March 31st, 2012, Hansha Kagoshima, Day
The war room of the royal palace in Hansha Kagoshima—the hidden, supernatural side of Kagoshima—was a study in austere, traditional power.
Sunlight, filtered through paper-paneled windows, casted a soft, diffused light across the polished cedar floor. The air was still and carried the faint, clean scent of hinoki wood and old ink. Tapestries showing legendary battles of yokai history adorned the walls, their colors muted with age.
At the room's center, seated upon a raised dais with his legs folded neatly beneath him in the formal seiza position, was Toku, the Lord of the Kyushu yokai faction.
Toku was an Enko, a subspecies of monkey yokai distinct for their striking appearance. His entire body was covered in a coat of long, soft, pristine white fur that seemed to glow in the dim light like ice reflecting the sunlight. This stark whiteness was broken only by the vibrant, bright pink skin of his face, his hands, and his feet, which gave him a somewhat severe yet dignified look.
His posture was ramrod straight, his dark eyes sharp and intelligent, betraying a mind that was constantly weighing, assessing, and adhering to a strict internal code. If one were to describe Toku's political philosophy in a single word, it would be "conservative."
He was a stalwart traditionalist, fiercely protective of Kyushu's independence and a firm believer that the yokai should remain isolated from the tangled, corrupting affairs of the wider supernatural world—particularly the "Christian factions," as he dismissively termed them.
This stance often put him at odds with more progressive leaders, but his unwavering consistency and the formidable power of his domain commanded a grudging respect from his peers.
The silence of the room was broken by the soft shuff of the door sliding open. A tengu, his black feathers glossy and his features sharp, entered and immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head low in a gesture of deep respect.
"Lord Toku," the messenger began, his voice respectful but urgent. "We have news regarding the Yomists."
Toku's eyes, which had been contemplating a scroll on low table before him, lifted slowly. His expression remained impassive, a mask of calm authority. "What did you discover?" he asked, his voice a low, measured rumble.
The tengu did not rise from his kneel. "Their activities are not confined to Kyushu, my lord. Attacks bearing their signature have been reported in Kansai and Chugoku as well. Furthermore..." he hesitated, knowing his next words would be less than welcome.
"A message has arrived from Lady Yasaka in Urakyoto. Through our ambassador, she has... offered to send her own investigators to Kyushu. She believes the heart of this Yomist threat may originate within our borders and proposes a... collaborative effort."
The tengu braced himself. Suggesting that the illustrious Kyushu faction needed outside help, and from the notoriously interventionist Yasaka no less, was akin to tossing a lit match into a powder keg.
Toku, however, did not erupt. He remained perfectly still, his pink-hued fingers steepled before him. The only sign of his internal processing was a slight tightening around his eyes. The silence stretched, becoming heavy and profound. He could see the logic—a coordinated threat demanded a coordinated response.
But to allow Yasaka's agents, her spies and meddlers, free rein within his territory? To admit a weakness, a lack of control, to the ruler of Kansai? It was unthinkable. It was a breach of the very isolationism that had kept Kyushu strong and pure for centuries. Collaboration was the first step toward subjugation.
After several long minutes, the Enko lord spoke, his voice flat and final, leaving no room for debate. "Make it known to Lady Yasaka that the Kyushu faction is capable of handling its own internal affairs. We thank her for her... concern, but we require no assistance. We will root out this filth ourselves."
The tengu bowed even lower, his forehead nearly touching the cool wood floor. "Yes, my lord." The order was clear, the dismissal implicit. He rose smoothly and retreated from the room, leaving Toku alone once more with his traditions and the growing, unseen threat festering in the shadows of his realm.
April 2nd, 2012, Urakyoto, Evening
Urakyoto, the supernatural mirror of Kyoto, thrummed with a life both ancient and vibrant. Unlike its human counterpart, the streets here were lit by floating paper lanterns that emitted a soft, magical glow, and the architecture was a breathtaking blend of Heian-period grandeur and enchantment.
