Red Silk Wall
"Threads weave traps that do not forgive, and while the Binge Eater laughs, the torturer bleeds—caught in a web he couldn't face."
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Night had swallowed the 20th Ward, turning a forgotten building into a mausoleum of flesh and blood. At the top, a dark room stood like a profane altar—its walls smeared with gore that dripped like melted wax. Dismembered corpses lay scattered, their entrails spilled into viscous pools that reflected the moon's pale glow. The air was poison, thick with the stench of fresh blood and meat that clung to the lungs and burned with every breath.
At the center, atop a throne of mutilated bodies, ruled Rize Kamishiro—the Binge Eater. Kneeling, she tore away strips of muscle with sharp teeth, blood running down her chin like macabre makeup. Her eyes, injected with scarlet, shone with savage ecstasy; her twisted smile was an open wound, a challenge to a world that trembled before her. Every bite was ritual. Every drop of blood, a hymn of pleasure echoing through the room.
The silence snapped—heavy footsteps, like a hammer striking an invisible coffin.
Yamori—Jason, the Torturer—stormed in, his presence poisoning the air all over again. The crack of his index finger—wet and visceral, a sound that promised agony—rang out like a gunshot in the gloom. His eyes, lit with contained fury, locked onto Rize. She lifted her gaze without stopping chewing, blood pattering onto the floor with a wet, obscene sound.
"Now I see why they call you Binge Eater," Yamori growled, voice low and vibrating against the blood-stained walls. "A disaster of meat and gore. Pathetic."
Rize spat out a chunk of flesh. Blood splashed across the concrete like crimson rain. She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a red streak that gleamed under moonlight. Her smile twisted into contempt; fury burned brighter in her eyes than the kakugan itself.
"And you," she hissed—voice knife-sharp—"the sick freak who tortures people for fun. Do you know how much I hate being interrupted while I'm eating? You're an insect. A loud little bug that doesn't know when to crawl back into its hole."
Yamori cracked another finger. The sound bounced like fractured bone. He stepped forward, pliers clicking in his hand with sadistic excitement. Moonlight flashed on the metal—an honest promise of pain.
"Rumors say you know the Ghoul Devourer," he said, voice low, a threat wrapped in a growl. "That you've seen his face. That you know his name." He cracked another finger—louder, like he wanted the noise to pierce her skull. "I've got orders to catch you both—alive…" Another crack, echoing like a shot. "…or dead."
Rize tilted her head. Her grin became a mask of playful arrogance. Her feet splashed in the blood pools—wet sounds in a room full of dead silence. She didn't ignite her kakugan or unfold her kagune. She didn't need to.
The room vibrated with an invisible presence—an underground hum, the echo of Red Thread, a predator who didn't need to be present to kill.
"You want the Devourer?" she laughed—voice like a whip. "You know where to find him. The old meat preservation warehouse, at the edge of the 20th Ward. But you already knew that, didn't you?" She stepped closer, smile sharpening into a fang. "You also know the White Reaper walked in there a year ago and barely crawled out. So what makes you think a pathetic ghoul like you survives?"
Yamori cracked another finger—brutal—an echo of his unraveling restraint. His pliers gleamed. He closed the distance until it was almost intimate, the kind of closeness that ends with screaming.
"Tell me his name. His face. Who he is when he isn't weaving traps," he snarled, eyes glittering with obsessive sickness. "Or I'll rip that information out of you, Binge Eater. I'll smash that pretty little face that makes the Gourmet fetishists drool."
Rize laughed—pure poison—and raised a hand to her mouth, mocking him with cruel grace. Another step, until she stood only meters away, eyes bright with arrogance that was more dangerous than any kagune.
"Catch me?" she murmured, voice dripping venom. "I'm right here, Yamori. Come get me. But you should be afraid—because if the Devourer hears how you spoke to me, there won't be enough left of you to torture."
Yamori roared and lunged—pliers ready to crush bone and meat—
—and the air filled with a low hum. A funeral-song vibration that froze the blood.
Metal-red threads erupted from the shadows—so fast they blurred—piercing Yamori's body like needles. Blood sprayed in arcs, splashing into the puddles of Rize's victims. The threads pinned him in place, slicing through muscle and tendon; each filament a blade that sank deeper with every movement.
Yamori snarled through pain, face contorting—yet his eyes burned with refusal.
Rize approached, slow, almost dancing. She yanked the pliers from his hand like stealing a toy from a child. She held them up, turning them beneath moonlight, laughing with pure cruelty.
"Do you like the web he wove for me?" she sang, voice sadistic. "Even the White Reaper couldn't handle him. So what makes you think a rotten ghoul like you has a chance? The Devourer will feast on your guts. Charming, don't you think?"
The threads vibrated, responding to an unseen master, and cut deeper.
"You think you're untouchable, Binge Eater?!" Yamori roared, thrashing with blind rage—every motion opening fresh wounds that painted the floor darker red. "Your arrogance will kill you! When I catch you, I'll make you scream until your voice breaks!"
Rize rolled her eyes. Her grin collapsed into disgust. She turned away, footsteps splashing through blood toward the window.
"You ruined my appetite," she said coldly. "You stink like rot. Keep following me, and I'll crush you myself before the spider devours you in his web."
She leapt out the window—purple hair flashing under the moon before vanishing into the night.
Yamori writhed, cursing, blood dripping as the threads sank deeper, cutting muscle down to bone. A black widow crawled up the web and slid along his arm to his ear. The bite was fire—burning straight through his skull. He screamed, the sound splitting into a broken wail that echoed in the empty room.
