Chapter 66 Ambush
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The canyon floor.
A red fog pooled like stale breath, and in the middle of it stood something thin and rectangular, upright as a gravestone.
A dungeon door.
In the Uncanny Valley, the doors are always black—two red sigils like unblinking eyes stare back at you. But this one wasn’t that. I’d never seen this door before. Where does it even lead?
The five older sisters buckled straps and checked magazines, the clack of gear sharp in the muffled air.
It was strange. They were preparing as if they meant to charge straight into a door none of us had seen before.
”Trash-san, are we going in there?” I asked.
”Not yet,” she said. “The hour is poor. If we move now, we risk an ambush. We wait for dawn—let the darkness hide us a little longer.”
”Right, but this door…”
It was noon above the fog. The dungeon’s depths were swaddled in mist, but the open ground gave us no cover.
We didn’t know what lay beyond. Still, for a stealth run, waiting until night made sense.
That wasn’t the real problem.
Kaede-san was frowning at the door too. Trash-san stepped to her side, voice dropping as they conferred.
”Wrong,” Kaede-san murmured. “The location doesn’t match. There shouldn’t be a door here.”
”Kaede-dono, is the intel sound? You squeezed it out of the town folk, yes… We could search for another door before nightfall, but this cleft sees foot traffic. Wandering around would be careless,” Trash-san said.
”I asked several people,” Kaede-san said simply.
They’d questioned townspeople one by one, compared stories, and kept only the pieces that aligned. High-confidence intel, supposedly.
Then why didn’t they feel what I felt?
To me, this was not the Uncanny Valley’s door.
It was warped and green, like a woman stretched and folded to fit a frame.
Where it kissed the ground, I saw shins; the left jamb bent like a thigh; the lintel arched from hip to waist; the right side was a torso drawn long.
Hands and hair fanned out to make the door’s face.
At the handle, a woman’s face slept, serene.
Not grotesque—eerie. Like a saint sealed into an icon, her features rested calm upon the flat of the door, the poise of a portrait.
Someone had pressed a person thin and given it the shape of a door.
”Their tracks came from this door,” someone noted.
”…No obvious flaws,” Trash-san said, “but the breaks in the blood trail are odd.”
They started toward it, careless as if nothing were wrong.
”Trash-san, wait!” I blurted.
”Young Master? What is it?”
”How does that door look to you?”
”…”
Trash-san stopped cold. Smart as she was, that single question told her enough.
Illusions don’t touch me. Dungeon quirks, monster glamour, psionic tricks—none of it sticks to a bodiless mind. I see matter for what it is.
”Craftsman?” Kaede-san asked, glancing back.
”Young Master thinks the door is off,” Trash-san said.
Kaede-san turned fully, lifted her rifle from her shoulder, and steadied her aim.
”Confirming. Everyone else, eyes up,” she ordered.
She squeezed the trigger. A thin electronic keening—then BANG.
A chunk of the door popped loose, flung by a round that burned as it struck.
Splinters—wood? meat?—flew in green streaks, and through the punched hole I glimpsed the world beyond.
Green fluid ran from the wound like sap.
”Broken. Fake,” Kaede-san said.
”Heh. Old-school,” Kiri-san said, almost impressed.
Flatty-chan stared. “W-wait, dungeon doors can break?”
”The real ones can’t be moved, can’t be marred,” Kiri-san said, tone dry. “So you build a look-alike to lure people in. Common trick when I was young.”
”So it’s a trap!?” Flatty-chan squeaked.
”Should be. Usually they wait nearby, or hide a bird-whistle in the handle so opening it calls friends. Good thing we didn’t touch it.”
Open it and a device might spring. Come too close and a buried mine might kick your legs out from under you.
This wasn’t a dungeon’s true door. Someone had planted it here as bait—locals, most likely.
Even so, the others saw a black Uncanny Valley door.
What made that happen? A mystic object? Or was it the dungeon itself, laying snares for explorers with the town as a mask?
”…Tch.”
The sleeping face on the handle spoke. The green relief, until now quiet, moved its lips.
Purple eyes opened.
”Eh?”
Flatty-chan vanished sideways. A thick green whip took her clean off her feet. She flew like a marionette on snapped wires and slammed into the rock wall.
Stone grated. The cliff face broke and spilled down, swallowing her with a roar.
More ropes—no, vines—lashed out in a frenzy.
They cut the air once, twice, raking the ground and smashing rocks to powder. Like a snake gone headless, the bundle thrashed until something in it satisfied the urge. Then the motion dimmed. It stilled.
