Mimicry-Types—next-gen offshoots of Possession-Types.
They look human. Sound human. Even act like it, right up to the point they rip your throat out.
But it doesn’t matter how convincing the show is. Underneath the skin, it’s all bloodlust and slaughter.
Never trust a Demon in costu.
“Damn Exorcist fucker!”
It grabs my shoulder with a grip like a car crusher.
I wedge a leg between us and kick off, unloading rounds from my Five-seveN right into its face.
Doesn’t kill it, but it gets distance.
Screams erupt.
“A Demon!”
“Run! Run!”
Panic spreads like fire.
The Demon grabs so poor bastard and hurls them at .
I catch them midair and toss them gently into the shrubs.
The Demon charges, throwing a wild lariat.
I duck under. Lay down suppressing fire while backpedaling hard.
The Demon blocks with its forearms and laughs.
“These rcury rounds tickle. What’s wrong, Exorcist? Weak mana? Or… none at all?”
It spreads its arms wide. Smug bastard.
Still firing with my right, I draw the Desert Eagle left-handed and let it bark.
Boom! .50 AE slug lands square in the chest. Then another. And another.
The recoil rocks my wrist, but I keep hamring.
The Demon reels from the hits, blood oozing through its clothes.
But it just grins at with that ugly, warped face.
“So what?”
Shit. It’s bleeding, but the rounds aren’t biting deep.
Even the biggest semi-auto on Earth can’t chew through mana-hardened hide? Or is Category 2 armor just that much tougher?
I holster the Five-seveN and brace the Deagle with both hands.
If I’m gonna do damage, it’s gotta be the head.
“I’m gonna avenge my brother!” it says.
“You an that creep with the trumpet face?”
“Graaaah!”
“I didn’t kill him, by the way.”
“I figured! A loser like you couldn’t scratch him!”
It charges. At the sa ti, that black car starts pulling away from the curb.
I pivot, step in, and launch a roundhouse into the Demon’s ribs, sending it skidding across the asphalt.
While it stumbles, I put a slug through its skull and snap the Deagle toward the fleeing car.
“You’re not getting away.”
Distance—nineteen ters. Then twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.
Fire.
BOOM! Rear tire explodes. The car veers off course and smashes into a utility pole.
That’s one less problem.
The Demon roars and launches skyward, then cos crashing down like a teor.
I dodge wide as it slams into the street hard enough to crack the pavent.
It’s airborne again in a blink. Not just jumping—flying.
That single black wing on its back twists, catches the air, and manipulates lift like a surgeon.
That’s dorsal-class scapular mutation. I read about it. Never thought I’d see it in action.
That wing stretches to full length now. Thirty feet easy. Looks like steel, moves like silk.
Then it swings—an arc of death. A horizontal blade, sharp enough to cut light.
I duck. Low. Real low. Knees nearly hit the pavent.
The blade whistles overhead. The parked car behind ? Sliced clean through. Windshield to trunk.
A man trying to flee behind it? Caught in the swing. Cut in half before he can scream.
“People die because of you, Exorcist!”
Annoying. I shoot it in the face.
Click. I’m out.
The Demon wipes blood from its forehead, smirking.
“So this is what the last of the Akai looks like. A wannabe Exorcist with no mana. No power. No hope. Pathetic. Must be eating the nobles alive, entrusting vengeance to rubbish like you. Kill you, and the Akai na dies for good.”
It steps aside, chuckling, then raises that massive wing high.
“Oh, I know. I’ll slice you in two. Start at the crown, straight down. Poetic, isn’t it?”
I can dodge it. No way that telegraphed swing hits .
Then I sense sothing. Three won behind . Cowering, sobbing.
The sa ones from earlier—the ones booted out when I stole their wristbands.
“Dodge and more die because of you!”
The wing falls. A black arc cleaving through the air. Right at my head.
I don’t dodge.
I catch it—barehanded.
“What?!”
Shock twists the Demon’s face.
I lock my palms around the blade mid-swing. Hands screaming. Arms locked.
“Hfff—Yah!”
I release Force through both palms.
The wing shudders. Cracks run through it.
Then it shatters. Explodes from the root.
“Gaarrrgh! I-impossible…!”
That was a Surge Strike. Needs just an inch of movent to deliver a blow.
Famous in martial arts circles. Flashy and dramatic.
But not the deepest level.
No. That cos after.
No distance. No windup. Just pure output from full contact.
The apex technique of Aleksandr Bogdanov. The thing that made Master Alek the Zero Force a legend.
Zero-Point Force Release.
Zero Force.
And I’m his successor.
I’ve trained it, naturally. Studied it.
But I’ve never used it in real combat—until now.
Because sotis, life gives you no choice. Sotis, a wall slams down in front of you and dares you to break through.
That’s called a trial of inevitability.
And if you survive it?
You grow.
My Zero Force was half-baked. Unrefined.
But right here, right now, I break through.
Ikaku Akamuro’s Zero Force isn’t theory anymore.
It’s complete.
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