Dozens more spiders swarmed him, drawn by the scent of red silk—bite after bite, a chorus of needles injecting venom. Blood and poison mixed. His screams turned into gurgling as his body convulsed—trapped in the web, regenerating just enough to keep suffering—until he finally tore himself out, crushing spiders in furious, frantic stomps.
Lamb Among Wolves
"In a refuge of coffee and lies, wolves sharpen their fangs—and the lamb dreams of a love that smells like tragedy."
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Anteiku's bustle was a refuge inside the chaos of the 20th Ward—one of those fragile places where ghouls and humans could rest before trying to stab each other in Tokyo's darker alleys.
Ayanato Ashida, now 22, sat at a secluded table, flipping through a book Kaneki had recommended—though the words blurred under his gaze. Amber contacts hid the red eyes that scanned every shadow, every movement, every whisper in the café. The red tea in front of him remained untouched, a mirror of his tense calm.
Kaneki sat beside him, nervously rambling, his anxious voice dissolving into the café's hum. Hide, all chaotic energy, filled the air with jokes that cut through the peace like a dull knife—each word reminding everyone how fragile this sanctuary was.
"Hey, Kaneki—who's the lucky lady?" Hide grinned mischievously. "A library date? What's next—writing sonnets to a barista?"
Ayanato looked up, face a sheet of ice.
"I doubt Kaneki's ready for that league," he said coolly, sharp as the threads he hid under his coat. "It'd be like tossing a fly into a black widow's web."
Kaneki flushed and hid his face in his hands. "G-Guys, stop… it's not— it's not like that."
Hide laughed, leaning back with reckless confidence. "Excuse me, Miss Touka!" he called, gesturing dramatically at the waitress. "Do you have a boyfriend? Kaneki needs to stop dreaming!"
Touka gripped her tray, cheeks red with discomfort, and hurried away.
"Hide, stop!" Kaneki protested, mortified. "This is the only place I can relax."
"Hide," Ayanato added flatly, "if you keep going, we'll get kicked out. And I'm not finding another place just because you can't shut up."
Then the bell over Anteiku's door chimed—small, harmless—
—and it hit Ayanato's skull like a gunshot.
A slender figure stepped inside, purple hair flowing like a banner of danger.
Rize Kamishiro.
Her steps were a calculated dance, every movement designed to attract eyes. She sat at a nearby table with a steaming coffee and opened a book:
The Black Goat's Egg.
She played her part—coquettish, deliberate—fingers twirling a strand of hair as her eyes swept the room. And she knew Kaneki was watching.
Kaneki's eyes widened. Admiration and nerves flickered across his face.
"It's her," he whispered, emotion trembling like pain.
Ayanato's gaze fixed on Rize. She winked at him—smile razor-thin—and a chill crawled up his spine. He knew what she was: a ticking bomb. A predator that played with prey before devouring it.
"Give up, Kaneki!" Hide laughed, oblivious to the danger. "She's out of your league! It's like Beauty and the Monster."
"Beauty and the Beast," Kaneki corrected softly, cheeks burning.
Ayanato exhaled as if uninterested, but his fingers crushed the book a little too hard.
"You should rethink your choices, Kaneki," he warned, voice low. "Rize isn't your type."
Kaneki tilted his head, confused. "Do you know her? How do you know her name?"
Ayanato glanced at Rize—who winked again, playful and hungry.
"She's… an acquaintance," he said carefully, like walking on wire. "A good friend—just too intense for someone timid like you. Her personality is… explosive."
Kaneki looked down, fingers circling his cup—sadness clouding his face. But then determination sparked, small and stubborn.
"No one thinks I can do this," he thought, jaw tightening. "Hide, Ayanato… I'll prove you wrong."
"Don't worry, nii-san," Kaneki said, voice firmer than Ayanato expected. "I can handle it."
Ayanato stood and walked toward Rize. She covered her mouth theatrically, keeping up her innocent-girl act—eyes glinting with silent challenge. Ayanato made a subtle gesture: later, away from ears.
Rize understood instantly. She nodded, smile sharpening, then returned to her book as if caressing prey with her fingertips.
Kaneki watched them, heart tightening with admiration and doubt.
"Rize-san seems so kind… why doesn't nii-san trust me?" he wondered.
The air in Anteiku grew heavier, like the café itself held its breath—caught between the lamb dreaming of love and the wolves already tasting his blood.
From the counter, Touka watched Ayanato and Rize with a blade-like stare, knuckles white around a tray. Ayanato felt it—but didn't turn.
He knew Rize's game was about to get worse.
And Kaneki—without knowing it—was walking straight into the Binge Eater's jaws.
Impossible Decisions
"In a world of threads and fangs, choosing between protecting a lamb or hunting with a wolf is a game where everyone bleeds."
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Night draped Tokyo in shadow, swallowing the 20th Ward's lights until only distant sirens remained.
In a modest apartment, Ken Kaneki lay in bed staring at a ceiling full of shadows that looked like they were watching him. The clock read midnight.
"Nii-san… late again. He's always out lately," he thought, worry tightening in his chest.
He grabbed his phone and called Hide. When his friend answered, Hide's voice came in bright and teasing.
"What's up, Kaneki? Heart broken yet?"
Kaneki flushed into his pillow. "Very funny… Listen—did you know Ayanato knew her? They greeted each other in Anteiku before he left. Like they were… friends."
Hide laughed. "That Ayanato—looks like a villain from a novel and acts like an iceberg. The guy is all secrets! Honestly, he'd do great with her." A pause—then a sly tone. "Or hey—switch targets. Touka's still single. That waitress has fire you could use."
