Anime Crossover: Eating Evil in a Daily World — Chapter 86

Chapter 86: Onimaru Kunitsuna Acknowledges its Master

“Five seconds?”

Yagami Soichiro’s brow furrowed into a deep, harsh line, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Are you threatening the Metropolitan Police Department?”

If the veteran detective had lacked confidence during their last encounter, tonight was an entirely different story. Aside from the elite SWAT units currently locking down the main exhibition hall, the Kyoto Municipal Museum was surrounded. Snipers held the high ground, heavy weapons teams covered the exits, dozens of riot vehicles barricaded the streets, and hundreds of regular officers stood at the ready.

Short of scrambling military helicopters, this was a maximum-force deployment.

And this man claimed he needed only five seconds to dismantle a squad of veteran SWAT officers clad in heavy tactical gear and riot shields?

“Chief Yagami, you misunderstand. I am not threatening you.” Yozora shook his head, his tone utterly flat. “Verbal threats are the refuge of the weak and powerless. I am merely…”

He paused, his posture relaxing.

“…Informing you.”

Before Yagami could even process the words, Yozora’s figure blurred. He launched himself directly at the cluster of heavily armed tactical officers holding the left flank.

The SWAT team required no orders. Seeing the masked intruder charge, they moved with drilled precision. Left hands slammed tall, reinforced riot shields into the marble floor to form an interlocking wall, while right hands drew sidearms, leveled them at Yozora, and squeezed their triggers.

“Shield.”

The single word slipped from Yozora’s lips. Pitch-black Evil Spirit energy erupted from his left hand, instantly coalescing into a massive, jagged tower shield.

Sparks flew as a hail of bullets slammed into the dark construct. The concentrated gunfire failed to leave so much as a scratch on the surface, let alone slow Yozora’s momentum. He didn’t even blink.

He closed the distance in a fraction of a second.

A series of heavy, bone-rattling thuds echoed through the hall. Yozora threw a flurry of casual punches, the sheer kinetic force of his blows launching the officers—and the heavy riot shields they hid behind—flying through the air to crash several meters away.

One second had passed.

Yagami’s eyes could barely track the movement. By the time his brain registered the violence, half the squad was already groaning on the floor. His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

When did that massive black shield appear? How did fully armored men get tossed aside like ragdolls? Point-blank live ammunition hadn’t even made the man flinch.

In his entire career, Yagami had only known one person with such terrifying, monstrous physical prowess: the Metropolitan Police Department’s own resident humanoid beast, Akoya Seishu.

“Spear.”

Yozora didn’t stop to admire his work. The black shield in his grip liquefied and stretched, instantly hardening into a jagged spear nearly three meters long. Without breaking stride, he pivoted and hurled the weapon toward the next cluster of officers.

The sheer velocity of the projectile was completely beyond human limits. The spear slammed into the center of a riot shield with a deafening crack. The terrifying impact transferred straight through the reinforced polycarbonate, throwing the two men holding it backward. They slammed into the museum wall and slumped to the ground, out cold.

“Three.”

The soft countdown sent a jolt of ice through Yagami’s veins.

“Chains.”

The dark energy shifted again, bursting outward like a nest of striking vipers. Thick black chains swept across the room, slamming into the chests of the remaining officers. Despite the heavy trauma plating of their riot gear, the concussive force swept them off their feet, dropping them to the floor in a tangled heap.

“Hammer.”

Only one SWAT officer remained standing. Yozora’s right arm morphed, the dark energy expanding into a massive, long-handled war hammer. He casually sidestepped a desperate burst of gunfire, closing the gap in a single step, and raised the hammer high.

The officer instinctively ducked, raising his riot shield over his head with both hands in a desperate bid for survival.

The hammer came down.

The impact rang out like a bomb detonating, making the entire museum floor shudder. The officer beneath the shield was a heavily conditioned veteran, but he was still only human. The crushing weight of the blow split the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers, sending blood flying.

His hands gave out. As the shield clattered to the floor and his face contorted in agony, the last thing he saw was Yozora’s left hand reaching for him.

Yozora grabbed the man by the tactical helmet. Without even looking at him, he casually swung his arm, slamming the officer headfirst into the nearest marble pillar.

The violent concussion dropped the man instantly.

As the final officer’s limp body slid to the floor, Yozora turned his gaze back to the police chief.

“Exactly five seconds, Chief Yagami.”

Yagami stood frozen, his eyes wide with absolute horror. His right hand rested on the grip of his service weapon, trembling slightly, completely unable to draw it.

What kind of sick joke was this?

An entire squad of elite, fully armed tactical officers had been systematically dismantled in five seconds. Even if he drew his gun and fired, what difference would it make?

Swallowing hard, Yagami looked at the groaning men scattered across the floor, then back to the expressionless black mask of the man standing amidst the carnage.

“This… this isn’t even your full strength, is it?” Yagami asked, his voice hoarse.

