The temporary safe house Tamayo secured was modest—a small residence on the outskirts of town, far enough from prying eyes but close enough to civilization for supplies. The kind of place that wouldn't draw attention.
I sat cross-legged in my assigned room, the futon barely touched. Sleep could wait. My mind was still replaying the night's events—the battle, the conversations, the weight of decisions that would ripple forward in ways I couldn't fully predict.
Then it appeared.
[ Rank 3 Gacha ticket Available. Would you like to use it? ]
The familiar blue screen materialized in front of me, its glow casting shadows across the walls. I'd almost forgotten about the gacha system in the chaos of everything else.
"Well," I muttered, reaching toward the screen. "Let's see what fate has in store this time."
I selected 'Yes.'
The screen pulsed, numbers and symbols cascading across its surface in a dizzying display. Light erupted from the center—brilliant, almost blinding—forcing me to shield my eyes. The radiance intensified, filling every corner of the room until I couldn't see anything else.
When it finally dimmed, a single object floated before me, rotating slowly in mid-air.
My breath caught.
"No way..."
It was unmistakable. The sleek design, the black and green color scheme, the distinctive hourglass symbol glowing softly in the center. The Omnitrix. Not the bulky prototype version, but the refined Alien Force model—streamlined, elegant, powerful.
Memories crashed over me like a tidal wave. Saturday mornings as a kid, sitting way too close to the TV screen. The theme song. The transformations. Ben Tennyson going hero, the possibilities of ten—no, hundreds—of alien forms at his fingertips. The adventures, the battles, the sheer imagination of it all.
"Holy shit," I whispered, reaching out with trembling fingers. "The actual Omnitrix."
[ Omnitrix (Alien Force Version) - Do you accept? ]
Did I accept? Was that even a question?
"Yes. Absolutely yes."
The moment I confirmed, the watch shot forward. It clamped onto my left wrist with a satisfying mechanical click, the device seeming to resize itself perfectly to fit my arm. The sensation was strange—not painful, but definitely foreign. Like the watch was bonding with me on a deeper level, syncing with my biology.
The Omnitrix's faceplate was smooth and circular, predominantly black with the iconic green hourglass symbol in the center. Two white rectangular buttons flanked the sides, and the band wrapped around my wrist with a comfortable, almost organic grip. It looked exactly as I remembered from the show—sleek, advanced, otherworldly.
I rotated my wrist, watching the light play across the device's surface. It felt substantial, real in a way that still made my head spin. This wasn't a toy or a prop. This was the Omnitrix.
My fingers moved to the faceplate almost instinctively. I pressed down, and the core popped up with a soft pneumatic hiss. Immediately, a holographic projection materialized above the watch—a three-dimensional silhouette rendered in glowing green light.
The first alien to appear was fully familiar to me Swampfire, the Echo Echo... I twisted the raised core, and the hologram shifted, cycling through different alien silhouettes. Each rotation brought a new form: something that looked like a humanoid dinosaur, then something with wings, then something massive and bulky.
I kept turning, fascination overwhelming any sense of caution. There were ten aliens for the access.
The hologram shifted again, and this time I recognized the silhouette immediately.
Big Chill.
The ghostly, moth-like alien phased into view—angular wings, sleek body, that distinctive otherworldly presence. One of my favorites from the Alien Force series. Intangibility, ice powers, flight. The tactical applications alone were incredible.
My finger hovered over the faceplate, temptation pulling at me. One press. One slam of my palm, and I could transform right now. Feel what it was like to become something beyond human. Test the limits of—
Knock knock knock.
I froze.
"Akira-san?" Tamayo's voice came from the other side of the door, polite but carrying that underlying concern she seemed to have perpetually. "May we come in?"
Shit.
I quickly twisted the core back down, and the Big Chill hologram vanished. The Omnitrix's faceplate clicked into place, returning to its dormant state—just a watch, unremarkable to anyone who didn't know better.
"Yeah, come in," I called out, making sure my left arm was positioned naturally.
The door slid open, and Tamayo entered first, her movements graceful and deliberate. Yushiro followed close behind, his expression carrying its usual mixture of suspicion and irritation. They both looked at me, then around the room, as if checking for something.
"Sorry for the inconvenience," Tamayo said, bowing slightly. "I hope we're not disturbing your rest."