"Hide, stop!" Kaneki groaned. "It's not— it's not about that."
A black widow crawled down from the ceiling, its legs brushing the phone—
—right as a message from Rize lit up the screen:
"See you soon, Kaneki-kun. Don't stop thinking about me."
The spider seemed to pause, like it wanted to block the words. Kaneki shuddered and flicked it away, heart racing.
"There are so many of them lately… but they never bite," he thought, unsettled.
"Hide… I'm going to try," Kaneki said, voice trembling but determined. "Everyone thinks I can't do this—but I'll show them I'm wrong."
Hide, pedaling through Tokyo on his bike, chuckled softly. "That's my Kaneki!"
But his voice cut off when he looked up.
In the distance: flashing red and blue lights. Yellow CCG tape sealing an alley.
A chill ran down his spine.
"Kaneki… be careful, okay?" Hide said, suddenly serious. "Something's wrong in the ward tonight."
A few streets away, atop a building, Ayanato Ashida clung to the wall with metal claws, black hair falling like a funeral veil. His eyes—no contacts now—burned red under the moon as he watched two CCG investigators speak beside a mangled corpse wrapped in a white sheet.
"They say a ghoul can last a month off one body," one muttered.
"This one doesn't settle for one," the other spat. "They're animals. No—worse. Things that shouldn't exist."
Ayanato's jaw tightened. Cold fury sparked.
He slid a hand under his coat and drew the Kokuseigu Ashida, the Needle—an inherited weapon glowing with hemogenic sheen. He pressed the button. The black blade grew with violent speed, extending like a spear.
He jumped.
A red blur in the night.
One sweeping slash—air whistling—
—and both investigators split in half. Blood arced across the asphalt. They didn't even have time to scream.
Ayanato hurled the Needle forward. Red threads exploded outward, weaving across a nearby building. Investigators inside were skewered and hoisted like puppets into a razor-web, blood dripping into pools that reflected the CCG lights.
Then—behind him—coquettish laughter.
Ayanato's skin prickled.
Rize appeared, steps soft as a cat, purple hair shining under moonlight.
"So angry, Ayanato-kun," she teased. "You don't usually attack the CCG this openly. What if another squad comes to finish you off?"
Ayanato didn't turn, fingers white around the weapon. The blade still dripped blood.
"I see you've marked Ken Kaneki as your next victim," he said quietly, voice vibrating with threat. "Drop it, Rize. Choose someone else. There are plenty of corpses at the warehouse."
Rize leaned close, breath brushing his ear. "The Binge Eater doesn't change prey—and you know it." Her tone was playful venom. "Why protect some insignificant human? Did the little spider lose his fangs?"
Ayanato finally turned, eyes burning.
"That wasn't a question," he said. "It's an order. There are thousands of victims in this city. Pick another."
Rize laughed—wild, manic. "Or what? You'll betray me for a human?"
She stepped back, smile sharpening.
"Think carefully, Ayanato. I know how to escape the CCG. When the White Reaper comes back to finish what he started in your warehouse, I won't be there to pick you up again. And Kaneki? If he knew what you really are—wouldn't he sell you to the CCG in a second?"
Ayanato pressed the button. The Needle retracted with a click. He slid the hilt back under his coat, face returning to that marble mask.
"Listen to me—for once," he said, anger shaking under control. "You don't always have to be this stubborn."
Rize laughed louder. "I do what I want, when I want. You won't change my mind. If you want to try—use that Needle that's killed so many ghouls. Then ask yourself if it was worth it."
She sprang away, vanishing into the night in a purple flash, leaving Ayanato alone—rage burning like a fire.
A CCG investigator ran in, Quinque trembling, eyes wide.
"T-The… Ghoul Devourer…!"
Ayanato snapped.
The Needle surged out again—one brutal slash—
—and the investigator split from skull to feet. Blood poured over the asphalt. The pieces collapsed like broken props.
Sirens drew nearer.
And the night closed over Ayanato like a warning:
his decisions—like his threads—could cut everything he still cared about.
Dance of Predators
"In a sunlit café, predators dance behind false smiles—and the lamb can't see the fangs closing in."
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Sunlight poured through the café windows, warming tabletops with golden light that clashed violently with the cold crawling under the room's skin. The murmur of conversation and clink of cups created a costume of normalcy—yet beneath it, something dark moved.
Kaneki sat across from Rize, words stumbling as he spoke about books with nervous passion. Rize watched him, smile perfectly sweet, twirling a strand of purple hair with the grace of a predator savoring prey before the bite.
Such an easy catch, Rize thought. He's lucky Ayanato doesn't eat humans. Otherwise he'd already be hanging in that web—just another body. I wonder if Ayanato truly cares… or if this is just a whim.
Kaneki spoke too fast, choking on his own excitement. Rize feigned concern—pure theater—and leaned in, fingers brushing his face in a gesture that looked tender but carried cruel calculation.
"Are you okay, Kaneki-kun?" she cooed, voice like honey laced with poison. "If you talk that fast, you might choke."
Kaneki looked away, cheeks burning—eyes dropping helplessly toward her neckline. Rize noticed. Her laugh rang like glass—pretty, sharp, dangerous.
Every move she made tightened a cord around Kaneki.
And he fell deeper.
From a nearby table, Ayanato watched, hidden in the café's noise. Amber contacts masked the red eyes tracking every twitch of Rize's smile. His hand crushed a book, pages wrinkling under his grip.
He rose and approached—silent, deliberate.
His gaze met Rize's.
A flash of challenge cut the air like a blade.
