The sky above Shinjuku glowed a molten orange, and skyscraper windows caught the light like shards of glass. The city hummed with its usual chaotic rhythm as the overlapping announcements and countless footsteps echoed. The low thunder of trains pulsed through Japan's busiest terminal.
Shoko Ieiri adjusted the paper bags in her arms as she stepped out of a small cosmetics store near the west exit. She had promised herself this was going to be a normal day off; no cursed spirits, no blood, no Gojo dragging her into chaos. Just skincare and a quiet dinner.
Then she felt it.
It was subtle at first, a faint vibration under her soles. Somehow it was much harsher than the usual station tremor. The crowd's chatter faltered as an unspoken confusion passed through the masses. Somewhere in the tunnels below, a train's automated chime played. However, the pitch was wrong; like a record warping in the heat. A rough sound of metal tearing apart followed.
Shoko's eyes flicked to the station monitor above the concourse. The LED display glitched once, then twice… and then every line of text fractured into utter gibberish.
"Train 43 from Nakano to Ikebukuro: arrival delayed due to unforeseen circumstances." The same phrase was being announced over and over on every line and every platform.
Shoko frowned. "Eh? That's… not supposed to happen."
A terrible metallic shriek cut through the air. The ground buckled as commuters stumbled. Through the glass wall of the concourse, Shoko saw it clearly: a single silver carriage of the Yamanote Line tearing into the station far too fast. Sparks exploded from the rails as the brakes screamed futilely.
Time seemed to dilate. She could see faces in the windows; wide eyes, open mouths, hands pressed against the glass. Then the world folded inward with a deafening crunch of steel.
The impact sent a concussive blast through the station. Windows shattered immediately as signs and ceiling tiles rained down. The ground beneath her rippled like quick sand. Shoko dropped her bags calling forth her cursed energy with urgency. She then twisted it to form a protective coating around her body.
When the dust settled, the train had split the platform in two. Smoke rose in twisting spirals.
Shoko was flat on the ground, facing the tattered ceiling of the station. Under the faint illumination of the evening sun, she saw something strange.
There was a faint shimmer in the air above the wreck; as if the sky had shattered, shifting and catching the dying sunlight. A rift… trembling and alive.
And then it vanished.
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Reiji sat in one of the gardens within the Kamo estate, his gaze half-lidded against the faint but harsh afternoon sunlight. The hum of cicadas buzzed in the distance as he quietly fiddled with his new weapon.
'While it does allow me to channel blood through it,' he thought, turning the crimson-lined whip in his hands, 'controlling the flow within it is proving… troublesome.'
He frowned, focusing deeply on the blood that slithered sluggishly through the whip's narrow channels. Despite his precision, it resisted fiercely; pulsing like a living vein unwilling to obey.
As he concentrated, unpleasant thoughts found their way into his mind again. The peace of the afternoon was fragile; every time his focus slipped, the ghosts of his past clawed their way back.
He quickly forced his thoughts toward something gentler. Haru came to mind; the boy from the orphanage. The only other survivor.
The memory made Reiji's chest tighten. The great temporal shift that occurred when frozen time finally caught up with the world had been brutal on the boy. While Reiji's body had miraculously stabilized thanks to his RCT, Haru had been plagued with constant seizures. Though the boy was reportedly recovering, Reiji hadn't been allowed to visit him. The higher-ups claimed it was for the sake of secrecy, but Reiji suspected it was to protect their own twisted interests.
His face hardened as he clenched his fists.
His vow… to become strong enough to live according to his own will, felt more urgent now than ever.
'I can't just leave him like this…' Reiji resolved silently, his jaw tightening.
A gentle wind stirred through the garden, rustling the leaves and carrying the faint scent of summer blossoms. Reiji tucked back his long hair as it swayed in the breeze. For a moment, he let himself breathe, taking in the fragrance of the neatly maintained flowers. The warmth of the light on his skin, the faint pulse of blood in his veins; it was almost enough to make him feel like a normal human again.
'I should go ask Master,' he decided, his thoughts firm. 'Maybe he can help me get permission to see Haru.'
Just as he began to rise, a sudden, sickening chill crawled up his spine.
It was a familiar prickling sensation behind his eyes, a whisper of unease.
A deadly premonition.
