The Manager stood there, his eyes fixed on the flickering screens arrayed before him. The dim glow illuminated his masked face, casting shadows that danced in sync with the chaotic scenes unfolding across the monitors.
One screen showed Blackthrone's body sprawled out, lifeless on the ground. His once-sharp eyes had gone glassy, his mouth slightly open in a frozen gasp. The Manager let out a soft chuckle, tapping his gloved fingers against his coffee cup, savoring the faint, bitter taste that lingered on his tongue. "Seems like the coffee finally worked," he muttered to himself, satisfaction lacing each word. It was a carefully orchestrated trap, and Blackthrone had walked right into it, unaware.
Shifting his gaze, the Manager's attention landed on another screen, where Naito closed in on Orochi's kids. The Manager's smirk widened, just barely visible behind the dark mask. His eyes gleamed with a predatory delight as he watched Naito's form tense, ready to lunge.
Then his focus drifted to the main hall, catching sight of an empty corridor. "Ah, so she slipped away," he murmured as he spotted a faint glimpse of movement. Tanuki had escaped, a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme, but amusing nonetheless.
Finally, his gaze settled on the screen showing Orochi and the Executioner, circling each other with deadly intent. This was the moment it had all been building toward—the final, climactic clash. Rising from his seat, he adjusted his mask, the shadows on his face shifting with the movement.
"Time to go, I think," he murmured, a calm certainty in his voice as he left the room, his figure vanishing into the darkness.
***
Tanuki lay sprawled on the cold marble floor, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she stared up at the dim ceiling. She had barely managed to escape, slipping through corridors, evading the bloodbath just enough to avoid the Poacher's lethal grasps.
But now, in this desolate hallway, her strength had failed her.
Every inch of her body throbbed with a deep, unforgiving ache, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't summon her Aura to heal the wounds carving pain through her body.
This weakness it felt unnatural, like something which had been planted into her system.
Even when she fought, the spark that once ignited her Soul Resonance had felt like nothing but a faint flicker, distant and unreachable.
'Why…?'
The weakness gnawed at her, foreign and frightening. She had been powerful, fierce, relentless—but now, all of that had drained away, leaving her vulnerable and stripped of every defense. Her fingers twitched as if to summon her Aura once more, but it was futile. She felt as though she were dissolving, her life slipping through her fingers like sand.
A bitter smile ghosted across her lips. Perhaps this was fitting, lying here in silence, waiting for the darkness to claim her. In the stillness, memories began to rise, unbidden and painful. Fragments of a life she had long buried started replaying before her like a cruel theater—moments she had tried so hard to forget.
She remembered a time when laughter wasn't foreign, when she'd played in fields of tall grass as a young girl, her hair whipping in the wind. She'd once had a family—a mother with a gentle smile, a father with a booming laugh. But that world had shattered long ago, lost to violence and bloodshed. She'd learned to be ruthless, to survive in a world that had stolen everything from her.
Now, here she was, lying alone on the cold, unforgiving floor, the echoes of those long-lost memories swirling around her like ghosts. Her body felt heavy, her mind slipping further from the present. She couldn't stop it, the slide into darkness.
This was the end, and for the first time in so long, she wasn't fighting. Instead, she simply waited, watching the fragments of her life fade away, one by one.
***
The rain poured down in thick sheets as little Tanuki stood in front of the orphanage, drenched to the bone. Her clothes clung to her shivering frame, her dark hair plastered against her face. Her big, brown eyes stared at the sign hanging from the gate—a brightly colored banner that read, 'Rainbow Dreams Orphanage'. The letters were painted in rainbow colors, cheerful and inviting. But to her, they seemed almost mocking, a too-bright promise in a world that had already robbed her of everything.
Her parents were gone, snatched away by the hands of Poachers in one merciless night that blurred before her memory like a fevered nightmare. All she could remember clearly was the screaming, the confusion, and then… silence. An empty, aching silence that followed her even here, where strangers with tight smiles and overly warm voices tried to coax her out of it.
The Orphanage was owned by a Ghoul-First Group. They had found her crying in some back-alley and brought her.
A woman from the orphanage stepped out, holding an umbrella over Tanuki's head. "You're safe now, little one," she said softly, crouching down with a strained kindness in her eyes. "This is your new home. We'll take good care of you."
The words washed over Tanuki like the rain, hollow and meaningless. She just stared, clutching the last memory of her family—a worn ribbon from her mother's hair—tight in her hand. This wasn't home, and these weren't her family. She could feel it, even at eight, that strange sensation of being owned, trapped in a place that seemed warm and cozy yet felt profoundly wrong.
