Now Torai strode up to Hirata, grinning because it was finally time for action. He made a mock bow to Sano, who looked on in helpless horror while straining at his ropes. Hoshina stayed beside Sano, watching with an anticipation almost carnal. Hirata felt Torai’s shield throb with confident power, while despair weakened his own. Torai posed near Hirata and swung up his sword. Hirata’s neck prickled in anticipation of the cut that would extinguish his life. He hurled one last, parting shot of energy toward Torai…
… and felt something flex inside him, some strange combination of muscles and will he’d never known he had. His perceptions altered. The rendering factory, the other people in it, and the entire world seemed shockingly immediate, the colors so intense and details so intricate they dazzled his eyes. He could hear his companions breathing and the noise from the distant city. Through the tannery stink he smelled the ocean far away. The energy exploded out from a deep place at his very core, like steam from a geyser.
Torai’s body jerked as if skewered by lightning. He hesitated with the sword paused at its zenith. His stance shifted. The triumph on his face dissolved into confusion as Hirata’s energy struck him and his mind warned his body that it was under attack despite a lack of any visible sign.
“What are you waiting for?” Hoshina demanded.
Hirata lunged at Torai. A roar burst from his throat, so loud that all his sinews vibrated. They snapped the rope that tethered his wrist and ankle bonds. His feet sprang off the ground. He hit Torai with tremendous force. Torai exclaimed in surprise. As they crashed to the dirt, the sword flew out of Torai’s hand. Hirata arched his back, thrust his feet through the circle of his arms, and brought his hands in front of him. The energy coursing through him made his muscles as fluid as water. He flowed over Torai, who squirmed beneath him. He grabbed for the weapon with his bound hands.
Hoshina said, “What in the-?”
Hirata’s vision splintered like a magic mirror that showed him everything around him even as it focused on the sword. He saw Sano whip his right hand loose from his bonds. Sano grabbed Hoshina’s ankle. Hoshina yelped, kicked free, but lost his balance and fell. Torai jumped on Hirata. His knees pounded Hirata’s back, pressing him onto the ground. He seized the hilt of the sword at the same time Hirata did.
They grappled, thrashed, and rolled over and over. Hirata lost his grasp on the sword. While on the bottom, Torai shoved his foot against Hirata’s stomach. Hirata flipped backward, landed on his feet. Torai sprang up, raising the sword to lash at Hirata.
Hirata’s awareness extended into the future. He saw a shimmering, transparent image of Torai burst from the flesh-and-blood man. For a split instant he watched the image wield its sword, noted how the blade carved through the air. Acting on reflex, he thrust his hands into the blade’s path.
Present and future merged. Torai swung the sword just as Hirata had foreseen. The blade whistled between Hirata’s hands. Its slick, cold, steel sides grazed his fingertips and palms before its blade sliced the ropes around his wrists. His hands were free. Torai gaped. He swung the sword again.
Again Hirata saw the shimmering ghost of Torai in the next instant, divined the path the sword would take. Hirata leaped, corkscrewing his body sideways. Torai’s blade cut the ropes from his ankles. Hirata twisted in midair and landed on both feet like a cat. Torai shouted to his men, who stood staring in dumbfounded amazement: “Don’t let him get away!”
While they and Torai charged at Hirata, Sano and Hoshina fought on the ground. Hoshina tried to jerk his sword out of its scabbard while Sano held onto his wrist. Cursing, he punched Sano’s face while Sano struggled against the ropes that still trussed him. Two of Hoshina’s men ran toward them, brandishing swords at Sano.
Hirata’s kaleidoscopic vision zeroed in on a butcher knife that lay beside a heap of bones. He dove for the knife. It was in his hand almost before he reached it. He flew in front of Hoshina’s men, blocking their way to Sano. He slashed one man’s throat, whirled, and cut the rope that leashed Sano’s tied hand to his bound ankles. Sano locked both hands on the hilt of Hoshina’s sword. Hoshina bucked under Sano as he clawed at Sano’s fingers. Sano bashed his forehead against Hoshina’s nose. Hoshina let go of the sword. Sano gained possession of it. He clambered to his feet, used the blade to cut away the ropes from them, and faced down Hoshina.
“Somebody give me a sword!” Hoshina shouted, frantic.
A sword flew through the air. Hoshina caught it. As he and Sano begin slashing at each other, troops rushed to defend Hoshina. Hirata planted himself near Sano, back to back. Although he couldn’t see Sano or Hoshina, their energy fields created a sensory picture in his mind. He moved with them, guarding Sano’s rear, as Torai and the troops converged on them.
The men assailed Hirata in a tornado of whirring blades. But their ghostly future-images were always a step ahead of them. Hirata dodged the iridescent arcs their swords would follow. He flung up his knife to parry each strike before it neared him. He was fighting the battle in an extra dimension, and he was the only person aware of it. Exhilaration filled him, stoking his energy higher. While Sano and Hoshina battled, circling the pit, Hirata flowed along with them like Sano’s shadow. He felt Hoshina slice at Sano’s head and Sano duck. Hirata ducked, too, avoiding the tip of Hoshina’s sword as he hacked his butcher knife where the ghosts appeared.
It sliced real flesh when the men appeared there an instant later. They seemed to hurl themselves at his blade. It was an extension of himself, guided by his mind as if fused with his muscle and bone. Four men dropped, howling in agony, spurting blood from mortal wounds between the plates of their armor. Hirata drove the remaining four, including Torai, away from Sano, who was still fighting Hoshina. One more impaled himself on Hirata’s knife and fell dead. Their battle spilled out of the rendering factory, into a street lined with shacks.
People scattered. Hirata whirled amid flashing sword arcs, glided behind his opponents and their ghosts, until the last two soldiers turned and ran for their lives.
“Cowards!” Torai shouted after them. “But who needs you?” Panting and sweating, he faced Hirata, his expression crazed with his determination to fight until he won. The best swordsman of his gang, he’d managed to avoid Hirata’s precise, deadly strikes; there wasn’t a scratch on him. Maybe he had a touch of mystical power. “I can take you by myself.”
Hirata felt his strength flagging. Not even the mystical power mat pulsed in him could burn away the poisons that fatigue spread through his blood. His bad leg ached. As he and Torai warily circled each other, he realized that such a huge expenditure of energy couldn’t go on forever. He sensed an equally huge tidal wave of exhaustion rushing toward him. He had to win this battle in the next few moments before it hit.
When Torai lunged, Hirata could barely see his ghost; he dodged barely soon enough to miss a fatal gash to the neck. Now, as they fought, Torai began to match Hirata’s expertise. Now Hirata noticed the disadvantage he was at because Torai’s sword was twice as long as his knife. Hirata parried every strike but landed none. Torai’s ghost faded. The extra dimension vanished. Torai gained strength as Hirata lost it. Torai’s blade cut his shoulder. Hirata felt pain sting and warm blood flow. Torai laughed.
“Now I’ve got you!” He moved in closer, lunging and slashing more fiercely as his confidence grew.
Hirata began to limp, a bad sign. He recalled the last lesson Ozuno tried to teach him. While frantically plying his knife with his right hand, he raised his left and swept it away from his body. Torai’s gaze involuntarily followed it. Distracted, he paused just long enough for Hirata to launch a cut at his head. Torai regained concentration in time to parry, but Hirata’s strike knocked him off balance. He stumbled. Hirata lashed out again, but the wave of exhaustion loomed closer. His cut missed Torai by a full hand’s breadth. Torai recovered and came charging after him. The knife was heavy in Hirata’s grasp. His whole body felt weighted down. He raised his left hand and moved it around, aiming bursts of energy toward different points on Torai’s body.