Underground, a subway train rumbled through the tunnel—like it was slipping deeper into darkness.
Right now, Tokyo was abuzz with talk of yōkai and Nura Rikuo. Even aboard this train, it was all anyone could talk about.
"If Nura Rikuo dies, we'll be saved, right? Should we head over there too?"
"No way, I heard Shibuya's completely lawless now... Besides, that guy has allies. We can't be sure we won't get killed ourselves."
"I heard Mr. Iwamasa is rallying people over in Ikebukuro."
"Seriously? That's so cool!"
"That girl with Nura Rikuo is super cute though…"
"I heard she's a yuki-onna."
"Huh? So she's a yōkai?"
Though the train was full of passengers, Enchō sat alone.
He listened to the chatter with an unreadable expression. Every now and then, he raised a brow—perhaps in mild amusement, perhaps in contempt.
Then, at one point, a fat, hulking man plopped down beside him, filling the three-person bench to capacity.
"Delightful! Absolutely delightful!"
The man beamed, clearly in high spirits.
"Hide-and-seek, huh? Leave it to you to come up with such a game. It's like going back three hundred years… No! It might be even more fun than it was back then!"
Enchō gave him a sidelong glance and responded coolly, "Surprised you managed to find me."
"I always know where the others are… After all, we were once the same being."
Before they split, they had all been parts of the Demon King Sanmoto Gorōzaemon.
Enchō was Sanmoto's Mouth, while Minagoroshi Jizō was his Left Eye, Kyōsai his Hand, Tamasaburō his Face, Raiden his Bone.
And this corpulent man sitting beside Enchō… was Sanmoto's Brain.
In other words, he was the core—the medium through which the Demon King, now in hell, could still link himself to the living world.
To put it simply… he was Sanmoto Gorōzaemon.
"So, how's our fear collection going?"
Mitsume Yazura—his tone now tinged with impatience—cut straight to the point. Clearly, he placed enormous importance on this matter.
"My ankles, pinky toe, and fat have all been aching… And just now, I lost contact with both my bones and my face. Don't tell me Raiden and Tamasaburō have both been killed?"
"They caught us off guard… but the Nura Clan's response was swift. Still, the plan isn't compromised, right?"
Gradually, the other passengers on the train began to notice something was off.
The subway's trajectory was… strange.
A creeping sense of unease spread through the car.
When Enchō remained silent, Yazura grew more agitated.
"Hey! I'm talking to you, Enchō. How's our fear collection going?"
Yazura leaned closer, his tone laced with authority.
"This is about our final goal—about the revival of Sanmoto Gorōzaemon!"
"…Don't worry."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Enchō's lips. Cold and composed, he spoke:
"This train's final stop is our fear-harvesting ground. You need only wait a little longer. Everything is going exactly as I intended."
"Is that so? Excellent."
Yazura's tense shoulders eased.
"Enchō… I've entrusted the entire Hyaku Monogatari Clan to you. Supported your plans unconditionally. Don't let me down."
"You have my word. Everything is proceeding as scheduled."
Yazura nodded, satisfied.
But the next words Enchō spoke—soft, cold—cut into him like a blade.
"When dawn comes, you shall be the evil destined to be defeated. Your death will raise Nura Rikuo to the highest altar."
"!!!"
A chill ran down his spine.
Yazura shot to his feet, eyes wide as he stared at Enchō in disbelief.
"Wh-What the hell are you saying, Enchō?!"
And at that moment, the mood shifted.
The high schooler scrolling his phone, the exhausted salaryman, the stooped old man—
All of them lunged forward at once.
Before Yazura could react, he was slammed to the floor.
"You… you bastards…!"
Shock turned to searing rage.
"A few pathetic humans?! I'll kill you all!"
He may not have been combat-oriented, but Yazura was still a powerful yōkai. There was no way these humans could hold him down—!
He roared and unleashed his power—
But couldn't move.
Impossible.
Terror gripped his heart. He couldn't understand.
Why… Why can they overpower me?!
"Mmmm… Judging by that face, you're confused?"
Enchō crouched beside the pinned Yazura, smiling. In Yazura's eyes, it looked like mockery.
"What's wrong? Wondering if this is real? Questioning your eyes, your senses? Would you like me to explain? Just say the word."
"Enchō…"
Suppressing his fear, Yazura growled:
"What are you doing?! What the hell are you planning?! Do you even know who I am?!"
"You really… talk too much."
Enchō's smile vanished.
He raised one hand. Long, sharp nails extended from each finger.
Then—he drove them straight into Yazura's skull.
Squelch.
"GUAAAHHHHH!"
Yazura howled in agony.
As the claws sank into his head, the illusion on his face was torn away—
Revealing a massive brain.