"Not at all." I gestured to the floor space. "I don't mind. Is there something you're still concerned about?"
I shifted, sitting more comfortably and positioning myself so we could talk face-to-face. They took the cue and settled down across from me—Tamayo with practiced poise, Yushiro with barely concealed wariness.
Tamayo folded her hands in her lap, her expression thoughtful. "Earlier tonight, you mentioned Lower Moons, Upper Moons, and Muzan's desperation to find a cure for his weakness to the sun."
I nodded, staying silent. She was working up to something.
"You spoke with such certainty," she continued, her violet eyes searching mine. "As if you possessed intimate knowledge of Muzan's organization and capabilities. So I must ask, Akira-san..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Exactly how much do you know about Muzan Kibutsuji? About the extent of his power, his demons, his methods?"
Fair question. Considering I'd been throwing around information like I had insider access to Muzan's operation, it made sense she'd want clarification.
I leaned back slightly, considering how much to reveal. "I know enough to understand what we're up against. Muzan's Twelve Kizuki—his elite demons—are divided into two tiers. The Lower Moons, numbered six through one, and the Upper Moons, also numbered six through one. The gap in power between Lower and Upper is substantial. An Upper Moon could annihilate multiple Lower Moons without breaking a sweat."
Yushiro's eye twitched. "How could you possibly know the specific structure—"
"Let him continue," Tamayo interrupted gently, though her gaze never left my face.
"The Upper Moons haven't been defeated or replaced in over a century," I continued. "That's how powerful they are. Each one is a monster in their own right, with Blood Demon Arts refined over decades or centuries. And above them all sits Muzan—the first demon, the progenitor, the one who's survived for over a thousand years by being paranoid, ruthless, and utterly without mercy."
I met Tamayo's eyes directly. "I know he's been searching desperately for two things: the Blue Spider Lily, which might allow him to overcome his weakness to sunlight, and a way to eliminate the Demon Slayer Corps permanently. He's not just evil, Tamayo-san. He's obsessed. Consumed by the need to achieve perfection, to eliminate any threat to his existence."
The room fell silent. Tamayo's expression shifted through several emotions—surprise, calculation, something that might have been pain.
"You speak as if you've studied him extensively," she said quietly. "As if you've had access to information that even the Demon Slayer Corps lacks."
"I have my sources," I replied vaguely. Couldn't exactly tell her I'd binge-watched the anime and read the manga. "But more importantly, I understand how creatures like him think. Muzan isn't just a demon. He's a cancer that's been metastasizing for centuries, spreading his corruption while hiding in the shadows."
Tamayo looked down at her hands, and for the first time since entering, her composed mask cracked slightly. "You're right about his nature. More right than you might realize."
Yushiro shifted beside her, concern evident on his face. "Lady Tamayo, you don't have to—"
"It's alright, Yushiro." She took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of centuries. "I wasn't always opposed to Muzan. In fact, there was a time when I served him willingly."
The admission hung in the air like smoke.
"I was human once. A doctor, actually, during the Heian period. I was sick—dying—and desperate to see my children grow up." Her hands clenched slightly in her lap. "Muzan approached me, offered me a cure. Immortality. A chance to live, to continue caring for my family. I accepted without fully understanding what I was agreeing to."
Her voice dropped lower. "The transformation changed me in ways I couldn't predict. I lost control. Became a monster driven by hunger. And in my first night as a demon..." She closed her eyes. "I killed them. My husband. My children. The very people I'd wanted to protect."
Yushiro looked away, his jaw tight.
"When I came to my senses, when I realized what I'd done, the horror was... indescribable." Tamayo opened her eyes, and they glistened with unshed tears. "Muzan cared nothing for my suffering. To him, I was just another experiment, another tool to be used and discarded. When I managed to break free of his control, to regain my sense of self, I swore I would spend eternity working to undo his existence."
She looked at me directly. "That hatred, Akira-san, has sustained me for over two hundred years. Every day I work toward his destruction. Every demon I study, every medicine I develop, every victim I try to help—it's all in service of eventually destroying the creature who stole my humanity and murdered my family."
The raw emotion in her voice was palpable. This wasn't just a mission for her. It was personal. It was everything.
"I see," I said quietly. "Thank you for telling me."
She studied my face, perhaps looking for judgment or disgust. She found neither.