Rize held it—then stood gracefully.
"Thank you so much for the date, Kaneki-kun," she sang sweetly. "It was lovely talking about Takatsuki-sensei with someone so passionate."
Kaneki blinked—then noticed her untouched sandwiches.
"Rize-san… you didn't eat anything," he said nervously. "Are you alright?"
Rize covered her mouth, fake-shy. "I'm on a diet, sorry." Light, dismissive, cutting.
She slipped away before more questions could trap her.
A black widow crawled out from under the table, legs brushing her sandwiches. Its tiny eyes seemed fixed on Kaneki. He shivered.
"They're everywhere… how does nii-san stand them?" he thought.
Ayanato sat down in the chair Rize had left. The black widow climbed his finger, up his arm, and vanished into his jacket like it belonged there.
Kaneki swallowed hard.
"I told you you wouldn't listen," Ayanato said, voice low with a sadness that weighed like lead. "I guess not even fate can stop you."
"Were you here the whole time, nii-san?" Kaneki asked, trembling. "How did I do?"
Ayanato sighed. His amber gaze stayed on Kaneki, but his mind was tangled elsewhere.
"Not bad," he said softly. "If you used that on another girl, I'd be impressed. But with Rize… all I can feel is pity for the disappointment waiting for you."
Kaneki lowered his head. Shame and stubborn hope wrestled in his face.
"Rize shares my tastes," he whispered. "Her voice is so gentle… so perfect. I don't understand. If you know her so well, why do you say those things? She doesn't look like what you describe."
Ayanato stared at him.
"People don't always show their real face, Kaneki," he said carefully. "Sometimes they pretend to get what they want."
Kaneki didn't see Rize's sharp glance from the doorway—smile twisted like a knife ready to cut. She gave Ayanato a subtle signal—half taunt, half challenge—then disappeared into the street.
Ayanato clenched his fists under the table, eyes fixed on the empty doorway.
The café kept moving—coffee scent, chatter, cups—yet for him it was a battlefield.
Kaneki kept dreaming of a girl who didn't exist.
Rize kept weaving her trap.
And Ayanato fought not to cut it with his own threads.
A cup shattered at the counter.
The sound landed like a gunshot.
And Ayanato knew the dance of predators had only begun.
Blind Date
"In an alley where shadows whisper, the threads of loyalty tighten—and even the Binge Eater feels the weight of a challenge she can't ignore."
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Night wrapped the 20th Ward like a shroud. The alley beside the café was a mouth of darkness, broken only by the flicker of a dying streetlamp. The air smelled of wet asphalt and distant blood—Tokyo's constant perfume.
Rize stood on her heels, purple silhouette cut against weak light, movements a provocative dance that hid a lethal edge. Her eyes shone with playful arrogance, yet the alley's silence felt like it mocked her—like the night knew something she didn't.
Ayanato stepped from the shadows—no softness in his face now. His eyes, free of amber lenses, burned scarlet through the gloom. His dark coat moved like funeral cloth. His posture was rigid, every muscle tight with contained fury.
"What's wrong, Ayanato-kun?" Rize teased, heels tapping the asphalt. "Lately you don't greet me with that usual spark. Where'd your enthusiasm go?"
Ayanato stared, face a mask of ice holding back a storm.
"Do you think this is funny, Rize?" he growled. "How many times do I have to tell you something before you—just once—think logically instead of acting like an impulsive idiot?"
Rize laughed, manic echo bouncing off the alley walls. She twirled a strand of hair, graceful and threatening all at once.
"Still mad?" she purred. "How interesting. I've never seen you like this over me." Her smile sharpened. "Is it because of Kaneki, the little lamb? Are you jealous because I've got better technique than your boring silk ambushes?"
Ayanato exhaled—his patience hanging by a thread.
"I'll ask you one question," he said, stepping closer. "Why? Why do you act like this? Why do you insist on not listening—not even once?"
Rize laughed again, but it came out sharper, less sure. She stepped in slowly—deliberately—and lifted her hands, mocking. Her fingers grabbed Ayanato's head, nails grazing his skin with pressure that was half-caress, half-threat. Her grin was sadistic.
"Because nobody tells me what to do," she hissed. "Not the idiots chasing me, not the CCG… and not you. Nobody."
Ayanato shoved her hands away—rough. Fury flashed in his eyes, deeper than thread-cutting.
Rize's smile faltered for a heartbeat—lips trembling—then she rebuilt it.
Ayanato turned his back.
"Do whatever you want, Rize," he said, each word a deliberate cut. "If it feeds your ego, enjoy. I won't get in your way."
He vanished in a red flash. The air trembled with thread-hum for an instant—then nothing.
Silence.
The streetlamp flickered like a dying heart.
Rize stared at the empty space, her grin slowly melting away. The alley felt heavier now, the asphalt stench mixing with a chill she couldn't explain.
Is he actually angry? Am I going too far? she thought—uncertainty, small but real, creeping in. Whatever. I survived alone in the 11th Ward. I'd survive here without him too.
The words sounded hollow—even to her.
A black widow crawled up from the ground, legs sliding over asphalt, tiny eyes fixed on Rize like judgment.
She scowled. "Disgusting little bugs."
She crushed it under her heel.
The crunch echoed.
And a shiver ran through her body—like she'd broken something more than an arachnid.
For the first time, the Binge Eater felt a weight in her chest she couldn't name.
Recklessness
"In a nest of threads and blood, the Binge Eater dances alone—but recklessness leads her into a ball where the fangs are sharper than hers."