From the fake door, the soft, strong wires tapered toward their ends—jaws yawned there like iron traps.
Two oval leaves, their rims ringed with ice-pick thorns, clapped together like a clam when they bit.
The spines were a red near purple; the inner leaf, the same lurid shade.
The mass of poisonous green vines narrowed, braided, and at last became the shape of a human arm.
”You ruined my nap,” the face drawled. “Still… nice trick. Seeing through my mimicry.” The voice was a young woman’s, amused.
The doorframe bent in on itself. The materials twisted, rewound, and crushed inward until a whole body stood where the door had been.
She was a woman with long hair the colors of a carrion-flower. Purple eyes glowed, cool and steady.
Everything about her was toxic, a jungle bloom given legs. She watched us with a hungry, taunting gaze.
”Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I’m the Flycatcher of Isumi-town. Nice to meet you—and die.”
Green whips burst from her body.
”Down!” someone shouted.
We threw ourselves aside as the wires carved grooves in stone and hardpan alike.
One of those strikes alone could fold a spine.
”G—ugh!”
”Fast!?”
The wires hammered the space where we’d been, snapped back, and struck again on crazy, skittering arcs, the air hissing as they searched for flesh.
Trash-san was the first to be caught in it—snatched off her feet and hurled away.
The vines whipped and shrieked, snapping through the canyon like broken bridge cables gone wild.
”For the elder Jorōgumo who fell at Ichihara,” the woman roared, “every outsider who threatens this town will die.”
The whips filled the gorge. It was like being trapped inside a spinning cage of steel wire, a human caught in a metal scrub brush turned berserk.
Dozens of thick green lashes sang past my incorporeal body, slicing the air with a whine.
Then—nothing but noise. Endless noise.
The green streaks kept crashing against the rock walls, detonating again and again. Stone burst around us, the air full of thunderclaps. My eyes couldn’t track a thing; my ears caught only the roar.
Through the storm, bullets flew—dozens of them. Kiri-san and Natsume-san were hit, flayed by the lashes, but they fired back anyway.
The rounds seemed to find the figure in the storm’s eye.
”…Elder Sister, lend me your skill,” Kiri murmured.
Her uniform smoked where it had burned through.
The Flycatcher twisted her torso, breath steady, spinning on one heel. The green whips halted—then began circling her again at terrifying speed.
Now even the boulders we hid behind exploded to dust. Everything in the ravine turned to mince.
”Still slow,” a voice cut through the chaos.
Kaede-san lunged forward.
The whip’s barbed jaw struck at her, still heavy even without full momentum. It slammed into the ground, cracking the earth at her feet.
”Ghh—!”
”Oh? You stopped my trap?”
The thorns on the leaf-tip bit into her upper arm. She blocked the stinger’s thrust with the flat of her blade, metal screeching against the venomous needle.
”Fff—ghk…”
More whips followed, a storm of them. Kaede’s heels ground into the rock, gouging trenches into the canyon floor.
”Guh—! Ngh!”
”Well, look at you. Stylish, samurai,” the Flycatcher taunted.
”If it’s strength you want—I have more than you!” Kaede spat back.
She batted aside the snapping traps—each one strong enough to take a head clean off.
But there were too many. The leaves came again and again, and her blade—thick, heavy, built for endurance—couldn’t cleanly cut something that flexed like a whip.
”Persistent…! Everyone, fire! Shoot through me if you must!”
”Oh, playtime’s over,” the woman said. “Now for the part where you die.”
Her long green hair unfurled, glinting like blades of glass.
A single braid wove itself from the strands, hardening into a monstrous flytrap—five times thicker than the rest.
This time she didn’t swing it wildly. She dipped her head mid-strike, redirecting it with a savage snap.
The recoil accelerated the tip—fast enough to bite.
Kaede-san’s head was gone before the sound reached me.
”Ahahaha! Pathetic! The old lady was weak!”
Another whip slammed into Kaede’s body, tossing her headless form aside like a rag.
”Well then,” the Flycatcher said lightly, “two left.”
”With odds like this, you’re cocky as hell,” Kiri growled. “That pisses me off.”
”Oh, so the other old one’s still—hm?”
A hole bloomed in her temple.
Through the haze of dust and mist, the shot had come so fast it didn’t sound real.
”Stop, wai—”
”You were kind enough to introduce yourself,” Kiri said. “Let me return the favor.”
She fired again. Burning rounds tore through the woman’s head one after another. Her hair crisped; bits of brain sprayed the air.
