The Calamity Wilderness breathed death—
Every street, every shattered alley carried the scent of despair— Miasma hung thick, devouring air, choking lungs, corroding hope.
All around, the Kegare (Filth) raged—shapes and shadows of corruption spilling across broken roads. They came in countless forms: dog-like fiends, grotesque humanoids, beasts with too many teeth.
Their claws gouged walls, their fangs tore into flesh, while its prey cry, beg for mercy or quick death..... But—
The hunt was merciless.
In a narrow alley, a lone middle-aged man crouched against a wall, trembling violently.
His lips moved in silent prayer, words stumbling as his voice cracked.
"Didn't see me… it didn't see me… please, just pass by…"
The ground trembled.
His body stiffened as booming footsteps shook the air. With horror etched across his face, he raised his eyes—and froze.
A giant Kegare, humanoid yet twisted, lumbered across the distant street. Its body towered nearly fifty meters high, an abomination silhouetted against the dim glow of the corrupted sky. Each step shattered concrete like fragile glass.
The man held his breath, lungs screaming for air.
The creature passed—
Slowly, it moved away, its hulking body disappearing deeper into the wilderness.
The man collapsed forward, gasping desperately for air that he had forgot to breath. Relief rushed in, only to twist into coughing fits as the thick miasma flooded his chest. His vision blurred.
"No… no, I can't die. I have to live. I have to get out of here…" He scrambled to his feet, clutching at the wall for support.
But the moment he turned toward the alley's exit, his breath caught as he show.
A smaller Kegare stood there, its malformed, animalistic body hunched forward, saliva dripping from its snarling mouth. Its eyes locked on him.
The man's lips curled into a broken smile.
He knew—
"Ahhh—!" His scream was the last sound he made before darkness claimed him.
He Died.
.....
Elsewhere, within the shell of a once-bustling commercial complex, survivors clung to fragile hope.
Dozens of humans had made it here after fleeing the chaos of the park. The air reeked of fear, but the walls, at least for now, gave them shelter.
Among them were familiar figures—Umaru Goji, Kirara Hoshino and Natsukawa Kiyomi.
They had barely escaped the slaughter. Though several were killed on the way, many had managed to flee into the building.
Now, a hundred or more huddled together in silence.
Many people has lost hope—
Behind a cracked cashier counter, Kirara wiped tears from her wet cheeks, voice trembling.
"U-Umaru… do you think we'll ever go back?" Her tone broke, weighed down by despair, "Back to our world?"
The images of what she'd witnessed—humans ripped apart, devoured alive—still clawed at her mind. Her heart, so used to sunny days and ordinary life, was breaking.
Umaru bit her lip, gripping a small protective charm in her palm.
She said nothing, because to say yes felt like lying, but to say no would shatter what little hope remained in them. Tears welled in her eyes, falling onto the charm she held.
'Brother… will I never see you again?'
Beside her, Shiroha forced her lips into a small smile, though her hands trembled visibly.
"It's okay," she said softly, trying to comfort them both woth her weak forced smile, "We'll be fine...We'll go back..We have to."
Her words rang in the building, many people heard her voice but they didn't want to believe in it, they closed their ears with both their hands, tightly, so they wouldn't hear her, wouldn't let any hope reach them.
But they steadied Umaru just enough to keep her from collapsing completely.
The shop was filled with hushed whispers, some silent prayer for others and some for themself, frightened voices clashing quietly—
"M-Mom... Where are you, please be safe"
"I want to go home Hik, please Hik"
"Maybe the monsters are gone already, Maybe we...are safe."
"...Don't be stupid. Unless someone checks outside, we can't know."
"Then you check!"
"No! Why should I—"
The bickering only deepened the atmosphere of dread. Everyone was afraid, but fear left them snapping at each other instead of uniting.
Then it came —
ROAR!
A roar. Deep. Guttural. Deafening.
The walls shook — Dust fell from the ceiling.
All arguing ceased in an instant, all the peoples closed their mouth tightly with their hands.
The heavy sound of footsteps followed.
STEP. STEP. STEP. STEP
Each step resounded through the empty building, echoing like the ticking of death's clock.
The creature was hunting.
It moved floor by floor—
First. Second. Third.
Then it stopped.
On the fourth floor.
Silence stretched unbearably until the sound resumed—closer now, deliberate.
A massive, gorilla-shaped Kegare (filth) lumbered toward the shop where the survivors hid. Its twisted body reeked of miasma, and its blood-red eyes gleamed with hunger.
"It's coming!" someone gasped, voice breaking.
The footsteps grew louder. The survivors' fear swelled to its breaking point.
And then, finally, it snapped.
A teenage boy—his mind frayed by terror—grabbed a broken clothes rack like a weapon and rushed out of the shop, screaming.
"Die!, Die, you filthy monster!"
The Kegare (filth) barely blinked.
It raised one massive claw and caught the pole easily, flicking it aside. The boy's body was launched backward, slamming into the wall with a sickening crack.
Blood spilled from his lips as he coughed and cried out.
"Help me! Please—someone! I don't want to die! My parents are waiting for me!"
But no one could move, no one could even run —
The doorway was blocked by smaller Kegare, their bodies writhing, their snarls filling the shop.
There was no way to escape.
Despair thickened, pressing down on every heart.
And then suddenly—
"Die, Kegare!"
A voice, strong and furious, cut through the darkness.
A white figure descended from above like lightning. His sword gleamed as it plunged deep into the gorilla Kegare's chest. Black corruption burst outward as he pulled it free, his movements smooth, honed. With another swing, he cut through the smaller beasts blocking the exit.
One after another, they dissolved into glowing pentagrams, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.
Silence followed.
The man exhaled sharply, lowering his blade.
His robes, white and marked with exorcist sigils, fluttered in the faint wind rushing through the shattered windows. His gaze swept across the stunned survivors, voices caught in their throats.
"Don't panic," he said firmly. "You're safe now."
He planted his sword into the floor, his presence radiating authority.
"I am an Onmyoji from the Tokyo Yin-Yang (Exorcist) Bureau. I've come to protect you."
The words broke the silence.
The survivors blinked, as though waking from a nightmare, and for the first time since being dragged into this hellscape, hope stirred in their chests.
...
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