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Night draped the 20th Ward like a shroud, and the old meat warehouse rose like a mausoleum of shadow and death. The air reeked of rust and dried blood—poison that clung to the lungs.
Rize Kamishiro climbed the building's exterior with her Rinkaku, tentacles digging into concrete like hooks, until she reached a hole in the roof. She dropped with feline grace, landing on a trampoline of red silk that thrummed under her weight, the web's hum rising like a funeral hymn.
A sliver of orange twilight filtered through the opening and lit something obscene: CCG investigators hung in fresh cocoons, faces frozen in silent screams, blood dripping into pools that mirrored the newborn moon. The warehouse spiders—guardians of Ayanato's web—skittered along the walls, legs whispering as they vanished into cracks, as if rejecting Rize's presence.
"I've come in here so many times…" Rize murmured, voice trembling with an unease she couldn't name. "So why do I get chills now?"
She moved through the corridors, red threads shining like living veins, the wind hissing as it grazed their razor edges. Every step was calculated—months of practice, learned the hard way, so she wouldn't get sliced open by Ayanato's lethal net.
The main door—once smashed by the CCG a year earlier—was sealed with layers of silk: a thick, impenetrable wall that seemed to pulse. Rize touched it, fingertips brushing the threads carefully.
"Ayanato-kun, are you home?" she sang, trying to sound playful—though the arrogance came out brittle in the oppressive silence.
No answer. Only the web's low hum, like the warehouse itself had decided to ignore her.
Rize's brow twitched. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes. She headed deeper—to the sleeping chamber—where a massive cocoon of red silk dominated the room, sealed like a tomb. Ayanato's presence was unmistakable… and yet the silence was absolute.
"Ayanato-kun, come hunting with me," she said, sharper now, as if tone alone could puncture the cocoon. "Or what—are you going to let me kill Kaneki? Don't you want to protect your little lamb?"
Silence answered—heavy as a verdict.
A black widow descended in front of her, dangling from a red thread. Its tiny eyes seemed to hold something like disappointment.
Rize bared her teeth. Her smile cracked.
"Tch. Fine," she hissed. "Stay in your cocoon, spider. I'm not changing my mind."
She turned on her heel, the threads vibrating in her wake, and climbed back out through the hole in the roof. The moon rose—cold and sharp—washing the ward in a light that made shadows deeper.
But then the air thickened.
Heavy, thunderous footsteps echoed nearby.
And a mad laugh—low and ugly—froze her blood.
"Did you get lost, Binge Eater?" a gravelly voice roared like thunder.
Girasawa—the "Immortal"—stepped out of the dark, colossal frame swallowing the moonlight. His eyes shone with pure sadism. His right arm transformed: a Koukaku kagune shaped like a massive drill, spinning with a vibration that made the ground tremble.
"You look scared!"
Rize sprang aside as the drill slammed into the asphalt and pulverized it into dust.
"Girasawa, the 'Immortal'?" she sneered, smile twisting into contempt. "You think a nickname saves you? You're so close to the Devourer's nest you could give him indigestion—with those muscles and that empty skull."
Girasawa laughed—earthquake-loud—and charged again, drill tearing a wall apart behind her. Rize unleashed her Rinkaku, crimson tentacles snapping through the air.
They struck his Koukaku—like hitting a fortress. Her tentacles barely scratched his armor… and he grabbed them, ripping them free with a wet crack. Rize snarled as blood spilled, the severed tentacles dissolving into red mist on the ground.
This isn't like Yamori, she realized, heartbeat turning urgent. Ayanato said he's SS+—a brute-force monster.
She dodged another strike that chewed through the pavement where she'd been, then leapt between buildings, using speed to create distance.
Girasawa only laughed.
He punched a wall into rubble and hurled a concrete slab the size of a car.
It smashed her out of the air.
Rize hit the ground with a burst of blood, impact rattling her bones—cracks spiderwebbing through the asphalt beneath her. She swore, regeneration grinding forward with a wet, painful sound—
—but Girasawa was already over her, drill roaring like a guillotine.
"What's wrong, Binge Eater?" he bellowed, laughter manic. "Scared without your spider? Looks like he abandoned you!"
Rize clenched her teeth. Her Rinkaku erupted again—sharper, faster. The tentacles whipped forward—
—and bounced off his Koukaku plating like rain on steel.
His other arm became a colossal blade.
It chopped her tentacles into pieces.
Blood splattered the street like crimson rain.
Rize staggered back, breath shredded. Girasawa advanced, drill carving the air. One strike grazed her shoulder and tore flesh free; she cried out, clothes soaking as blood poured. She rolled aside, barely avoiding a second hit that wrecked a nearby building—debris collapsing like an avalanche.
I don't have time for this. He's too strong.
Her arrogance buckled.
She launched herself to a distant balcony, vanishing into darkness.
Girasawa roared and reduced another wall to dust—then… didn't pursue.
Instead, his gaze locked on the warehouse in the distance.
A slow, vicious smile spread across his face as he cracked his neck.
Rize—panting on the balcony—looked back, blood dripping. Her body regenerated, but the pain lingered like humiliation carved into bone.
"Ayanato… why didn't you come?" she whispered, voice shaking with anger… and doubt.
She forced a scoff, trying to staple arrogance back onto her face.
"Tch. Whatever. You'll come crawling back to me. Like everyone does."
But even she heard it:
her own voice sounded hollow.
And the warehouse—silent under the moon—felt like it was judging her.
For the first time, the Binge Eater felt cold that didn't come from the air…
…but from being alone.
