Chapter 63: Hunters and the Hunted (I)
Earlier that day, the Student Council office was a study in controlled elegance.
Polished wood panels lined the walls, interrupted only by shelves filled with leather‑bound ledgers and a single framed portrait of the Academy's founder. A large window overlooked the central courtyard, its glass so clean it seemed invisible, as if the outside world was merely a painting waiting to be stepped into.
Sunlight slanted through the panes, illuminating dust motes that drifted in the still air, each one catching the light like a tiny ember.
Behind a massive oak desk sat Mizuki Ueshiba, a peculiar character who always knew success and had never heard the word 'no' directed at him.
He was one of the official members of the Student Council, serving directly under the current President, Hokuto Kaneshiro. His position granted him power, and power had always been his birthright.
He was a water snake yokai, a Mizuchi, with scales that shimmered like oil on water. His threat level was close to S‑tier, but he required the essence of a water‑type Yokai to attempt the final evolution that would allow him to call himself the pinnacle of Yokai Academy.
The Yuki‑onna Mizore Shirayuki, with her ice‑cold constitution, was the perfect catalyst.
He had been satisfied with his job for the most part. He did not have to do much, but the power and authority it granted made him feel untouchable. He could command other students, intimidate teachers, and bend the Academy's rules to his whim.
Rejection was a foreign concept to someone like him. Rejection stung those power‑hungry narcissists and sociopaths the hardest, and the supernatural world was a cesspit of such disturbing characters.
How had his involvement with Mizore begun? Why would such a high and mighty presiding member of the Student Council scheme to get his way with a gloomy girl?
As many things in life that lead to atrocities and monsters, it started with a rejection.
When he first laid eyes on that beautiful Yuki‑onna at the start of the school year, he could not help but want a taste of such a rare woman. Her ice‑cold constitution, her pale beauty, her isolation, all of it called to him like a siren's song. It was also fitting that her water‑based constitution would complement his own, making it easier for him to enjoy himself while also evolving to the next level, reaching S-Class while also banging a great beauty.
After the pleasantries of the start of the school year, he approached her. He had been confident, charming, certain of his success. She had rejected him. Not harshly, not with cruelty, but with a quiet, firm refusal that had cut deeper than any insult. She had walked away, leaving him grasping at air, his carefully crafted smile frozen on his face.
He had never forgotten that sting. He had never forgiven her.
Now he sat behind the desk, his pale fingers steepled in front of him. He was beautiful in the way a deep river was beautiful, dark and cold and full of hidden currents. His long black hair fell over his shoulders, and his eyes, the color of jade, held an unsettling stillness. They did not blink often enough.
Before him stood Okuto Kotsubo, his posture deferential, his hands clasped behind his back. The middle‑aged man wore a servient expression on his face, a mask of eager compliance that Mizuki knew was a lie. But Okuto was a useful pawn, one that had done his bidding since he started attending the Yokai Academy two years ago.
Mizuki knew the true personality of this man. He knew about the girls who had gone missing, about the hushed investigations, about the rumors that had never been proven.
He had used his connections with Hokuto to have those investigations quietly dropped. In a sense, he had this good‑for‑nothing adult at his beck and call. And now, with his own needs pressing, he had activated this pawn to do his bidding.
"Okuto‑san," Mizuki said, his voice soft, almost pleasant. "You assured me that the Yuki‑onna would be handled by now. Yet I don't see her in your tentacles…" He paused, letting the silence stretch. "You know that I don't like bad estimations on how things are going."
Okuto swallowed, his throat bobbing. "I have been patient in my approach, as you instructed. You told me she is important to you. It takes time to build some semblance of trust. But she is so skittish. My advances have been ignored thus far. It is today that I plan to approach her and activate my charms on her."
Mizuki's lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. "Charm? I wonder how those mermaids would feel hearing that their dear 'Okuto‑sensei' is such a ladies' man. Ohh, poor Tamao-chan, even now she doesn't know what happened to those Mermaids of hers."
Okuto's face flushed. "I do not… that is not…" He straightened, forcing himself to meet Mizuki's gaze. "I am discreet even if I consumed those two mermaids. No one would ever think of pointing fingers at a teacher."
"Do they?" Mizuki's voice was silk over steel. "I have heard rumors. But rumors are just whispers. What I care about are results."
His eyes flashed, a glint of emerald fire. "She is already on guard against me since the last time I tried to force her into a corner. She rejected all of my invitations." His lips curled into a faint, ugly smile. "You know what I hate the most? Those who reject my good will."
Okuto swallowed. "I understand."
"Then act." Mizuki rose, his movements fluid, almost serpentine. His Yoki began to leak from his body, a cold, oppressive weight that filled the room. It pressed against Okuto's Kraken Yoki, making the older man's skin prickle with discomfort. "I want to see your so‑called results today."
