The woman's voice ruffled like cardboard. "Did they live in this town?"
"Yes," Ryuuto said, keeping his tone flat. "They died yesterday. I need to know where the bodies are."
The volunteer's eyes darkened. "You should have seen it. People were ripped apart—some not fully dead when it happened. I was a volunteer; I nearly threw up when I saw it."
"Where did they take the bodies?" Ryuuto asked.
"To the city hospital. If that's where you want to go." The woman pointed him down the lane with a bitter hand.
Ryuuto nodded and left.
He hadn't come looking for friends. He'd come for tissue — anything with reliable DNA. He'd downloaded Orochimaru's data packet and read the forbidden notes: Impure World Reincarnation was a nasty trick, but brutal, and useful. If he planned to test the ritual, he'd need a sample and a willing vessel. The rules were ugly but straightforward:
You needed the target's DNA — hair, scrap of skin, anything.
You needed a living vessel to host the summoned pattern.
The target's soul had to still exist somewhere the ritual could reach — otherwise the call would be empty.
Hair or a scrap would do — so long as it belonged to the dead person, not a living one. That was the catch.
He wandered the wreckage until a crimson hat caught his eye in a litter-strewn corner, its rim crusted with blood and a handful of blond hairs stuck inside. Female. Recent.
Perfect.
He was turning the hat over when a voice behind him became a barrel of accusation. "You were seen near the scene yesterday. You killed my partner. Put your hands up!"
Before Ryuuto could turn, the cop had his gun leveled. "If you move, I'll shoot."
Ryuuto kept his hands casually at his sides. "You think I killed them? Funny—if you were there, you'd know what happened." He turned the hat in his fingers, calm as a man holding a teacup. "They used us as targets. They called us monsters. If you want to go to work for your commanders, fine—raise a gun. If you want to stay alive, put it down."
The cop's finger tightened on the trigger. A muzzle barked.
The shot never found its mark. Ryuuto blurred like a ghost and was at the cop's side before the recoil finished. The pistol snapped out of the officer's grip and into Ryuuto's hand. The cop tried to draw breath; Ryuuto shoved a palm to his chest and the man went limp.
Impure World Reincarnation required a live vessel. Ryuuto didn't hesitate — he bundled the unconscious cop over his shoulder and vanished.
The woods on the town's edge were quiet and raw. He set the officer down on leaf and loam, ripped two strands from the hat, and tucked them into the cop's mouth. A drop of his own blood sizzled on the inside of the man's lips—part of the ritual's price. Orochimaru's notes had been explicit: the summoner's life-salting was necessary to bind the call. Ryuuto had read it. He was willing.
He settled in the dirt, palms pressed together, and chanted in a low, cold rhythm. The words weren't pretty; they were old and hungry-sounding. Earth answered. Soil slid, not like water but like a thing with purpose, clinging and crawling toward the prone body. The man jerked once, coughing as mud closed over him.
The officer's limbs twisted as if pulled by marionette strings; his skin blushed into the same raw color as the dirt. Ryuuto watched the shape rearrange itself, the ritual reweaving flesh and pattern to fit a different soul.
Minutes later, the ground stilled. Where the cop had lay now stood a young woman in a simple dress, hair tangled, dark circles under eyes that had seen a long night. The result was never pretty. Impure World Reincarnation pulled a person back in pieces; the seams showed.
She blinked at him with the distant, startled focus of someone who'd been yanked out of sleep. "How—am I alive?" she whispered.
"You're not… alive," Ryuuto said honestly. "You were called back. Think of this as a test run." He kept his voice clinical; curiosity came later. "Relax. You won't be harmed for cooperating."
The woman's gaze snapped to him, panic flaring. "I won't—go back—there are hungry things—no!" Her hands clawed at the hem of her dress. She tried to move away, but Ryuuto was already two steps behind, and laying a palm briefly against the base of her skull. It wasn't cruel; it was securing the binding he'd prepared — a small sigil, a soft band of ink beneath the hairline that anchored the summoned pattern so it wouldn't fray.
The woman's expression slackened, a fog filling her eyes. Her voice, when she spoke again, had lost its original edge and taken on a flatness. "What would you have me do?"
Ryuuto considered the options. In Orochimaru's files, the test always taught the same lesson: power without control is chaos. He didn't intend to use this returned soul for entertainment or degradation. Instead of ordering obscene acts, he gave her a simpler, sharper command.
"Tell me everything you saw," he said. "Names, faces, the route they took. Speak clearly."
She complied, words spilling out as if she'd been rehearsing in the dark. Her memories were patchy, but useful—routes, a vehicle description, a voice that used a code-name. Not everything was perfect, but it was more than nothing.
Ryuuto listened, storing the scraps. Once he had what he needed, he performed the reversal chant, palms rising, voice cold and precise. The soil loosened. The temporary binding dissolved.
The woman's pupils dimmed, the fog returning. She slid to her knees as if weightless, then turned to him with a final, small, human question: "Do I go back…?"
"No," Ryuuto said. "You'll be gone from this place. But you won't be dragged into the worse things you fear." He offered a hand to steady her, then drew away. "Rest."
When the ritual finished, Ryuuto wiped his hands on his jeans and stood. The town's ruin sat under a stubborn, gray sky—broken lives and risky knowledge all bundled together.
He kept the strands of hair in a small bag, thinking of the next step. The Impure World Reincarnation worked, but it left stains. The technique was powerful and dangerous; it was a tool that could be used for rescue or weaponized for control.
He pocketed the hat and walked back toward the road, feeling the weight of what he'd just done press against him like rain.
[Ding! System Note: Forbidden Technique Tested — Success Recorded]
Shion: "Ooh—dangerous toys! Don't get attached, Host. That was messy, but effective. Try not to become the villain in the next chapter, okay?"
Ryuuto snorted. "No promises."