"Aren't you going to ask?" she said after a moment.
"Ask what?"
"Why I turned Yushiro into a demon." She glanced at her companion. "I just told you how much I despise what Muzan did to me, how I lost everything because of this curse. And yet I inflicted the same transformation on another person. Aren't you curious about that contradiction?"
Yushiro tensed, waiting for my response.
I shrugged. "I figure you must have had good intentions. You're not Muzan—you don't transform people for power or cruelty. If you turned Yushiro, it was probably to save his life, and likely with his consent or at least in circumstances where the alternative was death." I looked at Yushiro. "Am I close?"
Yushiro's expression flickered with surprise. "I... was dying. A terrible illness. Lady Tamayo found me and offered me a choice—death, or life as a demon. She was honest about what it would mean, what I would become. I chose life."
"And she's spent decades helping you maintain your humanity, teaching you to suppress the hunger, to live as more than a monster," I added. "That's not the same as what Muzan does. Not even close."
Tamayo's shoulders relaxed slightly. "You're very understanding, Akira-san."
"I try to be." I leaned forward, my expression serious. "Tamayo-san, Yushiro, I want you both to know something. I fully intend on killing Muzan Kibutsuji. Not might, not maybe—I will. It's only a matter of time before my blade meets his neck."
The certainty in my voice seemed to catch them both off guard.
I held Tamayo's gaze. "I'm not saying this to be boastful or reckless. I'm telling you because I need you to understand my commitment. This isn't a casual vendetta or a naive hero's journey. I will end him. And when I do, every demon he's created, every life he's destroyed, every century of suffering he's inflicted—it all stops."
Both demons stared at me. Tamayo's eyes widened slightly, and Yushiro's usual scowl softened into something closer to shock.
But what seemed to affect them most wasn't my words—it was my expression. The complete absence of fear. The unwavering conviction that left no room for doubt or hesitation. I wasn't trying to convince them. I was simply stating a fact about the future.
For a moment, something flickered across Tamayo's face. Her eyes seemed to lose focus, as if she was seeing someone else superimposed over my features. A memory, perhaps. Someone from her past who'd spoken with similar conviction.
She blinked, and the moment passed. When she looked at me again, her expression had softened.
"I see," she said quietly, then took a breath. "Then I will put my trust in you, Akira-san. I will do everything in my power to assist you in defeating Muzan Kibutsuji." She turned to Yushiro. "What do you think?"
Yushiro crossed his arms, his expression conflicted. "I have absolutely no trust in what this reckless human says he can do." He shot me a glare, then his gaze softened as it returned to Tamayo. "But if you trust him, Lady Tamayo, then I have complete faith in your decision. Where you go, I follow."
I couldn't help myself. "Yushiro, your devotion is touching. Almost obsessively so. Have you considered maybe getting a hobby? Painting, pottery, literally anything that doesn't involve staring at Tamayo-san for hours?"
His face flushed. "Why you—! I don't stare! I'm simply ensuring Lady Tamayo's safety and—"
"By memorizing every strand of her hair?" I grinned. "It's okay, buddy. We all cope with immortality differently."
"I will END you!"
Tamayo actually smiled—a genuine, amused smile that made her look decades younger. "Akira-san, please don't tease him too much."
"No promises."
She shook her head fondly, then stood with fluid grace. "We should all rest. The coming days will be challenging, and we'll need our strength." She moved toward the door, then paused. "Rest well, Akira-san."
"You too, Tamayo-san."
Yushiro followed her, but not before shooting me one last glare over his shoulder—the kind that promised future retaliation but lacked any real heat.
I waited until the door slid shut before speaking to the empty room. "That kid's got it bad."
Silence answered me.
I lay back on the futon, staring up at the ceiling. The Omnitrix caught the dim light, its hourglass symbol barely visible in the darkness. My mind wandered through the events of the night—the battle with Susamaru and Yahaba, Nezuko's transformation, the confrontations and conversations, and now this unexpected gift from the gacha system.
Things were escalating faster than I'd anticipated. Muzan now knew about me, about the cure. The clock was ticking on his response. Would he send more demons? Which ones? And how long did I have before things got truly dangerous?
The Omnitrix felt warm against my skin—a reminder of new possibilities, new powers to explore. But also new responsibilities. With great power and all that.
