Sainokuni had fallen.
Or at least, that's what the soldiers believed.
Kenshiro Gai, the King of War, had scorched the entire land with his army.
The cities were ruins.
The rivers carried corpses.
The screams had ceased…
Except in the capital.
There, Sainokuni still resisted.
A last fortress.
A final breath.
A city surrounded by thousands of Hokorian soldiers, waiting for the order to extinguish its light.
---
Kenshiro watched from atop a hill, his tattered cloak whipping in the wind.
The city did not move.
Did not shout.
Did not fire.
It only waited.
"They're preparing something," he muttered under his breath.
One of his captains approached.
"Shall we advance, General?"
Kenshiro didn't answer immediately.
His eyes scanned the terrain.
Every corner.
Every rooftop.
Every shadow.
The city was silent.
But it wasn't a silence of defeat.
It was one that held knives.
"Not yet," Kenshiro finally said.
The captain frowned.
"Why?"
Kenshiro descended the hill with firm steps, each one striking like a sentence.
"Because if we do, we'll lose an entire division.
And I didn't come here to lose."
He turned toward his soldiers, who stared at him with devotion.
"We'll wait for Narikami's division—and the Faceless Division.
Then, the earth shall learn what it means to surrender."
The soldiers erupted into cheers.
Hundreds of spears rose toward the sky.
Drums thundered with fury.
But Kenshiro did not smile.
Did not celebrate.
Did not move.
He felt something.
The birds...
no longer flew.
The insects...
hid beneath the earth.
And the sky...
began to darken—not with rain,
but with warning.
The King of War took a deep breath.
"When even nature falls silent…
it means something's about to scream louder than her."
---
Inside the capital of Sainokuni, the air was no longer air—it was waiting.
Heavy. Motionless. Thick as blood not yet spilled.
And above them... a sky that did not gaze with compassion,
but with judgment.
Near a small forest, closer to the Central Laboratory… its entrance hidden beneath what was once a temple.
A collapsed altar…
a rusted hatch…
and beneath it, Sainokuni's dirtiest secret.
The group descended without a word.
Not even Reiji.
Not even Chisiki.
As if the mere presence of that place forced the soul to be silent.
The air was dense.
But it wasn't dust.
It was memory.
Coagulated pain.
Ghosts trapped within the walls.
The ceiling lights flickered erratically.
The tubes hung like dead serpents.
The metal doors groaned without being touched.
And then Iwamaru spoke, cutting through the air like a blade.
"Level one.
Get ready…
because this isn't a military base.
It's an altar to sin."
---
A shadow watched them from the adjoining corridor.
Calm.
Silent.
As if it had been there before the world began.
Its face was dirty, hair crusted with dried blood…
and it smiled as though unaware that horror existed.
"Did you get lost… or are you looking for hell?" it said.
Everyone tensed.
Reiji didn't hesitate. He activated his Shinkon instantly, seeking to trap the figure in a mental illusion.
But… nothing.
Not a blink.
Not a twitch.
Not a tremor.
"What?" Reiji muttered, confused.
The young man smiled, tilting his head like a curious child.
"Don't waste your time, Mr. Mikazuki… It won't work."
"Why not?"
"Because I no longer have a real soul."
A chill ran down Reiji's spine.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, how rude of me…" The figure gave an exaggerated bow.
"I am Rikuto, personal assistant to Doctor Hinzoku Tsukimura."
That name…
hit Reiji like a stone.
The Creator of Nothing.
A title whispered in the darkest circles of spiritual research.
A man who had tried to create entities beyond human comprehension.
Soulless, amoral, illogical beings.
And he always failed.
Always.
His experiments were inhuman.
Poetry for the insane.
Horror for the sane.
"One day he lost his son," Reiji murmured, remembering.
"And after that… he vanished.
As if he'd died with him."
Rikuto chuckled.
"He didn't vanish.
He just went deeper."
Before they could move, Iwamaru reacted.
"Back!" he shouted, throwing flash bombs.
But amid the blinding light,
a hand—elongated like a whip—shot from the darkness.
Rikuto.
His arm stretched bonelessly,
his skin turning to blade.
Iwamaru barely caught sight of the strike—
but one of his Shinigami shoved him aside.
The blade sliced the air where his ribs should have been
and carved a bloody fissure in the wall.
"Interesting," murmured Rikuto. "You can summon monsters.
That seems… useful."
Reiji stared at him intently.
"Tsukimura hated companionship…
He never worked with anyone.
Why would he have an assistant?"
Rikuto gave a soft laugh.
Not mocking.
Not sarcastic.
Broken.
"Assistant?
Oh no, no…
That's just a title I was given for scientific courtesy."
He placed a hand on his chest, bowing emptily.
"I wasn't his colleague.
Nor his subordinate.
I was his first mistake."
Reiji's eyes widened slightly.
"What are you saying?"
"I am Experiment Zero," Rikuto murmured, his voice trembling and sacred all at once.
"The first.
The failed attempt.
The spark that didn't ignite.
The son that shouldn't have been."
He clenched his teeth.
"He used to call me his son…
But for him, being a father meant experimenting until you stopped bleeding."
