Kingdom of Sainokuni – Central Laboratory, Level 7
A faint mechanical hum vibrated through the cold walls of the underground laboratory.
The air smelled of chemicals, stifled sweat, and rusted metal. At the center of the room, surrounded by glass capsules filled with a greenish liquid, a man in a white coat scribbled notes with precision bordering on the manic.
"Temperature stable… nervous response still deficient," he muttered, stepping closer to one of the capsules, observing the tiny being floating inside.
This was Dr. Hinzoku Tsukimura, one of the most respected— and feared—scientists of the Kingdom of Sainokuni. His unkempt gray hair and sunken eyes spoke of decades without rest, fed only by obsession.
His assistant, a silent young man with nervous eyes named Rikuto, entered with a tray of coffee.
"Do you think it will work this time, doctor?" he asked as he set the cup on the rusted table.
Tsukimura did not answer at first. He sat down, sipped the coffee with a grimace of disdain, and pulled out a book so old its cover had lost its title, leaving only worn veins and traces of what once might have been a cross.
"Of course it will work," he said at last, without lifting his gaze. "God doesn't grant this kind of gift to just anyone, Rikuto. I… was chosen."
Rikuto glanced at him sideways. He had heard this many times before, but something in the doctor's voice sounded more unsettling than usual.
"Only one has to succeed… just one," Tsukimura added, thumbing through the tome with trembling hands.
At that moment, one of the more developed fetuses inside a capsule began to thrash violently. Its form shifted, as if something inside was trying to claw its way out. Rikuto approached nervously.
"It's mutating on its own! That wasn't supposed to happen!"
"Don't touch it! Watch!"
But it was useless. The capsule exploded in a burst of acidic fluid and failed flesh. Fragments of the deformed body splattered across the floor. Rikuto jumped back as a red alarm blared above them.
Tsukimura clenched his teeth, his coffee trembling in the cup he still held.
"Damn useless fetuses…" he hissed. "So much waste… how many more bodies must fail before He is born?"
The scientist slammed the book shut. Blood and vapor mingled in the air.
"One… only one must survive. For a god must be born in flesh, in blood, and in screams."
The flashing light stopped. Only the steady drip of green liquid staining the floor remained as background music.
---
Village of Tsuyoi – Central Plaza
After weeks of travel—through deserted roads, ghost villages, and memories too heavy to swallow—at last, the air changed.
The sky was bluer, the wind smelled of cooked rice, welcoming incense, and mountain flowers.
The village of Tsuyoi was celebrating.
"They're here! They've returned!" children shouted as they ran down the main street.
Welcome banners hung from windows, elders clapped from the corners, and young folk lifted baskets of fruit and bread. The temple bells rang with force. Despite poverty, the village had done everything it could to make the return of Reiji Mikazuki, his students, and the new guests something worthy of heroes.
Donyoku walked in silence, his neck wrapped in bandages. His gaze was fixed on the ground, but his thoughts were far away.
Blood… screams… chains… the roar of the coliseum… The Night of a Thousand Eyes…
At his side, Seita watched without a word. Though not affectionate by nature, his presence was steady. Behind them, Kagenami closed the formation, like a specter that, despite everything, still wore a half-smile.
A few steps ahead, Chisiki and Aika walked together, sharing a piece of mochi and a lighter conversation.
"So?—" Chisiki asked around a bite, "what was your favorite part of the coliseum? The torture, the humiliation, or the moment you almost died?"
Aika huffed, amused.
"The worst part was losing the bet with you. Never thought it'd be you who saved Donyoku that night…"
"And for free," he added with feigned pride.
There was a pause. Then, with casual but direct tone, Chisiki asked:
"Are you in love with Donyoku?"
Aika froze, cheeks pink, gripping the mochi tighter than necessary. She lowered her gaze.
She didn't say a word.
Chisiki chuckled softly, like someone who had finally confirmed a suspicion behind a wall of glass.