He could tell. The masked man hadn’t even exerted himself. Every movement had been calculated, restrained, almost bored. And Yagami hadn’t forgotten the towering, ghostly woman in white from the kindergarten incident.

If this man wanted to slaughter every police officer in the building… he could. It wasn’t an empty threat.

Was he even human? Or was there a true monster hiding beneath that black mask?

“Chief Yagami, let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?”

At the exact moment Yagami echoed those words, far down a long, isolated corridor deep within the museum…

Click.

“It’s open!”

Hearing the heavy mechanical lock disengage, Yotsuya Miko let out a long, shaky breath. The massive steel vault door groaned on its hinges, slowly swinging outward.

Beyond the threshold lay a small, ten-square-meter room. Unlike the modern museum outside, the walls here were lined with ancient, weathered wood, giving the space the solemn atmosphere of a traditional shrine.

There was only one exhibit inside.

A single, unadorned longsword and its wooden scabbard hung suspended on the far wall.

“This is… Onimaru Kunitsuna…”

Staring at the legendary blade, a national treasure passed down through centuries of Japanese history, Miko felt a rush of indescribable emotion. Awe, nerves, and a deep, thrumming excitement warred in her chest.

She had visited museums with her parents as a child and seen famous swords before. But looking through thick security glass was entirely different from this. She was standing in the same room. Just a few steps forward, and she could reach out and touch the very steel once wielded by Hojo Tokimasa, Oda Nobunaga, and Toyotomi Hideyoshi.

But something else caught her attention, something that made her breath hitch.

The moment the vault door opened, the dense golden particles of Reiryoku that had been floating aimlessly in the air—visible only to her psychic eyes—suddenly rushed forward. They swirled like a vortex, sinking directly into the steel of Onimaru Kunitsuna until not a single speck remained.

It was as if the ancient sword had been deliberately emitting its spiritual power, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to guide her and Yozora straight to its resting place.

Meanwhile, back in the main exhibition hall.

“It’s finally open,” Yozora murmured to himself.

He extended his right hand out to his side, palm facing upward, and spoke two simple words.

“Come here.”

Before Yagami could even begin to process the command, he witnessed something that would shatter his worldview forever.

A sharp, piercing whistle tore through the air.

An ancient, dull-looking longsword shot out from the distant corridor, streaking through the exhibition hall like an arrow loosed from a ballista. It snapped perfectly into Yozora’s waiting grip. A split second later, a weathered wooden scabbard flew in right behind it, moving as if it had a mind of its own, and smoothly attached itself to Yozora’s waist.

“What in the…?”

Yagami stumbled back two steps, the breath knocked out of his lungs. He stared at the dull blade in Yozora’s hand, then slowly turned his head to look at the identical sword resting peacefully inside the reinforced display case nearby.

“So… this is the real one?”

Yagami had heard the old myths. Legends claimed that weapons of great age and bloodshed could develop their own sentience, becoming Tsukumogami—tool spirits that would only allow themselves to be wielded by a master they deemed worthy.

But those were just fairy tales. Superstitions meant to romanticize history.

Did Onimaru Kunitsuna actually possess a soul? And had it just chosen a masked criminal as its master?

“You… you actually gained Onimaru Kunitsuna’s recognition!?”

“You’re wrong, Chief Yagami.”

Yozora slowly closed his fingers around the hilt, bringing the blade horizontal. He raised his left hand and casually ran his palm down the flat of the dull, rusted steel.

The moment his skin made contact, the metal reacted. The dull iron instantly darkened, transforming into a deep, abyssal black that seemed to swallow the light around it. A high, clear ringing sound echoed through the hall, like a bird of prey shrieking in pure elation.

Yozora locked eyes with the police chief.

“It was Onimaru Kunitsuna that gained my recognition.”

The reality of the situation finally crashed down on Yagami. The sword in the display case was nothing but a flawless, worthless replica. The museum curators hadn’t even trusted the police with the truth, leaving them to guard a decoy while hiding the genuine artifact in a secret vault.

He made a mental note to strangle the museum director later.

“Chief Yagami.”

Yozora lowered his arm. Without him even needing to guide it, the black blade slid smoothly into the wooden scabbard at his waist with a satisfying click.

The sight made Yagami’s stomach churn. This was the sword that had founded the samurai era. The blade of the Sixth Heavenly Demon King. The weapon of the Great Unifier. And now, it was eagerly submitting to a supernatural terrorist.

“Let’s make a deal.”

Yagami scowled, his rigid sense of justice flaring up. “A deal? How could the Metropolitan Police Department ever strike a deal with a criminal?”

“Crime?” Yozora let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Do you honestly believe that you, or the bureaucrats running this museum, have more right to decide the fate of this blade than the sword itself?”

Yagami opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat.

It was a philosophical nightmare. If the sword was just an object, it was stolen property. But if it possessed a soul—if it could literally fly through the air to choose its own master—could it still be classified as an antique?