I closed my eyes, letting exhaustion finally begin to creep in.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. But tonight, I'd take the small victory of surviving another day and gaining an advantage that not even Muzan could have predicted.
The Omnitrix pulsed once against my wrist, as if acknowledging my thoughts.
Yeah, I thought as sleep began to claim me. Things were about to get very interesting.
---
( Few Days Later )
In the Morning.
CAW! CAW! CAW!
The shrill cawing of Tanjiro's Kasugai Crow shattered the relative peace of the morning. I looked up from my breakfast—simple rice and miso soup that Tamayo had prepared—to see everyone quickly gathering in the main room.
The crow perched on the windowsill, its beady eyes scanning us with what I could only describe as annoying smugness. Tanjiro rushed over, Nezuko close behind, while Tamayo and Yushiro emerged from their rooms with varying degrees of concern.
"What's going on?" Nezuko asked, still adjusting to her human sleep schedule.
I noticed the rolled paper tied to the crow's left foot. "Looks like we've got mail."
Standing, I approached the bird and carefully untied the message. The crow didn't even protest—just watched me with those unsettling eyes as I unrolled the paper and began reading.
My eyes scanned the formal script, taking in the contents line by line. The handwriting was elegant, practiced, official.
"Well?" Yushiro asked impatiently. "What does it say?"
I kept reading, my expression carefully neutral. Then my hands started to shake. Slightly at first, then more visibly.
"Akira-san?" Tanjiro stepped closer, concern evident in his voice. "What's wrong?"
My shoulders tensed. The paper trembled in my grip. I looked up slowly, my face a mask of barely contained fear and disbelief.
Everyone leaned forward, the tension in the room spiking dramatically.
"It's..." I swallowed hard, my voice cracking slightly. "It's just..."
"Just what...?!" Yushiro asked.
I looked at each of them in turn, then I replied with a smile "The leader of the Demon Slayer Corps has invited us to their headquarters."
Silence.
Then: "ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!" Yushiro launched himself at me, fist cocked back.
I dodged left. His punch whistled past my ear.
"You absolute—!" Another punch. I sidestepped.
"—infuriating—!" Duck.
"—HUMAN!" Overhead swing that I casually leaned away from.
"Come on, Yushiro," I said, grin spreading across my face as I evaded each increasingly wild attack. "Your moves are too slow and lacking class, Yushiro"
"LET ME SHOW YOU MY MOVES!"
"Please don't, that sounds vaguely threatening in ways I don't want to explore."
"THAT'S NOT WHAT I—STOP MOVING!"
Tanjiro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Akira-san, was that really necessary?"
"Absolutely." I dodged another punch, this time with a full spin that put me on the opposite side of the room. "Where else am I going to get my morning exercise?"
Yushiro stopped, breathing hard, hands still clenched into fists. "One day. ONE DAY I will actually hit you."
"I believe in you, buddy. Keep that dream alive." I held up the letter. "But seriously, there's more. Tamayo-san and Yushiro, you're both invited too."
That stopped everyone cold.
"What?" Yushiro's anger drained into confusion.
I walked over and held out the letter so they could see. Sure enough, there in clear script were both their names, specifically mentioned. And below that, a note acknowledging their nature as demons but extending the invitation nonetheless.
Tamayo took the letter with careful hands, her eyes scanning the text rapidly. "This is... unexpected."
"That's putting it mildly," I said. "The Demon Slayer Corps—whose entire purpose is killing demons—is inviting two demons to their headquarters. That's either genuinely welcoming or—"
"A trap," Yushiro finished darkly. He turned to Tamayo. "Lady Tamayo, we absolutely cannot go. This is obviously a setup. They want to lure us in and then eliminate us. We'd be walking straight into our own execution!"
Tanjiro shook his head. "Yushiro san, I don't think the leader would do that! He's —"
"You're a human!" Yushiro snapped. "Of course you'd think the humans are trustworthy! But Lady Tamayo and I? We're demons! The second we set foot in their headquarters, they'll—"
"Do nothing," I interrupted calmly. I walked over and casually draped my arm around Yushiro's shoulders, ignoring his immediate stiffening. "Because I'll take full responsibility for both of you."
He snorted. "Your 'responsibility' means nothing. You can't protect us from an entire organization of trained demon slayers if they decide—"
"If this turns out to be a trap—"
Everything stopped.
