Amid the searing heat of roaring flames, a black blade danced in frenzy—unrelenting, heedless of fire or fury. What once were homes, cradles of laughter, love, and fragile hope, had become nothing more than ash and fuel, feeding the inferno. The bodies of their former occupants lay discarded across the scorched earth, their final rest offered only by the ground itself—warmed now not by hearths, but by the dying fire of their own ruin.
Above, the moon hung high in a sky scattered with stars. Beyond the blaze, hidden among the tall trees that encircled the village, stood a silent conductor—the one orchestrating this symphony of chaos. His eyes gleamed with a feline glint, and his hands moved like those of a maestro guiding a grotesque performance. For a moment, he simply watched, his gaze basking in the destruction.
The cries of agony had faded. The screams of despair were long gone. All that remained was the maddening clang of steel on flesh. The sword's rhythm slowed—its wielder, Gachuti, gasping for breath. Frustration weighed heavy, exhaustion clawing at his limbs.
"I can't let this wear me down…" he murmured through gritted teeth. Adrenaline surged, but it was fleeting—his strength was fading fast.
Behind him, a trail of shattered cores—dozens, maybe hundreds—littered the ground. In front of him, another of the gelatinous beasts charged. Gachuti struck once more, his blade aiming for its nucleus. But this time, another sound echoed through the chaos.
"What…? My blade—" Panic struck him like lightning.
All that remained in his grip was a jagged shard of his sword. The rest had snapped clean off. The world showed its cruelty once again.
Before he could fully register the shock, the monster lashed out. The blow struck his chest and sent him flying. He crashed into a wall with a sickening thud.
"Damn it… My head…" he gasped, struggling to breathe.
He tried to rise. His legs refused him. Slumped against the wall, pain lanced through his core. He gagged—an urgent instinct. His hand flew to his mouth, and when he looked down, his fingers were slick with blood. It trickled from his lips, warm and red—a stark contrast to the cold that now clawed at his soul.
Tears welled unbidden. He clenched his fist, eyes locked forward.
"I have to keep fighting…" he whispered.
Even as his body failed, more creatures closed in. He was cornered.
Then—*a howl* rang out, high and fierce.
A burst of pressure scattered the slimes. From atop the wall, a wolf leapt down and landed before him—a guardian.
"Shin?" he rasped, barely able to speak. "Where's Thijou…?"
Anxiety twisted his chest. His gaze fell on the symbol blooming faintly on the wolf's forehead—a fading flower. Gachuti's breath caught. The sight shattered something inside him, and tears streamed down his face.
"That means Thijou is…" The words caught in his throat.
He didn't need confirmation. The pain was proof enough. While he mourned, one of the creatures lunged. Shin intercepted it with brutal precision. Sparks of lightning danced across the wolf's fangs as he tore through their ranks, countering bite for blow.
"I can't just sit here… I have to help…"
Ignoring the pain, he forced his body to move. He rose—barely—but a jolt of agony ripped through his chest, as though a spike had been driven into his heart. He collapsed again, coughing blood.
"Damn it… not now… I have to…" Tears spilled onto the earth beneath him.
Another faint howl rose in the air, weaker this time. Gachuti looked up and froze. Shin glowed—his body vanishing into radiant light. No…
"No, no… Shin, not you too…"
Dragging himself forward, arm outstretched, he reached for the wolf—reached for a hope he couldn't save. His vision blurred with tears, and just like that, Shin was gone. The creatures, sensing weakness, surged for a final assault.
"I'm sorry… I wasn't strong enough…" His thoughts drifted, backward through time.
He saw the villagers' smiles, the laughter, the lives lived without fear.
The cold ground pressed against his burning skin. The grass scratched his cheek, and he longed for Rosary's lap—warm and soft, scented with roses. He wished only to feel her presence again, instead of this iron-scented nightmare.
"Rosary… I'll never forgive myself for turning you down…" Just beyond reach, the broken remains of his sword lay scattered.
Faces flickered through his mind—Hakuyu, the stoic swordsman who taught him to fight; Yukika, the gentle healer. But most of all, Thijou—the wise beast-tamer, the mentor he had looked up to above all.
"Thijou… I couldn't protect your village…" Darkness crept into his vision.
Then—a voice.
"You can still live."
Black. That was all he saw. Black—and blood. And something else.
"Who's there?"
"I can save you. But first… I need permission to use *our* body."