His curse desperately screamed at him. His heart raced and his muscles tensed. Every nerve in his body screamed not to open his eyes.
'No… not again,' Reiji cursed inwardly as panic coiled in his chest.
But he forced them open anyway.
And what greeted him was horror.
The vibrant green grass that had once stretched before him was gone.
In its place lay a thick carpet of bloody snow; slick, wet, and glistening under a pale light that did not belong to the afternoon. Viscera were splattered across the ground in grotesque shapes, and faint steam rose from the crimson stains as the sun's warmth melted through them.
Reiji's breath hitched. The world tilted.
He knew this scene all too well.
His mind snapped back to that night; the massacre… the stench of blood. His lungs constricted as hyperventilation took over.
"No… no, no, no..." he gasped soundlessly, his chest heaving as his body refused to obey him.
The sunlight dimmed as the world seemed to contract. His body stiffened at once, every muscle locking in place.
A primal fear took hold of him.
He wanted to scream, to call for help, but his throat seized. He opened his mouth desperately only for the air to choke him halfway. He was trapped in his own body, watching helplessly as the blood-stained snow melted into pools of red slush at his feet.
'H-help… someone…!'
As if answering his desperate plea, a sharp thwack landed squarely on his head.
Pain bloomed across his scalp, jerking him back into reality.
The blow belonged to Kamo Dairoku, who stood behind him with an exasperated glare. His broad frame cast a long shadow over Reiji. "What the hell is wrong with you, you useless brat?" he barked.
Reiji blinked wildly, gasping as the illusion shattered. The snow, the blood, the stench, it was all gone. The warm garden sunlight returned. The flowers swayed gently as before.
He slumped forward instinctively, one hand clutching the fresh bruise on his head. Sweat dripped from his face as he struggled to steady his breathing.
"Thank you…" he managed between gasps, his voice trembling. "Thank you, Master…"
Dairoku blinked, visibly confused. "Eh?" he muttered, straightening his robes as he watched the boy bury his face in his hands.
'He's thanking me for that? Weird kid.'
Reiji's ragged breathing slowly steadied. Finally, he let himself fall back against the grass, sprawling flat on his back. His chest rose and fell erratically as he stared up at the vast expanse of sky.
His fingers twitched against the grass. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, his gaze shifted to his master who was standing beside him, eyeing him curiously and then back to the sky.
While the sun was shining brightly in all its glory, illuminating the sky with a warm radiance. Once again, he couldn't help but notice that there was something inherently wrong with it.
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In a frost-covered land far away, a lone dragon trudged through a raging blizzard. His beautifully adorned emerald robes flailed violently in the wind, yet he pushed through the white maelstrom with the ease of one born above such trivial obstacles.
The fierce draconic mask covering his face glimmered faintly even in the absence of sunlight. Each step he took left deep impressions in the snow, which the howling storm desperately tried to erase.
The Green Dragon moved with purpose as though the storm itself bent to his tyranny. He walked endlessly, tirelessly, until at last, his destination began to emerge from the storm's heart.
Ahead loomed a fortress, colossal and ancient, its full form obscured by the blinding veil of snow. Even so, its immense scale was unmistakable. Its towers clawed at the pale sky like the jagged fingers of an evil deity.
The dragon paused, letting his gaze travel up the grand, snow-caked monument. His hands twitched briefly, betraying a flicker of something beneath his composure; distaste, perhaps. As though the memories tied to this place were far from pleasant.
He sighed softly, a plume of steam escaping his lips. "Tch…" he muttered, and reluctantly stepped forward once more.
As he neared the blurred outline of the fortress, something caught his eye; a lone figure standing in the distance before a crude hut made of hide and bone. The strange shelter looked almost alive, its surface shifting under the weight of the storm.
"Oh? What do we have here…" the dragon mused, his voice smooth and low as he adjusted his stride toward the figure.
The wind rolled off the ice, gnawing at the horizon. Snow hissed against M'khoro's bare shoulders, his dark skin gleaming under the pale light, muscles carved like black marble. Bone beads rattled softly in his long braids as the northern light framed him like a statue cut from obsidian.
From the distant mist emerged a massive polar bear, its fur slightly yellowed with age. It reared up on hind legs; standing twelve feet tall. And soon the air trembled with its roar.