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The air itself grew heavy, oppressive, suffocating. An invisible pressure descended on everyone present—not physical, but something deeper. Primal. The kind of fear that bypassed rational thought and went straight to the hindbrain's most basic survival instincts.
Tanjiro's breath caught in his throat. His hand moved instinctively toward where his sword would be, but he couldn't seem to complete the motion. Frozen.
Nezuko grabbed her brother's sleeve with white-knuckled fingers, her eyes wide. Human eyes, but filled with the same instinctive terror she'd felt only once before—the night her family was slaughtered.
Tamayo's composed expression cracked. For just a moment, she looked like she had two centuries ago, facing Muzan for the first time. The same paralyzing dread, the same certainty of death.
Yushiro couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The casual friend-like arm around his shoulders now felt like an executioner's hand on his neck.
Even the crow—the normally loud, obnoxious bird—had gone completely silent, its feathers pressed flat against its body.
"—I'll just wipe out every single Demon Slayer Corps member who would swing their sword at any of you."
My voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. Like I was discussing the weather, not proposing mass murder.
The pressure lingered for another heartbeat.
Then I blinked.
"Oh." I looked around at everyone's faces, saw the terror written there, and immediately let go of Yushiro. "Shit. Sorry. I got a bit carried away there."
The oppressive presence vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Everyone gasped simultaneously, like drowning victims breaking the surface.
"I just..." I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "I really hate backstabbers. Like, deep, visceral hatred. Someone pretends to be friendly, invites you somewhere safe, and then betrays you? That kind of thing just makes my blood boil."
Tanjiro was still trembling slightly, while Nezuko pressed closer to her brother, trying to ground herself. Meanwhile, the demons were already recovered from it, but looked at me with a bit vary.
The Kasugai Crow, for perhaps the first time in its life, spoke with something resembling respect. "CAW! The map to headquarters is on the back of the letter, CAW! You may depart whenever you wish, Akira-sama."
Even the crow was using honorifics now.
I picked up the letter, flipped it over, and examined the detailed map. "Looks straightforward enough. Several days' travel, but nothing too complicated." I looked around at the group. "I'm thinking we leave tonight. Sooner we get there, sooner we can figure out what the Corps actually wants. Any objections?"
Tanjiro found his voice first, though it came out slightly higher than normal. "N-no objections. Tonight works."
"Yeah, tonight is fine," Nezuko agreed quickly.
Tamayo nodded, her composure slowly reassembling. "I concur. We should not delay unnecessarily."
Yushiro just made a vague grunt that might have been agreement.
"Great!" I clapped my hands together, the cheerful gesture wildly at odds with the lingering tension. "Then it's decided. We leave tonight." I headed toward the door. "I'm going to finish my breakfast before it gets completely cold. You know where to find me if anything comes up."
I left the room, deliberately keeping my movements casual and non-threatening.
The moment the door slid shut behind me, the room erupted in whispered conversation.
---
The forest at night was a different creature entirely. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, creating shifting patterns of silver and shadow on the path ahead. The air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and earth.
Our group moved in a loose formation—Tamayo and Yushiro walked together, the demons' enhanced senses constantly scanning for threats. Nezuko stayed close to them, finding comfort in Tamayo's maternal presence. Tanjiro walked beside me at the front, periodically checking the map against our surroundings.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of our footsteps and the occasional rustle of nocturnal wildlife.
I glanced at Tanjiro, noted his slightly tense posture. The kid was wound tight—probably still thinking about this morning's incident.
"Hey," I said, breaking the silence. "Want to hear a horror story? Might help ease the boredom."
Tanjiro's eyes widened slightly. He leaned in and whispered, "Akira-san, maybe not a horror story? Nezuko might get scared."
I looked back at Nezuko, who was indeed listening intently. Fair point.
"Alright, how about a regular story instead?" I suggested. "I've got a good one. It's called 'The Doctor and Her Extremely Devoted Assistant.'"
"That sounds nice," Tanjiro said, relaxing slightly.
Behind us, I could feel Tamayo and Yushiro's attention shift toward our conversation.
"So," I began, settling into storytelling mode, "there once was a brilliant doctor who lived in a remote village. She was renowned for her medical knowledge and her kind heart, always treating patients regardless of their ability to pay. One day, a young artist came to her clinic, near death from a terrible illness."
