Day two. Evening.
I was testing a [Magma Body] and [Shadow Stealth] fusion—trying to determine if I could suppress the heat signature while maintaining defensive capabilities—when [Psychic Defense] flared.
Hostile intent. Close. Moving fast.
"Contact!" I shouted. "Southeast, two hundred yards!"
Kasumi was beside me in seconds, sword drawn. "How many?"
I pushed awareness outward, reading the signatures. "Four hostiles. One... different. Weaker. Being pursued."
"Ghost Slayers hunting a target," Master Yamada said, emerging from the command post. "Should we engage?"
Tactical question. We were supposed to be hiding, avoiding detection. Intervening would expose our position.
But the weaker signature was panicking. Desperate. And getting closer.
"They'll lead the hunters straight to us anyway," I said. "Better to engage on our terms."
Kasumi nodded. "Takeshi, high ground. Master Yamada, support from the courtyard. Ryan—"
"I'll intercept." I activated [Rapid Movement] and blurred toward the southeast perimeter.
The terrain outside the checkpoint was rocky and uneven. Good for defense, terrible for pursuit. I scrambled up a ridge and spotted them immediately.
A young man—maybe twenty, dressed in worn traveling clothes—sprinting across the rocks. Behind him, four Ghost Slayer specialists in pursuit formation. They moved with professional efficiency, herding him toward a kill zone.
Standard hunter tactics.
The young man stumbled. Caught himself. Kept running.
He wasn't going to make it.
I dropped from the ridge and landed directly in his path.
He skidded to a stop, eyes wide with terror. His hand went to his sword—a well-made blade, I noticed, expensive and carefully maintained.
"Checkpoint's behind me," I said quickly. "Run. Now."
He stared at me. At my faintly glowing skin. At the heat shimmer distorting the air around my body.
"You're... the Demon Eater," he whispered. "The hybrid they're hunting."
"And you're about to die if you don't move." I stepped past him, facing the approaching Ghost Slayers. "Go!"
He ran.
Smart kid.
The four Ghost Slayers emerged from the rocks. They saw me and immediately shifted formation—spread out, weapons ready, moving with the coordinated precision of a trained unit.
"Target acquired," the lead specialist announced. He was older than the others, face scarred, eyes cold. "Stand down, hybrid. You're surrounded."
"Four against one," I said. "Hardly surrounded."
"You misunderstand." The lead specialist gestured, and spiritual energy flared around all four of them. Synchronized activation. "We're not here to capture you. We're here to test you."
Before I could process that, they attacked.
The lead specialist moved first—burst of speed, sword strike aimed at my throat. I activated [Magma Body]'s defensive heat and deflected the blade with my forearm.
His sword didn't melt. Didn't even glow red.
Spiritually reinforced weapon. High-grade construction. Won't break on contact.
The other three attacked simultaneously from different angles. Coordinated assault designed to overwhelm defenses through sheer number of attack vectors.
I activated [Rapid Movement] and blurred sideways.
One of the specialists anticipated it. Was already there, talisman ready. He slapped it against my chest before I could dodge.
Binding seal.
Spiritual energy wrapped around me like chains. Not physical restraint—spiritual suppression. Trying to lock down my abilities, prevent activation.
The Ghost Stomach roared.
My jaw unhinged reflexively, and the devouring force exploded outward. The binding seal shattered instantly, consumed before it could take effect.
"He ate the seal!" one of the specialists shouted. "Target has defensive consumption capability!"
They adapted immediately. Switched from spiritual attacks to pure physical assault. Swords, spears, coordinated strikes designed to exploit openings rather than overpower through force.
Professional. Experienced. Dangerous.
I fused [Shadow Stealth] and [Rapid Movement], becoming a blur of darkness and speed. Circled behind them, targeting the weakest positioning.
But they anticipated again. One specialist had stayed back, watching, reading my movement patterns. He threw a net—not physical, but woven from spiritual energy—that expanded mid-flight.
I couldn't dodge in time. The net caught me, wrapped around my body, and contracted.
Pain exploded through me. The net wasn't just restraining—it was actively burning through my spiritual defenses. Designed specifically to counter Specter-human hybrids.
"Containment successful," the lead specialist said. "Now we test consumption limits."
The other three closed in, weapons raised.
An arrow whistled through the air and struck the lead specialist in the shoulder. Takeshi's shot from the checkpoint walls.
The specialist staggered but didn't fall. Grabbed the arrow and pulled it out with barely a grimace. "We have backup. Eliminate them."
Two specialists peeled off, heading toward the checkpoint.
Toward Kasumi and Master Yamada.
Not acceptable.
I stopped fighting the net. Let it contract completely. Let it burn through my outer defenses.
Then I activated [Magma Body] at maximum intensity.
My skin temperature spiked to the threshold of combustion. The spiritual net, despite its sophisticated construction, began to melt. Not metaphorically—it was literally breaking down under extreme heat.
The Ghost Stomach surged forward, consuming the destabilized net material. Processing it. Extracting residual spiritual energy.
The net dissolved.
I dropped to the ground, smoking but free.
The lead specialist's expression shifted from confidence to calculation. "Thermal counter-suppression. Unexpected. Revise tactics—"
I activated [Rapid Movement] and closed the distance in a heartbeat. Grabbed his wrist. Squeezed.
Flesh sizzled. He screamed.
"Call them back," I said. "Now."