There was no legal precedent for arresting a ghost sword.

Seeing the detective’s silence, Yozora gestured toward the decoy in the glass case.

“Chief Yagami, if I’m not mistaken, your officers have no idea the sword sitting right there is a fake, do they?”

“What are you getting at?”

“My terms are simple.” Yozora’s voice was calm, devoid of any hostility. “No matter what happens tonight, I am walking out of here with Onimaru Kunitsuna. You only have two choices.”

He took a slow step forward.

“You can order your men to stop me. You can sacrifice every single officer in this building, orchestrating the most tragic mass martyrdom in Japanese law enforcement history, all for nothing.”

Yozora tilted his head. “Or… you can remember that your men don’t know the real sword is gone. As far as they, and the public, are concerned, the genuine article is sitting safely behind that glass.”

Yagami’s breath hitched. He understood exactly what the masked man was offering.

A stage play.

He wanted Yagami to pretend he didn’t know the truth. By playing along, Yagami could report to the museum that the police had successfully defended the “genuine” artifact from the thief. The officers would live, the mission would technically be a success, and the museum would be forced to keep their mouths shut about the missing real sword to avoid admitting they lied to the police.

It was the perfect out. Any other commander would have taken it in a heartbeat to save their men.

But Yagami Soichiro was a man whose moral compass bordered on absolute obsession. The idea of colluding with a criminal made his skin crawl.

“Why?” Yagami demanded, his fists clenched. “Why offer this? What do you get out of it? Do you just want me to lift the barricades so you can escape?”

“Chief Yagami, I am merely doing you a favor.” Yozora shook his head. “Killing you and crippling the police force offers me absolutely zero benefit. You might find this hard to swallow, but the true nature of this world is far beyond what a normal person like you can comprehend.”

Yozora paced slowly. “Our methods are different. Our goals are different. But I know you are a man driven by justice. If I kill you tonight, I have no guarantee that the next Chief of the Criminal Investigation Bureau will be as competent as you. For me, that is an unnecessary risk.”

It was the truth. Yagami was stubborn, inflexible, and painfully pedantic. But his relentless crusade against crime had drastically lowered Kyoto’s crime rate. Fewer crimes meant fewer victims, less negative emotion, and a sharp decrease in the birth rate of Evil Spirits.

In a twisted way, the police department was doing Yozora’s crowd control for him. Replacing Yagami with a corrupt or incompetent bureaucrat would only create more work for the exorcist.

Yagami gritted his teeth, his eyes darting back and forth.

Cooperate with a monster? Was this justice?

But then he looked at the sword resting at Yozora’s hip. A legendary relic that had witnessed centuries of bloodshed had willingly chosen this man. Did a mere mortal detective really have the right to stand in its way?

He looked down at his unconscious men. They were bruised and battered, but breathing.

Yagami let out a long, defeated sigh. The rigid tension drained from his shoulders.

“I’ll cooperate. I’ll let you leave. What do you need me to do? Order the perimeter to stand down and clear a path?”

“No need for that.” Yozora stepped forward and clapped a friendly hand on the detective’s shoulder. “That would be far too suspicious. If Internal Affairs removes you from your post for gross negligence, this entire conversation was a waste of time.”

“Then… how?”

“Just follow my lead. Like this…”

Just as Miko stepped out of the corridor, flanked by the towering figures of Hyakume and the Pale Ghost Hand, she walked right into a bizarre sight.

Yozora was whispering instructions, and the notoriously strict Chief of the Criminal Investigation Bureau was nodding along like an obedient schoolboy.

Miko blinked, utterly baffled.

What in the world was happening? She knew Yozora had a terrifying knack for turning enemies into allies. He had bullied Hachishaku, Tamamo-no-Mae, and even a shrine god into signing contracts.

But now he was seducing the chief of police?!

Did his weird, twisted charisma work on middle-aged men too?

“Prepare to evacuate,” Yozora called out to her.

Miko nodded meekly, deciding it was much safer for her sanity not to ask questions.

“Are you ready?” Yozora asked the detective.

Yagami took a deep breath, his expression hardening into a mask of grim determination. “Ready. Let’s do this.”

In the blink of an eye, Yozora drew a black handgun from his coat, wrapped his left arm around Yagami’s throat, and jammed the muzzle directly against the chief’s temple.

He dragged the ‘hostage’ toward the museum’s main entrance, motioning for a stunned Miko to follow.

It was the exact same chokehold. The exact same hostage. He was even using the exact same gun from their last encounter.

“I have your Chief!” Yozora roared toward the barricades outside. “If you want him to live, nobody move!”

Yagami played his part flawlessly. He contorted his face into a mask of panicked desperation, struggling weakly against the grip as he screamed at his own men.

“Don’t shoot! Stand down! He’s strapped with explosives!”

Walking behind them, Miko stared blankly at the two men putting on the performance of a lifetime.

Good grief, she thought, her eye twitching. Since when did you two become such a perfect comedy duo?