Emi sat hunched in the dimly lit hallway, her back against the cold, cracked wall, blood pooled around her like a macabre halo. Two bodies lay sprawled in front of her, twisted and broken, wearing identical black nylon jackets.
She knew they were Poachers, the ones who had somehow managed to worm their way deep into the facility, closer than they ever should've been. She barely felt a flicker of surprise as she consumed them, the tang of their essence a familiar, addicting burn in her throat.
But the taste did nothing to quell the roiling storm in her mind. Her thoughts surged, violent and erratic, laced with anger, humiliation, and an odd, hollow satisfaction. Her fingers twitched, nails dragging across the floor as she stared past the bodies, her mind trailing over those moments with Naito and that brown-haired bitch, over and over again, like a wound she couldn't stop picking.
Naito. That smug bastard. She could still picture his face, a blend of hatred and carelessness that made her blood boil. And that girl—Rika, was it? She clenched her teeth as her anger flared. She'd mistaken the Bank-Robber for Naito earlier, a humiliating lapse that clawed at her pride, one that had haunted her since. She only learned of it once the Manager called.
She'd prided herself on her instincts, her ability to read people like open books, yet somehow, she hadn't sensed the difference. She replayed their similar builds, their movements, that almost uncanny likeness. Were they related? Did they share blood? She scoffed bitterly, dismissing the idea. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she would rectify that mistake.
A twisted smile curled across her lips as she imagined it—how she'd consume both of them, piece by piece if she had to. Naito, she decided, would get special treatment. She'd take her time with him, savor his pain, drag it out until he understood what it was to be truly helpless. Yes. She wanted him to feel it, to see the light leave his eyes as she consumed him alive, until he was nothing but a memory, absorbed and forgotten, erased from existence in the cruelest way she knew.
And that bitch? Her hand clenched tighter. The brown-haired bitch would get no mercy, either. She could still see Rika's smug, defiant gaze, the way she'd stood her ground. Emi spat, feeling the bile of disgust rise up. She'd drag her through the filth, let the Cannibals have their way, make her suffer for every moment of humiliation, every single instant of weakness Emi had felt in her presence. The thought of her being raped while being eaten at the same time made Emi excited. She'd have her vengeance, on all of them.
But as her mind circled around Naito and Rika, her thoughts drifted back to the Bank-Robber, and her expression softened, if only slightly. There was something about him—a pull she hadn't felt in a long time, an intrigue that went beyond her usual desire to consume and destroy. He was different.
His scent, his presence, something about him felt… captivating, like he held a piece of her that had been missing, or perhaps something she desperately wanted. She'd decided he deserved a different end. She'd give him peace, satisfaction, something gentle, almost kind. And only then would she consume him, devour his essence and make him a part of her forever.
Her mind lingered on the thought, her eyes glazed with something akin to yearning, tainted by obsession and fury.
The pink glow returned to her eyes as she pulled her dress up and her hands reached for her private parts for some simulation.
***
Subaru watched the arena with a calculated eye, heart steady in the heart of the storm around him. The sheer scale of the chaos was thrilling—though his mind remained a still, silent lake amidst the screams and clash of weapons. The success of this mission was already assured; no matter the outcome, the sheer presence of key figures in this underground facility was an undeniable achievement.
Once this was over, he would likely hear from the higher-ups, especially considering how many powerful Awakened were reveling in this mayhem. But the gains? Unparalleled.
Tanuki, Blackthorne, and even the infamous Wienerliebhaberin were all here. And there was also his "dear" protégé, Naito. Subaru could already picture the smug look on his face when he finally reached him. Subaru knew it wouldn't hurt to give him a hand, though he intended to teach him a hard lesson in humility once this was done.
As the Poachers surged into the facility, Subaru moved with them, his double-sided spear an extension of his own lethal instincts. He advanced through the horde like a deadly river, each precise twist and thrust of his spear punctuating the end of yet another Ghoul's life. He even dispatched a few Awakened criminals without a second thought. Bodies fell in his wake, and as he pulled his spear from a dying Ghoul's chest, Subaru's gaze shifted.
There, in the fray, was Isamu Shibusawa—the infamous Osaka Poacher, known for his deadly Epithet, 'Night's Bind'. Subaru's eyes narrowed. Isamu's opponent was a female Ghoul, swift and ferocious, her arms glowing with an Aura-formed blade that sliced cleanly through anything in her path. Tanuki. She was as formidable as rumor claimed, her attacks relentless, yet Isamu, with his calm precision, was more than holding his own. Subaru smirked. Isamu hardly seemed in need of assistance—though securing Tanuki would be a major win.
