Ryoji had been taking a leisurely stroll on the outskirts of the forest, enjoying the peaceful transition from day to evening. The air was cool, and the setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and purples. Then, he felt it—a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was a familiar, metaphysical coldness that slithered down his spine.
'A shadow?' he thought immediately, his posture snapping to attention, all casualness gone. 'No... it's not a strong presence like Shadow Azazel's was. It's lesser. Fainter. But it's unmistakable.'
There was no time to find Makoto. This was a threat that needed immediate attention. He broke into a run, his form blurring as he plunged into the deep woods, following the faint, sickly scent of distortion.
Elsewhere in the same forest, in a small, hidden clearing, the air was filled with the sharp, rhythmic clack of bamboo swords.
Tomoe Meguri, her red hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, was locked in a relentless defensive drill. Her opponent was the tanuki, Chomei Kegawa, who had shed his human disguise.
His movements were a blur of fur and orange cloth, his practice blade striking from every conceivable angle.
"Come on, Sitri knight!" Kegawa chattered, his voice a gruff bark. "If you can't even resist innocent attacks like this for five or six hours, it's pointless to continue!"
He wasn't aiming to hit her, but to test the limits of her endurance, her reflexes, and her guard. Each precise thwack against her own sword jarred her arms to the bone.
On the sidelines, Momo Hanakai watched with growing boredom, her chin propped in her hands.
'If they keep this up for thirty more minutes, I'm out of here,' she thought, sighing internally. She had expected Kegawa's training to be brutal, but this was a special kind of monotonous hell.
'Poor Tomoe. This old badger is going to exhaust her soul while boring mine to death.' Another loud clack echoed through the clearing. 'I wonder if Senpai Tsubaki really went through this same torture.'
Just as her mind began to wander completely, she heard a faint noise from the deeper woods—a rustle that was too heavy for a squirrel, a crack of a branch that sounded deliberate.
"Huh?" she murmured, turning her head to peer into the dense foliage. She saw nothing but shifting shadows and heard nothing more.
"Ugh, I'm starting to hallucinate from boredom... unbelievable," she muttered to herself. She stood up, stretching her stiff limbs. A walk, however short, was a necessity.
She glanced at Tomoe and Kegawa; they were so utterly absorbed in their repetitive clash that they didn't notice her slip away quietly into the tree line.
"Kegawa, sir..." Tomoe panted, her arms feeling like lead weights. "Is this really necessary? I'm starting to not feel my arms."
"Good," the tanuki replied, not breaking his rhythm. "It means you're building stamina. You can't go far in a real fight without a solid foundation of endurance."
His logic was infuriatingly sound, and Tomoe hated it. The grueling exercise resumed, neither noticing that Momo had vanished.
Momo breathed a sigh of relief as the sounds of combat faded behind her. "Finally! Some peace!" she whispered to herself, spreading her arms and enjoying the cool, fresh air. She decided on a short, relaxing walk to clear her head before returning to the tedium.
Meanwhile, Ryoji was running, his mind racing faster than his feet. A lesser shadow. The concept was troubling.
Creating full Shadow Selves was Nyarlathotep's signature, but producing lesser, weaker ones... that was a trait of Nyx, or a function of the entire Collective Unconscious.
It was a power that belonged to a god or to the entirety of humanity's suppressed psyche.
The implication was terrifying: Nyarlathotep hadn't just found a way to manifest here; he had somehow created the Shadow of one of this world's native gods. If it was the latter option, if he was already tapping into a power source that vast, he would be on par with Nyx already.
He skidded to a halt. There, slumped at the base of a large cedar tree, was the source of the shadowy residue. The shisa yokai was unconscious, his breath shallow.
"Shinigami..." the word was a ghost on the yokai's lips before he fell completely still.
Ryoji knelt beside him, his expression grim. The dark, corrosive energy clinging to the yokai's arm was unmistakable.
'Remnants of a shadow... he's been attacked by one,' he thought, his hands hovering over the injury. A soft, blue light emanated from his fingertips, not healing, but gently pushing back and dispersing the vile, clinging darkness.
"Breathe slowly," he said in a low, reassuring tone, though the yokai was far past hearing. "I'm here."
"I'll bring you to the Velvet Room," Ryoji decided aloud, preparing to summon a door. But a sudden sound from behind him—a footfall on a dry leaf—made him freeze. Instinct, honed over a long and strange existence unshackled by the common sense of time, took over.
He spun around, his usual carefree demeanor vanishing beneath a wave of protective power.