The years slipped by like sand, and Tanuki quickly learned the harsh reality of survival. Shei sensed it from the start, in the cold eyes behind those warm voices, the strange, vacant look in some of the older children's eyes. She could feel it in the way certain rooms were always locked, in the unnatural quiet that seemed to cling to the walls at night.
One night, as Tanuki slipped out of bed to quietly tiptoe her way toward the water filter, she noticed light leaking from the warden's office door. She moved closer, keeping her breaths shallow. From the shadows, she heard voices low and cold.
"Tosuke didn't make it?" the warden asked, her tone devoid of surprise.
"He died just after we injected him," the other voice replied, equally unfazed.
"And the body? Did you send it to the kitchen?" the warden pressed.
"Yes, ma'am. We did."
Tanuki's blood turned to ice, and a sickening realization crept over her as she tried to hold back a gasp. She backed away slowly, a trembling hand pressed to her mouth. The pieces began to fall into place, and she stumbled back to her bed, desperately pushing down the urge to scream.
In the quiet of the dorm room that night, she clutched her pillow tight, her heart racing. Her world had shattered once more.
Even after that, the nightmare didn't stop.
By the time she was thirteen, Tanuki knew the truth. She had overheard whispers, seen glimpses she was never meant to see. The children… they were being experimented on. It was something twisted, hidden beneath the orphanage's facade of kindness. It started subtly—check-ups that went on too long, questions that grew stranger over time. But soon it escalated, and one night, she'd caught sight of one of her friends being wheeled out of the medical room, unconscious, with small, strange scars lining his arms.
She had spent her nights trembling, wondering if she'd be next. But Tanuki learned to mask her fear, swallowing it down like bitter medicine, her expression turning blank, even calm. It was the only way to survive here. They were watching, and the slightest hint of rebellion would mean an end worse than anything she could imagine.
Then, one winter evening, the orphanage took in another child—Emi. She was younger, with black hair and a cute chubby face. Tanuki watched her from a distance at first, admiring her audacity, her refusal to fall in line. One day, after a particularly harsh scolding by one of the caretakers, Emi had stormed outside to the yard, her face flushed with anger.
Tanuki had found her sitting on the edge of a sandbox, kicking at the dirt. She approached slowly, her own heart hesitant, her voice low. "Hey… what are you doing out here?"
Emi looked up, her face streaked with tears she refused to let fall. "They're all jerks in there," she muttered, her voice shaking. "They're mean, and they don't care about us at all."
Tanuki felt a pang of recognition, a kinship she hadn't felt in years. "I know," she said quietly, sitting down beside Emi. "But we have to stay strong. If we don't… they win."
They sat there in silence for a long time, their unspoken pain weaving a bond that words couldn't touch. From that day on, Tanuki and Emi became inseparable, their connection more like sisters than friends. They shared everything—their small rebellions, their whispered dreams, their fears. Emi had a fire inside her that Tanuki admired, a defiance that refused to be broken, even when they both knew it was dangerous.
Years passed, and as they grew older, the truth about the orphanage became harder to ignore. Rumors spread among the children of older kids "disappearing" after certain tests, of mysterious scars that never healed right, of memories that seemed to vanish overnight. Tanuki and Emi held each other tighter, whispering promises in the dark that they would survive this place, that they'd find a way out one day.
But then, that day came sooner than they had anticipated. Tanuki was seventeen when she made the decision. She knew if she didn't escape now, she'd lose her chance forever. She couldn't stay—not when she knew what they were doing, not when she felt the walls closing in tighter every day. But escaping meant leaving behind everyone, even Emi. It was a betrayal that sliced deeper than any wound, but Tanuki convinced herself it was the only way. She had to survive, even if it meant abandoning the one person who had ever truly understood her.
The night of her escape, she crept into Emi's dorm room one last time, kneeling beside her bed. Emi stirred, half-awake, her eyes heavy with sleep as she looked up at Tanuki.
"Where… where are you going?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
Tanuki forced a smile, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm… going to get us out of here, Emi. I'll come back for you. I promise."
Emi's eyes widened, filling with a spark of hope that made Tanuki's heart ache. "Promise?" she asked, her voice small.
Tanuki nodded, pressing her fingers to her lips in a silent vow. "I swear. Just stay strong, okay? Like we always have."
And then she was gone, slipping out into the cold night, leaving behind the only family she had left. She ran through the empty hallways, her steps light but swift, her heart pounding with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. She didn't stop, didn't look back, even as the weight of her decision crushed her with every step.
But as she disappeared into the darkness, the promise she made to Emi echoed in her mind, a vow that would haunt her for years. She would survive, she would fight, and one day, she would come back for the little girl she'd left behind in the shadows of Rainbow Dreams.
But she didn't need to. That little girl. She was the end of that nightmare.