The man known as The Black Hand had been feared across the land for one reason his hunger. Not the hunger of the body, but of the soul. He believed that by killing demons and devouring their souls, he could grow stronger without limit. For a time, it worked his power grew beyond the reach of most shinobi.
His movements became faster than a whisper, his strikes as silent as the grave. He was a force of nature, a legend whispered in hushed tones, the living proof that a shinobi could ascend to god-like power. But there is a price to wielding such dark strength, a cost that few could ever pay. Without a steady will and an unshakable heart, the demonic energy festers inside its host. It whispers, tempts, and corrupts, promising absolute power in exchange for a tiny piece of the user's soul. Over time, those tiny pieces become a gaping wound, a void that can never be filled.
And when the mind finally falters, the demonic energy, long dormant, takes its chance. It devours the user's soul without mercy, leaving behind a hollow shell of a warrior, a living weapon of pure demonic energy.
Lord Scarlet's voice was calm, almost reflective, as he stood with his back to Yarden, his eyes fixed on the moon outside the chamber. The weight of his words hung in the air, a silent tribute to both the man Yarden had just defeated and the man kneeling before him. "Despite all that, you defeated him. You returned alive… and with your spirit intact. Few could claim the same, not even in the past, against warriors far less formidable than him."
Yarden, still kneeling, bowed his head in respect, the blood on his clothes a stark contrast to his humble posture. "It was your training that made it possible, my Lord. Your wisdom, your guidance, and the lessons you have taught me throughout my life have been my true weapon."
Scarlet shook his head slightly. "No, Yarden. It was your resolve. That is why, from tomorrow onwards… you will become the new head of the clan number two."
Yarden's eyes widened, a flicker of shock and disbelief crossing his face. Clan Two was one of the strongest in the entire empire, a position of immense power and responsibility. It was an honor he never dreamed of receiving. Before he could even speak, to accept or to refuse, Lord Scarlet continued.
"Go now. Your work is not yet done. I believe your family is awaiting your return." His tone, once calm and reflective, grew colder, a hard edge of command returning to his voice. "I must see to the Dells and put an end to this once and for all. This mission must remain a secret. We cannot risk the world knowing of what we have just done. The Forsaken's return must not be hastened by our actions."
Yarden didn't waste a breath. He understood the command, the unspoken weight of the mission he had just completed. He turned, leaping from the chamber into the silver night. His sandals touched the branches lightly as he flew from tree to tree, a blur of motion against the moonlit sky. The wind rushed against his face, carrying with it the promise of a peaceful night, of a future filled with hope.
My family… I'm coming home. He could already see their faces in his mind the warm smile of his wife, the small house lit by the glow of paper lanterns, a beacon of light in the vast, dark forest. His heart swelled with anticipation, the exhaustion of his battle giving way to a new kind of energy, a new kind of purpose.
The moment his feet hit the ground outside his home, a guard stepped forward, his face etched with a mixture of relief and concern. "Sir, you're back! She's inside… she's expecting the child any moment now."
"Really?!" Yarden's face broke into a wide, genuine grin, the first smile he'd worn since leaving on his mission. Without waiting for more, he rushed inside, his exhaustion a distant memory, replaced by the primal need to be with his wife.
"Aaaargh! A-aaaagh!" The air was thick with tension and the sharp scent of burning incense. In the center of the room, a woman lay on a woven mat, her face contorted in a mask of pain. Blood soaked the sheets beneath her, a vibrant crimson against the faded colors of the mat. A small group of midwives and shinobi healers stood by, their faces grim, their movements precise.
"Adela!" Yarden cried, hurrying to her side, his heart clenching at the sight of her pain. He knelt beside her, taking her trembling hand in his, a silent promise of comfort and strength passing between them.
She looked up at him, her face pale but her eyes full of relief and a love so profound it hurt to look at. "You've come… Why is there so much blood on you? Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice a strained whisper, her first thought not of her own pain, but of his safety.
Yarden took her hand in his. "Don't worry, it's not mine," he said softly, his voice full of a love that was a balm to her fear. "Everything is going to be fine from now on. I promise."
Another scream tore from her lips, her body shaking as the pains grew sharper. "It hurts…" she moaned, her voice filled with an agony that Yarden felt in his very soul.
"Start the ritual now!" a man in white robes commanded. His voice was urgent, his hands moving in a series of ancient, intricate gestures. The woven patterns beneath Adela began to glow faintly, the air shifting as if reality itself was bending, preparing to usher in a new life, a new soul.
But before the process could truly begin— A sudden shout erupted from outside. "W-wait! No! What are you doing here?! Stop! Stop what you're doing!" The voice was cut off abruptly, a wet, sickening sound followed by a thud.
Adela's eyes darted to Yarden, a look of pure terror replacing the pain in her eyes. "What's happening out there?"
Yarden's instincts flared. Years of shinobi training screamed at him something was wrong. The sudden silence, the absence of the guard's voice, was a louder warning than any alarm could ever be. He rose to his feet, his hand moving towards the hilt of his blade, his senses on high alert. "No… something's not right here."
Bam! Bam! Bam! The walls rattled as the front of the house was breached. The door, a solid piece of wood and iron, was splintered into a thousand pieces. A figure stepped inside, a man who Yarden knew.
"Lugo?!" Yarden's brow furrowed, a flicker of disbelief and suspicion crossing his face. Lugo was an old acquaintance, a fellow shinobi from another clan. What could he possibly be doing here?
The man tall, broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar running across his cheek smiled faintly, a twisted, chilling expression that was utterly alien. "Excellent. The ceremony hasn't started yet. I moved quickly." His voice, once familiar, was now a low, menacing rasp, a predator's growl.
Yarden's grip tightened on his weapon, his mind racing. Every instinct told him this man did not belong here, that this was not Lugo at all. His voice dropped to a sharp command, a shinobi leader's order. "Finish the ceremony. Now!"
But even as he spoke, Lugo's body began to change. A low, guttural laugh escaped his lips as black energy poured from his skin like smoke. His flesh began to split and crack, the sound of breaking bone echoing in the small room. The familiar face melted, the eyes turned to glowing red slits, and the hands, once human, became long, twisted claws. The sound was a symphony of sickening changes, a complete and total corruption of the human form.
Crack… crack… crack.
It was no longer Lugo who stood before them.
Yarden's eyes narrowed, his face a grim mask of resolve. "A demon…"
The creature's twisted smile widened, a terrifying display of jagged, razor-sharp teeth. "Heheh… it was difficult to find my way here. This place is hidden from almost everywhere… but who needs to break in when I can simply possess someone and walk through the front door?" The demon's voice dripped with arrogance, a silent mockery of Yarden's entire existence.
Yarden's jaw clenched. "All trained shinobi can resist possession. Who are you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, a challenge. He knew this was no ordinary demon. This was something far more ancient, far more powerful.
"Silence, human. Whether you call yourself shinobi or ninja, it means nothing to me." The demon's voice was filled with a casual contempt, a chilling display of its complete disdain for humanity. The demon stepped forward, its body flashing in the dim light, its movements a silent, predatory grace. "Don't mistake me for the low-tier demons you've seen captured in your Eaters." The demon chuckled darkly, the sound a low, rumbling earthquake. "I am no such thing. I am a Sixth-Tier Demon… and you, little shinobi, are about to learn the difference."