Tokyo, as night descends.
The last ember on the horizon was swallowed by the lead-gray clouds, but the entire City did not light up with its usual dazzling neon signs.
A dead silence deeper than the night, mixed with sea fog and lingering oppression, shrouded the City that was once crowded to the point of suffocation.
The streets were empty and deserted, with only scattered, abandoned garbage rolling in the wind, making a monotonous rustling sound.
Flickering figures occasionally seen behind windows quickly vanished into the darkness like startled mice.
This abnormal stillness and emptiness stemmed from a secret command center hidden deep underground.
In the dimly lit basement, a massive circular screen displayed real-time surveillance footage of all major roads and residential areas in Tokyo.
Without exception, they were vacant and desolate, like ruins after an apocalyptic evacuation.
Only occasionally passing windows with tightly drawn curtains hinted at the terrified souls crammed inside.
The faint blue light of the screen reflected off a solitary figure standing there.
He wore an ancient, dark-colored Kimono, and his face was covered by a pale white mask depicting a ferocious and sorrowful expression.
Only a pair of eyes showed through the mask's eyeholes; they were vertical pupils like a wild beast's, yet so calm they were almost nothingness, so deep they seemed like black holes swallowing all light.
He was the de facto ruler of the Japan, calling himself the Emperor, and ranked fifth on the Hunter list—Ghost Prison.
The screen continuously looped carefully edited, inflammatory news reports and internal announcements, accompanied by satellite images of the steel warships from various nations anchored near the Japan's coast.
The content relentlessly emphasized that the great powers were oppressing them, their massive armies pressing in, intending to destroy the Japan.
They are jealous of our Japan's rise in the New World and plot to crush our people into the abyss once again!
Only by gathering in Tokyo and relying on His Majesty the Emperor's supreme power can we preserve our lives and overcome this national crisis together.
Information blockade, fear-mongering, nationalistic emotional blackmail, and the blind craving for protection from the strong... Under such means, tens of millions of people were driven like sheep to this predetermined sacrificial ground.
Most of them were ordinary Reincarnators who had luckily survived one dungeon after another, possessing enough Points to exchange for basic survival supplies, believing that hiding in Tokyo's concrete jungle and hoarding food and water would see them through the storm.
Many of them were even genuinely moved to tears by His Majesty the Emperor's sense of responsibility, expressing near-fanatical loyalty online and in private.
But they did not know that they had long been marked as expendable resources, as sacrifices.
Ghost Prison quietly watched the screen, his gaze sweeping over the empty streets, as if he could penetrate the concrete and brick to see the ocean of trembling souls packed beneath, brimming with negative emotions.
Twisted obsession with historical defeat combined with current submission, a pathological dependence on absolute hierarchy and obedience, the self-destructive and destructive impulse deeply rooted in their cultural genes, a distorted fascination with brief, tragic, and violent death... and the collective unconscious fear of purification and mutual destruction passed down from the trauma of the atomic bombings.
Shame, craving for order, desire for destruction, Mono no aware, fear.
Such abundant, pure negative spiritual energy, within this City deliberately manufactured to induce despair and oppression, fermented, boiled, and reached its peak.
He slowly turned around.
Standing behind him were dozens of the Japan's remaining high-ranking government officials, heads of major financial conglomerates, yakuza bosses, and leaders of newly risen player Factions.
They were dressed impeccably, their faces displaying expressions of fawning, awe, or self-assured shrewdness.
They were preparing to offer another round of praise and fealty for His Majesty the Emperor's foresight.
However, as Ghost Prison's gaze swept over them, a clear emotion flashed for the first time in the depths of his nihilistic eyes: extreme disgust and icy killing intent.
In his eyes, these parasites, these opportunists, these impurities reeking of the decay of the old era, were unworthy of being part of his pure nation, unworthy even of being raw material.
Before anyone could speak.
"Buzz—!"
An intangible yet mountain-heavy pressure erupted from Ghost Prison's seemingly frail body like a ten-thousand-ton tsunami!
The air instantly solidified, light distorted, and all electronic equipment in the basement emitted piercing screeches, screens flickering and exploding!
This was not merely the oppression of power, but a domain field that acted directly on the soul level, driving people mad and into despair!
"Yo-Your Majesty?!"
"Ah—!"
The exclamations and screams were cut short abruptly.
Ghost Prison hadn't even made an obvious movement.
He simply stood there, the vertical pupils behind his mask suddenly lighting up with a ghostly purple glow, like will-o'-the-wisps.
The next moment, every standing body in the room convulsed violently, as if grasped by an invisible giant hand!
Their expressions froze instantly, eyeballs bulging, and it seemed as if countless worms were frantically wriggling and swelling beneath their skin!
"Pfft! Pfft, pfft, pfft—!"
A tragic blossoming of flesh!
Bones were twisted and stabbed out from within, internal organs mixed with black, foul blood burst through the skin, limbs twisted, grafted, and swelled in violation of physiology... yet not a single drop of blood splattered onto Ghost Prison's Kimono.
He watched coldly as these former elites were forcibly twisted and mutated by his power within two or three seconds into masses of writhing, pus-dripping flesh that barely maintained a humanoid silhouette.
These masses of flesh were still twitching slightly, emitting unintelligible gurgling sounds as if drowning, exuding a nauseating stench and deep-seated resentment.
Their souls had shattered the moment their flesh twisted, and the remaining consciousness merged with intense pain, fear, and unwillingness, transforming into the purest nutrients for madness, greedily absorbed by the ghostly purple field permeating Ghost Prison's body.
He tilted his head slightly, and a soft, satisfied sigh came from beneath the mask.
Then, his figure vanished from the spot like a specter.
The Tokyo Tower, once a symbol of the City, now stood as nothing more than a dark, twisted silhouette under the lightless night sky, piercing the cloud-covered heavens.
On the narrow platform outside the observation deck of the Tower, Ghost Prison's figure quietly materialized.
The night wind whistled, stirring the hem of his dark Kimono and the few strands of black hair near his temples not covered by the mask.
He slowly spread his arms, as if embracing the giant sleeping City beneath him.
Beneath the mask, his lips moved silently, and an incantation audible only to himself echoed deep within his soul.
Talent—[Purgatory of All Living Beings], full release!