I made it back to the checkpoint just before dawn, exhausted and ravenous.
The Ghost Stomach had burned through enormous amounts of energy during the raid—maintaining multiple fused abilities, consuming two High-Tier Specters, and upgrading [Shadow Stealth] into [Shadow Dominance] had pushed my metabolic limits to their breaking point.
Captain Oda took one look at me stumbling through the gate and immediately ordered food brought to my quarters. I ate mechanically, barely tasting anything, just feeding the void in my gut until the cramping finally eased.
"Successful?" the Captain asked, watching me consume my third bowl of rice.
"Lord Takeda's compound is destroyed. His Specter arsenal released or consumed. His elite guard humiliated." I set down the empty bowl. "He got the message."
"And created a much larger problem in the process." Captain Oda's expression was grim. "A foreign scholar attacking a Daimyo lord's compound? Releasing controlled Specters? Consuming them in front of witnesses?" He shook his head. "The Shogunate can't ignore that. Won't ignore it."
"Let them come."
"They will. But not with soldiers or assassins." He pulled out a scroll, unrolling it on the table. "They'll send the Ghost Slayers."
I looked at the scroll. It showed an organizational chart—a specialized force operating directly under Shogunate authority. Elite warriors trained specifically to hunt supernatural threats. Their symbol was a stylized blade piercing a demonic mask.
"Professional Specter hunters," Captain Oda continued. "The best in the realm. They operate in coordinated teams, use blessed weapons and binding seals, and they never stop once a target is designated." His finger traced over several names at the bottom of the chart. "And according to my sources, a three-man team was already dispatched toward this region two days ago. Before your raid on Lord Takeda's compound."
"They were coming for me anyway?"
"Probably investigating the reports about you consuming Specters. Your raid just... accelerated their timeline." He rolled up the scroll. "They'll be here within a day, maybe two. And unlike Lord Takeda's assassins, they won't underestimate you. They'll have studied every report, analyzed your abilities, prepared specific counters."
The Ghost Stomach stirred, not with fear but with anticipation. More powerful prey. More abilities to potentially consume. The system was already categorizing the Ghost Slayers as threats worth hunting.
I was starting to think like it completely. Seeing everything through the lens of predator and prey, threat and opportunity.
"What do you know about their tactics?" I asked.
"They work in triangular formations—one primary attacker, one support specialist, one sealer who sets up binding arrays." Captain Oda pulled out another document, this one showing tactical diagrams. "The primary engages and assesses the target's abilities. The support counters or neutralizes those abilities. And the sealer traps the target for final elimination."
"Coordinated. Professional. Practiced."
"Exactly. They've killed hundreds of Specters using these methods. High-Tier threats that would wipe out entire military units." He met my eyes. "You're powerful, Ryan. But you're also alone, self-taught, and fighting on instinct. Against a coordinated team that's trained for years specifically to counter supernatural abilities..."
He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
"So what do you suggest?" I asked. "Run? Hide?"
"I suggest you prepare. Use the time you have to practice combining your abilities, to plan counters to their likely tactics. And—" he hesitated, "—consider that you might need help. Allies. A team of your own."
"I work alone."
"And that's going to get you killed." His voice hardened. "You can consume Specters and gain their power. Impressive. But the Ghost Slayers have been hunting creatures like you for generations. They know how to neutralize overwhelming individual power through superior coordination and tactics."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that my abilities were enough, that I could handle any threat through sheer power and adaptability. But Captain Oda was right. I'd been lucky so far—fighting isolated opponents, using surprise and superior abilities to overcome threats before they could adapt.
Against a coordinated team of professionals? That advantage disappeared.
"What kind of help?" I asked reluctantly.
"I can spare two of my best soldiers. Not fighters—you don't need more bodies in direct combat. But scouts. People who can watch your flanks, provide intelligence, create diversions if needed." He pulled out a small bell. "And I have something else. A communication charm. Crush it, and I'll know you need immediate backup. Every soldier in this checkpoint will respond."
I looked at the bell—simple bronze, inscribed with protective seals. A lifeline. An admission that I wasn't invincible, that I might need rescue.
The Ghost Stomach rejected the idea immediately. Predators didn't need rescue. Didn't need help. They dominated through superior power alone.
But I wasn't just the Ghost Stomach's vessel. Not yet. Some part of me still remembered being human, still understood that pride could be just as deadly as weakness.
"I'll take the scouts," I said. "And the bell. But I fight alone. When the Ghost Slayers come, I'm the one who engages them directly."
Captain Oda nodded. "Understood. I'll brief the scouts. You should rest—actually rest, not just eat and practice. You look half-dead."
He wasn't wrong. Despite the food, I felt hollowed out, exhausted in a way that went beyond physical tiredness. The constant consumption, the ability usage, the transformation happening inside me—all of it was taking a toll I couldn't quite measure.
But rest would have to wait.
The Ghost Slayers were coming. And I needed to be ready.
They arrived thirty-six hours later, just after sunset.
I was in the forest north of the checkpoint, practicing ability combinations with my two scouts—Kenji and Hiro, both experienced soldiers in their late twenties who'd accepted their assignment with professional calm despite knowing exactly what I was.
"Movement," Kenji whispered from his position in the trees. "Three figures. Coming from the northeast. Professional formation."
I activated [Night Vision], peering through the darkness. Three silhouettes moving through the forest with practiced efficiency. Not trying to hide—they knew they'd been detected and didn't care. Confidence born from superior skill and preparation.