Fated Dusk
"Under a sunset that bleeds, the threads of loyalty snap—and a lamb walks blind into the jaws of a wolf that never forgives."
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The meat warehouse in the 20th Ward was a mausoleum of shadow, its interior a labyrinth of red silk that pulsed like a dying heart.
Ayanato Ashida lay inside his cocoon, air thick with dried blood and rust. Metallic threads from his own web pressed into his skin—not enough to cut him, but enough to remind him his technique, his control, was slipping.
He stared up at the silk ceiling, filaments glinting beneath a narrow beam of moonlight leaking through the broken roof. A black widow descended slowly and hung before his face, red eyes reflecting his own—like judgment in silence.
"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered, frustration heavy as lead. "I can't let you do it, Rize… I guess this is what I get for playing both sides."
The spider didn't respond. Spiders never did.
They only watched.
Then it dropped onto his face—legs brushing skin—crawled into his hair… and disappeared into the dark.
Ayanato sat up, fingers squeezing the hilt of his Kokuseigu so hard his knuckles went pale.
Rize. Reckless as always. If I have to tie you up just to make you listen… I will.
He slipped out of the cocoon, threads vibrating at his movement, and climbed the warehouse walls with a spider's agility. His black coat snapped in the wind, a red glint flashing from within as he emerged through the rooftop hole.
The 20th Ward sprawled below: a sea of lights and shadow…
…and Kaneki's fate dangled from a thread thinner than any Ayanato had ever woven.
Kilometers away, Tokyo drowned in night—cars and buildings flickering like trapped fireflies.
Rize walked beside Ken Kaneki, her smile a flawless mask of sweetness hiding the chaos still snarling inside her after Girasawa's attack. Her white dress moved softly with each step, but her eyes kept scanning the dark. Kaneki, innocent grin intact, chatted nervously at her side.
They'd just left a clothing store; the city's noise faded as they drifted into quieter streets.
"Thanks for the date, Kaneki-kun," Rize said gently—soft, with an edge he couldn't hear. She paused, faking vulnerability on instinct. "I live close to where the ghoul attacks happened… could you walk me home?"
Kaneki nodded, cheeks burning, heart pounding with nervous joy.
"Of course, Rize-san!"
He walked—arms open—straight toward the slaughterhouse.
The alley she led him into was a tunnel of shadow, wet asphalt reflecting distant city light. The air smelled like trash and metal—something that stuck to the skin.
Rize kept the act, smile bright as a fake lantern…
…but her fingers trembled slightly, betraying the unease Girasawa had planted.
"Can I ask you something, Kaneki-kun?" she whispered, voice cutting the silence. "How did you meet Ayanato?"
Kaneki blinked, surprised, then answered with sincerity so honest it hurt.
"Nii-san? I met him when I was thirteen, in Shinjuku. We crossed paths by accident, and ever since then we've been like brothers. He bought an apartment for us, he always looks out for me…"
He lowered his gaze, voice trembling.
"But he always looks sad. He rarely smiles… and when he does, I can't tell if it's real. I wonder what made him like that."
Rize glanced back into the darkness—like she expected Ayanato to step out at any moment.
"I wonder the same," she admitted, softer, almost reflective. "I met him not long after you did. Always with that faraway look, like he's watching someone he lost a long time ago…"
Then her smile returned—sharper.
"But enough of that, Kaneki-kun. We're very close now."
They crossed one last street into an isolated alley where the city lights barely reached. Silence pressed in, broken only by footsteps and the drip of a broken pipe. The walls felt closer, the air thicker—like an invisible mouth closing.
Kaneki didn't notice, eyes fixed on Rize.
But Rize did.
The weight of her own recklessness.
Ayanato's absence.
Girasawa's echo in her skull.
Her smile tightened.
Her fingers brushed the hem of her dress, ready to unleash her Rinkaku.
The alley was a butcher's room.
Kaneki was the perfect lamb.
And deep in her mind, a new thought hissed—
What if Ayanato isn't watching this time?
Echo of Failure
"In the night, the echoes of failure strike like blows to flesh—and the predator becomes prey when regeneration dares to mock death itself."
──────────────────────────────────────────────────
Ayanato Ashida sprinted through Tokyo, body driven by an urgency that burned through his veins like venom. Wet asphalt reflected neon lights that blinked like accusing eyes.
His Kokuseigu Ashida was already active: the Needle extended from its hilt like a giant spear wrapped in red silk, glowing as if it were bleeding light. He threw it into a wall with a crack that rang through the air, using it like a harpoon to propel himself—jumping from building to building.
I'm close. Almost there.
He activated his RC vision from a rooftop—eyes glowing like embers under the moon—tracking Rize's RC trail.
And then—
a flare of RC slammed into his senses like staring into the sun.
His vision flooded red.
Pain speared through his skull.
His kakugan eclipse triggered involuntarily: irises turned black, dark veins webbing across his face like cracks in shattered glass.
The Ashida instinct inside him shuddered—a primal growl that iced his blood.
"Impossible," he snarled—
—and the ground beneath him exploded into debris.
He jumped down just in time, rolling across the street as a colossal figure rose from the crater—hair blazing red under a broken streetlamp.
Massive claws.
A heavy suit.
A plate on the chest reading:
"T-001 EMPRESS."
Ayanato's pupils tightened as her Rinkaku erupted: four titanic tails like armored steel pillars, unfolding with a wet, brutal crack—cutting the air like guillotines.
What the hell is that thing?
T-001 roared—an earthquake in a throat—and hurled a colossal tentacle.
Ayanato vanished in a red flash, reappearing beside her. He drove the Needle into her torso with a hit that sounded like bone snapping.
