Itsuro's body burned.
The pain was unlike anything he had ever known—hotter than the deepest flames, colder than the heart of winter. His veins pulsed, stretched too thin, as if something alive slithered through them. His heartbeat became erratic, hammering against his ribs, then slowing, then stopping entirely—only to surge again, stronger, wilder.
He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came.
The world around him was gone.
He was falling.
Through darkness.
Through something else.
Then came the whispers.
"Give in."
"You were never meant to follow."
"You were always meant to break."
Visions of the Past
A flicker of light.
Then—home.
The monastery stood before him, just as it had in his youth. The great wooden gates, the stone steps leading to the inner sanctum, the towering statues of the enlightened masters. The air smelled of incense, aged parchment, and the cold iron of the training weapons.
But something was wrong.
The doors were cracked open, swinging in the wind. The torches burned blue. The statues—once serene—now grinned with twisted expressions.
And at the center of the courtyard stood Jubei.
The High Monk's enforcer. The man who had cut him down.
But Jubei's face was different this time. Dark veins pulsed beneath his skin, his robes tattered, his fingers claw-like. His voice was a chorus of whispers.
"You were weak, Itsuro."
"You are weak still."
Itsuro gritted his teeth. "No."
Jubei's laughter echoed.
"And yet, here you are. Poisoned. Dying. Reaching for power you swore to destroy."
The whispers grew louder, swelling in his skull.
Give in. Give in. GIVE IN.
He dropped to his knees.
The pain in his chest became unbearable.
He felt it rising within him. A hunger. A fire.
And then—
A voice.
"Rise."
The Awakening
Itsuro gasped, his body jerking upright.
The first thing he noticed was the cold.
Not the soft chill of snowfall, but something deeper—like ice running through his blood. His body felt wrong, his senses sharper than before. The crackling fire sounded like a roaring inferno in his ears, the distant wind like howling beasts.
And his eyes—
He could see the darkness.
It wasn't just emptiness anymore. It had shape, movement. A world hidden between the folds of reality.
His breathing was unsteady as he clenched his fists. His fingers felt stronger, his skin colder. The fever that had been consuming him was gone—but in its place, something else had taken root.
Something powerful.
Something hungry.
Kaizen's Eyes
Kaizen had been watching the entire time.
He leaned against the crumbling stone, his usual smirk absent. Instead, his eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"Not bad, monk."
Itsuro turned to him, and for the first time, Kaizen truly looked at him.
Not as a wounded man.
Not as a dying monk.
But as something else.
His aura had shifted. It was no longer purely human. The demon's blood had settled inside him, woven into his essence.
But the question was—had Itsuro survived as himself, or had something else taken his place?
Kaizen's fingers twitched toward his blade.
A test.
"Stand."
Itsuro's gaze flickered toward him.
And then, without effort—
He rose.
Not with the sluggish movement of a man recovering from the brink of death. Not with the exhaustion of someone who had just undergone agony.
But smoothly. Effortlessly.
Like a predator stretching for the first time.
Kaizen chuckled, though there was something cold in the sound.
"How do you feel?"
Itsuro exhaled. The breath that left his lips frosted the air.
"Different."
Kaizen tilted his head. "Do you remember who you are?"
A pause.
Then, "Yes."
Kaizen studied him. His stance, his tone. Was it truly Itsuro who had come back? Or had the demon taken his form, wearing him like a mask?
Kaizen would have to be careful.
"Good," he said at last. "Because your enemies will be coming soon."
The First Taste of Power
Before Itsuro could respond, the wind shifted.
A presence.
Kaizen sensed it at the same time, his smirk returning. "Well, well. They don't waste time."
The sound of footsteps crunched against the frozen ground outside the ruins. At least six.
Itsuro could hear them, too. But unlike before—he could hear more than just their steps.
He could hear their breathing.
Their heartbeats.
His fingers twitched. The hunger inside him stirred.
A test.
Kaizen turned to him.
"Show me."
The doors burst open.
Six warriors in dark robes stormed inside, weapons drawn, faces hidden behind masks. The Capital's hunters.
"By order of the High Monk," one of them declared, "you are to be taken—"
Itsuro moved.
He had never felt this fast before.
The first hunter didn't even have time to react. In a single step, Itsuro was upon him—his hand piercing through the man's chest before his mind could even register what had happened.
The others hesitated.
The scent of blood filled the air.
Itsuro withdrew his hand,
crumpling to the floor.
His fingers trembled.
Not with fear.
With something else.
Something dark.
Something satisfied.
Kaizen's laughter filled the room.
"Oh, monk. What have you become?"
The remaining hunters attacked.
This time, Itsuro did not hesitate.