"Well, that silence… says more than a thousand screams. Good luck, then. Winning Donyoku's heart is harder than making Kagenami smile or getting Seimei to stop talking like a depressed poet."
Aika couldn't help but laugh. For a moment, the world didn't feel so broken.
Farther back, Seimei stood on a nearby hill, watching the village as if weighing the balance of the world in that instant.
And at the front of them all, Reiji Mikazuki walked with his back straight, his face more tired than ever… but with a strange peace in his eyes.
They had survived.
They had come home.
But the echoes of the coliseum still vibrated in their souls. And though the people laughed and danced, the air held something dense, almost imperceptible…
As if the calm were only a pause in the story.
---
Night over Tsuyoi Village
The night fell over the village like a sigh of relief after days of uncertainty. Oil lamps flickered gently, scattering orange glows across stone walls. Outside, villagers still celebrated, drinking, laughing, singing… but inside the humble Tsuyoi home, everything had quieted.
Donyoku's room was simple, yet filled with memories: a half-broken wooden shelf holding dusty books, a small wooden katana hanging on the wall—the first he wielded with his father—and a couple of old drawings made by his siblings, pinned beside the window with thread and rusty nails.
The bed creaked with every movement. The sheets were cold, as if the house's soul had yet to return from the coliseum.
A soft breeze slipped through poorly sealed cracks in the roof, making the shadows of the oil lamp tremble. In the darkest corner, the silence felt thick enough to watch.
Donyoku lay down.
His body heavy.
His mind, heavier still.
It wasn't only exhaustion… it was truth's echo, judgment, pain that the body couldn't bear but the soul still carried.
He closed his eyes.
And then…
The darkness moved.
The room warped.
And the nightmares returned to claim what they were owed.
---
A screech.
Darkness tore like flesh.
Donyoku walked naked, barefoot, among corpses that didn't bleed… they laughed.
The bodies were split open, twisted in impossible forms, yet each one smiled.
Their eyes followed him.
A path of human teeth led him into a stone hall…
At the end, a great banquet.
The coliseum.
But not as he remembered it. Now it was an endless, circular table, like a clock without hands.
In every seat sat faceless nobles, golden masks melted onto their skin.
They laughed. Drank blood from cups made of bone.
And at the center of the table… himself.
Bound like a pig. With an apple in his mouth.
A voice thundered:
"Let the slave be sacrificed for entertainment!"
The nobles applauded.
But their hands were claws.
The plates overflowed with children. Children with his eyes. With his voice. With his screams.
Donyoku tried to shout, but his mouth was sewn shut.
From the stands, a figure watched: Reiji.
But he had black wings. He said nothing. He only stared.
Aika, Chisiki, even his mother… danced with chains around their necks.
Their feet torn apart, yet they kept dancing, smiling with peeled skin.
Donyoku struggled.
A shadow drifted near. It didn't walk—it floated like a giant fly, whispering in his ear:
"And you? How many times did you enjoy their applause when you bled for them?"
Then a blade pierced his chest.
But instead of blood… tiny versions of himself poured out.
Hundreds. Thousands. Laughing. Crying. Screaming.
"Make him laugh! Make him scream! Make him break!" the little Donyokus shrieked as they climbed over him.
The apple in his mouth rotted, spilling white worms with human eyes.
He looked up at the sky…
And there, among clouds of flesh… Renjiro's ruined face repeated:
"Why didn't you kill me? Why didn't you free me?
Why are you still alive if you carry our souls and can't even sleep?"
A mirror appeared before him.
But he didn't see himself.
He saw a cage.
And in that cage, a bandaged beast…
With his eyes. His cursed eyes.
---
Donyoku twisted in bed for the third time. He tossed in his sheets, drenched in sweat.
In his dreams, whips rose again, shackles tore into his flesh, the screams of slaves pierced his soul. And though the night outside was cool, his body burned as if still trapped in the coliseum's roar.
"Stop… please… enough!"
The ground of his mind trembled.
A strange cold surrounded him. Not the night's chill, but something deeper, inhuman. A cold that seemed to seep from the marrow of horror itself.
