The clearing was still burning.
I knelt in the scorched grass, hands braced against the ground, trying to breathe without setting the air on fire. My chest felt like a furnace. Every exhale produced visible heat shimmer.
"Ryan." Kasumi's voice. Careful. Controlled. "Can you speak?"
I nodded. Didn't trust my mouth yet.
The Ghost Stomach was still processing. I could feel it working inside me—not painful exactly, but present. Active. Like a second heartbeat, faster and hotter than my own.
Then the memories hit.
Not mine.
Fire spreading through a temple. Screams echoing off stone walls. A man in elaborate robes—white and gold, covered in intricate seals—standing at the center of the inferno, arms raised.
"Bind it," the man commands. His voice carries absolute authority. "Compress the essence. We need it contained, not destroyed."
More figures in similar robes surround the flames. Onmyoji. A dozen of them, hands moving through complex seal formations. The fire writhes, resisting, but slowly collapses inward.
"Grand Master," one of them says, "the spiritual pressure is exceeding—"
"I said bind it." The Grand Master's tone allows no argument. "This Fire Specter is critical to the mountain seal array. Without it, the Grudge Spirit will consume the entire province within a year."
The fire screams—a sound only spirits can make. Then it compresses into a sphere of white-hot essence, small enough to fit in a man's palm.
"Excellent." The Grand Master takes the sphere. Examines it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. "Transport it to the northern pass. Begin sealing preparations immediately."
"And the Grudge Spirit?" someone asks.
"Contains useful psychological warfare applications. We'll study it before purification." The Grand Master smiles. "The Shogunate needs every advantage against what's coming."
I gasped, and the vision shattered.
"Ryan!" Takeshi was beside me now, bow lowered but ready. "What's happening?"
"Memories," I managed. My voice came out rough, smoke-damaged. "From the Fire Specter. It wasn't wild. It was captured. Weaponized."
Master Yamada's expression shifted from suspicion to sharp interest. "The Fire Specter was sealed forty years ago by the previous Ghost Slayer division. You're saying you can access its memories through consumption?"
I nodded, still processing what I'd seen. "The Grudge Spirit too. They were both part of something bigger. A plan."
Another memory surge.
The Grand Master stands in a vast underground chamber. Walls covered in seals—hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all interconnected in a massive array.
"Phase Three is proceeding on schedule," he tells the assembled Onmyoji. "The northern territories are fully saturated. We've positioned seventeen High-Tier Specters and three Ancient-class entities in strategic locations."
"For what purpose?" A younger Onmyoji asks. He looks nervous.
"Control." The Grand Master gestures at the seals. "When the Shogunate collapses—and it will—we need infrastructure in place to manage the transition. Specters are predictable. They follow spiritual law. Humans..." He shakes his head. "Humans are chaos."
"You're engineering a crisis."
"I'm preparing for the inevitable." The Grand Master's voice hardens. "The old world is dying. What comes next needs guidance. Our guidance."
I surfaced again, head spinning.
"There's a conspiracy," I said. "The Ghost Slayers—or at least part of them—have been deliberately positioning Specters across the country. Building toward something."
Silence.
Kasumi's hand moved to her sword hilt. "That's impossible. The Ghost Slayers exist to eliminate Specters, not deploy them."
"Then why was the Grudge Spirit left sealed instead of purified?" I shot back. "Why keep a Fire Specter bound for forty years? Master Yamada, you said the sealing array was forty years old. Who created it?"
The old man's face went pale. "Grand Master Kurosawa. He was..." He stopped. "He was the most powerful Onmyoji of his generation. Disappeared twenty years ago under mysterious circumstances."
"Not disappeared." The memories were clearer now, easier to access. Like reading a book I'd already started. "He went underground. Literally. There's a facility—a massive one—somewhere in the mountains. That's where he's coordinating everything."
More fragments surfaced:
Specters being transported in sealed containers.
Maps showing spiritual ley lines converging on a central point.
The Grand Master addressing a group: "The False Night Parade begins in three years. Everything must be ready."
False Night Parade.
The Ghost Stomach stirred at those words, recognizing something primal and significant.
"What did you just say?" Master Yamada's voice was urgent now.
"False Night Parade." I looked up at him. "Mean something to you?"
"It's a myth. A prophecy." He was pacing now, agitated. "According to ancient texts, a False Night Parade occurs when someone artificially triggers a mass Specter manifestation—creating the appearance of the legendary Hundred Demons Night Parade, but controlled. Weaponized."
"Why would anyone want that?" Takeshi asked.
"Power." Kasumi's expression was grim. "A controlled Night Parade would give someone leverage over both the spiritual and political worlds. They could hold entire provinces hostage."
I felt the Ghost Stomach pulse with hunger. The implications were sinking in.
If the Grand Master was engineering a False Night Parade—positioning High-Tier and Ancient-class Specters across the country, preparing to unleash them in a coordinated assault—then I was sitting at ground zero of something catastrophic.
And I was probably the only thing that could stop it.
Because I could consume Specters. Absorb their power. Grow stronger with each kill.
I was a weapon designed for exactly this scenario.
"How long?" I asked. "The memory said three years, but that was from the Fire Specter's perspective. How old are these memories?"
Master Yamada calculated quickly. "If the Fire Specter was sealed forty years ago... the timeline would put the False Night Parade..."
"Soon," Kasumi finished. "Very soon."
The Ghost Stomach roared with anticipation.
I stood, testing my balance. The internal heat had stabilized. My energy reserves were still low, but manageable.
"We need to move," I said. "If Grand Master Kurosawa is orchestrating this, he knows about me by now. He knows what I can do."
"You think he'll come for you?" Takeshi asked.
"I think I'm either his greatest threat or his greatest opportunity." I looked at the smoking crater where the Grudge Spirit had been. "Either way, I can't stay in one place."
Kasumi studied me for a long moment. Then she sheathed her sword.
"The Ghost Slayers will need to know about this," she said. "But..." She paused. "But I'm not sure who we can trust. If Grand Master Kurosawa has been operating for forty years, he's had time to plant loyalists throughout the organization."
"Then we operate independently," Master Yamada said. "Small team. Verify everything ourselves."
"We?" I asked.
The old man smiled grimly. "You've just uncovered evidence of the greatest conspiracy in Shogunate history. And you're walking proof that consuming Specters can grant extraordinary power. Whether I like it or not, you're essential to understanding—and potentially stopping—whatever Grand Master Kurosawa is planning."
"So I'm not being executed?"
"Not today." Kasumi's tone was dry. "Ask again tomorrow."
Fair enough.
I took a careful breath. No fire this time. Just normal air.
The Ghost Stomach settled into a low, constant hunger. Waiting.
Because it understood what I was beginning to realize:
This wasn't about survival anymore.
This was war.