Aside from a mouth, Yazura's entire head was brain matter—and Enchō's fingers were now embedded deep inside it.
"What are you doing?! Do you have any idea what you've done, Enchō?!"
"You're so noisy… Take a good look. Do you really think I'm Enchō?"
The moment he heard those words, Yazura froze.
Then, trembling, jaw slack, he let out a croaking, inhuman shriek.
"N-No… no no no—impossible! You're not Enchō!"
As Sanmoto's Brain, he was linked to every yōkai born of his body. That's how he'd sensed the deaths of Raiden and Tamazaburō.
Until just now, he'd felt the presence of "Enchō" directly in front of him—which is why he'd come here in person.
But now… he realized the real Enchō was far away.
Not here.
"Fufufu… Hahahaha! So you finally noticed. Took you long enough!"
The laughter dripped with malice.
The "Enchō" before him grinned maniacally, then reached up and grabbed both sides of his face.
RIP.
Like tearing paper, "Enchō" split himself in half.
Blood floated into the air, ignoring gravity, and swirled into a new shape—
That of Ashiya Douman.
"This humble monk's arts… are invincible!"
Yazura stared, dumbfounded, jaw hanging.
"Who the hell are you?! How did you trick my senses?!"
"Heh heh! No need to be alarmed. The humble monk's technique surpasses heaven and earth. Have you ever heard of the 'Brain in a Vat' thought experiment?"
Douman wasn't answering out of kindness—it was his perverse sense of fun. He wanted to see his enemy's face when they understood everything.
"It's simple, really. Remove the brain, place it in a vat of nutrient fluid, and send it sensory input so it thinks it's alive. It'll believe it's living a normal life—even though it's just a brain."
"My point is… tricking the brain isn't impossible."
"I hijacked the neural channels between you and your yōkai. Forged the signals. I found you long ago, but waited. To perfect the simulation. You should feel honored."
As if on cue, all the passengers pinning Yazura down shimmered—
And became Douman clones.
The entire car. The whole train.
Every single person… was a Douman.
"As for my identity, hmm… just a humble onmyōji. Nothing worth mentioning. You may call me… Limbo."
The smile in his eyes deepened.
This is a joke. This has to be a joke. It has to be…
Yazura was horrified.
A mere onmyōji? Like hell.
He had always believed the world belonged to yōkai. That onmyōji were just con artists—garbage.
But the malice radiating from this man was suffocating. It felt like a physical weight pressing down on his lungs.
Someone—anyone—help me! I can't die here! I am… I amMitsume Yazura!
In desperation, Yazura reached out to the yōkai of the Hyaku Monogatari Clan.
---
Shibuya
Rooftop
"Mmm… Mmmmmm… Did this humble monk just hear a cry for help?"
Perched on the ledge, Douman tilted his head with a wicked grin.
"How delightful… it made my fingers twitch. If I had a piano here, I'd be playing a requiem already."
"But it seems… the cry wasn't for me. It was for you, no?"
He lifted his right hand.
In it was a head—blood dripping from the eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Douman's fingers were buried deep inside the skull.
And somehow… the head was still alive.
When it didn't speak, Douman tilted his head again.
"Ah… right. You can't hear anymore, can you? Ehehehe!"
The head belonged to Kyōsai, Sanmoto's Hand.
His power was the ability to use his brush to turn people—or objects—into yōkai.
Given time, his carnage could easily outpace that of his peers.
Especially since he'd been deployed to Shibuya, the most crowded district.
The people Kyōsai transformed had forced Nura Rikuo and his allies to cut them down… even knowing they were once human.
Douman knew Rikuo wouldn't fall so easily—but he'd certainly be sickened.
That was why Kyōsai had actually been the first executive defeated.
But Douman hadn't killed him.
He needed Kyōsai alive—to trick Yazura's senses using their connection.
"Still, now that I've caught the big fish…"
"The bait is no longer necessary."
The head in Douman's hand burst into flame.
Burned away—slowly, cruelly.
Before he was fully consumed, Kyōsai's eyes flickered with faint relief…
As if he'd finally been freed.
But Douman had already lost interest.
He had new guests to welcome.
"Now then… Mmm… In times like these, a polite greeting is in order."
"Welcome, perhaps?"
Two figures approached, footsteps heavy.
One wore a loose black yukata—Enchō.
The architect behind Tokyo's upheaval, now trailing like a servant behind the second figure.
A boy.
Dressed in a white kariginu, the traditional robes of an onmyōji. Delicate, almost childlike. Always smiling.
He stepped forward, eyes narrowing like a fox.
"So… you're the one who sent your shikigami across the city and disrupted Enchō-san's plan?"
He stared straight at Douman.
"Pleased to meet you. I was curious, so I came in person…"
"But it seems… you're not the original either, are you?"