Having broken free from the tangle just in the nick of time, Ox said, “I’m glad you picked up on my idea.” Then, without bitterness, he added, “Although you could have said something first.”
Tiger’s tricky maneuver, which took her weaving through their enemies, made for flashy display, but Ox deserved equal regard for keeping them occupied until the last possible moment. If he had broken away even a moment earlier, the severed head would have instantly transmitted its panoramic view to the others, and at the very least, Snake’s headless, armless corpse would likely have escaped the deep freeze.
Tiger growled. “You’re one to talk. How the hell was I supposed to know what to do when you’re so damn vague?”
“Those corpses could still see. I didn’t want to spell it out in case they could hear too.” Ox sighed. “I’m just not used to having to pull any tricks like that. I should stick with what I know. At least it all worked out this time.”
Provoking him, Tiger said, “What would have worked out for me was you being flash-frozen along with those freaks.”
Returning the provocation, Ox said, “Is that so? I haven’t forgotten my promise to challenge you to a duel.” When Tiger didn’t say anything back, he added, “But I think we’ll be extending our temporary partnership for just a little while longer. You’ve noticed, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have. That old man Sheep was much better at hiding than this one.” Then she roared, “Hey! Come on out, you bastard!”
Then, as a wild hare might emerge from its burrow, Rabbit appeared from behind a sculpture in front of a nearby building, not out of obedience but by his own volition—or maybe he was obeying. He remained impossible to read.
Despite a pair of minions being reduced to frozen smithereens, Rabbit appeared unafraid. He stepped toward Ox and Tiger as his usual composed self, armed with an inexhaustible will to kill, along with those two giant blades—Shiro-usagi and Sangatsu-usagi—the cursed weapons with which he had created so many corpses. Rather, the curse belonged to him, not his weapons.
To Rabbit, Ox said, “I trust you won’t complain about facing the two of us—after all, you’ve been fighting on a team yourself.”
Whether or not Rabbit was listening, the necromanticist ignored the comment and announced himself.
“I am Usagi, the Fighter of the Rabbit. I kill with distinction.”
His demeanor was perplexing given the circumstances—he had come to join his minions in their fight but arrived only moments too late, only to find himself thrust into an unexpected crisis. Having sent Monkey after Rat, he now faced Ox and Tiger alone. When confronted with this hopeless battle, he showed no signs of despair—but how could one lose hope when he’d gone his whole life without having it?
Such a fighter was beyond Ox’s understanding, and though Tiger herself was a renegade, she was made of different stuff. All the more reason to fight.
Though nations would be won or lost based on its outcome, the Zodiac War was also a battle for survival.
“I am Ushii, the Fighter of the Ox. I just kill.”
“I am Tora, the Fighter of the Tiger. I kill with drunken power.”
For the second time in the same day, Ox and Tiger announced themselves together.
Though Rabbit was a living man, he—like his corpse allies—remained unperturbed by the display of conviction from two expert warriors. Wielding the twin blades, he attacked as if this were routine.
But to fighters like Ox and Tiger, his movements were clumsy; they could have handled his attack with their eyes closed. Compared to the Tatsumi brothers, he might as well have been a bunny bounding in for a snuggle—but Ox and Tiger were not about to go easy on him. They met his attack with blade and Drunken Fist.
Two swift saber slashes struck Rabbit; then after the briefest delay, so did two swipes of ten claws. Rabbit’s body fell into eight pieces.
Rabbit failed to offer an interesting fight, but he was a necromanticist, after all, who employed corpses to do his fighting—and he went with no prolonged death scene either; no villain’s dying scream, no final words. That was it. The vast gap in ability and skill left Rabbit no time to feel surprise. In the face of Tiger and Ox—who was fighting ability distilled into human form—Rabbit stood not a chance on his own.
Thus died the mysterious man who had thrown the Twelfth Zodiac War into a greater turmoil than any combatant had done in the history of the event.
Not missing a beat, Ox said to Tiger, “Well then,” seemingly feeling no deep emotion at the killing of this formidable adversary; no matter who the enemy, no matter what curse they bore, once dead they were of no further concern. “Would you rather take a short break first, Fighter of the Tiger?”
Licking the necromanticist’s blood from her nails, Tiger said, “Don’t make me laugh, Fighter of the Ox,” as if Rabbit had never mattered to her at all. “This blood has me nice and drunk. Now, put up a good fight, will you? I want to have some fun.”
“All right. Then our alliance is now over,” Ox said, removing a glove and throwing it at Tiger. “It’s a duel.”
Rabbit had been killed. He had been sliced into pieces— that much was true.
But before he was sliced into pieces, he had bitten his own tongue off and instantly choked on it. That he had made no dying scream and given no final words was a matter of course.
Rabbit had killed himself, and the wounds left by the nimble saber slashes and the savage claw swipes came after his suicide.
One might ask, He’s dead—so what the heck does it matter how he died?
In normal cases, that would be true. But Rabbit wasn’t normal—he was a necromanticist who wielded control over those he killed.
What would happen when a man like that killed himself?
Ox and Tiger were about to find out.
Ox and Tiger vs. Rabbit
End of the 9th battle