Blood burst out thick and heavy—
…and then the wound closed with a wet sound.
Faster than his brain could process.
The flesh sealed, spitting the Needle out like a nuisance.
T-001 whipped around, tentacle snapping like a lash. Ayanato barely dodged, air slicing centimeters from his face.
"What is this?" he hissed, disbelief shaking his voice. "She has more energy than Rize. And her Rinkaku is monstrous. She regenerates faster than I can hurt her."
He fired red threads from his claws, piercing T-001 in a dozen places.
Blood splattered—
and the holes sealed almost instantly.
Regeneration—alive, obscene, defiant.
T-001 countered.
A tentacle slammed into Ayanato's chest—ribs cracking with a dry snap. Black blood burst from his mouth. He slammed into a wall, concrete splitting beneath his back.
"I don't have time for this," he growled, forcing regeneration that burned through his veins. "I have to get to Rize."
T-001 gave him no breath.
She charged like a meteor, tentacles chewing the pavement where he'd been. He flashed away again, reappearing behind her, carving deep into her back—chunks of flesh dropping wetly to the ground—
but she roared and caught him with a tentacle to the side.
The impact was a hammer. More ribs shattered. He flew into a building.
Black blood painted the street.
Ayanato staggered upright, coughing, while T-001 already stood healed—kagune vibrating with primal fury.
She launched her tentacles like spears.
Ayanato dodged the first—
the second grazed him, tearing open his arm—
the third struck dead-on, impaling him like a stake.
Pain flashed white.
Blood poured.
T-001 lifted him and slammed him into the asphalt, cracking it open. Another hit sent him tumbling, leaving a trail of black blood.
"I… can't fail," he rasped, vision blurring as she approached—tails rising like pillars of death.
With a burning effort, he opened his coat and fired a swarm of tiny needles.
They pierced her—
and sealed shut.
Instantly.
He slammed his giant Needle into the ground with a violent crash.
A flood of razor-threads erupted from holes along its blade, carpeting the street in a massive web that trapped T-001.
She roared, thrashing hard enough to shake nearby buildings—threads slicing into her—
…but regeneration outpaced damage, again and again, like logic had been revoked.
Ayanato dropped to his knees, body a map of wounds leaking black. He dragged himself across the street using the Needle as a cane, coughing blood with every movement.
"Rize… please," he whispered, voice thin as thread—
while behind him T-001's roar thundered like a final verdict.
Coffin of Silk and Steel
"In an alley where the night bleeds, threads snap, fangs fail—and the echo of defeat buries everyone inside a coffin of silk and steel."
──────────────────────────────────────────────────
The alley was a throat of shadow, air thick with the stink of tragedy approaching.
Ken Kaneki—heart pounding with excitement—walked beside Rize Kamishiro, unaware of the distant crash that rolled like broken thunder. Rize hooked her arm through his, her crystalline laugh wrapping the moment in false warmth.
"Come on, Kaneki-kun," she sang sweetly. "We're almost there. My place is just past this alley."
Kaneki nodded, face flushed, steps syncing with hers.
Then Rize stopped at the alley's end.
Her smile twisted—sharper.
She turned slowly, eyes shining with hunger she no longer bothered to hide.
She pressed her head to Kaneki's chest, listening to his frantic heartbeat.
Looks like my little spider is too busy being mad at me to protect his lamb, she thought, arrogance and cruelty swirling together.
"Kaneki…" she whispered, voice soft—poison-soft—"I've seen how you look at me."
Kaneki's pupils widened, excitement blinding him.
Before he could answer, Rize clamped his shoulders with inhuman strength, nails digging into skin.
A low laugh slipped from her lips.
Red steam rose behind her—
and her Rinkaku unfurled, scarlet tentacles slicing the air.
Kaneki's smile died in an instant.
Terror replaced it.
Rize bit into his shoulder.
Brutal.
Meat tore.
Blood exploded.
Bone crackled.
Kaneki collapsed, body shaking from pain and horror.
Rize towered over him, purple coat sliding onto the asphalt, white dress ripping under the violence of her kagune. Her kakugan blazed, blood dripping from her mouth as she licked her lips with a sadistic smile.
"Mmm… exquisite," she hissed, savoring it. "Exactly what I expected from someone so naive. I wonder why Ayanato didn't eat you himself."
Kaneki tried to crawl away—
but her tentacles fired like spears.
One pierced his ankle.
Another his leg—bone snapping wetly.
A third wrapped his waist and squeezed—ribs crushing with a visceral crack.
She lifted him like a broken doll and slammed him down hard enough to shake the asphalt.
Blood splashed, painting the alley.
A fourth tentacle stabbed through his torso.
A wet sound like a sob.
Kaneki gasped, barely conscious, life hanging by a hair.
"Did you die already?" Rize laughed, manic. "I'm just getting started."
She hurled him into a wall—into a construction zone beyond the alley.
Steel skeletons of the site trembled.
Kaneki slid down, mind spinning in pain and regret.
Hide… nii-san… I should've listened. I'm so stupid. I just wanted a date with Rize-san…
A black widow descended into his blurred vision, its red abdomen like an hourglass whose sand was running out.
They tried to warn me… and I ignored them.
Then—
a metallic shriek cut the air.
A steel beam collapsed from the structure above and slammed down onto Rize.
A dry, brutal impact.
Her laughter cut off.
Blood seeped from beneath the steel.
Her body lay still—pinned like prey in her own trap.
The alley fell into dead silence, the echo of the impact ringing like a sentence.
