Day two in Matsuyama.
I woke to the Ghost Stomach screaming with hunger.
Not metaphorical. Actual pain radiating through my core. I stumbled to my feet, nearly collapsed, caught myself against the warehouse wall.
"Ryan?" Kasumi's voice, alert despite the early hour. "What's wrong?"
"[Rapid Regeneration]," I gasped. "It's... it's burning through everything. Even while I'm sleeping. Just maintaining the ability is draining me."
Master Yamada was there immediately, hands glowing with diagnostic seals. He pressed them against my chest, reading my spiritual signature.
"The regeneration ability is active continuously," he said. "Low-level, but constant. Your body is trying to heal damage that doesn't exist, creating a feedback loop that consumes energy indefinitely."
"Can you shut it off?"
"You need to learn conscious control. Activate it deliberately when needed, suppress it otherwise." He pulled back the seals. "But right now, your reserves are dangerously low. You need to feed. Soon."
The Ghost Stomach agreed violently.
I pushed [Psychic Defense] outward, scanning for nearby signatures. Found one immediately—weak, but close. Maybe two blocks away.
"There's something northeast," I said. "Minor threat. Low-Tier."
"Not worth the risk," Kasumi said. "If you're this depleted, you'll be vulnerable during consumption. We should—"
"I'll starve if I don't feed now." I stood, testing my balance. Weak but functional. "Cover me. Five minutes."
I left before she could argue.
The streets were quieter at dawn. Merchants preparing stalls, laborers heading to work, the city slowly waking. I moved through shadows, using [Shadow Stealth] despite the energy cost.
The signature was in a collapsed building. Old fire damage, structural failure. Nobody lived here anymore.
Perfect.
I approached carefully, enhancing perception with fused [Night Vision] and [Psychic Defense].
Found it in the basement. A Rot Specter—low-grade entity formed from accumulated decay and neglect. Barely sentient. Just a concentration of spiritual corruption feeding on structural degradation.
Easy prey.
I activated the Ghost Stomach and consumed it in seconds. The essence was thin, barely nutritious, but enough to take the edge off the hunger.
[LOW-TIER SPECTER CONSUMED]
[MINIMAL ESSENCE EXTRACTED]
[ENERGY RESERVES: CRITICALLY LOW → LOW]
Better. Not good, but survivable.
I was heading back when [Psychic Defense] flared. Hostile intent. Multiple sources. Surrounding my position.
Trap.
I spun, activating [Rapid Movement], but they were already there. Five figures in gang colors—Crimson Blade insignia. Armed with clubs, knives, one with a crude spear.
"The demon from yesterday," the spear-wielder said. His face was scarred, eyes cold. "Boss wants a word."
"Not interested." I started backing toward an exit.
They moved to block it. Professional coordination. These weren't random thugs—they were trained enforcers.
"Wasn't a request," the leader said. "You killed something valuable. Something we were using. Now you owe compensation."
"The Blood Hand Specter was killing your people."
"Our people to lose." He gestured with the spear. "It kept rival gangs scared. Kept authorities out of our territory. You destroyed a strategic asset. That has consequences."
Fair point, actually. From their perspective, I'd disrupted a delicate power balance.
Still not going with them.
"Last chance," I said. "Walk away."
"Can't do that." The leader shifted his grip on the spear. "Boss's orders are clear. Bring you in alive if possible. Dead if necessary. Your choice."
They attacked.
The spear-wielder thrust at my throat. I activated [Magma Body] reflexively, and the spear tip glowed red on contact. He pulled back with a curse.
Two others came at my flanks with clubs. Coordinated strike. I activated [Rapid Movement] to dodge—
Pain exploded through my side.
One of them had a concealed blade. Small knife, spiritually reinforced. It punched through [Magma Body]'s defenses and buried itself in my ribs.
I felt [Rapid Regeneration] activate immediately. The wound started healing even as I stumbled back. Flesh knitting around the blade, trying to seal the injury despite the foreign object embedded in it.
Wrong. All wrong. The regeneration was interfering with my ability to remove the knife.
The gang members saw my hesitation and pressed the advantage. Another blade from behind. This one caught my shoulder. Then my thigh.
Three wounds. All healing wrong. All trapping foreign objects inside my body.
"He's not that tough," someone said. "Just keep stabbing—"
I grabbed the knife in my side and pulled. Tore it free despite the regeneration trying to seal around it. Blood sprayed, then stopped as the wound closed in seconds.
But the energy cost was enormous.
The Ghost Stomach was howling. Demanding more fuel. Threatening to start consuming my own body if I didn't feed it immediately.
I activated the devouring force reflexively.
My jaw unhinged and spiritual suction exploded outward. Not targeted—just raw, desperate consumption. The Ghost Stomach trying to feed on anything available.