He woke with a jolt, chest heaving, gasping.
The room was dark… but not empty.
He felt a presence.
A figure sitting at the edge of his bed, lit faintly by the lamp's glow.
"Onii-chan?" Donyoku whispered, still half-asleep, his voice shaking. "You couldn't sleep, could you?"
The figure didn't answer at first, but then a soft, almost muted voice emerged.
"You seem restless… is something troubling you?"
Donyoku nodded, eyes still closed, rubbing his eyelids in exhaustion.
"Yeah… just these damned nightmares… it'll pass. Come on, lie down, little brother… it's fine…"
But then… he felt it.
That voice… wasn't his brother's.
A shiver of ice crawled down his spine. He opened his eyes. Slowly. Muscles taut with fear.
And he saw.
The face of the one sitting there wasn't his younger brother's… but a pale young man, gaze distant and cold as the moon: Seita.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Donyoku shouted, jolting so hard he fell backwards to the floor, dragging part of the sheet with him.
Seita looked at him from atop the mattress, motionless, as if he couldn't comprehend the reaction.
"Your mother said I could sleep here," he replied with absolute calm, as if his presence were as natural as the night itself. "She said this room was warmer."
Donyoku stayed on the floor, eyes wide, heart hammering. He buried his face in his hands and groaned.
"You just said yes?! Didn't it occur to you to… to say no?! Who the hell invites the quietest, creepiest guy in the kingdom to sleep in their kid's room?! Brilliant."
"She liked me," Seita said simply, pulling a small blanket over himself like a frozen rice roll.
He glanced toward the window, as if listening to something far away.
"Don't worry… I won't do anything strange. I just wanted to know if you were all right."
Still gasping, Donyoku crawled back onto the bed, never taking his eyes off him.
"Tsk… my mom's too damn naïve…" he muttered, pulling the sheets up to his neck. "Just… don't scare me like that again. Not even a ghost creeps me out as much as you…"
Seita blinked slowly.
"Thank you."
"…Thanks for what?"
"For being honest."
Silence returned.
And though the cold lingered, Donyoku managed to sleep again.
Not because the fear was gone…
But because, strangely, Seita's presence was less terrifying than his nightmares.
And that… said a lot.
That night of scars, two souls—different, but both marked by pain—shared a room.
One, fearing the truths that haunted his dreams.
The other, perhaps, fearing something worse: to feel nothing at all.
---
The sky dawned a grayish blue, as if the sun hesitated to rise fully. Thin clouds, stretched like wounds, crossed the heavens slowly. The wind blew softly but carried a constant murmur, as if the world itself knew something approached.
Reiji Mikazuki stood in the village square, beside the old central well. He wore his long dark coat with the collar up, his eyes reflecting the calm of someone who had seen too much to be surprised anymore.
Around him, the villagers gathered: blacksmiths, shepherds, mothers with infants in their arms, children with crumbs still on their lips. Seimei remained behind in silence. Kagenami sharpened a wooden spear without looking at anyone. The three youths—Donyoku, Aika, and Chisiki—stood attentive, without interrupting.
Reiji spoke without raising his voice, but all heard him.
"This morning I spoke with merchants from the north." He paused, then scanned each face. "According to them, the Kingdom of Sainokuni has sent an official ultimatum."
A faint murmur stirred.
"They demand the return of lands they lost in the war twenty years ago… lands that belong to us now. Lands rebuilt by this kingdom."
An old woman narrowed her eyes.
"And what does that mean?"
Reiji didn't soften his words.
"It means Hokori may be going to war. Again."
Silence. A dog barked in the distance, as if it too understood.
"We don't know if it's true. Maybe just an inflated rumor, a political maneuver. But in this kingdom—" he added bitterly, "rumors always carry blood behind them. So it's better to prepare."
He folded his arms.
"We'll reinforce the houses, dig bunkers outside the village. If you have tools, use them. If you know how to build, teach. If you can carry, work. There's no time for panic… only for action."
Most said nothing.
