BEEP! BEEP!
The screech of tires and blaring horns tore through the urban chaos of Tokyo. Drivers slammed on their brakes, narrowly avoiding a young boy he couldn't have been more than sixteen—standing completely still in the middle of a busy, multi-lane road.
The boy, with unkempt black hair and faint, jagged scars marring his face, scanned the surroundings with wide, terrifying eyes.
Four cars had already been involved in a chain collision because of the disturbance. The boy seemed completely oblivious to the destruction, his expression a mix of profound sadness and predatory stillness.
Three uniformed police officers cautiously approached him, trying to understand the situation.
"Hey, kid. What's your name?" one officer asked gently, reaching out to touch the boy's shoulder.
The boy glanced down at the hand resting on his uniform, then slowly lifted his gaze back to the officer's face.
As he opened his mouth to respond, something hunting deep within him answered instead. The color of his eyes violently shifted to a pure, bottomless black. He seized the officer's wrist with shocking, instantaneous strength.
The officer cried out, struggling to pull his hand free, but the boy's grip was iron-tight. The other two officers immediately moved to help, pulling hard, but the boy remained utterly immovable.
The youth widened his black eyes at the policemen and whispered, his voice a dry, echoing rasp that felt more like a demonic hiss: "I. Am. The Oni. And I have come to destroy you all."
With a sickening crack, he twisted the officer's wrist. The boy let out a single, piercing laugh—"Hahahaha!"—before vaulting straight up the side of the nearest skyscraper, vanishing from sight in a frightening blur.
----
Kyoto:
[Phone ringing.]
[Answered.]
"Hello?" a voice answered through the phone.
In a sleek, high-rise office in Tokyo, a tall man stood holding the receiver. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, polished shoes, and round, sophisticated glasses. His curly hair was neatly styled as he looked out over the city.
"Yes, who is this?" he asked, his tone crisp and professional.
"Is this Mr. Shinjo?"
"Yes. How may I help you?"
"Sir, I'm the investigator looking into the man who survived two high-rank dungeons alone."
"Kurozawa?" Shinjo's voice sharpened slightly.
"Yes, sir. I know his location now. He is in Kyoto, on Kamishichiken Street. I'm transmitting the exact house address to you now."
Shinjo's glasses subtly emitted a brief flash of white light as the data was received. A cold, dangerous smile curved his lips.
"Understood. Go ahead."
He ended the call. Shinjo walked to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and removed two identical short black pistols, customized with intricate golden snake designs coiled around the barrels. He smiled again, a look of grim anticipation hardening his features.
"I'm coming, brother," he whispered, the relationship or whatever it was ominous.
--------
In the deep, claustrophobic darkness of an ancient tomb, the boy possessed by the Oni walked with unnerving confidence, holding aloft a flickering sphere of captured flame to pierce the gloom. The air was heavy, stagnant, and cold, choked with thick cobwebs and piles of unsettlingly clean, old bones scattered everywhere.
He reached the center of the subterranean chamber. A flurry of agitated bats instantly scattered, fleeing from the sudden light, their absence revealing the numerous traps that riddled the floor.
The Oni host stepped squarely onto a pressure plate. A nearly silent mechanism released a sharply pointed metal pendulum, which swung violently toward him.
The metal spike pierced straight through his head, entering above one ear and exiting the other side. Blood immediately began to well up, yet the boy only let out a harsh, rasping laugh. Without a flinch, he pulled the impaling metal out and continued walking.
Seconds later, a massive stone slab dropped from the ceiling, slamming onto him with a thunderous thud. He simply pushed the stone off his frame, stood perfectly straight, and smiled.
He then sprinted, moving with such phenomenal speed that he became a mere shadow. He systematically destroyed all remaining traps as he moved, quickly reaching his intended destination.
The final hall was dominated by a large, cracked altar, soaked deep red with ancient, dried blood. Countless skeletons lay scattered across the floor, all sacrifices long forgotten.
"Your soul will be mine," the boy hissed, his voice echoing in the chamber. "It will not be for the Monarch."
The Oni stepped toward the altar. Engraved on its stone surface was a prophecy: "The Altar of the First Vessel: Only the blood of a living host and the sacrifice of human life may breach the Void Gate. To claim the power of the Fallen God, one must shed the skin of the Mortal King."
The possessed boy stretched his hand over the altar and drew a small knife. He sliced a thin line across his palm, and the deep, black blood instantly flowed onto the stone.
The altar began to shake violently. A swirling blue circular light immediately materialized on the distant wall. The boy raised his bleeding hand, and sudden bolts of white lightning began to illuminate the entire chamber. A fierce, unnatural wind tore through the hall from the nascent Portal.
Along with the wind, a storm of sharp objects, spears, swords, and fragments of ancient metal—flew out of the blue light and instantly pierced the boy's body all over.
He ignored the pain, continuing to summon the lightning and chant dark spells. A column of thick, black smoke poured from his mouth, circling his body. As the smoke enveloped him, he spoke the binding spell:
"Flesh to Vessel, Soul to Void—Naraku Hōkai! (Hell's Collapse!)" The smoke surged forward into the blue Portal, and instantly, the wind and the barrage of metal ceased. The boy opened his eyes and smiled, the dozens of impaling wounds already sealing and healing themselves completely.
"I'm coming for your soul, Lord of the Abyss. I will destroy whatever you wish for, including the Mortal King."
He stepped into the glowing blue circle, and the dimensional portal instantly snapped shut behind him.
---------
Renji was trying to rest on the couch when a series of jarring alerts ripped through his mind.
[WARNING!]
[WARNING!]
[WARNING: Intrusion Detected!]
He opened his eyes and yawned, the exhaustion from the day's violence and grief was immense. He looked incredibly tired, but the moment the System spoke, he was instantly alert, ready for the next crisis.
[Intruder: A hostile entity has successfully activated the Ancient Void Gate.]
Renji shot up, pacing the room. "Wait, what! The place where the soul is sealed?"
[Yes. The Soul of the Abyss Lord. The Void Gate, a relic left by the Abyss Lord to secure its essence after death—has been opened. Someone has managed to bypass the authorization protocols and is heading directly toward the Hall where the Lord's body lies.]
[You are the Guardian of this essence, Renji Kurozawa. You must protect that soul, for it belongs to you. You are the chosen inheritor of the Abyss Lord. If the soul falls into the wrong hands, the world will fall into unimaginable chaos. Your very Necromancer System is bound to this task; it is your destiny to protect it.]
"A Portal, a Hall, ancient and powerful... How could any ordinary being even manage to enter?" Renji paused, his mind working through the gravity of the situation. "Wait. If the person could enter that easily, they must be extremely powerful."
[Portal Authorizing...]
[Ready to transfer Host...]
[Portal Open.]
"Wait, what will happen if—"
Before he could finish the thought, his vision snapped to black. He felt an intense, crushing pressure on his head, followed by a sudden drop.
When his eyes reluctantly blinked open, he was lying on rough, scorching ground. He slowly stood up, holding his throbbing head.
He scanned the area: everywhere was fire and violent arcs of lightning. The landscape was littered with jagged rocks, countless skeletons, and the skeletal remains of dead warriors.
[Welcome, to The Soul-Scorched Catacombs.]