”Monster or not,” Kiri muttered, “you take a bullet to the head, you die.”
”…Heh.”
Kiri didn’t stop. The rifle bucked, relentless. The head shrank, piece by piece.
”Too bad,” the Flycatcher’s voice cooed. “That wasn’t my real head.”
”Wh—damn it—”
”Weapons bore me,” she said. “Got any fun psionics? No? How dull.”
Vines coiled around Kiri’s legs.
Half her face was melted, her scalp gone—but her voice was clear, almost playful.
And then her face appeared again. And again. Sprouting from the lashes around us, dozens of identical visages laughing in chorus.
”So,” they chimed, “which one’s real? This one? Or maybe this?”
The faces grinned at each other. Heads multiplied, each birthing another.
All of them stared with cold, gleaming eyes.
”Alright, that’s enough,” the voices sang together. “Time to feed you to the dungeon and—ow!”
”Don’t underestimate Flatty-chan!”
A white blade struck the ground, humming.
Flatty-chan knelt amid rubble, eyes blazing. Her thrown sword had buried itself in the Flycatcher’s colorful foot.
”You little—my stem! Wha—how are you alive!?”
The creature’s warped body jerked, stumbling.
A headless corpse hauled on the vines wrapped around its shoulders, dragging with inhuman strength. The cords stretched, tearing under the pull.
In Flatty-chan’s arms lay Kaede-san’s severed head, rescued from the trap’s maw.
”You saved me,” Kaede murmured faintly.
”She got careless,” Flatty said. “That’s all.”
It was only a small opening—but enough. The whirling wires froze midair, the storm gone still.
A metallic sphere arced through the haze, landing near Flatty’s blade with a soft clink.
It glowed, parts unfolding until it grew larger.
A spark raced along its needles. Zzt, zzt, zzt—a low electric buzz, like a cicada from hell.
”What—what is—giiiihhh?!”
Lightning erupted from the carnivorous bloom.
The crack of discharge came again and again, each shock heavier than the last. The smell of burning chlorophyll filled the air.
Each pulse raised the voltage, the Flycatcher’s screams pealing with it.
The second surge hit harder—double damage to a charged body.
It was the same electric grenade we’d used to fry the church’s flesh-beasts before.
”Heat works best on types like her,” a voice said.
Trash-san stood nearby, blood running down her forehead. She’d been flung away minutes ago.
She reached into her pocket and lobbed another bomb. And another.
”No comeback? Fine. Take as many as you like.”
”Gkk—zzzzt—gah—!”
With each throw, the lightning’s heart blazed brighter.
My vision turned white. The heat and rumble brushed my cheek even from afar.
”…A—gh—zzzzt—!”
Smoke poured between the roots and earth. The plant-flesh boiled and popped.
At last, the shocks faded.
Flatty-chan’s gaze snapped to the ground. “Trash! The root—it never moved!”
Trash-san grinned. “Now we’ve got her.”
Trash-san, Kaede-san, and Natsume-san formed a firing line.
Their shots rained down, chewing through the earth at the Flycatcher’s feet. The ground burst apart, and there—half-buried—lay a nearly naked woman.
From her back sprouted thick plant stalks, weaving into the mass of carnivorous vines that had filled the canyon. The body we’d fought aboveground had been nothing but psionic projection. Her true form couldn’t shift—skin and eyes as ordinary as any human woman’s.
”Well, well,” she hissed, voice shaking. “You’ve had your fun.”
”Shut up, old hag,” Kiri spat. “Die already.”
”Sorry,” Kiri added, chambering a round, “but ammo’s free today.”
Light gathered at her rifle’s barrel. She planted her feet, steadying her aim.
A small, burning point appeared on the woman’s flank, brightening by degrees.
”I’ll kill you,” the woman gasped. “Body—won’t—move—damn it—”
”Go to hell first,” Kiri said.
A line of light tore loose.
It sliced the woman’s buried body clean in half.
”G—ghk—ha…”
Blood spilled from her lips as her torso fell forward, crimson pooling beneath her. Guts and fluids poured from the cut, dark and thick as mud.
”Keep firing,” Trash-san said.
”Got it.”
They riddled the upper half with bullets. Each impact made the flesh jerk, shuddering like a marionette. Soon it was nothing but pulp and sludge.
”Don’t know where she regenerates from,” Trash murmured. “Sorry about the mess.”
When the gunfire and crackling finally ceased, she strode over and thrust her hand into the pit where the lower half remained.
Her arm came up slick and red-black.
