I'm Alone In This Apocalypse Vault With 14 Girls?

"Who's there?"

A voice from the dark. A survivor, probably hunting wounded or bodies. I turned; the man stepped back.

"Your eyes..." he whispered.

My eyes? I couldn't see them, but his fear told me something had changed when I took over.

"Just a soldier," I said, testing my voice. Lower than Kurō's, rougher.

"Your eyes are red. Red as blood."

A sign. The body marked by its new owner. That could be a problem. Or interesting.

"Trick of the light," I said.

"There's no light to trick."

Good point. Killing him would be easy, but a hassle.

"Then you're seeing things. The battle was rough."

He backed away, hand on his sword. "You were dead. I saw you fall. You took a spear through the gut."

"Did I?" I looked at the ripped armor, the stains. "Must have missed the important organ."

I walked past him, Kurō's sword over my shoulder, testing balance. Everything required more attention than I'd expected.

"What are you?" he called.

I paused. What was I? I had no preexisting name. I didn't want Kurō's. Humans needed labels.

"Tsurugi," I said finally. Just "sword." Simple and useful.

"That's not a name."

"It is now."

I kept walking, leaving the battlefield behind. Kurō had asked me not to look back, and I found I didn't want to. Whatever lay behind was over. I needed forward.

My stomach growled. Right. Food. Water. Sleep—if sleep still means anything to a consciousness in a meat body. So many small needs.

The night air felt different on skin than my astral form—cooler, fuller, carrying wetness, wind, and the promise of rain. My feet felt every rock, every texture. The sword's weight tugged at my shoulder in a way both annoying and oddly satisfying.

For nine centuries I had been pure consciousness—light and unbound, an observer drifting through time. After an hour in my body, everything changed. The crisp air filled my lungs; the pulse in my chest demanded action.

Even walking demanded constant small judgments.

It was tiring.

I laughed—my first laugh in this form—and it came out wrong: low and rough. I'd have to work on that.

Campfires appeared ahead: Hosokawa's forces, by the flags I could just make out. Winners today. Food, sake, wounded men. I could walk in, claim to be a survivor, and take what I needed.

Or I could do something else.

Three soldiers approached, torches in hand. Their armor bore Hosokawa's colors. They looked tired but alert, hands on swords.

"You're one of Yamana's men?" the lead asked, squinting.

I shrugged; the armor shifted. "I was."

They exchanged glances. "What happened to your eyes?" the second asked, fearful.

"Got blood in them during the fight," I lied. "Haven't had a chance to wash."

The lead stepped closer; the torchlight showed blood caked on my armor. "You took a hell of a beating. How'd you survive?"

"Luck," I said, hand on my hilt. "And stubbornness."

The younger soldier pointed at my midsection. "Your armor's torn. You're bleeding."

I looked down. The armor was ripped, but the wound beneath was healed. "It's not my blood," I said.

They didn't look convinced. The lead drew his sword halfway. "You need to come with us. The captain will want to question you."

"I'd rather not."

"That wasn't a request," he said, stepping forward. The three moved in practiced sync—cornering survivors, taking them for questioning or worse.

I could feel Kurō's memories stir. These were the men who'd left him to die. The same type who'd kill without a second's thought.

"Last chance," the lead said. "Come quietly, or we'll use force."

I smiled, the unfamiliar expression stretching my new face. "I was just thinking about trying something new."

Before they could react, I moved. Faster than I expected, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Steel flashed; the lead's hand was severed before he could cry out.

He screamed, clutching the stump as blood arced to the ground. The second lunged, but my elbow found his throat with a sickening crunch. He collapsed, gasping. The third turned to run; I grabbed his armor, spun him, and struck until he slumped.

The lead whimpered, cradling his ruined hand. "Please. Don't kill me."

"Why not?" I asked. "You would have killed me without thought."

"We were following orders!" he sobbed, dirt and blood on his face.

"Orders," I tasted. "That's what it comes down to. Someone tells you what to do, and you do it."

He nodded, frantic. "Yes! Just soldiers!"

"And I'm just a survivor," I said, raising my blade. "Funny how that works."

Steel slipped into his throat with ease. His eyes widened once, then went still.

I stood over three bodies, breathing hard. The heart in this chest hammered; adrenaline rushed veins that weren't mine. A metallic taste filled my mouth—it was someone else's blood, but satisfying.

"Interesting," I said to no one. "Very interesting."

I wiped my sword on the nearby dead man clothes and sheathed it. The campfires burned in the distance, there's probably food there.

Then torches flared as men craned their necks toward the noise I made earlier.

They expected another unit coming through to mop up the wounded or finish looting. They did not expect movement that seemed to glide over the ground. My feet made no noise on the churned earth, but the torchlight caught the crimson glow of my eyes and the wet smear on my armor.

Someone shouted.

I walked through the rain—unbothered, uninterested in the ripple my presence made. I watched them, hand tightened on the sword hilt first.

A dog barked somewhere to my left, then whimpered and tucked its tail.

They formed lines without meaning to—three men stepping forward, their torchlight cutting their profiles into sharp things.. The closest of the three had the air of someone used to giving orders, the other two moved like followers.

I slowed my pace, letting the moment stretch. The camp smelled worse up close, charred meat, spilled alcohol.

A torch-bearer lifted his arm and pointed. Men shuffled forward to block the path. The leader stepped into the ring of light, sword half-drawn, voice hoarse but authoritative. The rest of the camp pressed back.

"State your allegiance," one demanded.