The wind had changed.
It no longer carried the scent of blood and ash — it carried something colder. Something older. Ryu Hayabusa stood at the edge of a cliff, his silhouette carved against the dying sky. The sun bled into the horizon like a wound refusing to close, and the silence around him was deafening.
He hadn't spoken in hours.
Not since the duel. Not since Ayane and Momiji collapsed in exhaustion, their rivalry unresolved, their hearts still burning with questions they couldn't ask. Ryu didn't need to speak. His silence was a language of its own — one that only the cursed could understand.
The Grip of Murder pulsed beneath his skin.
It wasn't pain. It was memory. Every kill, every scream, every soul torn from its body — they lived inside him now, whispering in a tongue only demons knew. He clenched his fist, and the air around him trembled. The curse was growing stronger. It wanted more.
Behind him, Ayane approached, her steps light but deliberate. She didn't speak either. She knew better. She stood beside him, her shoulder brushing his, her presence sharp and familiar.
Momiji followed, her robes rustling like leaves in a storm. Her eyes scanned the horizon, but her mind was elsewhere — in the shadows, in the whispers, in the tremor beneath the earth.
"There's something coming," she said finally.
Ayane nodded. "I feel it too. It's not just another demon. It's... watching."
Ryu didn't respond. He didn't need to. The air was thick with omen. The sky had turned a shade too dark. The birds had stopped singing. Even the wind seemed afraid to move.
They returned to the temple ruins, where the ground still bore the scars of their duel. Ayane sharpened her blades in silence, her fingers trembling only slightly. Momiji meditated, her breath steady, her aura glowing faintly red.
Ryu sat alone, his sword across his lap, his eyes closed.
Inside him, the curse whispered.
There is no salvation. Only blood.
He saw her again — the woman from the past. The one he couldn't save. Her face was blurred, her voice distant, but her presence was a wound that never healed. She had begged him to stop. To be human. To be more than a weapon.
But he wasn't sure he could anymore.
Ayane glanced at him, her eyes soft for a moment. "You're not alone, Ryu."
Momiji added, "We'll face whatever comes. Together."
Ryu opened his eyes. They glowed faintly — not with power, but with something deeper. Something broken. Something sacred.
He stood.
Far below, in the abyss, something stirred. A whisper. A name.
Kurozume.
The demon of regret.