He walked around the desk, his steps silent on the polished floor. He stopped inches from Okuto, close enough that the teacher could smell the faint, metallic scent of his power.
"I want her broken," Mizuki whispered. "I want her to know that isolation is a mercy, and that the only warmth she will ever feel is the warmth of submission."
He reached up and patted Okuto's cheek, a gesture that was almost tender. "If I cannot have her, then no one will have Mizore Shirayuki."
He stepped back, his expression hardening. "You have your orders. Do not fail me."
Okuto bowed deeply. "I will not."
Mizuki turned away, dismissing him. "See that you don't."
Okuto left the office, and the door clicked shut behind him. Mizuki stared out the window, his reflection a ghost in the glass. The courtyard below was empty, the students already in their classrooms. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
"You will be mine, Mizore Shirayuki," he whispered. "One way or another."
[> ^ <][> ^ <][> ^ <]
After Mizore departed from the Newspaper Club, she wandered the hallways without purpose, her feet carrying her along familiar paths. The voices of the other students faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the soft rhythm of her own breathing and the steady crunch of frost forming beneath her shoes. She did not know where she was going, but her heart knew.
It always knew.
The hallways gave way to gravel paths, and the gravel paths gave way to grass. The buildings of the Academy shrank behind her, replaced by the dark silhouette of the forest. She walked past the training grounds, past the Blood River, past the places where Tsukune trained. She did not stop.
The cliff overlooked the artificial sea, an expanse of grey water that stretched to the horizon, its surface choppy and dark beneath the overcast sky. Mizore Shirayuki stood at the edge, her arms wrapped around herself, her breath fogging in the cold air. The wind howled, whipping her light purple hair across her face, but she did not shiver.
This was her sanctuary. The place she came when the weight of the world pressed too hard against her chest. The place where no one followed.
No one except him.
She thought of Tsukune, of the warmth in his eyes, of the way he had looked at her like she was not a monster. Her hand drifted to her chest, where the pendant rested against her collarbone. The yellow stone was cold, but beneath it, she could almost imagine warmth.
He said I am welcome. He said the door is always open.
But the cold was creeping back. The frost on the grass at her feet spread outward, forming intricate patterns that glittered in the fading light. She did not try to stop it. She let it come, let the ice surround her, let it armor her against the world.
A twig snapped behind her.
She tensed but did not turn. "You should not be here. This is my place."
A man's voice, smooth and practiced, answered. "I have been looking for you, Shirayuki‑san. We need to discuss your attendance."
She turned slowly.
Okuto Kotsubo stood at the edge of the tree line, his stocky frame silhouetted against the darkening sky. He wore the standard PE instructor's uniform, a navy tracksuit with the Academy's crest stitched on the chest. His close‑cropped hair was bleached blond, styled into sharp spikes that framed a face that might have been handsome if not for the cruel set of his mouth.
A silver stud pierced his left eyebrow, and both ears were lined with small rings that caught the fading light. He looked like the villain from one of those trashy adult comics that the boys in her class passed around when they thought no one was watching, the kind of character who smiled with his teeth and thought charm was the same as coercion.
His smile was friendly, almost fatherly, but his eyes were wrong. They were too sharp, too hungry.
"I am not going back to class," Mizore said, her voice flat. "I have already spoken with Nekonome‑sensei. She said my attendance is optional."
Okuto's smile did not waver. "Optional does not mean absent. You have missed months of instruction, Shirayuki‑san. The faculty is concerned. I am concerned."
He is lying.
The frost at her feet crept further. "I am fine."
"Are you?" He took a step closer, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I have seen you out here, alone, day after day. It breaks my heart, seeing a beautiful young woman isolate herself like this."
Mizore's jaw tightened. "I prefer being alone."
His voice dropped, becoming softer, more intimate. "You are lonely. I can see it in your eyes. You want someone to talk to. Someone who understands. If you would allow it, I would like to counsel you and help you return to school."
He took another step. The frost on the grass crackled beneath his shoes, but he did not seem to notice.
"I understand, Shirayuki‑san. I have seen many cases like yours, and I even helped some back when I first started this teaching job. I have been watching you. You need someone who appreciates you for who you are."
He has been watching me. A creep?
The thought sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
"I do not need your help. I have friends now. People who actually care about me." Her voice was stronger than she felt. "So please, leave me alone."
Okuto's smile flickered. "Friends? That vampire? He does not care about you. He is just adding you to his collection. I have seen his type before. He collects strays like trophies, and when he gets bored, he tosses them aside."
Mizore's heart clenched, but she did not waver. "You do not know him."
