Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I had never seen a ghost this small nor calm and never this close to other people.
Blood dripped down her adorable face.
My bottom lip quivered. “Did a baby die tonight? On this island?”
Kenji’s expression was hidden under the mask, but I knew it held shock because I understood him well. “I don’t know, Hiro. I hope not.”
“I see one.”
“You may see more things tonight, Hiro. It’s war.” Kenji placed his hand on my shoulder and this soothing sensation filled me and. . .the baby vanished into the shadow across his shoulders. “But know this, I am here. You are my brother. And together we are the most dangerous men on this island. And no matter what you see, I will be here loving you until the end of my breath.”
My eyes watered some more.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I rolled the lollipop hard against my back teeth—honeyed yuzu and white peach. “And if I see the baby again while we’re fighting?”
“Then, use that baby to remind yourself what we’re fighting for. With our father and Akiro gone, there will be no more dead babies on this island.”
I swallowed.
He removed his hand from my shoulder. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
A masked Scale jogged up to us, carrying something long, wrapped in dark cloth. He bowed to my brother once and presented it with both hands held flat.
Kenji took the bundle and unwrapped it slowly.
Totoro.
His flame torch.
Kenji lifted Totoro, held it across his chest, and raised his voice for all of the Claws and Fangs to hear. “Now I’m truly ready!”
The men snickered, excited to see Totoro’s flames tear through Akiro’s flanks.
A piece of me that had stayed loose for hours finally settled.
Now it begins.
And that was when Akiro’s and my father’s plane began to land. . .right in front of us.
“Finally.” I put my focus back on death and sneered under my mask.
Chapter fifteen
A Masterpiece of Death and Color
Hiro
The plane finished its landing.
The engines wound down with a long mechanical exhale.
The hatch opened.
Men poured out and kept pouring.
I counted them in groups of ten because counting men one at a time was how a soldier lost his mind before a battle. Ten. Twenty. Forty. Sixty. A hundred. A hundred and fifty.
These men were different than the ones that had already been cheering on the field. Heavier gear. Body armor under their jackets. Disciplined ranks. They formed up outside the plane and that told me that they had drilled this exact arrival a hundred times.
Quiet.
Fast.
Expertly trained.
Then I saw the men racing out of the plane holding rocket launchers.
I counted twenty rocket launchers.
Fuck.
Reo's traps suddenly felt much smaller.
My stomach dropped. “We’re going to have to take out the men with those rocket launchers first, or that’s going to cause a lot of damage on our side.”
With that declaration, the Silent Ones stepped in closer and took in the scene with us.
Through the Gozu, Satoshi spoke. "We should attack now."
Kenji shook his masked head. "No. My Roar's plan is perfect. They're still comfortable and secure right now. Let's wait for all the players to come outside. Akiro has a tendency to run at the first scent of his losing."
I pressed my palm against my vest until I felt the locket through the fabric.
Stay alive, my Tiger. I pray you are safe.
Akiro’s men kept coming and forming various units all over the field. Then, the pouring out slowed until it completely stopped.
At least three hundred men in disciplined ranks stood on the open field with their weapons up. Twenty rocket launchers anchored the flanks.
And then ten more figures stepped out of the plane.
Reo took them in. “Interesting.”
One by one these men damn near strolled down the stairs. I knew the difference before any of them reached the bottom of the ramp. These ten moved like cats walking across velvet. Like dancers who had killed a hundred men each.
They moved like art.
And every piece of clothing matched, head to toe in a single color. Jackets. Gloves. Pants. Boots. Even the leather masks covering their faces matched.
The all-red assassin carried twin curved blades resting across his shoulders as casually as another man might carry a coat.
The blue assassin wore a chain wrapped around one forearm.
Gold carried a bow carved with gold filigree and a quiver of black-feathered arrows.
The violet assassin twirled a narrow knife between his fingers without ever looking at it.
All-black wielded a long sword sheathed across his back.
Meanwhile, the bone-white assassin had no visible weapon at all. That worried me more than the others.
Forest green rested a hand on a polearm wrapped in deep emerald silk from blade to shaft.
The silver assassin wore metal claws over both hands. Moonlight flashed from every fingertip.
Burnt orange carried a pair of war fans painted with flames. Every edge looked sharpened enough to shave with.
The copper assassin held a spear with a copper tassel hanging beneath the blade.