Ghouls.
The term originates from Arabic mythology, historically used to describe grotesque monsters that devoured corpses. Myths and legends are destined to weather and fade with the inexorable passage of time, yet for some inexplicable reason, the name "ghoul" has endured, bleeding its way into modern society.
Its meaning, however, has evolved into something far more insidious than a mere corpse-eater. Monsters that hide among humanity, wearing human faces, unable to survive without hunting down and consuming their fellow man.
In the modern era, these creatures are known as Ghouls.
Darkness was the first to register.
Then came the noise. The faint scuttling of a solitary rat navigating the sewers echoed lowly against the unforgiving concrete walls.
Next was the stench. Bereft of fresh air, the subterranean tunnels were choked with the heavy, suffocating reek of black mold and decay. It was a dark, dreary, and foul-smelling purgatory—a place ordinary humans would instinctively avoid. Yet, by that very same token, there were those who were driven to seek refuge in such squalor precisely because they were anything but ordinary.
Step. Step.
A lone silhouette waded deeper into the labyrinth of the sewers. Clad in a frayed black overcoat and a hood pulled low over his face, he looked every bit the part of a vagrant. But no ordinary drifter would dare venture this deep underground. Beneath the shadow of his hood, narrow, slit-like eyes darted back and forth, brimming with razor-sharp vigilance.
Step.
The man abruptly stopped.
…A primal instinct warned him. He could feel it. Someone was standing right behind him.
"...!!"
Swish—!
He whirled around violently, his overcoat snapping in the damp air. From beneath the tattered fabric, a fleshy, crimson mass began to slither forth, accompanied by the sudden, hellish ignition of a blazing red kakugan in his widened eyes. But just before he could unleash his kagune, the man recognized the figure standing in the shadows. He froze.
"Kuzen. It was you."
The intruder was an old acquaintance. He was a man dressed in a crisp, stiff suit and a high-quality fedora pulled low—an outfit utterly disjointed from the filth of their surroundings. The man in the fedora had approached without a single sound or shift in the air, but the slit-eyed man accepted this phantom-like stealth with familiar ease.
"Is that the child?"
The slit-eyed man's gaze fell upon the bundle cradled securely in his old friend's arms. Wrapped in soft fabric, a delicate, hopeful breathing emanated from within—a sound like a fragile new sprout taking root in this barren, rotting wasteland.
"Can I entrust her to you?" Kuzen asked quietly.
"Understood. I will do everything in my power to raise her."
"Forgive me. Burdening you with something like this…"
"Don't be. Compared to the debt I owe you, this is nothing…."
As he spoke, the slit-eyed man reached out both arms to receive the swaddled infant.
That was when it happened.
Squelch—!!!
"...!!!"
Blood erupted without warning. A jagged, grotesque mass violently pierced straight through the slit-eyed man's chest from behind. In the same fractured second, Kuzen moved with blurring speed, swatting away a secondary tendril that lashed out to impale the infant.
"H-How…?"
The slit-eyed man stared down at the gaping, bloody chasm where his chest used to be, before slowly following Kuzen's gaze over his own shoulder.
It was a place meant only for the two of them. No one was supposed to know. No one was supposed to be here. Yet, from the far end of the cavernous tunnel, a multitude of presences seeped into the darkness. A swarm of something cold, utterly profane, and dripping with insidious intent was closing in.
"Found you at last, Kuzen."
Smack. Smack.
From the epicenter of the sprawling black shadows, a figure stepped forward, making an obnoxious, wet sound as he chewed his gum. He wore a fedora identical to the one Kuzen wore, but the glowing crimson gaze peering from beneath the brim held absolutely no trace of camaraderie.
"Kuzen!! Run!!"
Despite the fatal hole through his chest, the slit-eyed man forcefully cobbled together the last embers of his willpower, throwing his bleeding body forward to barricade the tunnel against the encroaching shadows.
"Noroi! No!"
"Go, now! You cannot fight them like this! Think of what you hold in your arms!"
Kuzen stepped forward to intervene, but the dying man's words nailed his feet to the concrete. He looked down. Cradled securely against his chest, utterly oblivious to the suffocating malice pouring toward them, the baby slept soundly, trusting in the safety of her father's embrace.
His old friend was right. He couldn't fight them. Not while holding her.
"…Forgive me."
"Do not mourn. Neither of us was ever destined to die a peaceful death, were we?"
Offering one final, bloodstained smile to his dearest comrade, the man named Noroi lunged headlong into the tide of shadows.
BOOOOOOM—!!!!
Leaving the concussive roar of unleashed kagune and suffocating bloodlust behind him, Kuzen turned and sprinted desperately through the labyrinth. Noroi had been a friend he could trust with his life, yet even their utmost secret rendezvous had been compromised by the enemy.
If that was the case, there was only one option left.
"…It is only you now."
Breaking free from the suffocating darkness of the sewers, Kuzen launched himself into the sprawling, glittering nightscape of the city.
He soared through the ink-black sky. Like an owl on the hunt.