---
Reiji's katana struck the ground like silent lightning.
"Jump!" he ordered without thinking.
The earth shook.
The bricks split open, as if realizing they could no longer contain them.
One by one, they descended through the hole.
The air shifted—humid, hot… as though they were slipping down an invisible throat.
Rikuto…
just watched them go.
And smiled.
"Not yet.
Not yet," he whispered, licking his lips.
"First…
let them see.
Let them feel.
Let them breathe what I have breathed."
---
Reiji landed first.
Rolled. Rose. Drew his blade.
The place wasn't dark…
but he wished it were.
The ground was soft, though it looked like concrete.
The walls pulsed.
The lights flickered, as if they were breathing.
A corroded sign hung from the ceiling:
LEVEL 2
The others landed beside him.
Seimei panting.
Aika covering her nose.
Chisiki alert.
Donyoku tense.
Seita silent.
And last, Iwamaru.
When his boot touched the floor…
a sound froze them all.
CHRRRRK.
They turned upward.
The hole they'd descended through…
was closing.
Not with stone.
Not with metal.
With flesh.
Iwamaru was the only one who saw inside the ceiling.
No cables.
Tissue.
Veins.
Cartilage.
He gritted his teeth.
"Reiji…
this isn't a laboratory."
Everyone looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
Iwamaru took a step back.
Touched the wall with gloved fingers.
It was warm.
And… trembling.
"We're inside a living being."
Silence.
Until a deep gurgle echoed through the tunnel.
Then…
something woke up.
A wet, guttural sound filled the corridor—
as if the flesh itself moaned.
The walls quivered.
And something colossal stirred.
A creature, fused to the structure like a vein to a heart, emerged from the depths.
It didn't walk.
It crawled.
An impossible amalgamation of flesh, metal, bone, organs, and death.
It had countless faces.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Some cried like infants.
Others screamed for help.
Some slept in silence.
Others laughed hysterically.
Some merely stared.
And others… glared with hatred.
It had more than five hundred limbs, all misshapen.
Some arms held books.
Others knives.
Others… only trembled.
Feet dangled like dead branches.
And the body…
Beat.
Beat.
Donyoku stared, pale—not from fear,
but pity.
"He's suffering too," he murmured.
"What?" asked Chisiki, unable to look away.
"He's afraid," Donyoku repeated. "Look at its eyes… Some of them don't want to be here."
Seita looked down.
Iwamaru didn't even blink.
Reiji stepped forward, sword drawn.
"We're not here to understand it…
We're here to destroy it."
The monster roared.
Not like a beast—
like thousands of voices speaking at once.
Then, from the rusted speakers in the corridor,
an ancient, calm voice spoke with macabre tenderness:
"Welcome…
to the second threshold."
It was Tsukimura's voice.
---
In the deepest part of Level 7,
the doctor finished reviewing a stack of stained reports.
Before him lay a humanoid, completely white, restrained to a steel bed.
It had no mouth.
No eyes.
No ears.
And yet…
it saw everything.
Tsukimura said nothing.
He simply jotted a note with a tense smile.
And under his breath, almost inaudible, whispered:
"One of them…
has already heard the call."
---
The hallway trembled as if something inside were breathing.
The monster had not yet moved, but its presence filled every tile, every flickering light, every corner that smelled of rotting flesh.
Seimei halted.
Sweat trickled down his neck—not from fear, but intuition.
"That monster…" he murmured, "it's not like Rikuto."
The others looked at him.
"I don't sense a false soul. Nor an empty one.
I sense many.
Overlapping voices. Fragmented energies.
It's as if thousands of souls are trapped inside, fighting to control it…
or to escape from it."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
"Does that mean it's stronger?" asked Aika, clutching her staff.
"Not necessarily," Seimei replied.
"It means it's unpredictable.
Because even it doesn't know what it is."
Suddenly, the creature let out a muffled roar, as if its insides were at war.
Seita raised his hands.
"Walls!" he shouted.
Ice erupted from nothing, forming a thick barrier between them and the entity.
Steam collided with frost.
And for a moment, there was calm.
"It won't last long," Seita warned. "But it'll buy time."
"I-I feel sick…" Aika whispered, clutching her chest.
Her face was pale.
Her lips trembled.
Donyoku didn't hesitate.
He lifted her into his arms and ran.
Aika tried to protest, but when she felt his warmth… she fell silent.
Only turned her face away, cheeks red, pretending nothing was happening.
"T-thank you…" she finally muttered.
Donyoku didn't reply.
He only nodded firmly.
Chisiki stared down the trembling corridor ahead.
"Maybe we should find a way out.
This isn't a lab.
It's a living trap."
Reiji looked up, his thoughts heavy as lead.
But it was Iwamaru who spoke, his voice hard as iron.
"And after everything we've suffered to get here… you'd throw it away because of a wall of flesh?"
Chisiki clenched his jaw.
Didn't answer.
Iwamaru glared into the distance, as if he could see through the walls.
"We didn't come this far to retreat."
The ice began to crack.
And Reiji…
remained silent.
His thoughts were blades:
If they keep going, they might die.
If they turn back… they'll doom the world.
