The shopping arcade had once been alive with neon lights and electronic appliances. It's air heavy with the smell of fried food and cigarette smoke. Now it was nothing but daunting shadows and the reek of unchained fear.
Steel shutters barred the entrances, reinforced with whatever furniture the survivors could scavenge—tables, vending machines, broken mannequins dragged from nearby stores. Fluorescent tubes flickered weakly overhead, their dying buzz the only sound between shallow breaths.
Nearly a hundred people huddled inside. Some clutched baseball bats. Others held shards of glass wrapped in cloth. A few had knives. All trembling in utter fear, even with weapons in hand.
Genji moved among them, glasses cracked but his voice steady as he whispered comfort. Daigo directed those strong enough to keep working on barricades, his hands raw from tying steel rods with strips of cloth.
And Shitsubo sat alone in the corner.
His pipe rested across his knees, its dented edge stained dark with ichor. He should have felt relief to be here, surrounded by other survivors, but his vision refused him peace.
Runes still flickered behind his eyes, faint but constant. The Insight remained active, whether he wanted it or not.
Every time he looked at the people around him, their bodies betrayed themselves. Weak points glowed faintly—trembling arms, exposed throats, slouched spines. He couldn't unsee it. They were maps of fragility, painted with marks only he could read.
It made him restless. His grip on the pipe tightened until the wood groaned.
The hunger whispered. Take. Feed. Rise.
Hours passed, though time had lost meaning since the Rift tore the sky. The muffled shrieks of Aggressors drifted through the shutters, sometimes distant, sometimes so close the barricades rattled.
Each time, panic rippled through the survivors. Some prayed. Some wept. Others simply froze, staring into the dark as though waiting for claws to punch through the steel.
And then it happened.
A man—young, barely twenty—snapped. His eyes were wild, his body shaking as he bolted for the shutter.
"I need to find them! My family's out there—I can't stay, I can't—!"
Hands tried to stop him. Voices begged. But fear made him stronger than reason. He shoved them aside, clawing at the barricade.
"Open it!" he screamed. "Let me out!"
The steel shrieked as he forced a gap.
And through that gap came death.
An Aggressor shoved its way inside, its spear-like limbs punching through the man's chest before anyone could scream. Blood sprayed in hot arcs, his body dangling like meat on a skewer. The creature shrieked, mandibles dripping, as survivors scattered in blind terror.
Chaos exploded. People screamed, trampling over each other to get away. Some froze in shock, others fell to their knees.
No one moved to fight.
Except Shitsubo.
He rose slowly, pipe in hand, eyes fixed on the glowing fracture burning at the base of the beast's neck. His chest was steady, his breath controlled.
The Aggressor lunged at the nearest survivor. Shitsubo moved without thought, legs carrying him forward. He sidestepped its strike with surgical precision, pipe smashing down against the mark.
The chitin cracked. Black ichor sprayed. The beast screeched and swung wildly. Shitsubo ducked low, ribs screaming as he twisted, pipe crashing again against the fracture.
The third strike split the bone.
The Aggressor collapsed in a twitching heap, limbs spasming until stillness claimed it.
Silence fell.
Dozens of eyes stared at Shitsubo, wide with shock and terror. The young man's body still hung half through the shutters, lifeless and pierced clean through. The Aggressor lay broken at Shitsubo's feet.
His chest heaved, but not from fear. His hands trembled, but not from weakness.
He wanted more.
The whispers pulsed, louder now. Feed the hunger. Take their lives and rise.
The survivors shrank back from him, pressed against walls and pillars as though he were the monster.
He nearly turned on them. He nearly stepped forward, pipe raised, to test the glowing fractures in their fragile human bodies.
A hand gripped his arm.
"Brother."
Genji's voice was soft, trembling but firm.
Shitsubo blinked. The hunger recoiled slightly, the whispers fading like smoke on the wind.
He dropped the pipe. It clanged against the tiled floor.
The survivors didn't thank him. Didn't cheer.
They looked at him as though he had crawled from the Rift itself.
Later, Daigo found him near a row of broken vending machines. The air reeked of stale sugar and dust.
Daigo leaned against the wall, voice low, cautious.
"What the hell was that back there? You didn't fight like a man. You fought like… like one of them."
Shitsubo said nothing.
Daigo's eyes narrowed. His voice lowered further, words trembling at the edge of fear.
"You saved us, yeah. But I don't know what you are anymore."
Shitsubo's silence stretched too long. His jaw clenched. His hands itched for the pipe.
Daigo swallowed and stepped back, as though realizing how close he stood to a blade.
The night deepened. Or maybe it was only the Rift blotting out the sky. The air grew colder, the shadows thicker.
The survivors clung to hope like drowning men clutching driftwood. Some whispered that the military would arrive. Others swore foreign aid would come. But no helicopters cut through the clouds. No soldiers marched through the ruins.
And then the earth shook.
The steel shutters rattled. Dust fell from the ceiling. Survivors cried out, huddling closer together.
Shitsubo stood and pushed through the crowd. His eyes were already fixed on the world outside.
He saw it through a crack in the barricade.
Another Rift was opening.
This one above Osaka Castle.
The sky split open once more, jagged and violet, vomiting lightning across the city. From its core poured a swarm of Aggressors, their screeches blending into one endless, mind-shredding roar.
The ground shook with their landing. The city's bones groaned beneath the weight of invasion.
Genji's face drained of color. "It's happening again…"
The shelter erupted into panic. People screamed. Some fell to their knees, praying. Others tried to shove the barricades aside in blind desperation.
The shutters shook violently, dust spilling from the ceiling. The roar of Aggressors echoed closer.
Daigo grabbed Genji, shouting over the chaos. "We can't stay here! They'll tear this place apart—!"
But Shitsubo wasn't listening.
He stood in the center of the chaos, pipe once more in his grip. His eyes glowed faintly with Insight. Every sound sharpened. Every tremor carried weight. His hunger surged with the rhythm of the Rift.
The whispers roared in his skull. The giants stir. The ruin begins. You are the breaker. You are the hunger. You are Ragnarok.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The Rift was calling.
And he would answer.