The dark ones came fast, and this time Jin didn't make the mistake of thinking they were slow.
His back was still screaming from the wall and every breath scraped against his ribs, but he didn't reach for the blade he could imagine. He reached into his inventory instead, and his hand closed around a hilt that was real.
The Muramasa blade slid out into the morning light. It was heavier than anything he could picture, solid and cold and familiar, and the moment its weight settled in his grip his breathing changed on its own. It slowed and deepened. The noise of the street, the ringing in his ears, the pain in his back, all of it went somewhere further away.
The first of the dark ones was ten meters out. The rest of the line was right behind it, spread across the whole width of the street.
