"Ha! Leave it to me."
The Tang-style oil-paper umbrella yokai floated before Sakura Kuri.
The bulging eye swelled larger, now the size of a human head. Its pupil darted left and right within, thick blood vessels like coarse rope crisscrossing its surface like spider webs.
"Miss Sakura Kuri, I knew your mother well. Don't make this difficult for the Sakura clan, all right?"
Sakura remained silent, jaw clenched.
The umbrella yokai circled Sakura once, its giant eye blinking slowly.
"I will stimulate your latent spiritual energy, amplifying your sensitivity several-fold."
"As a Seireishi, you know your senses are already far keener than others."
"When that happens, even the light prick of a needle will bring agony multiplied."
"And here? We have many instruments far less gentle."
"Miss Sakura Kuri, you still have a choice."
"Cease this pointless stubbornness."
Beads of sweat popped onto Sakura's forehead. Her pale face remained defiant, teeth gritted.
Receiving no reply, the umbrella gave a flick of its spine.
The eyeball detached from the canopy, trailing dozens of thick, pulsing blood vessels connected to the umbrella frame.
A beam of white light shot straight from the pupil.
It struck Sakura directly.
Within seconds, her face flushed deep crimson.
The sensitivity of her skin amplified multiple times.
The once smooth leather now felt agonizingly rough against her.
Every breath caused it to scrape against her overstimulated nerves.
The bra band across her chest and the thin strap of her T-back felt like they were slowly slicing into her flesh.
"This is merely twofold enhancement," the disembodied eye gloated, swaying on its lengthening tether of blood vessels like a monstrous, tentacled jellyfish. "By tenfold, breathing itself will feel like razor blades tearing at your insides. Every inhalation and exhalation, a blade carving your organs."
The eye seemed to sigh, its pupil dilating and contracting rhythmically. "Cease your futile resistance. A Shikigami you cannot command brings you no benefit. Severing the pact costs you nothing."
Seeing Sakura still desperately holding her ground, a few thick blood vessels detached from the floating eye like tentacles. They slithered across the glossy surface of her vinyl catsuit. One insinuated itself into the front zipper, wriggling against her skin beneath the material.
Sakura bit down harder, fighting back any sound. Her hair was soaked with sweat within moments.
"What exactly is going on here?" Fang Zuo's voice cut through the tense silence, materializing soundlessly behind the two men.
The old man and the middle-aged man whirled around, disbelief stark on their faces. How had a young man appeared without triggering a single ward?
"Who are you?" they demanded in unison, subtly shifting positions to flank him.
"F-Fujino-kun! H-help me!" Sakura managed to gasp out, voice tight with pain and effort.
"Fujino? Tokyo Exorcism Patrol?" The old man's eyes narrowed. He waved a gnarled hand almost dismissively.
Behind Fang Zuo, the disembodied eye retracted its invasive feelers with startling speed, snapping back onto the umbrella frame.
The air around them shimmered violently.
The next instant, the Tang umbrella reappeared—this time hovering threateningly behind Fang Zuo.
"How did you even get up to this floor?" the middle-aged man growled, pulling an ornate Japanese wind chime from his pocket and giving it a sharp shake. Nothing happened.
"Walked. Is it difficult?" Fang Zuo replied coolly, his gaze sweeping the room before settling back on the bound woman. "Captain Sakura, you seem... indisposed?"
"W-why did you come alone?!" Sakura choked out, the effects of the sensory curse still tormenting her, making it agony to speak without revealing her vulnerability. "Baka! Run! Get out of here!" Her cry was laced with despair. How could this fool be so stupid, coming alone? Who did he think he was?
"Father, the lower-level shikigami... they aren't responding," the middle-aged man reported, his expression grim.
"Someone else?" The kimono-clad elder slowly shrugged off his garment, baring his right side. The exposed arm was withered yet covered in intricate, glowing talismanic script that pulsed with power.
"Hah! I sense no one else!" the umbrella yokai chortled, its oversized eye swiveling maniacally. "Looks like we get to play with fresh meat!"
"A five-hundred-year earthbound spirit. The strongest malignant thing in this entire tower. Your clan's nurtured it for generations," Fang Zuo remarked, casting a dismissive glance at the hovering umbrella. "And to wield it? You forcibly bound it into a spirit vessel."
"It's like holding a razor-sharp sword, desperate to swing it but terrified it will cut you."
"So instead of honing your swordsmanship, you locked the blade inside a useless scabbard you can't even remove."
"Truly," Fang Zuo concluded, shaking his head with utter contempt, "this method is utterly ridiculous."
The hunched figure of the old man slowly straightened. Sharp light gleamed in his eyes. "Who are you, exactly?"
Fang Zuo stared with intense interest at the sigils on the old man's arm. "Ancient Sorcerer's Script?" He paused, then chuckled derisively. "No. It's Daoist mantras copied so poorly I could barely recognize them."