He turned back to the throng, clearing a few more threats without breaking stride when he suddenly felt the faint, rippling pressure from Isamu's side of the arena. 'Tanuki had used Soul Resonance?' Surprise flickered in his mind; he hadn't expected her strength to reach that level. She was truly formidable, perhaps even more so than he'd initially thought.
Moments later, a second shift in the air reached him. This time, it was heavier—darker. Isamu had answered her Resonance with his own.
A thrill shot through Subaru.
The black mist, and the swords. The scale of the entire thing. It fascinated him.
But, right now wasn't the ideal time.
With no second thoughts he walked away, confident in Night's Bind, and his ability to kill.
Just then, he spotted that figure.
***
Junpei strode down the hallway, fingers wrapped around the mask in his hand, the cool weight of it grounding him. This mask—crafted with care, painted with precision—was a near-perfect replica of the one he had once left behind.
It bore the face of a snake, fangs bared, each gleaming tooth extending over the cheek section while the upper part veiled his brow and eyes. Orochi—the name resonated with the spirit of his mask. It felt fitting, the serpent's face becoming his own as he slithered through the darkness of these halls.
Junpei's thoughts tumbled as he walked, pulling him in two directions at once. The children's safety clawed at his mind, urging caution, while something darker, more primal, gnawed at the edges, whispering of vengeance. His lips tightened, the taste of blood almost palpable in his mouth. Executioner of Tokyo... the title alone flared his anger, churning up memories he had buried deeply.
[Brat, are we really gonna become Orochi once again?]
The sinister voice slithered through his mind, low and taunting. For a moment, he let it echo. Then, without hesitation, he slipped the mask over his face. The world around him narrowed, his vision tinted with a feral clarity that his usual self would have found unsettling. In this mask, he was no longer just Junpei—he was Orochi.
The sinister voice echoed in his mind once again. Laughing.
He strode into the arena, the sounds of chaos now thunderous, echoing off the walls as Ghouls and Poachers clashed. A few Poachers noticed him immediately, mistaking him for just another Ghoul in the mask of a serpent.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
The Poachers spread out, surrounding Orochi, their weapons raised with tense determination.
One lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air toward Orochi's neck. But Orochi moved with an effortless grace, tilting his head just enough to feel the sharp rush of wind past his cheek as the blade missed him by a hair. He smirked under his mask, his eyes gleaming with deadly intent. In a smooth, predatory motion, he lashed out his Aura, forming a shadowy, violet tail that whipped forward like a viper, piercing the Poacher's chest with a sickening crunch.
Another Poacher seized the moment, charging in with an axe held high. Orochi turned, letting the man close in before sidestepping at the last second, his tail lashing out again to knock the weapon from the man's grip. The Poacher's surprise was brief—Orochi didn't let him recover.
With a flick of his wrist, the Aura tail snaked around the Poacher's waist, hoisting him up as he struggled, his cries muffled beneath his mask. Orochi's grip tightened until he heard the bones shatter, and with a final twist, he flung the Poacher's limp body aside, his attention shifting to the next threats.
One of the remaining Poachers, desperate, thrust his hands forward and conjured a column of fire that roared toward Orochi with searing heat. But Orochi merely narrowed his eyes, slipping just out of the flame's reach. The fire's heat barely singed his cloak, the edges smoldering as he moved in, leaving trails of embers in his wake.
With a flick of his Aura tail, he deflected the flames back toward the Poacher, forcing the man to step back in alarm. Orochi lunged, closing the distance instantly, and drove his knee into the Poacher's chest, sending him skidding across the ground, smoke rising from his charred clothes.
The last two Poachers advanced together, coordinating their attacks in a flurry of steel and fire. Orochi danced between them, slipping through their strikes with an eerie precision, each movement a perfect dodge by mere inches.
His Aura tail surged forward, darting between the two like a serpent and catching one Poacher by the throat, lifting him off his feet as he choked and sputtered. The other Poacher hesitated, his hands trembling as he stared at the deadly efficiency of the masked figure before him.
Orochi's eyes glinted, and with a savage twist of his Aura tail, he sent the strangling Poacher's body crashing into his comrade, knocking them both to the ground in a tangled heap. Before either could react, Orochi's foot came down hard on one of their throats, crushing it with a sickening snap. His Aura tail lashed out again, ending the final Poacher in one swift, lethal motion.
Silence settled over the blood-soaked ground, and Orochi stood among the fallen, his masked gaze scanning for the next target.
Just when he spotted him.