Ayanato dragged himself through the streets, body leaking black blood, eyes dull—unable to use RC vision. Pain was a wildfire eating his bones, every movement threatening to shatter him.
Then T-001's roar reached him like a hammer.
A colossal tentacle tore out of the darkness.
Ayanato raised the Kokuseigu—the Needle caught the strike with a crunch that rattled through his arms. His legs buckled, bones fracturing under the force. Black blood dripped onto the asphalt.
"I'm sorry, Kaneki… for not saving you," he wheezed. "I'm sorry, Rize… for not stopping you."
Another tentacle rose, its tip crystallizing into a gigantic blade.
Ayanato tried to block—hands shaking—
but the impact was catastrophic.
The Kokuseigu blade snapped with a crack like a dying scream.
The red hilt flew from his grip and skidded across the alley—
landing near Rize's crushed body.
The broken tip bounced between the walls and dropped at Ayanato's feet like a symbol.
A verdict.
T-001 approached.
Her claws seized his throat—pressure crushing his windpipe.
She lifted him and smashed him down. Asphalt fractured beneath the blow.
A tentacle lashed him, tearing flesh from his arm in a burst of black blood.
She bit into his shoulder, ripping tendons—
then recoiled, spitting his blood with a disgusted roar.
As if he tasted like poison.
"I'm sorry, Himari," Ayanato whispered, barely audible as his eyes dimmed. "For failing again."
And then—
darkness.
Silence.
The night sealed shut around the alley—
a coffin of silk and steel—
where the echo of failure rang forever.
Playing God
"In an alley where tragedy bleeds, scavenger gods gather the remains—sewing broken destinies with needles of ambition and steel."
──────────────────────────────────────────────────
The alley was a mausoleum of shadow, air thick with dried blood and twisted metal. Red and blue lights from a nameless organization flashed in the distance—surgical, cold—cutting the night into pieces and illuminating devastation like a dissected corpse.
Construction debris lay scattered, mixed with pools of crimson blood that reflected the lights like broken mirrors.
Ken Kaneki lay unconscious against a wall, body a map of torn wounds, flesh hanging like rags.
Under a warped steel beam, Rize Kamishiro's motionless body lay crushed, blood pooling beneath her like a whisper of defeat.
Silence pressed down—until boots crunched the asphalt and radios buzzed.
An older man stepped from the shadows, wrinkled face lit by morbid fascination.
Dr. Kanou Akihiro.
The surgeon of tragedies.
His eyes shone like a predator staring at a feast. Gloved hands moved with clinical precision—like he was already dissecting the disaster.
Beside him walked Itsuki Genya, assistant with a frost-cold stare, expression empty except for a faint sadistic glint.
"Transport the Binge Eater and the boy to the hospital," Kanou ordered, voice a clinical whisper. "Prepare them for the transplant. Don't let them go to waste."
A recovery team moved with mechanical efficiency, shifting debris with sounds like bones breaking. They lifted Kaneki—head lolling—then removed the steel pinning Rize. Blood surged out thick as syrup when the pressure released.
Itsuki barely spared them a glance.
His attention snagged on something else.
He crouched and wrapped his fingers around a broken hilt embedded in the asphalt—an enormous needle weapon's handle, still slick with black blood.
He yanked it free with a metallic shriek.
The blade was shattered, but the weapon still seemed to throb with hemogenic residue.
"Kanou-san," Itsuki said, voice flat—but with a flicker of cruel excitement. "Look at this."
Kanou's eyes widened. He took the hilt, hands trembling slightly as if holding a holy relic. The metal seemed alive in his grip.
"The Needle that nearly killed Arima Kishou…" he breathed—greed warping his face. "The weapon of the Ghoul Devourer."
He snapped his head up, obsession shining like fever.
"Clean the area. Now!" he barked. "Find the Ghoul Devourer! He's fallen, and his anomalous black RC could be more valuable than the Binge Eater's."
Itsuki took the hilt back, pressed the button—
and the Needle retracted into the cylinder with a wet, viscous sound, hemogenic metal creaking like it was crying.
He didn't look at Rize or Kaneki.
His interest was fixed on the mystery of that black RC—rumors that had spread since the Devourer's clash with the White Reaper.
His lips curved, barely, in a predator's smile.
A few meters away, Ayanato Ashida's broken body lay in a pool of black blood, breath barely a thread.
A black widow crawled up his arm, delicate legs moving as if trying to grant honor to a fallen king.
But it wasn't alone.
Hundreds of spiders emerged.
Then thousands.
A tide spilling out of Tokyo's cracks, their red eyes glowing like embers.
They swarmed Ayanato in silent frenzy and spun red silk around him—wrapping him in a cocoon that pulsed like a broken heart.
They carried away the shattered tip of the Kokuseigu too—its edge flashing one last time—
and vanished with the cocoon into darkness…
just before the organization's headlights fully washed the alley in cold light.
Kanou turned sharply, scanning.
Only emptiness where Ayanato had been.
"Where is he?" he snarled, frustration shaking his voice. "He can't escape! Search!"
The alley answered with silence.
Blood puddles reflected CCG-like lights.
The air felt heavier—packed with the tragedy that had swallowed Kaneki, Rize, and Ayanato.
Kanou's expression twisted into triumph anyway.
"Doesn't matter," he whispered, ambition stinking like rot. "With these two… we'll play god."
Itsuki tucked the broken hilt into his coat, gaze fixed on the horizon—as if he could still smell the fading trail of black RC.
The alley emptied out.
A graveyard of blood and steel.
And the echo of failure kept ringing—because even predators fall…
when gods decide to play.