"Did she save him?" Nezuko asked.
"She did! Used all her skill and knowledge to pull him back from the brink. And the artist was so grateful that he vowed to dedicate his life to helping her." I paused for effect. "But here's where it gets interesting. See, the artist's gratitude gradually evolved into... let's call it intense admiration."
Yushiro's eye twitched.
"He started by painting portraits of her. Just one or two at first. Then five. Then twenty. Soon, every wall in his home was covered with paintings of the doctor. From every angle. In every lighting condition. Smiling. Not smiling. Looking left. Looking right."
Tamayo's lips quirked slightly, fully enjoying the story.
"His friends would visit and say, 'Hey, this is concerning. Maybe you should paint some landscapes or something?' But he'd just shake his head and say, 'No, you don't understand. She's the only subject worthy of art!'"
"This sounds familiar somehow," Tanjiro muttered.
"Then he started following her around, claiming he needed to study her movements for his art. 'I'm memorizing the way your hair moves in the wind!' he'd shout. 'The exact angle of your smile needs to be perfectly captured!' Meanwhile, the doctor is just trying to buy vegetables at the market."
Nezuko giggled.
"One day, another artist comes to town—a sculptor. He compliments the doctor on her beautiful hands, saying they'd be perfect to model for a statue. And our painter friend just LOSES IT. Starts a dramatic rivalry, challenges the sculptor to an art duel, spends three days straight creating an entire gallery dedicated to proving his artistic dedication is superior."
I could hear Yushiro grumbling behind me.
"The doctor, meanwhile, is completely oblivious to all this drama. She just sees a loyal friend and talented assistant who helps organize her clinic. When people try to point out that maybe he's a bit overly attached, she just smiles and says, " He's simply very dedicated to his work!'"
"Akira san, What happened next?" Tanjiro asked curiously.
"Well, the sculptor eventually gave up and left town, utterly defeated by the painter's sheer persistence. The painter celebrated by creating a hundred-foot mural of the doctor visible from the entire village. When asked if maybe, possibly, this might be excessive, he replied: 'Excessive? I'm only just getting started!' And the doctor continued practicing medicine, completely unbothered, while her assistant stood guard like a territorial cat hissing at anyone who got too close."
By the end, Tamayo was openly chuckling—a sound that seemed to surprise even her. Nezuko was clapping, delighted by the absurd tale. Even Tanjiro was laughing, as if this was the best story he ever heard in his lifetime.
Yushiro, predictably, looked ready to commit violence.
"That was a GREAT story, Akira-san!" Nezuko said enthusiastically.
"Thank you, thank you." I took a mock bow. "I'll be here all week."
"I will paint a portrait of your FUNERAL!" Yushiro snarled.
"Looks like you already have a favourite character from my story. I love the support, Yushiro san"
"WHY YOU—!"
Tamayo placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, still smiling. "Akira-san does have a gift for storytelling."
"Maybe I should start writing professionally," I mused. "I could pen a whole series of stories based on totally fictional characters who definitely aren't anyone present in this group."
"I WILL END YOU!"
"Get in line, buddy. You'll be waiting for a long time"
The group's mood had noticeably lightened. Even Yushiro's threats lacked real hatred, more theatrical annoyance than genuine anger. The earlier tension from this morning had been replaced by something closer to camaraderie, or at least tolerance.
I was contemplating what story to tell next when I suddenly stopped walking.
Everyone else halted immediately, the demons faster to react than the siblings. They followed my gaze toward the path ahead.
There, not fifty yards from our position, stood a figure.
A man.
No—calling him a man felt inadequate. The figure was tall, imposing, his form perfectly still and bathed in silver moonlight. He wore traditional hakama and a purple kimono with a floral pattern. A katana was sheathed at his waist—no, multiple katanas, I realized. But what drew the eye, what made the blood run cold, were the features visible beneath the moonlight.
Six eyes.
Three pairs of eyes arranged vertically on his face, all of them demonic. The sclera was a deep crimson, the multiple pupils gleaming with inhuman awareness. His face was expressionless, impassive, but those eyes tracked our group with predatory focus.
Long spiky hair framed his face in a dark mass. And across his forehead, visible even in the dim light, were markings. Demon markings.
"Upper Moon One"
. . .
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