This will cost you.
Ōkami knew it would. Had always known it would. And he would give it, until there was nothing left to give. To this demon, he was eternally loyal. The hum of magic curled through his ears, and Ōkami attempted to take flight in a burst of dark smoke. He turned his eyes to the moon again.
It failed him. Again.
A wave of pain tore through his chest. He cried out, a curse barreling from his bleeding lips. If Ōkami’s demon betrayed him now, all their lives would be at risk.
His friends—his family—would die for it.
And Mariko …
“He’s too weak,” Ren said, panic underscoring his words. “It’s not working.” The boy’s typically cruel demeanor was nowhere to be found. Tsuneoki helped brace Ōkami while Yorishige moved ahead to scout the landscape. Vegetation grew high on the hillside just to the right of the drain, concealing them from view.
Tsuneoki said, “Then we’ll carry him out of the city.”
“No.” Ōkami spat the blood and salt from his mouth. “You’ll be caught.”
“You think we didn’t consider that before coming here?” Tsuneoki shot back.
Ōkami almost smiled. “I’ve missed you, you bastard.” He slumped against Ren, the pain turning his sight black for an instant.
“Stop acting like a child,” Ren demanded. “Stand up straight. Fight.” His words reminded Ōkami of Mariko and her countless admonishments. She wanted him to be more. They all wanted Ōkami to be more.
Ōkami let his head loll again, his eyes drifting closed.
Why did they not realize their words fell on deaf ears? What would it take for them to understand he was not worth such faith? Ōkami wished he could return to his cell. Wished he could continue receiving the blows he’d deserved for a decade. He flinched as he recalled a particularly vicious kick to the head that had sent stars across his vision.
Even his father’s sword had gleamed with promise when Ōkami had drawn near. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, that ridiculous blade believed in him, if the lore were to be held as true. It was supposed to recognize the pure heart of a warrior. There was nothing pure about Ōkami, even if the blood of Takeda Shingen flowed through his veins. Ōkami did not want the responsibility. What had his father’s pure heart earned him in the end?
A chance to die in front of his only son.
Ōkami opened his eyes and glared at the night sky. He let the hum rise once more in his throat, the vibrations ripple over his broken bones. He bit his tongue until more blood pooled in his mouth. His body was too damaged. The demon had turned its back on him. Ōkami’s knees started to give. He wanted to sleep. To lose consciousness and fade into nothingness.
Tsuneoki grabbed him by the collar. “Takeda Ranmaru, don’t you dare—”
An arrow hissed through the vegetation, a hairsbreadth from Tsuneoki’s head. Yorishige burst through the curtain of vines concealing them, his features horror-struck, just as a second arrow rasped from the darkness at his back. It struck Yorishige spearing clear through his chest, killing him instantly. He toppled to the ground like a doll, his mouth hung open in dismay.
“Get to the clearing!” Tsuneoki said before fading into the darkness. Disappearing from sight.
“There are more men beside the drain,” a voice cried out from beyond the vines. “They tried to murder our emperor. Show them no mercy!” The roar of gathering soldiers—their armor clanging through the air like warning bells—grew with each passing moment.
“Go with Tsuneoki,” Ōkami said to Ren, his eyes locked on Yorishige’s motionless form.
Ren leaned Ōkami against the drain, then whipped his hooked swords from his back and assumed a fighting stance.
“Leave me,” Ōkami said. “Get out of here, you fool!”
“Not a chance, my lord,” Ren shot back under his breath before dissolving into the shadows on the other side of the drain.
Again Ōkami glowered at the moonlit sky, a wave of pain swelling across his body. An arrow whistled past his shoulder, nicking the skin of his arm. Another rebounded off the drain. Though it had taken Ōkami off guard to watch his friend vanish at the first sign of a threat, at least Tsuneoki had known better than to stay. Ōkami was grateful for his friend’s pragmatism. The men of the Black Clan would need their leader. Soldiers crashed through the vines, their weapons raised, their shining blades catching the stars above.
As the light of the moon continued burning through him—trying in vain to stitch his broken bones back together—Ōkami used the sturdy stone of the drain to keep his body upright. He struggled to breathe. Fought to find focus so that he might defend himself. As the soldiers came toward him—weapons in hand, arrows pointed at his heart—a figure advanced through the darkness, a pair of hooked swords linked as they slashed through the air.
An arm was severed from the soldier bearing down on Ōkami. Howling in pain, the man fell into the tall grass, blood spurting through the sky in a wicked arc. The other soldiers turned to meet this new foe. Arrows rained down around them without a shred of mercy.
Ren charged. He fought—a blade in either hand—his eyes glowing with rage. An animalistic growl emanated from behind him. A growl Ōkami would recognize anywhere. Before the soldiers could blink, a nightbeast leapt into the fray, snarling as it ripped an axe from a soldier’s grasp, taking a hand with it.
Tsuneoki had turned to his demon for assistance.
Ōkami could not remember a time in his life when he’d felt more useless. More of a burden than anything else. He’d fought for a life devoid of this feeling. A life in which no one needed to rely upon him.
He’d enjoyed living without this burden. Without these responsibilities.
Yet he stood here, watching as two of his dearest friends fought to keep him safe. Risked their lives for his own.
A yelp cut through the din of clashing metal, and Ōkami saw Tsuneoki limp away on three of his four legs. He’d been wounded. Or a past injury had been aggravated. Ren continued fending off the onslaught of soldiers that poured from the hillside beyond. Everywhere he spun his blades, blood spurted in their wake. His eyes were alight with fury. He turned into the path of the blade that caught him. It speared him clean through his stomach, cutting upward at the last instant. One moment Ren wore a look of triumph, the next of confusion.
“Uesama?” he mouthed to Ōkami.
It was what his father’s men had called Takeda Shingen.
Their shōgun.
Ōkami’s features twisted at the sight. He yanked the metal pin Mariko had given him from his shirtsleeve and lurched into the fight. Narrowly dodging the swing of a katana in his path, Ōkami stabbed the pin into the neck of the nearest soldier, then tore the screaming man’s weapon from his grasp.
Hatred flowed through his veins.
More of the people Ōkami loved were dying because of him. Even when he’d fought for so long to prevent it. He grasped the hilt of the blade in both hands. The stars above him seemed to sway. Searing pain rippled across his body.
He saw Ren fall to the ground, his eyes frozen open in shock, as though—even in death—he still could not believe he’d been beaten. His body struck the earth slowly, as though time had stilled. First his knees, then his torso, then his head. Ōkami felt each of the jolts as though they were punches to his gut.
Here one moment, gone the next. In the stories, all the heroes had time for farewells. In truth, Ren had time for nothing.
Everything around Ōkami ground to a halt. It was as though he were viewing these events from above, as a detached observer, witnessing the end of a foolish boy who should have known better.
His rage was clarity. His rage was strength. His rage moved him to action.
Ōkami still had broken bones. He still felt each of the agonizing twinges and aches of his protesting body.
It no longer mattered.
He grabbed hold of another weapon. A smaller sword, so that he held one in each hand. It had been years since he’d fought with blades. His fingers trembled from the weight, but Ōkami swung both swords in unforgiving arcs. Shouts of agony rained down around him. Though his body was shattered, the weapons felt natural in his hands, like extensions of himself. Of his pain. Of his heartbreak.