"Enough nonsense!" the middle-aged man snarled. He plunged his right hand into the palm of his left. With a sickening, wet sound, he began to draw out a long, obsidian-black dagger. Its surface rippled with dozens of blinking, multi-faceted eyes. "Where are the shikigami of this tower?"
"Impaling your own essence to control that demon blade?" Fang Zuo's eyebrow arched. "You really did go all in. Pathetic."
"Take him! Make him talk!" the old man roared. The talisman-covered right arm bulged monstrously, withered muscle swelling into gnarled, unnaturally corded strength. It pulsed with dark energy.
The Tang umbrella behind Fang Zuo twisted its spine. Its eye focused, unleashing a beam of pure obsidian light aimed to paralyze him.
Simultaneously, the middle-aged man hurled his dagger. The eyes embedded in its blade all snapped open, spewing thick, sticky webs of dark silk that enveloped Fang Zuo instantly.
The old man lunged, his enlarged, glowing fist roaring towards Fang Zuo with bone-shattering force.
Fang Zuo merely smiled.
He moved without apparent effort. First, he completely ignored the paralysing beam. His hand shot out, snatching the Tang umbrella out of the air. He bent it once—gently. Snap. The gilded spine broke cleanly. He tossed the broken halves aside like garbage.
Then he pursed his lips and blew. A stream of three-colored Primordial True Fire erupted from his breath. It incinerated the clinging webs instantly, reducing them to greasy ash.
Finally, he met the old man's massive fist head-on with one of his own. Fist met fist.
*CRACK!*
The sound of splintering bone was sickeningly loud. The old man screamed, his unnaturally bulging arm now hanging uselessly at his side, a shattered mess. He crumpled, howling in agony.
"Jūgo!" (Halt!)
Fang Zuo commanded with casual disdain. An invisible force clamped down on the middle-aged man as he tried to bolt towards the door, freezing him in place.
The old man writhed on the floor near Fang Zuo's feet, reduced to a whimpering bundle. Fang Zuo kicked him away like a sack of refuse.
He raised his hand. Golden light flashed. From the discarded pieces of the broken umbrella, a roiling ball of thick, filthy black smoke was forcibly wrenched out.
"A spirit this corrupted? Too disgusting even for this Daoist Master to stomach." With a look of distaste, he shoved the extracted, squirming black mass next to the captured spirit of the corrupted deity from earlier.
With its malevolent essence extracted, the Tang umbrella yokai's oversized eye glazed over, turned ash-gray, then exploded into dust with a soft whoomph. Only the broken frame of a cheap oil-paper umbrella remained on the floor.
"Well?" Fang Zuo turned his attention to Sakura Kuri, who was gaping at him in stunned silence. "Dead or alive?"
Sakura was utterly speechless. She'd called for his help, but she'd desperately hoped he'd alert the Tokyo Exorcism Patrol. Bring backup! The families wouldn't dare escalate things with the government. That was why she'd joined the force!
Instead, holding out against agony, she'd gotten... only Fujino. And just as despair consumed her… in mere seconds… he had shattered centuries-old clan power like glass. She'd momentarily forgotten even her own torment.
"Dead or alive?" Fang Zuo repeated impatiently.
"L-let them go," Sakura managed to rasp, still fighting the tremors of hypersensitivity. "They have allies in HQ... I will reclaim what's mine myself."
"You heard her," Fang Zuo said flatly to the two men. He flicked a finger, releasing his spiritual hold.
The middle-aged man scrambled to help the groaning elder to his feet, supporting him as they stumbled towards the exit.
"One more thing," Fang Zuo's calm voice stopped them cold. "By tonight, this building will be transferred into my name. Fujino Gen. Given your family's influence, you shouldn't have trouble finding the record." His tone brooked no argument. "Remember. Tonight. Or I come collect it myself tomorrow."
As the pair fled, utterly broken, Fang Zuo turned his full attention back to Sakura Kuri.
She knelt bound in her high-gloss vinyl catsuit, drenched in sweat, body trembling with the effort of resisting both the curse and sheer disbelief.
He snapped his fingers. The ropes binding her fell away.
Sakura pushed herself up. The movement strained the tight leather, highlighting every curve more vividly—full, firm, straining against the material. Its glossy surface rippled with each gasping breath she took, creating waves of reflected light down her torso.
Her numb legs betrayed her. She pitched forward.
Fang Zuo caught her squarely in his embrace.
She filled his arms. Her body radiated intense heat. The scent of her exertion – sharp sweat mingled thickly with the unmistakable, heady musk of overstimulated arousal – flooded his senses.
He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.
Seeing this, Sakura burned with mortification.
"B-Baka!" she sputtered, a futile protest escaping her swollen lips.
Fang Zuo quirked an eyebrow.
*THWACK!*
His large hand came down hard and fast on the firm swell of her backside. The crisp sound echoed sharply in the stunned quiet of the room.