"I know men." Okuto's voice lost its warmth, turning cold and flat. "I know what they want. And I know that you are too naive to see that you are being used. I am trying to protect you."
"I do not need your protection."
"Everyone needs help, Shirayuki‑san. You just do not know how to ask for it." He reached out, his fingers brushing her shoulder. "Let me help you. Let me be your friend."
She flinched away, her back hitting the low stone wall at the edge of the cliff. "Do not touch me."
Mizore transformed, her skin taking on a pale blue hue, ice crystals forming in her hair, her eyes glowing with winter's fury. She raised her hands, and a wave of frost surged toward him.
He laughed. The ice shattered against his scales, doing nothing. "You think that little chill can stop me?"
She did not answer. She thrust her palms forward, and a volley of ice spikes shot from the ground, each one aimed at his eyes, his throat, the soft underbelly of his tentacles. The Kraken swatted them aside with casual contempt, his massive limbs moving faster than they should have.
"Pathetic."
Mizore retreated, her bare feet slipping on the frost she had created. She threw up a wall of ice between them, thick as a castle gate. Okuto's tentacles punched through it like paper, shards spraying across the clearing.
"Is that all?"
She tried freezing the air around his head, hoping to suffocate him, but the cold only seemed to invigorate him. His scales glistened with a thin layer of frost that he shook off with a single convulsive shudder.
"I have never tasted a Yuki-onna. However, your reaction is just like those other little sluts." He advanced, each step crushing the ice beneath his feet. "You are all the same."
"You think your cold makes you strong. But it is all the same to me… Cold is just the absence of heat. And I…" His tentacles spread wide, blocking the fading light. "I am hunger. I am pressure. I am the depths."
Mizore's breath came in ragged gasps. She formed an ice blade in her hand, razor‑sharp, and lunged. She was fast, faster than she looked, her Yuki‑onna agility allowing her to dart between his thrashing limbs. She slashed at one tentacle, drawing a line of black blood.
The Kraken roared, but the wound healed almost instantly.
"Annoying insect."
A tentacle caught her across the ribs, sending her flying into a boulder. She cried out, the ice blade shattering in her grip. The impact drove the air from her lungs, and for a moment, she could only lie there, gasping.
She tried again, sending shards of ice flying at his face. He swatted them aside like insects. She froze the ground beneath his feet, but he rooted himself with his tentacles, tearing through the ice as if it were paper.
She pulled herself up, her body screaming in protest. A ring of frost erupted around her, and from it rose a dozen copies of herself, each one an ice clone, each one moving independently. They charged the Kraken from all sides, a coordinated assault of frozen fury.
Okuto laughed. His tentacles whipped in every direction, shattering the clones one by one. Their remains dissolved into mist, offering no distraction, no opening.
"Clever. But useless."
The last clone lunged for his face. He caught it with a tentacle and crushed it, the ice fragments scattering like snow.
Mizore stood alone, her chest heaving. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead, freezing before it could fall. Her ice reserves were draining. She could feel the cold fading from her core, replaced by a bone‑deep exhaustion.
She tried one last gambit. She dropped to her knees and pressed her palms against the ground. A dome of ice rose around her, thick, opaque, reinforced with every ounce of her remaining power. Inside, she curled into a ball, her arms wrapped around her head.
'I just need to survive. I just need to hold out until…'
The dome shattered.
A tentacle lashed out, wrapping around her waist, lifting her off the ground. She gasped, the cold useless against his monstrous hide. The scales were rough, slimy, and they squeezed tighter with every breath. She clawed at it, her nails scraping uselessly against the rubbery flesh.
"Struggle," Okuto purred, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "I like it when they struggle. It makes the surrender so much sweeter."
Another tentacle wrapped around her arms, pinning them to her sides. A third coiled around her legs, spreading them apart. She could not move. She could not breathe. The cold was fading, replaced by a deep, primal terror she had not felt since childhood.
"Please," she whispered, the word torn from her throat. "Stop."
"Please?" He leaned closer, his face now a monstrosity of scales and teeth and hungry eyes. "That is not what I want to hear. I want to hear you scream my name. I want to hear you beg for more."
His free tentacles hovered near her face, their tips dripping with something dark and viscous. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut.
'I never told him how I felt. I never said thank you. I just sat there, cold and silent, expecting him to understand.'
'Stupid. Stupid.'
'If I die here, he will never know. He will never know that he was the first person to make me feel warm.'
'Tsukune.'
The name echoed in her mind, a prayer, a plea.
'H-Help me.'
From the shadows, five massive wolves erupted. Their silver‑and‑black fur bristled, their crimson eyes blazing, their jaws tearing into the tentacles holding her.