The gang members stumbled. One collapsed, clutching his chest. His spiritual energy—the natural aura every human possessed—was being drained.
"What the hell—" The leader backed away, fear replacing calculation. "Fall back! It's consuming us!"
They ran.
Smart.
I clamped down on the Ghost Stomach, forcing it to stop. The suction cut off abruptly, and I collapsed against a wall.
The gang member who'd fallen was still alive. Unconscious but breathing. I'd drained maybe twenty percent of his life force. Enough to hurt, not enough to kill.
New horror: the Ghost Stomach could feed on living humans when desperate enough.
I stumbled back to the warehouse, using [Shadow Stealth] to avoid attention. Made it inside and collapsed on the floor.
Kasumi found me there. "What happened?"
"Gang ambush. Multiple injuries. [Rapid Regeneration] healed them but..." I gestured weakly at my blood-soaked clothes. "The energy cost almost killed me."
Master Yamada was examining me with diagnostic seals again. "The regeneration ability is more powerful than we realized. It can heal almost anything—but the cost scales exponentially with injury severity. Minor cuts? Cheap. Stab wounds? Expensive. Anything worse..." He shook his head. "You'd burn out completely."
"And if I don't suppress it?"
"It will drain you passively. Constantly searching for damage to repair, creating minor healing events that accumulate into significant energy loss." He met my eyes. "You need to master conscious control. Soon. Or this ability will kill you through starvation."
Perfect.
I spent the next hour practicing suppression. Mentally commanding [Rapid Regeneration] to deactivate. It fought me—the ability wanted to run continuously, wanted to keep me in perfect condition.
But I forced it down. Compressed it. Made it wait until deliberately activated.
[ABILITY CONTROL DEVELOPED]
[RAPID REGENERATION: Now consciously activated rather than passive]
The constant drain stopped. The Ghost Stomach's hunger faded to manageable levels.
"Better," Master Yamada confirmed. "Your spiritual signature just stabilized significantly."
"How long was I bleeding energy?"
"Since you consumed the Blood Hand Specter. Approximately thirty hours." He frowned. "You lost nearly sixty percent of your total reserves to passive regeneration. If you'd gone another day without learning control, you'd have collapsed completely."
Sixty percent. Just from an ability running in the background.
No wonder the Ghost Stomach had been desperate.
"We have a different problem now," Kasumi said. She was looking out the window, expression tense. "The Crimson Blade gang knows where we are. Or they will soon. That ambush was deliberate—they tracked you from the Blood Hand Specter's death site."
"So we move again?"
"Or we deal with them directly." Her hand rested on her sword hilt. "Gang wars are useful cover, but only if we control the narrative. Right now, they think you're a threat to their power structure. We need to change that perception."
"How?"
"By making you an asset instead of an enemy." She smiled grimly. "The Crimson Blades have rivals. Other gangs competing for territory. If we help them eliminate competition..."
"They'll leave us alone," Takeshi finished. "Classic enemy-of-my-enemy strategy."
Kenta was nodding. "The Crimson Blades' main rival is the Iron Fang gang. They control the northern docks. There's been a cold war for months—neither side willing to escalate to open conflict."
"What if we gave them a reason to escalate?" Kasumi asked. "And ensured the Crimson Blades won decisively?"
I saw where she was going. "You want me to hunt Specters in Iron Fang territory. Make it look like they're losing control of their area."
"More than that. I want you to become the urban legend that destroys the Iron Fang gang's reputation." She pulled out a city map, marked territories. "Strategic strikes. High-visibility targets. Make it clear that Iron Fang can't protect their people from supernatural threats."
"While the Crimson Blades mysteriously remain safe," Master Yamada added. "Because you're secretly protecting their territory."
Devious. Effective. Morally questionable.
"And I get to feed while doing it," I said. The Ghost Stomach stirred with approval. "Specters in Iron Fang territory, consumed systematically."
"Exactly." Kasumi rolled up the map. "We turn your need to consume into a strategic advantage. By the time the Ghost Slayers locate us—and they will—we'll have the Crimson Blades as buffer and the Iron Fangs as scapegoat."
"When do we start?"
"Tonight. Once the city sleeps." She looked at me seriously. "But you need to be smart about this. Controlled consumption. No feeding frenzies. No losing yourself to the Ghost Stomach's hunger."
"I'm managing it."
"For now. But each new ability makes it harder." She didn't look away. "Remember—I'm watching. Always."
Noted.
I spent the rest of the day practicing [Rapid Regeneration] control. Learning to activate it precisely, heal specific injuries, then suppress it immediately.
By evening, I could consciously trigger healing without losing control. Good enough.
As night fell over Matsuyama, I prepared for my first deliberate hunt.
The Ghost Stomach pulsed with dark anticipation.
Time to feed.