Daisuke and Akira spent the next few days meticulously exploring every corner of the village, their senses attuned to every sound and scent that permeated the air. Daisuke made it his duty to memorise every aspect of the village, knowing that their survival might depend on it.
"This looks like a good place to set one up." Daisuke stated, pointing at the ground.
"It does. The issue is, being able to lure him onto this spot. At least, doing it in a way that doesn't seem unnatural."
"That will come. We can think of that later. We don't have time to be picky about where we do this. He could come at any time. We need to be ready."
Each night, as the moon cast its ethereal glow over the village, Daisuke's thoughts were consumed by the looming threat of the unknown assailant who had targeted Akira. He couldn't shake the nagging doubt that this adversary might be even stronger than Raidon, the notorious warrior that had already defeated him. The thought fueled Daisuke's determination to push himself to new limits, knowing that the impending confrontation would be the ultimate test of his strength and skill.
Nine Days Before.
Prior to Daisuke's current predicament, a chilling command echoed through the dark halls of a domain.
"I need you to go to Shotokuji," the leader's voice cut through the silence like a blade through flesh.
"What's in Shotokuji?" Jigoku inquired, his tone conveying a hint of curiosity.
"There's a Samurai residing there," the leader replied coolly. "I've already sent Raidon and Fuka to deal with Tōsō and the others. They will be in need of some good rest."
"Am I going to capture or kill?" Anticipation dripped from Jigoku's lips like a broken tap.
"Kill," came the terse response.
"Good. I would've declined if it was only to capture," Jigoku remarked, already turning to leave.
But before he could make his exit, the leader's words cut through the air like a whip, halting Jigoku in his tracks.
"Don't turn your back on me... slave," the leader's voice was laced with venomous authority.
Jigoku's teeth clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled to contain his anger.
The leader continued, his tone chillingly calm. "Don't forget who made you relevant. You go wherever I tell you to go, and you do whatever I tell you to do."
"You're the one who made me love killing," Jigoku retorted, his voice a barely contained growl. "Sending me to capture someone is just teasing me."
"Don't get too ahead of yourself, Jigoku," the leader cautioned. "Without your Tokihanatsu, you're nothing but a weasel. Even with it, you're nothing compared to me. Don't forget that."
With that, Jigoku's body still tense with suppressed rage, he turned and left, his mother's haunting screams echoing in his mind.
Jigoku, originally named Chen, had been born into a life of servitude. As Chinese immigrants, his and his mother's existence was defined by the cruelty of their Japanese masters. Slaves to the whims of others, they endured unspeakable horrors, their spirits broken time and time again.
But it was the day Chen returned home to find his mother lying battered and broken outside the temple that changed everything. Bloodied and unconscious, she lay there, a silent testament to the depravity of their oppressors.
Rage burned hot within Chen's veins as he burst into the temple, confronting the men responsible for his mother's suffering. In a frenzy of violence, he exacted his revenge; gauging out the eyes of some, ripping apart the genitals of others. Each blow fueled by the searing agony of his loss.
As the bodies piled up around him, Chen felt a primal thrill coursing through his veins, a savage joy at the taste of blood on his lips. But before he could revel in his victory, he was struck from behind, darkness swallowing him whole.
When he awoke, he found himself face to face with his saviour—a figure cloaked in shadows, his presence as ominous as it was intoxicating. With a promise of power and a life untethered by the chains of servitude, Chen had embraced his newfound role as a harbinger of death, his soul consumed by the darkness that lurked within him.
The leader of his current organisation changed his name from Chen to Jigoku, turning him into a killer like no other. So much so, despite his mind being riddled with death, he was able to obtain the power of the Titanaboa Summon. Jigoku had become a force to be reckoned with—a living weapon in the hands of his master, his very existence a testament to the depths of human depravity.
The power of his Tokihanatsu Summon was so grave that Jigoku did not need a partner. In his first mission, he destroyed an entire village by making his Summon surround it, circling its way inside to the centre until everything in its way was crushed.
Jigoku retreated to the confines of his room, the weight of his past sitting heavy upon his shoulders. In the dim light, he reached for a faded drawing tucked away in a corner—a crude sketch he made of himself and his mother, captured in a moment of fleeting happiness. His fingers traced the lines of her face, a bittersweet reminder of the love and loss that had shaped his existence.
"No one abuses me now, mother," Jigoku murmured, his voice filled with both longing and pride. "I'll be able to bring you back one day. I promise. Once I'm able to learn the black magic this scumbag leader uses... I'll kill him and bring you back."
With resolve burning bright in his eyes, Jigoku gathered a few essential items and packed them into a bag, his mind already set on the path ahead. With a final glance at the drawing, he whispered a silent vow before setting off into the night, his footsteps echoing the steady beat of his heart as he made his way to Shotokuji.