There were six Kiri ninja, but two were down. Genma shunted chakra to his irises, drinking in the red-filtered light from their enemies’ lanterns. Ryouma’s hands glowed with crimson death, raking for his opponent’s belly, but the Kiri ninja twisted away. There was barely room for two to fight abreast. Genma twitched a trio of senbon into his hand, points protruding between his knuckles like claws.

“Tousaki, down!” he shouted.

Ryouma ducked hard left, giving Genma the opening he needed. He hurled the senbon with chakra-fueled speed. The Kiri ninja deflected two with a kunai, but a third one sank home in her shoulder.

Her arm dropped, fingers limp. Her knife clattered against the stone and splashed into the sewer muck. Rage lit her face, and she lunged again, to meet a swift death at Ryouma’s hands. His fingers spanned her throat. He only let go when her neck was rotted through to the spine.

Another Kiri ninja was in her place almost before the body dropped. Fukuda was holding her own, fighting with a long hunting knife — had she managed to arm herself at her sister’s house?

She struck viciously, flaying a strip of skin from her opponent’s forearm.

“Takedo?” The man sounded incredulous.

Fukuda gave him no quarter, driving at him.

Senbon flew again, but this time from behind one of the Kiri ninja. Ryouma dodged, and Genma sent them spinning away with the back of his hand.

“Takedo, you traitor! the man screamed. “I wept at your funeral.” His hands furiously twisted through seals. “What are you doing?”

“My funeral?” Fukuda bared her teeth, her fury unbridled. “What about the Kusakabe? The Yuki? Did you go to their funerals, too?”

The other ninja spat contemptuously, “Trash traitors. Kill her, Rikyu.”

Ryouma didn’t give him time to say more. His foot lashed out, catching the Kiri ninja’s knee from the side. As the fractured joint gave way, Ryouma’s jutsu-lit fingers closed over the man’s arm. Decay spread quickly, turning flesh to grotesque liquid. The man screamed, but Ryouma’s other hand, just as deadly, found purchase on his face. An open-palmed strike was all it took to rot away skin and substance, and with it life. The scream turned into a gargled shriek, then died completely as the body fell backwards into the sludge.

The last Kiri ninja, who’d had no room to fight until now, surged over the body of her comrade. Razor-edged knives flashed in her hands. Ryouma dodged again, knocking back into Genma and the sewer wall.

Fukuda drove hard at Rikyu, slicing for his face. The skin at his temple parted, but he turned in time to protect his eye. Blood sheeted over his face in a wet mask. The red light of the lanterns turned everything blood-colored, but the injury was plain.

In the moment after her strike, though, Fukuda was unguarded. Her balance was off as she pivoted away. The stump of her missing arm twitched forward as if to block.

Rikyu thrust his hands forward, releasing chakra in a tremendous blast. Fukuda grunted and flew backwards, folding up as if she’d been kicked. She crashed against the tunnel wall and slid down it. Genma grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her further back, vaulting to take her place. He hurled a fresh handful of senbon at Rikyu, and followed with a knife. There was just time to dodge when Rikyu snatched one of the lanterns and swung it at Genma’s head. It shattered against the stone wall. Rikyu met him with a blade of his own, scraping steel against steel.