M'khoro's thin lips parted slightly, his crimson eyes unblinking. He spared a glance toward the Green Dragon approaching in the distance before speaking to the beast.
"You stand proud," he said evenly. "That is good."
His right foot slid back through the snow, assuming a fighter's stance. Bone gauntlets shimmered faintly around his wrists and forearms. The ivory was etched deeply with ancient Fang spirals.
The bear lunged forward.
M'khoro did not flinch. His breath was steady as the world narrowed to a rhythm of snow and muscle. The beast's paw came in a blur; M'khoro met it mid-swing with an open palm.
The collision cracked like thunder, exploding snow outwards.
The bear's wrist snapped with a muffled crunch.
Using the momentum, M'khoro twisted his shoulder through the motion, folding the bear's broken limb backward until the joint bent the wrong way.
The Green Dragon smirked faintly beneath his mask. "Impressive… he isn't even using cursed energy."
The bear howled, a sound that shattered the still air.
"Your bones," M'khoro said softly, "are brave."
The beast fought back with a claw swipe meant to cave in his chest. M'khoro ducked beneath it, his heel grinding into the ice, and rose with an uppercut that sounded like a hammer striking stone.
The bear's jaw dislocated with a sickening crack, with blood and steam bursting into the frozen air.
Staggering, the creature swung again clumsily, but M'khoro was already within its guard. His movements were calm, fluid, and impossible to stop.
"Sleep," he whispered.
He stepped forward, pivoted his hips, and drove his fist clean through the crown of the bear's skull.
The impact was cataclysmic; a sound like splintering trees and grinding ice. The ground cratered beneath them as snow and shards of bone scattered outward in a violent burst.
Then, silence followed.
The storm howled again, but all else was still.
M'khoro exhaled slowly, steam curling from his nose. He knelt beside the carcass, brushing his hand across the shattered wrist, as if studying it with a quiet reverence.
"Even the strong," he murmured, "must yield."
A faint clapping echoed through the storm. The dragon applauded.
M'khoro turned, expression unreadable, as the Green Dragon approached his elegant robes were dusted with frost.
The two men faced each other, one clothed in tyrannical elegance, the other in a primal savagery. The dragon was utterly dwarfed by the sorcerer's towering physique, yet his confidence never faltered.
"That was quite the show," the dragon said, his tone carrying mild amusement.
"That was no show," M'khoro replied evenly.
The dragon sighed audibly, shaking his head. "Tch. How tasteless."
M'khoro tilted his head slightly, a trace of confusion evident in his gaze, as if the dragon were the one missing the point.
Exasperation flickered in the masked man's eyes. "Well," he muttered, "it's time I go feed that idiot friend of mine. I'll be on my way."
The mention of that friend made M'khoro's jaw tighten. "Why must you continue to feed that monster?"
"Careful now," the dragon warned, voice cold but elegant. "He may be a disgraceful lunatic, but he's still my friend."
"I will kill him," M'khoro said bluntly, his tone as final as stone. "When he gets out of that cage."
The dragon's laughter rang melodiously across the frozen field. "You may try," he said. "I shall not interfere. But take my advice… you're still far too young to face him."
As he turned to leave, the dragon paused, a flicker of recollection in his tone. "Oh, and by the way… that bloody bastard's resurrection failed."
The words lingered in the air for a while.
M'khoro did not move. Then his entire body tensed. His eyes widened and muscles twitched as something fierce stirred within him.
"I must go and find him then," he said quietly, and without another word, began walking in the opposite direction… the same path the dragon had come from.
He didn't stop to collect his belongings, save for a strange weapon slung across his back.
The Green Dragon turned fully, disbelief flashing in his eyes.
'What? I just told him the resurrection failed. Whom does he hope to find?'
"M'khoro!" the dragon called out, his voice rising above the wind. "Where exactly are you going?"
The tall man did not turn around. "To his homeland," he answered simply. "The place you visit to steal for that monster."
Irritation flared behind the dragon's mask. "His resurrection has failed! You will not find him there!"
But M'khoro did not slow down, he did not even look back. He simply continued onward, slowly disappearing into the heart of the storm.
The dragon stood alone, the snow was howling even more fiercely now. Disbelief and irritation swirled within him.
High above them, unnoticed in the raging sky, a faint crystalline shimmer rippled across the clouds. As if the surface of existence itself was trembling under unseen hands.