Tokyo Blood Magic (Shinjuku Shadows Book 1) by Travis Heermann

Author:Travis Heermann [Heermann, Travis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: MMO litRPG role playing steampunk quest gamelit, men&#8217, s adventure video game adaptations young adult, coming of age sword sorcery dungeon core demon, action dark epic metaphysical vengeful myth asian, Chinese manga wuxia xianxia martial arts kung fu, supernatural fantasy magic occult legends thriller
Publisher: Shadow Alley Press
Published: 2020-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

Part III

Chapter Eighteen

MOUTH AGAPE, DJANGO stared at the strange little monk with the gourd-shaped head.

The monk’s eyes twinkled, but with a hint of warning. “It is true, but I must tell you—they are in danger.”

Django squared on him, every nerve ablaze, giddy, shaky. “Tell me.”

“I encountered them some years ago on one of my walks. They were practicing their martial arts, cultivating their skills, and teaching the children of a village.”

“How did they get to Jianghu?”

“That you must ask them.”

“Then where are they? Tell me!” He felt like sobbing for joy and hope.

“That is the problem. They fell prey to a tsuchigumo.” An earth spider, a powerful yokai. Japanese folklore was full of encounters with these terrible beasts, said to have the face of an oni and the body of a tiger, but the stories often varied regarding the tsuchigumo’s appearance. But one thing was common among all the stories—they preyed upon travelers, capturing them in webs.

“How do you know they’re still alive?” Django asked.

“Because you are here, my boy,” the monk said. “Somehow, they must have escaped the beast, or you would not exist.”

“That’s confusing as hell. Are you saying Jianghu has time travel?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose. I told you that time moves differently here, just like threads can loop back upon themselves. In Jianghu, we weave our own threads.”

Django’s head was spinning. “Where do I find this tsuchigumo?”

“It lives in a deep cave in the mountains. But you should not go alone. It is as old as it is cunning.”

“If I can only find my cat.”

“I shall take you to someone who can help.”

“Who?”

“Shall we move expeditiously? It is some journey, and we can talk on the way.”

Django nodded. “Let’s go.” Cat would have to catch up as best he could.

The strange monk set off toward the distant mountains, and Django fell in beside him. The diminutive fellow’s legs moved at a bizarrely quick gait, but he did not run. The rings of his pilgrim staff jangled along, as if he had given them leave to make noise.

Scores of rivers and lakes dotted the sprawling landscape before them, catching the setting sun that hovered above the shadowed mountain peaks. Between the bodies of water lay dikes and patches of high, dry ground. Profusions of wildflower rainbows peppered the banks of streams and ponds. They traced a circuitous path through, with the sun and mountains as their compass.

Ducks and cranes burst from quiescence into the air.

Then a raptor plummeted out of the sky like an arrow and slammed into one of the ducks. Loose feathers spiraled, and the raptor winged away with a dead duck in its talons.

A chill trickled down the back of Django’s neck. An omen? He found it difficult to shake the feeling.

“Beware of kappa at the water’s edge,” the monk said. “We are entering an area that is lousy with them.”

Just as the monk spoke, Django spotted a pair of eyes poking from the still water, watching them from about ten yards away.

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