Chapter 38: You Left Me in Their Hands, Didn't You?

The shrill cry of the ghost daughter echoed through the altar room, bouncing off the walls like a bird caught in a rusted cage. Hikigaya Hachiman didn't respond with words. He stood still, blade raised in a low guard, the tip angled slightly toward the floor. His breath came sharp through clenched teeth, his heartbeat pounding like a war drum in his ears. The air was heavy—more than just spiritually. It was as if time itself had begun to decay within this room. From behind him, the middle-aged man stepped back, eyes downcast. "...I'll leave the rest to you." "What?" Hachiman turned his head sharply. "I—I'm sorry." The man's voice wavered. "They've... they've been starving. And I—" He looked away, ashamed. "I can't bear to watch again." He turned without waiting for a response and retreated down the stairs, footsteps slow but deliberate. The moment his shadow disappeared around the corner, the door creaked shut on its own. Click. Hachiman didn't move. Down the staircase, he could still hear the fading steps of the middle-aged man. "...You really just left me here," Hachiman muttered. The daughter's figure twisted, hovering inches above the ground. Her face contorted in a mockery of her once-human features. The black smoke that had birthed her still clung to her body, rippling with anticipation. Ding! Special-level spirit detected. Automatically generating Special-level instance(special area) Then the mother emerged. Her presence was less volatile—but denser. A suffocating melancholy poured out from her as she floated upright, her empty eyes settling on Hachiman like twin gravestones. Ding! High-level spirit detected. And lastly, the boy. His small form stepped lightly over the wooden floorboards, his smile never faltering. He stood behind the other two like a shadow with teeth. Three spirits. No escape. Hachiman raised his blade higher. "Well, I guess this means I'll be having dinner with ghosts tonight." The daughter moved first. Like a spear, she shot forward, her nails elongated into claws that scraped glowing lines through the air. Hachiman sidestepped—barely—but she adjusted unnaturally mid-flight, forcing him to duck low as she sailed over him. "Fast," he grunted, spinning and swinging toward her back. She vanished into mist before his strike could land. From his left, the mother's voice came—not a word, but a chant. Ancient. Hollow. And then— He felt his knees go weak. The room dimmed further, though the candles burned no less brightly. The air thickened into syrup, slowing his thoughts. His fingers clenched the hilt of his blade tighter as he felt memories flood into him—regret, guilt, loss. Not his. "No... not now—" he growled, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed. The pain brought clarity. He slashed through the chant. The spirit recoiled, disrupted. And the boy? Gone. Where is he? A chill ran down Hachiman's spine. He turned just in time to see the boy standing inches away, hand already outstretched toward his chest. He's phasing through—! The child's hand passed into him like a knife through water. Immediately, ice bloomed across Hachiman's ribs. His breath hitched. His muscles locked. The pain wasn't sharp—it was total. A deadened, sinking pressure, like drowning inside himself. The other two closed in. From the front, the daughter screamed again and dove. From the right, the mother's presence thickened the air into chains. His heart hammered in protest. He couldn't move fast enough. Couldn't swing. Couldn't win. Move! But his limbs were sluggish. The weight of their sorrow was too heavy. The same cursed chant from earlier—memories that weren't his own hijacking his mind. No time. The daughter screamed. The boy raised his hand. All three lunged. He couldn't dodge. And then—his hand moved on its own. Click. The Red Ponytail Bracelet snapped open. The reaction was instant. A red ring of light burst outward, enveloping the altar room in a dome of frozen time. The spirits stopped mid-motion, locked in place like grotesque puppets paused between acts. Stillness. Hachiman stood in the center, alone... yet not. The red light pulsed again, wrapping around him—no, through him. It wasn't pain. Or heat. Or cold. It was changing. His skin tingled. His balance shifted. Breath felt... different. Higher in pitch? What? But he didn't have time to check. Something had changed. But that wasn't important. Not now. "Ten seconds," he whispered, not noticing the softness in his own voice. His blade flared with a pale blue light, the Demon-Slaying Sword reacting violently to the frozen spiritual flow around him. The mother stood closest—her arms raised mid-chant, mouth open in a silent moan of grief. She was the core, the special-grade one. The others orbited her, and her ability was troublesome. Hachiman moved. He stepped past the daughter, sidestepping the son, and approached the mother directly. One breath. One clean slash. The blade passed through her torso silently. The moment it did, the red light surrounding her began to crack like glass. Then she shattered—vanishing into a mist of white light that rose to the ceiling and was gone. 'Ding! Congratulations to the host for eliminating a Special-level evil spirit. 2000 spirit coin' 3 seconds left. The daughter. He spun. Her eyes were locked on his, still frozen in fury. He didn't hesitate. With a short dash, he brought the blade down but the 10 seconds finished at this moment. The daughter was able to dodge, but he was able to sever her right arm, The moment steel met phantom flesh, her limb fractured with a hiss of steam. The spirit recoiled violently-her face twisting in pain. The boy? Still there. Still watching. Still... smiling. Hikigaya stopped himself. Something about him was off. His aura hadn't changed—not once. Not when time froze. Not when the mother died. Not when the daughter's arm was severed. He was waiting. But for what? The daughter howled in agony, clutching the empty space where her arm had once been. Her severed limb evaporated into smoke. The boy tilted his head slightly... but said nothing. And the altar? Empty. The mother was gone. Hachiman exhaled, sweat trailing down his temple. His blade was still up. His knees were stiff. And his heartbeat—faster than before—kept skipping strangely in his chest. Then he felt it again. That odd sensation. Not fatigue. Not pain. Just... wrongness. He looked down. His uniform—his school uniform jacket—didn't sit quite the same across his chest. He blinked. But there was no time. The daughter screamed again, lunging, even more frenzied now. The boy moved behind her—this time not to attack, but to follow. Like a predator waiting for the lead hunter to make the kill. Hachiman raised his blade again. He didn't know what had changed. Only that it had. But whatever it was, it would have to wait. Because this fight— Wasn't over.