They only nodded.
As if they already knew that in Hokori, peace is only the silence between two gunshots.
---
The carts creaked under the weight of earth sacks, damp wood, rusty tools, and basic provisions. The air smelled of dry dust and human effort. Under a partly clouded sky, the villagers worked without complaint… as if their bodies already knew what to do when tragedy loomed.
Donyoku wiped sweat from his brow and dropped a beam near the well, beside an improvised bunker in progress.
"This is nonsense," he muttered bitterly. "War for this land? It's not even fertile. No valuable minerals, no strategic rivers… just dirt, trees, and ruins from past wars."
Chisiki set a box down and stretched his back.
"War rarely makes sense." He spoke as if quoting an ancient text, but his voice was sharp. "It's about power. Symbols. Obedience. If the so-called 'Chosen of God' raises a banner, soldiers will rise with it. Even if it's to die for mud."
Donyoku scoffed, irritated. Aika sat on a log with a coil of rope in her hands, pretending to focus but barely hiding how her gaze lingered on Donyoku's face. She bit her lip, her brow furrowed.
"I… I just think it's wrong," she said softly. "No one should live in fear again. There's been enough blood in that coliseum… and now another war, another one…"
Chisiki looked sideways at her, surprised by her sincerity.
"…The world never tires of asking for sacrifices, does it?"
Seita said nothing.
He stood a few steps away, carrying a heavy box of tools on his shoulders. His eyes were empty, his face expressionless. As if the weight he bore wasn't metal, but something much denser… and invisible.
He didn't speak.
He didn't think.
He only helped.
That strange boy, the one no one truly knew, seemed untouched by words, fatigue, or noise.
As if, in his silence, he already knew this war would not be like the others.
That something worse was coming.
---
The sky bled purple and orange as dusk fell. The mountain breeze carried the scent of old iron and burnt wood. Far from the noise of improvised shelters, Seimei turned slowly in a forest clearing, moving his hands as if sculpting the air. His Shinkon danced around him in harmony… and danger.
Every movement perfect—yet still… not enough.
A few meters away, hidden among the trees, Kagenami watched. Not Seimei. But the village.
The dirt-streaked faces. The forced smiles. The children playing as if unaware that war loomed.
He could no longer stay.
His purpose had never been to live among them. Never.
He tightened his cloak and began walking toward the village's edge, his steps steady, the forest shadows swallowing the path behind him.
"Leaving without saying goodbye?" said a familiar voice.
Kagenami stopped.
Reiji Mikazuki stood there, hands in his pockets, his hair tousled by the wind.
"You knew I'd leave," Kagenami replied without looking back. "My vacation in Hokori is over. This kingdom isn't my concern."
"I knew from the start you were an Imperial spy," Reiji said, with a bitter half-smile. "But I chose to do nothing. Sometimes, even enemies can be companions… for a while."
Kagenami tilted his head just enough to show a crooked grin.
"Don't underestimate me. Maybe I grew a little fond of them… but I'm not like you, Reiji. I don't fight for ideals. Only for what benefits me. And this war… isn't on that list."
Reiji stepped closer, no longer smiling.
"And if we meet again, on opposite sides…"
"Do not expect mercy," Kagenami finished, his voice colder than steel.
Reiji nodded, unflinching.
"Nor will you."
For a few seconds, there was only silence. A silence that spoke louder than a thousand words. Then, Kagenami turned and disappeared into the forest's gloom.
He vanished as if he had never been there at all.
At that moment, a gust of wind rattled the dead leaves.
From the clearing, Seimei opened his eyes.
And Reiji… he simply stared at the shadows, knowing the war ahead would not be fought only between kingdoms, but between souls that once walked the same path.
---
And so, as the shadows claimed one of their own, the world stepped closer to war. For even those who share the same fire must, sooner or later, clash—when ideals burn out, and nothing remains but the instinct to survive.
Thank you for stepping into this second arc, where war is not only forged with blades, but with wounds of the past, choices without return… and souls yet to decide which side they belong to.