One wolf lunged at the tentacle wrapped around Mizore, shearing through it with its fangs. Another circled behind the Kraken, snapping at his heels, forcing him to turn. A third leaped for his face, distracting him while the fourth and fifth tore at the base of his tentacles, where the flesh was softer.
Their individual threat was C‑tier, but together, their synergy elevated them to B‑tier. They communicated without sound, anticipated each other's moves, and sacrificed themselves without hesitation. When one was swatted aside, another took its place. When a tentacle grabbed a wolf, two more would tear it apart.
The Kraken roared, thrashing, but the wolves held.
"What is this?" Okuto bellowed, his tentacles flailing. He crushed one wolf against a boulder; its body dissolved into shadow. Another latched onto his arm, teeth sinking deep. He shook it off, sending it crashing into a tree, but a third was already there.
The tentacle around Mizore loosened, and she dropped to the ground, gasping.
Then she saw them.
Bats swarmed from the forest, tiny crimson‑eyed creatures circling her, screeching defiance at the Kraken. Their leathery wings beat in unison, forming a living shield around her. They were no threat to him, but they were a promise of retribution.
"Tsukune!" she screamed, her voice raw, cracking with emotion she thought she had buried forever. The name tore from her throat, carrying all the hope and fear and desperate longing she had never allowed herself to feel.
The wolves fell, one by one, torn apart by the Kraken's tentacles. Their forms dissolved into shadow, but they had bought enough time.
A circle of crimson light erupted around the clearing. Five figures materialized, their robes dark as night, their hands crackling with energy. The Vampire Sorcerers.
The lead Sorcerer raised his staff, and a dome of crimson energy rose around the cliff, sealing the area. No sound escaped. No one could see in. The Kraken was trapped.
"You think this little cage can hold me?" Okuto roared, slamming his tentacles against the barrier. It rippled but held. The Sorcerers chanted in unison, their voices weaving a spell of containment. Sweat beaded on their brows, but they did not falter.
"Fear not, Yuki‑onna," the lead Sorcerer intoned, his hollow voice echoing in the crimson half‑light. "The Blood King approaches. Hold fast."
The other four Sorcerers lowered their hands, turning their attention to the ground. They drew blood‑red sigils in the air, each symbol burning with dark light. The sigils spun, merged, and sank into the earth, forming a pentagram.
"Teleportation circle complete," one of the twins announced. "The King comes."
The air split. Darkness poured from the rift, cold and absolute, swallowing the fading daylight.
And then the ghosts came.
Dozens of translucent figures materialized from the shadows, each one dressed in the finery of ancient vampire aristocrats. They lined the edges of the clearing, their hollow eyes fixed on the Kraken, their whispers a chorus of dread.
"The Blood King… the Blood King… the Blood King…"
They bowed as one, their forms flickering, creating a living corridor of honor.
Okuto's tentacles went rigid. His scales paled. "What… what is this?"
The rift widened.
Tsukune stepped through.
He was not wearing the Yokai Academy uniform. He was clad in armor that seemed carved from nightmares. A cloak as black as night with a lining as red as spilled blood swept behind him, its edges trailing shadows.
Beneath it, a mail shirt of black steel with golden trim gleamed – the Alucard Mail, its surface etched with protective runes that glowed faintly in the dark. On his head rested the Dragon Helm, forged in the likeness of Nidhogg, the corpse‑eating dragon of Norse legend. Its black scales seemed to absorb light, and its eyes burned with crimson fire. The Legend Boots left no prints on the frost, their enchantments humming with ancient speed.
He walked through the corridor of ghosts, each step deliberate, unhurried. The aristocrats bowed lower as he passed, their whispers swelling into a reverent chant.
"Blood King… Blood King… Blood King…"
Mizore's breath caught. The cold around her melted, replaced by something she had never felt before. Hope. Tears, warm and unfrozen, streamed down her cheeks. He had come. He had actually come.
The Kraken recoiled, his tentacles curling back, his voice shaking. "You… you are just a first‑year. This is not possible. That armor… how could a mere student possess such artifacts?"
Tsukune did not answer. He reached into his shadow and drew All‑Black. The Necrosword materialized, its blade dark as oblivion, its edge drinking the light. The weapon pulsed with malevolent hunger, and the shadows around it writhed as if alive.
He raised the blade as if he had become the inheritor of the Lich King, and the ghosts fell silent.
"You threatened someone under my protection."
His voice echoed, cold and final, amplified by the helm.
"There will be no mercy for you."
---
If you'd like to support me and read chapters in advance, feel free to check out my Patreon:
https://www.patreon.com/Morpheus146
(Work in progress) You can find an extended pic/gallery share of characters on discord: https://discord.gg/urTNDCufRx