And then, one of the faces on the bleeding wall whispered:
"Help me, please."
A monster can kill you…
but a thousand pleading souls can break you.
---
A massive black-iron door creaked open before them,
tearing the soul of the corridor apart.
But beyond it…
There was nothing.
Just a room.
Four walls.
No windows.
No exits.
Silence.
Only silence.
Reiji turned in a circle.
Chisiki scanned every inch.
Aika leaned against a wall, trembling.
Seimei panted, clutching his severed arm.
"A trap?" Reiji muttered, looking up.
"No exit runes. No Shinkon marks," added Chisiki, pressing his palm to the stone.
Seita stood in the center of the room, unmoving—
as if he didn't understand why they felt trapped.
And then—
A crash.
Like a thousand chains shattering at once.
The door didn't open.
It was torn apart.
Something huge had ripped it down from outside.
The monster.
More deformed.
Larger.
Faster.
Chisiki spun around.
"What now?! This was a setup!"
Iwamaru barked back:
"Try using your damn brain instead of blaming everyone, idiot!"
"You don't know anything about this!" Chisiki shouted.
"I know enough to still be standing!"
The creature advanced—its many faces screaming and laughing.
Aika froze, paralyzed by fear.
Seimei tried to stand, but his body betrayed him.
Blood soaked his robe.
Reiji stepped back, katana twirling between his fingers.
Where's the exit…? There has to be an exit!
And just as the monster lunged—
Two figures didn't retreat.
Donyoku.
And Seita.
They stepped forward.
Donyoku roared from the depths of his chest and launched himself forward.
His daggers gleamed.
One of the monster's hands fell to the floor.
The scream it gave…
was not human.
It was the lament of a thousand dead.
"AAAAAAGHHHH!" Donyoku bellowed.
"You're not touching them!"
His Shinkon blazed in full.
His daggers absorbed part of the monster's energy—
But this time, it wasn't just power.
Every slash filled him with sadness.
Anxiety.
Loneliness.
Fear.
It was like devouring the memories of a broken existence.
Beside him, Seita staggered.
His body bled, coated in frost.
Eyes red.
But he kept raising walls.
Blocking claws.
Shielding allies.
"Hang… on, Donyoku…" he muttered.
The monster roared louder.
And this time—
It used its Shinkon.
The walls of the chamber distorted.
Split open.
Became mouths.
Claws.
Spines.
And despite its size—
it moved like lightning.
Donyoku barely dodged a strike that would've split him in half.
Seita blocked another with a triple wall—
but his breathing was ragged.
Behind them, the others could only watch.
The battle wasn't against a monster.
It was against the remnants of thousands of souls.
And against the cost…
of staying alive.
---
Each of Donyoku's slashes tore through air—and through something more:
his own soul.
His daggers pulsed with divine vibration, wrapped in Shinkon light.
Each time they sank into the monster's flesh,
something else unraveled.
A scream.
A laugh.
A prayer.
A memory.
Donyoku panted, muscles tight, gaze unsteady.
"Why… why do I feel what this thing feels?!" he hissed.
The creature's emotions were infecting him.
And its power… was tempting him.
Beside him, Seita swayed, nearly spent.
But his walls still formed—
thinner,
weaker,
fragile.
"Hold on!" Donyoku yelled.
Seita only nodded, tears of frozen blood sliding down his cheeks.
Then Chisiki reacted.
He analyzed the chaos, the patterns—and realized the truth.
"At this rate… they'll die!"
He spread his palm, activating his Shinkon.
The space around the monster twisted like paper.
Part of its body distorted—
ripped free from its center—
and shattered into air.
The creature screamed in fury.
"Well done!" shouted Reiji, though his face remained grim.
Not because of the monster.
But because of himself.
He wanted to fight.
To protect them.
But he couldn't stop thinking—
What if they die… for following me?
It was Iwamaru who snapped him out of it.
The sergeant's three Shinigami fused into one form—
a black sword of mourning.
Long. Unwieldy for any other man.
But he held it with terrifying calm.
The carvings on its surface were ancient—
monsters, eyes, claws, screams.
"I'm not using this for you," Iwamaru said.
"It's because that thing disgusted me."
And Reiji stepped back.
Watching them all—
Donyoku, on the verge of being devoured by his own Shinkon.
Seita, freezing his fear in exchange for his body.
Chisiki, determined to fight even if no one understood him.
Iwamaru, a shadow battling for his pride.
Aika, protecting Seimei with everything she had left.
And him…
He, the master.
The one who had killed, betrayed, and now…
only wanted them to live.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"I'll look for the exit," he said, without looking back.
But in his mind, the truth weighed heavier than his katana:
"I don't fight… because I'm afraid.
Afraid of losing them.
But even more afraid…
of them seeing me lose them while doing nothing."
---
When logic dies, when bodies tremble and the soul wants to flee… there are still those who fight.
Not because they believe they'll win,
but because they know that if they surrender…
no one else will remain standing.
Thank you for delving into this second arc—
where war is not only forged with swords,
but with the wounds of the past,
the choices beyond return…
and the souls that have yet to decide
which side they truly stand on.