Seconds later, the hole spat lightning. White smoke curled skyward, and the air filled with the acrid stench of burning fat.
”Did we get her?” Natsume asked.
”Tough woman,” Trash-san said. “Good Imperial Guard material—but too careless.”
”Y-yeah… Let’s confirm,” Kaede said. “That was… shocking.”
They staggered upright, one by one. Scraped, bruised, bleeding—they gathered around the psionic corpse that had disguised itself as a door.
I crept closer, wary.
It was a slaughtered ruin. Like someone had been electrocuted on a high wire, then run over by a train. Burned, cut, punctured. If she could live through that, I had no idea how she could be killed.
But she wasn’t immortal after all.
”…She was like a jack-in-the-box,” Natsume whispered. “I… I think I just killed someone for the first time.” Her hand trembled at her mouth.
”Someone?” Kiri snorted. “If you can call that a person.”
No one contradicted her.
Maybe psionic power twisted people differently here. In Kujukuri, psionics awakened to bring joy to their masters—clean, structured abilities shaped by purpose. But this woman… she’d changed out of fear. She’d become the monster she feared, just to survive. A brutal, desperate kind of evolution.
”…Ugh. Now that the tension’s gone, everything hurts,” Flatty groaned, clutching her arm.
Two fingers bent wrong. The others weren’t better off—everyone was bleeding, limping, purple with bruises. Only Kaede-san, numb to pain, stood steady, comparing her ruined pack to Trash-san’s condition.
”Craftsman,” she said. “Your stamina?”
”Honestly?” Trash sighed. “Not great. I can craft maybe a few more mystical objects today.”
”Understood. We’ll use the last of the medical stock, then.”
”Think we have time to pack up? I kept explosives quiet.”
”Not sure,” Kaede said. “But the fog eats sound. No one’s near this hour.”
Trash-san nodded, and the team quickly gathered what cargo still worked. Most of their gear had been shredded by the vine’s spinning assault—damage that would haunt our next mission.
My Elder Sister came to me slowly. I’d been standing frozen. She knelt, meeting my eyes.
When I reached out, uncertain, she clasped my hand gently.
”Were you frightened, Young Master?”
”Y-yeah…”
”You needn’t force yourself to look. You’re a man; it’s alright to turn away.”
Nearby lay what had once been a woman—now just an object. I still couldn’t get used to that: how a living someone could become thing in an instant. But maybe soldier’s nerves were taking hold. It didn’t scare me like the first time. And I was grateful for the numbness.
”I’m okay,” I said. “I just… want to stay with everyone.”
The stench of burnt flesh stung my eyes.
Then—the corpse’s mouth twitched. A single vine sprouted from between its lips.
”Uwah—”
”She’s still alive!?”
We all jumped back as the plant shot upward, climbing, stretching beyond the fog’s reach until the trap-leaves at its tip unfurled wide.
Then it screamed.
”AAAAAARRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!! AAAAHHHHHH!!”
A wet snap followed.
The vine went limp, collapsing from above. It slithered down like a falling rope, tracing a damp arc before the twin leaves at its end slapped the ground with a sticky sound.
By the time Kaede-san severed the root, it was too late.
The scream still echoed, bouncing through the canyon. Her final cry rang out and carried on the wind.
The voice was gone, but long after silence returned, an echo of that dying wail rolled back to us from far away—like the mountain itself mourned her.
That sound must have reached beyond the fog, spreading her death across the valley.
In time, every shred of the plant burned away to ash. No trace remained—no proof she’d ever been a psionic. Not even a face to name. Only the mangled torso of what had once been a woman.
This time, she was truly dead.
”Still conscious in that state…” Trash whispered. “Half her head gone.”
Kaede simply nodded, voice steady. “A fine Imperial Guard,” she said.
While Trash looked astonished, Kaede gazed down at the corpse with quiet respect, as if acknowledging a worthy foe.
Notes:
• Kaede – A female psionic explorer known as Necksplitter, is a veteran assassin and messenger of Lord Ichimatsu. Her appearance is both young and old, with gray hair streaked through black and vibrant, unlined skin. She is graceful yet carries the fatigue of a long life in war, resembling an old hunting dog. Her psionic ability is mysterious and potentially dangerous.
• Kiri – A female sniper and member of Kaede-san’s team, white-haired with sleepy eyes, wielding a disguised sniper rifle, known for her quick hands and slow speech, often joking in dire situations.
• Natsume – A female companion and younger sister of Kaede-san, cared for by Kaede-san during their journey through the dangerous valley, at risk of infection from the parasitic creatures.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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