He tried to activate a talisman with his free hand. I grabbed that wrist too. Applied pressure.
"I said now."
"Fall back!" he gasped. "Disengage! Target is—"
An explosion of spiritual energy erupted from the checkpoint direction.
Master Yamada's defensive arrays activating. The two specialists who'd gone after the others had triggered the bounded fields.
I released the lead specialist and blurred toward the checkpoint.
Found the two specialists pinned down by Takeshi's arrows and Kasumi's sword work. They were good—dodging, countering, staying mobile—but they were outmatched.
The young swordsman I'd saved was there too. Fighting alongside Kasumi despite being clearly terrified. His technique was solid—trained, disciplined, effective—but he was trembling.
"Stand down," I said, voice carrying across the courtyard.
Everyone froze.
I walked into the center of the combat zone, heat shimmer making me appear larger than I was. "Your test is over. You've gathered data. You know what I can do. Now leave."
The two specialists looked at each other. Then at their wounded leader limping up behind me.
"Tactical withdrawal," the lead specialist ordered. "Mission complete."
"Wait." I stepped closer. "What mission? You said you were testing me."
"Containment Master's orders. Assess the hybrid's capabilities before full engagement." He held his burned wrist carefully. "You passed. Or failed, depending on perspective."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He smiled grimly. "It means you're more dangerous than reported. Which means the Containment Master will bring more resources." He gestured to his team. "We're gone."
They withdrew professionally—covering each other, maintaining formation, disappearing into the rocky terrain within seconds.
I stood there, processing what had just happened.
"They weren't trying to kill you," Kasumi said. She was cleaning her sword, expression thoughtful. "That was reconnaissance. Combat profiling."
"Which means the real fight hasn't started yet." Master Yamada lowered his hands, deactivating the remaining seals. "They'll analyze this engagement. Identify weaknesses. Develop specific counters."
Great.
"Um." A quiet voice. The young swordsman. "Thank you. For... for saving me."
I turned to look at him properly for the first time.
Early twenties. Lean build, scarred hands marking him as a serious practitioner. His sword was exceptionally well-made—folded steel, perfect balance. Not the weapon of a common traveler.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Kenta." He bowed deeply. "Formerly of the Takeda clan. Now... nothing. Ronin. Exile."
"Why were they hunting you?"
"Because I refused execution." His voice was bitter. "My lord accused me of collaborating with demons. With... with you, actually. Said I'd been seen near areas where Specters disappeared. Where you'd been active."
"Had you?"
"No. But I'd heard rumors. Stories about someone who consumed Specters instead of just destroying them." He looked up, meeting my eyes despite obvious fear. "I thought it was propaganda. Ghost Slayer lies to justify a purge. But you're real."
"Very real."
"And you saved me anyway. Even though I'm a stranger. Even though helping me exposed your position." He bowed again. "I owe you a life debt."
"I don't need—"
"I have information," he interrupted. "About Ghost Slayer movements. About the Containment Master they're sending." His expression hardened. "My lord sold me out to save himself. Gave the Ghost Slayers everything they wanted. Names, locations, supply routes. I heard things before I escaped."
Kasumi stepped forward. "What kind of things?"
"The Containment Master's name is Fujimoto. He's a specialist in spiritual suppression—developed techniques specifically for neutralizing Specter-human hybrids. Hasn't failed an elimination in fifteen years." Kenta's voice dropped. "And he's bringing a full strike team. Twelve specialists plus support. They're planning a complete purge of this sector."
"When?" I asked.
"Tomorrow. Maybe the day after." Kenta looked around at the checkpoint. "They know you're here. Or they will soon. Those four who just left are reporting back right now."
Silence.
Our three-day grace period had just collapsed to less than twenty-four hours.
"Can you fight?" Kasumi asked Kenta directly.
"Yes. I'm... I'm not elite-level, but I'm trained. Good, even." He straightened. "And I know Ghost Slayer tactics. Their formations, their communication protocols. I can help."
Kasumi looked at me. "Your call. He's a liability—untested, possibly compromised, could be a plant."
"He's also the first person to willingly offer help instead of trying to kill or capture me." I studied Kenta carefully. Young. Desperate. But his eyes were clear. Honest.
And his sword technique, from what I'd seen during the brief combat, was genuinely solid.
"You can stay," I said. "But if you betray us—"
"You'll consume my essence and add my abilities to your collection." Kenta said it matter-of-factly. "I understand. I accept the terms."
Pragmatic. Good.
"Then welcome to the most doomed defensive position in the province," Takeshi said with dark humor. "We're about to be obliterated by overwhelming force, but at least the company is interesting."
Kenta actually smiled. "Better than dying alone as a fugitive."
Fair point.
We moved back into the checkpoint. Kasumi immediately started interrogating Kenta about Ghost Slayer tactics and Fujimoto's known capabilities. Master Yamada resumed work on defensive arrays with renewed urgency. Takeshi went back to his firing positions.
I stood in the courtyard, looking up at the darkening sky.
Tomorrow. Maybe sooner.
A full strike team plus a specialist designed specifically to kill things like me.
The Ghost Stomach pulsed with anticipation. Not fear. Not concern.
Hunger.
Because it didn't see overwhelming odds.
It saw opportunity.
Twelve specialists. Twelve sources of spiritual essence. Twelve potential abilities waiting to be consumed.
The question wasn't whether I'd survive.
The question was: what would I become after consuming them all?