The Ghost Slayers.
"Fall back," I told the scouts. "Get to the checkpoint. Tell Captain Oda they're here."
"But—"
"Go."
They went, melting into the forest. Smart men. They understood when they were outclassed.
I stood alone in the clearing, waiting. The three figures approached steadily, and as they entered range of my enhanced vision, I got my first clear look at them.
The leader was a woman in her thirties—tall, lean, carrying a long sword with a blade that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Her eyes scanned the clearing with professional assessment, cataloging threats and weaknesses.
To her left, a man with a bow and quiver of arrows that glowed with faint spiritual energy. His stance was relaxed but ready, fingers already positioned to draw and loose in a fraction of a second.
And to her right, an older man in robes covered with inscribed seals. No visible weapons, but his hands moved in constant small gestures, as if preparing binding circles in advance.
Attacker, support, sealer. Exactly as Captain Oda had described.
They stopped at the clearing's edge, twenty meters away. The woman stepped forward slightly.
"Foreign scholar. The one called Ryan." Her voice was calm, professional. "I am Kasumi of the Ghost Slayers. My companions are Takeshi—" she indicated the archer, "—and Master Yamada." The sealer. "We've been authorized by the Shogunate to investigate reports of an anomaly—a human who consumes Specters and gains their abilities."
"Investigate," I repeated. "That's an interesting word for 'execute.'"
"Our mandate is assessment first," Kasumi said. "If the threat can be contained through cooperation, we prefer that approach. But—" her hand moved to her sword hilt, "—we're prepared for other outcomes."
The Ghost Stomach pulsed with hunger. Three powerful humans, probably carrying enchanted equipment, definitely trained to counter supernatural abilities. High-value prey if I could take them. Deadly threats if I couldn't.
"What kind of cooperation?" I asked, stalling. Assessing. Looking for weaknesses in their formation.
"Surrender yourself to Shogunate custody. Submit to examination by our scholars and mystics. Help us understand the nature of your... condition. In return, you'll be treated fairly, given protections, possibly even offered official position within our organization."
"Become your lab rat. Then maybe your weapon."
"Become a recognized force for stability rather than chaos," Kasumi corrected. "You have power. We're offering you a way to use it constructively instead of—" she gestured vaguely at the forest, "—burning down Daimyo compounds and releasing captured Specters."
"Lord Takeda tried to kill me. I responded appropriately."
"By creating a massacre that killed thirty-seven people. Seventeen of them non-combatants—servants, clerks, cooks." Her eyes hardened. "The Specters you released didn't discriminate between soldiers and civilians. They killed everyone they could reach."
The words hit harder than they should have. I'd known there would be collateral damage, had accepted it as necessary. But hearing the specific number—hearing that I'd caused the deaths of people who'd had nothing to do with the conflict...
The Ghost Stomach dismissed the guilt immediately. Prey was prey. Collateral was inevitable. Survival required ruthlessness.
But I wasn't just the Ghost Stomach. Not yet.
"I didn't know," I said quietly.
"You didn't care," Kasumi replied. "That's the problem. That's what happens when someone gains power without the training or discipline to use it responsibly. You're becoming exactly what you hunt—a monster that kills indiscriminately to satisfy its hunger."
"And you're experts at responsible power?" I shot back. "The Ghost Slayers who hunt and kill anything they deem a threat? Who operate outside normal law with Shogunate authority to execute anyone they judge too dangerous to live?"
"Yes," she said simply. "Because we're trained. Tested. Bound by codes and oversight. You're none of those things. You're an anomaly with exponentially growing power and no constraints except your own judgment. That's terrifying to everyone who understands what it means."
Master Yamada's hands moved faster. I could see spiritual energy gathering around him, forming the beginnings of a binding array. The archer—Takeshi—had an arrow nocked now, the glowing tip tracking my center mass.
They were preparing. Getting ready to move from negotiation to elimination.
"Last chance," Kasumi said. "Come willingly. Help us understand what you are. Or we classify you as a hostile Specter-class threat and respond accordingly."
The Ghost Stomach's hunger sharpened to a razor edge. Three prey items, powerful and trained, preparing to attack. The system was screaming at me to strike first, to use my superior speed and abilities to eliminate them before their coordination could be brought to bear.
But I hesitated. Because they weren't wrong. I was becoming more monstrous with each consumption. Was losing pieces of my humanity with each battle. And if I killed these three—professional hunters just doing their jobs—where would the line be? When would I stop being someone who killed to survive and become someone who killed because it was easier than any alternative?
"I need time," I said. "To think about this. To—"
"No." Kasumi's sword cleared its sheath in a blur of motion. "Time is what we can't give you. Every day you remain free, you grow stronger. Consume more. Become more dangerous." She settled into an aggressive stance. "So we end this tonight. One way or another."
Master Yamada's hands slammed together. The binding array exploded into visibility—a massive circle of glowing seals surrounding the entire clearing. I felt spiritual pressure crash down on me from all directions, trying to lock my abilities, prevent my movement.
Takeshi loosed his arrow. The projectile moved impossibly fast, trailing spiritual energy, aimed directly at my heart.
And Kasumi charged, her sword cutting through the air in a strike designed to bisect me at the waist.
Coordinated. Professional. Perfectly executed.
The Ghost Slayers had begun their hunt.
And I was the prey.