The spiral narrowed.
Bone gave way to obsidian, and the walls began to pulse — not with light, but with memory. Ayane felt it first: a tremor in her chest, like a forgotten scream clawing its way up her throat. She gripped her blades tighter, but her hands were slick with sweat. Not fear. Recognition.
Momiji followed, her steps steady but her breath shallow. The Sanctum was no longer just a place — it was a mirror. Every corridor reflected a moment she had buried. Every shadow whispered a name she had tried to forget.
Ryu walked ahead, silent as ever.
But inside, he was unraveling.
The Curse Tightens
The Grip of Murder was no longer just a curse — it was a voice. It spoke in the rhythm of his heartbeat, in the twitch of his fingers, in the silence between Ayane's breaths. It told him he was not a man. Not a hero. Just a vessel.
"You are the blade. You are the wound. You are the end."
He saw her again — the mother. The one from the city. Her eyes were full of hope, and that was the worst part. Hope was a lie. He had saved her child, but the blood on his hands hadn't washed away. It had soaked deeper.
Ayane reached for him once, her fingers brushing his arm. He didn't flinch. But he didn't look at her either.
Momiji whispered, "He's slipping."
Ayane didn't answer. She knew. She felt it too.
The Awakening
The chamber opened like a wound.
Kurozume stood at its center — or rather, he didn't. He was everywhere. A mass of shifting shadows, eyes blinking in and out of existence, mouths whispering regrets in languages no one had spoken in centuries.
He didn't roar. He didn't move.
He felt.
And they felt him.
Ayane dropped to one knee, her vision swimming with memories that weren't hers. A child screaming. A blade slicing through innocence. A kiss that turned to ash.
Momiji gasped, her body trembling. She saw herself drowning in red, her shrine burning, her faith shattered.
Ryu stood still.
Kurozume spoke — not aloud, but inside them.
"You made me."
"You fed me."
"You are me."
Ayane screamed, lunging forward, blades slicing through shadow. But they passed through nothing. Kurozume didn't bleed. He absorbed. Her fury became his strength.
Momiji summoned her flame, casting light into the abyss. But the light bent, twisted, turned into a mirror. She saw herself — not as a warrior, but as a child begging for purpose.
Ryu stepped forward.
The shadows parted.
Kurozume whispered, "You are ready."
Ryu's eyes glowed faintly. Not with power. With choice.
He could end this. But the cost would be everything.
The Choice
Ayane and Momiji rose, bloodied but unbroken. They stood beside him, not as lovers, not as rivals — but as warriors who had seen the worst of themselves and still chose to fight.
Ryu looked at Kurozume.
He didn't speak.
He raised his blade.
And the Sanctum screamed.