Eight ethereal, coffin-like wings fanned out behind him, and his eyes darkened to a deep, abyssal blue. Cursed energy, black and crackling, coiled around his raised hand.
"Eig—" he began, the first syllable of a powerful curse on his lips.
"Senpai, it's me!" a terrified voice shrieked.
Ryoji stopped dead. Standing a few yards away, her arms thrown up in surrender, her face pale with shock, was Momo Hanakai.
The otherworldly power vanished instantly. The wings dissipated, his eyes returned to their normal grey, and the cursed energy fizzled out.
"Momo! I... Sorry..." he stammered, a flush of embarrassment and guilt washing over him.
'I was about to cast an Eigaon on a schoolgirl without a second thought,' he berated himself internally, running a hand through his hair.
Momo slowly lowered her arms, her heart still hammering against her ribs. She looked from Ryoji's chastised expression to the unconscious, wounded yokai he was protecting.
"Does... does he need help?" she asked, her voice still shaky.
"Yes," Ryoji said, his voice returning to its normal warmth, laced with relief.
Momo nodded, her healer's instincts overriding her fear. She stepped forward, knelt, and summoned a soft, green-hued magic circle above the shisa's chest. The gentle light washed over his wounds, knitting torn flesh and easing the worst of the internal damage.
"It should stabilize him," she said, offering Ryoji a tentative smile, though the memory of his terrifying transformation was still vivid in her mind.
Back in the clearing, Kegawa suddenly stopped his assault. His fur stood on end, his entire body tense. He tilted his head, his large ears twitching.
"What was that?" he muttered, sensing a tremendous, albeit brief, surge of alien power that vibrated through the very air of the forest.
"W-what?" Tomoe gasped, collapsing onto her hands and knees, grateful for the reprieve but utterly spent.
"Stay here," Kegawa ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. In a flash of movement that belied his age, he was gone, vanishing into the trees towards the source of the disturbance.
"Yes... thanks..." Tomoe muttered to the empty air, then simply laid down on the cool grass, her chest heaving as she dragged in precious oxygen.
'What's gotten into him?' she wondered idly, but her body was too exhausted to care.
'It's really hell... just like Senpai said.' The ground felt incredibly soft and welcoming. 'I never thought the ground could feel so soft...' she thought drowsily, her eyes fluttering shut.
Kegawa moved through the forest with surprising speed, his small form a gray blur.
'That power... it felt ancient. Wrong. I'm too old for these kinds of surprises,' he grumbled to himself as he burst into a small glade.
He saw Momo and the human boy, Mochizuki, tending to a wounded figure on the ground. Then his eyes focused on the victim, and his blood ran cold. The beige fur, the distinctive red mane...
"Tosen!?" Kegawa shouted, his voice a sharp bark of shock and fear. He rushed forward.
Ryoji turned at the sound. "Ehm... Sir Kegawa?" he said, recognizing the tanuki's energy immediately, even in this form.
Kegawa skidded to a halt beside the unconscious shisa, his concern for his former apprentice overriding everything else.
"Tosen! It's me! Chomei Kegawa!" he called, shaking the lion-dog's shoulder gently.
"Sir, please, he's fine," Ryoji said, placing a calming hand on the tanuki's arm. "Momo just finished healing most of his wounds. He's stable, just unconscious."
The words finally penetrated Kegawa's panic. He looked from Tosen's peacefully sleeping face to Ryoji, and then it hit him. The boy had called him by name. He had recognized him instantly, in his true form.
"Young man?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion and a dawning, unnerving realization. "Wh-How can you recognize me?"
Momo, who had been watching the exchange, rolled her eyes. 'I bet if it was anyone else, he'd be shouting at them non-stop for an explanation,' she thought wryly.
"It's a feeling," Ryoji answered with an easy, disarming smile, deftly avoiding the question. "Do you know him, sir?" he asked, steering the conversation back to the immediate crisis.
"Y-yes," Kegawa said, still thrown but focusing on Tosen. "He was my apprentice. Many years ago." A deep, melancholic look passed through his sharp purple eyes. He let out a weary sigh.
"Let's bring him to my shop. And... thank you. For helping him, Mochizuki. Girl." He nodded at Momo.
'Pfft. He doesn't even remember my name,' Momo snorted internally, but she kept it to herself. A more pressing concern surfaced.
"Wait, where's Tomoe?" she asked, looking around.
"I left her resting. She earned it," Kegawa said, a note of gruff approval in his voice as he carefully lifted Tosen's unconscious form. "She behaved well."