Page 5 of Celestial Combat

Fist. Breath. Step.

Harder.

The floor blurred beneath me. I didn’t stop. Muscles howled in protest. My lungs felt like they were tearing apart from the inside.

Still, I stepped forward.

I hit the wooden man post again.

This time, it broke in half.

Therain had a rhythm, cold like fingertips tapping on a coffin.

I stood beneath a rusted fire escape, wrapped in shadow. My clothes clung to me – black cotton soaked through, slick like a second skin. A hood draped low over my brows, shadowing my face. Even my breath stayed quiet, trained into silence.

Above, a neon sign buzzed weakly in the dark, casting blood-colored light across the wet alley walls. Everythingsmelled like rust and old oil. Tokyo’s underbelly pulsed around me – grimy, hidden, alive in all the wrong ways.

The Yakuza had helped me. Now it was my turn. You didn’t bargain with the syndicate – youbecamepart of it.

They didn’t send anyone with me.

Just a name. A photo. A door.

I moved like smoke, up the stairs, each step memorized and silent. The blade they gave me was short – blackened steel, no shine. It rested cold and weightless at my side.

The door creaked open under my gloved fingers.

Inside, a man slouched on the floor, cigarette burning down between two twitching fingers. His apartment stank of sweat, instant noodles, and loss. He didn’t see me yet. A small television flickered in front of him, half-muted laughter echoing from the screen.

Debt, they’d said.Debts must be paid.

I stepped closer.

Still no heartbeat. No surge of panic. No fear. Just a familiar quiet.

The man turned. Eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak.To scream.

Too late.

The blade whispered through the air – one clean arc.

Warmth bloomed on my forearm. A splash. Red on black. He slumped forward, twitching once. Twice. Then still.

I stood over him.

The television kept laughing. The sound was distorted now, like it came from underwater. The man’s blood slid across the peeling linoleum, winding toward me.

Not guilt. No horror.

Just rain on the windows. Just the smell of metal and something raw curling into the air.

I cleaned the blade.

When I stepped back out into the alley, I didn’t look behind me.

It wasn’t justice. It wasn’t revenge.

It just was.

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