched open, and her katana fell to the mud. The third undead samurai thrust at her, but she turned aside its sword with the metal guard plate on the back of her left arm. She backed into the child and nearly fell down.
Pushing the boy away, she drew her wakizashi, the smaller of the daisho swords carried by every true samurai.
Tsukune glanced back at the narrow alley between the two houses. The pikeman still held it, his spear barring their retreat. Either they would die on that spear, or before the weapons of the undead—or under bony hooves of the dead steed. Its wound was not debilitating, and it advanced on her, its eye sockets blazing with toxic green energy. More figures appeared behind them— undead coming to reinforce their comrades.
Tsukune burned from fire and sweat. Her lungs ached with the effort of breathing. She tried to decide how best to die.
Something leapt over the flaming ruins of the mayor's house. The figure arced high in the air, twisted, and landed lightly on its feet behind the advancing undead.
"Ujimitsu!" Tsukune cried.
The undead whirled, but it was too late. Shiba Ujimitsu, the Phoenix Champion, cut the first one in half before he'd even finished turning. The creature fell to the ground in two pieces. Its legs scrambled, trying to raise its bony hips out of the mud. The flopping torso brandished its rusting katana—but Ujimitsu easily stepped out of reach.
The second monster parried Ujimitsu's first cut, but he coun-terthrust, shoving his sword up beneath the creature's chin. The point of Ujimitsu's katana came out the top of the undead samurai's skull.
As Tsukune rushed forward, Ujimitsu
Tsukune turned and pulled the child toward the one remaining space between two flaming buildings. The alley was narrow, but if she pushed the child in before her and defended their backs—
Another undead samurai appeared on the far side of the space, a long pike barring their escape.
"Nooo essscape for you, Phoeniksssss," hissed the horseman. He lowered his spear to charge.
"Stay behind me," Tsukune said to the boy. The child cowered behind her back, clutching at the samurai-ko's mud-caked pants. "And don't grab hold of me," Tsukune said sharply, "or you'll get us both killed." The boy let go and stood shaking and bawling.
Tsukune steeled her jaw as the horseman rode toward them. If she dodged the blow, the child would certainly die. She said a final prayer to her ancestors. Then an idea came to her.
As the horseman rode in, Tsukune stepped up to meet him, her sword held low. He thrust at her chest. At the last instant, she stepped aside, and the point of the spear lunged between her right arm and her ribs, into empty air.
Tsukune clamped down on the spear with her arm and grabbed the shaft with her left hand. She thrust herself backward with all her might, planting the spear point into the soft mud. Surprised, the undead horseman was yanked from his saddle and into the air.
He didn't have time to let go of the spear before Tsukune twisted and threw him into the inferno that had been the chief's house.
The rider screamed as he caught fire. Tsukune rose and thrust her katana into the undead horse's ribs, just behind its left foreleg. The horse bucked wildly as Tsukune yanked the sword free. The horseman staggered, burning, out of the fire. She wheeled and decapitated him with two messy chops. The horseman's body slumped heavily to the ground.
The other undead charged forward. Tsukune silently thanked the Fortunes for the fire that made the boy's father unrecognizable. Her first blow took the burned man's left arm; her second cut him in midabdomen. Before his torso could fall, she separated his head from his body. He, too, returned to death.
However, slaying the father left Tsukune vulnerable to attacks from the undead samurai. Her armor turned aside one cut to her ribs, but a tetsubo landed a crushing blow on her arm.
Tsukune winced and nearly cried out. Her hand flinched open, and her katana fell to the mud. The third undead samurai thrust at her, but she turned aside its sword with the metal guard plate on the back of her left arm. She backed into the child and nearly fell down.
Pushing the boy away, she drew her wakizashi, the smaller of the daisho swords carried by every true samurai.
Tsukune glanced back at the narrow alley between the two houses. The pikeman still held it, his spear barring their retreat. Either they would die on that spear, or before the weapons of the undead—or under bony hooves of the dead steed. Its wound was not debilitating, and it advanced on her, its eye sockets blazing with toxic green energy. More figures appeared behind them— undead coming to reinforce their comrades.
Tsukune burned from fire and sweat. Her lungs ached with the effort of breathing. She tried to decide how best to die.
Something leapt over the flaming ruins of the mayor's house. The figure arced high in the air, twisted, and landed lightly on its feet behind the advancing undead.
"Ujimitsu!" Tsukune cried.
The undead whirled, but it was too late. Shiba Ujimitsu, the Phoenix Champion, cut the first one in half before he'd even finished turning. The creature fell to the ground in two pieces. Its legs scrambled, trying to raise its bony hips out of the mud. The flopping torso brandished its rusting katana—but Ujimitsu easily stepped out of reach.
The second monster parried Ujimitsu's first cut, but he coun-terthrust, shoving his sword up beneath the creature's chin. The point of Ujimitsu's katana came out the top of the undead samurai's skull.
As Tsukune rushed forward, Ujimitsu
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