The air itself was thick with mystical energy, the chatter of a thousand different yokai species, and the scent of blooming night flowers and exotic incense.
At the heart of this hidden city, within the fortified complex that served as her seat of power, a council of war was underway. The chamber was opulent, filled with priceless artifacts and scrolls. At its head, seated on a ornate cushion, was Yasaka.
The legendary nine-tailed kitsune was the picture of regal beauty and formidable power. Her golden hair was intricately styled, and her fox ears twitched slightly as she listened, her sharp, intelligent eyes missing nothing. She waved a beautifully painted fan with a deceptive laziness that belied the intensity of her focus.
A wolf-like yokai, an Okuri-inu, finished his report, bowing his head. "My Lady, we have received replies from all Eight Great Yokai Lords of Japan. Lord Nurarihyon of Kanto did not deign to reply at all. The others... they have all refused the proposal to form a combined strike force to eliminate the followers of Izanami. They cite... other pressing matters. Or they believe the threat is exaggerated. Or they are simply too proud to accept aid from outside their domains."
Yasaka's fan stilled for a moment. A faint, frustrated sigh escaped her lips. "They are all underestimating this matter," she stated, her voice melodious yet firm. "Their short-sightedness will be our collective undoing." She turned her gaze to the Okuri-inu. "What of our own efforts? Report on the strike against the Yomist cell we discovered here in Kyoto."
The wolf yokai stood straighter, his posture military-precise. "We located and destroyed their outpost as ordered, my Lady. It was a nest of fanatics. However... we were unable to take any prisoners for interrogation. Every single Yomist we cornered chose to take their own life rather than be captured. They employed a variety of methods—cursed seals, poison, even self-immolation. Their commitment was... absolute."
Yasaka's delicate features tightened.
'Religious zeal,' she thought with a cold dread that settled in her stomach. 'The most dangerous fuel for any conflict. It transforms reasonable beings into mindless weapons, unafraid of death.'
It was a variable that made any tactical calculation infinitely more complex.
The mood in the council chamber was grim, the weight of the failed operation and the widespread refusal of help pressing down on everyone. It was then that the figure seated to Yasaka's right, who had been a silent, brooding presence throughout the meeting, stirred.
"I have something to tell everyone."
The voice was not loud, but it carried an immense, inherent weight that instantly commanded the attention of every being in the room. All eyes turned to Sojobo, the King of the Tengu, Lord of Mount Kurama.
He was the strongest tengu in existence, a living legend whose power and wisdom were second only to Yasaka herself in all of Kansai. A saying among the yokai held that "when Sojobo speaks, the bustling city of Kobe falls silent."
Many compared his stature and influence within yokai society to that of Zekram Bael among the Devils—a foundational pillar, a Great King.
His appearance was that of a venerable, powerful hermit. His face was the classic deep red of the highest tengu, dominated by an impressively long nose. A long, flowing white beard spilled down his chest, contrasting with the few wisps of white hair on his head.
He was dressed in the simple, humble robes of a mountain ascetic, with a long, dark blue blanket draped over his shoulders. His eyes, ancient and knowing, held the gravity of centuries.
"As everyone here knows," Sojobo began, his voice a low, resonant rumble that filled the silent chamber, "I was the first, and the last, yokai to receive a personal blessing from our creator, Izanagi-no-Mikoto, before his tragic death."
A profound, respectful silence followed his words. Even mentioning the fallen creator god was done with reverence. Though Sojobo's composure was absolute, a subtle pain, an old and deep ache, was audible in his measured tone.
"However, what I am about to divulge is a secret. A secret I have held close for centuries, a charge given to me by Izanagi himself. He asked me to guard this knowledge until the time was right." Sojobo paused, his gaze sweeping over the captivated council. "I believe... I fear... that time is now."
The council members leaned forward, their previous concerns about the Yomists momentarily forgotten in the face of this monumental revelation. A secret from the Creator God himself?
Sojobo closed his eyes, as if drawing the memory forth from the depths of his soul.