Ren was basking in his epic victory—a soul-crushing roast battle, the sacred wig safely perched atop his head, and the emotional carcass of the Emotionally Unavailable Centipede (EUC) still twitching somewhere on the floor.
Victory had never tasted so sweet.
For the briefest moment, he thought he could catch his breath.
And then—
BWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMPPPP
||BACK ON THE TRAIN, GLITTER GREMLIN!||
Ren didn't even have time to turn around before the Oni conductor, still drenched in unholy rage and probably some of Ren’s dignity, rugby-tackled him from behind.
The only thing Ren managed to see before getting crushed by the Oni’s weight was Jorogumo, sobbing with what looked like a solid 10/10 scorecard and Aka Manto filming the chaos for his TikTok.
And then—YEET.
Ren was hurled like an old, wet sock through a dimensional tear, slamming through the Spirit Train’s sliding doors.
He hit the floor of the Spirit Train with a noise that can only be spelled as: "hnngksfjggh"
No seatbelt. No warning.
No chill.
Aka Manto, Jorogumo, and Nurarihyon were already in the dining car playing mahjong with the disembodied hand of an exorcist. They didn’t even look up.
||Oh, he's back.||
||Again? Damn, they speedrunning his trauma arc.||
The train SCREECHED.
Sparks flew. Ghostly steam billowed out the front like the train had IBS.
Ren screamed, barely clutching a table leg as gravity did a backflip.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING THIS TIME?!"
The Oni conductor stared through the window, wild-eyed.
||...Cat Island.||
Ren blinked.
"Like the aesthetic tourist one—?"
||NO. THE OTHER ONE.||
Ren gritted his teeth, but the train didn’t care.
"What the absolute hell does 'OTHER ONE' mark mean?!"
The Oni conductor dusted his hands off, giving Ren a smirk that would give anyone chills.
||You've got a divine appointment, kid. Good luck, drama queen.||
He yanked a lever, and the train shot forward like it was going straight through a breakdown in reality itself.
CRASH-LANDING: TASHIROJIMA
Now, you’ve probably heard of Tashirojima, right?
The cat island. The one that looks all cute on Pinterest.
Wrong.
Very, VERY, WRONG!!!
This wasn’t some peaceful, kitty-filled utopia where the only crime was "too many naps."
Nah, this island was a place of pure chaos and feline mischief. Imagine if Hello Kitty ran a death cult and Garfield was their god of destruction.
From above, Tashirojima was an island that looked like it had been ripped straight out of a fever dream—like a hybrid between a haunted theme park and a feline apocalypse. As the Spirit Train careened into its sky, Ren’s eyes saw what could only be described as a nightmare of fur, trees, and ancient, twisted energy.
At first glance, the island seemed deceptively serene—a typical rocky shore surrounded by deep, craggy cliffs and thick forests. But it didn’t take long to see that this was no ordinary place. The land was scarred by the marks of long-forgotten rituals, where the earth seemed to pulse in unnatural rhythms. The dense greenery was choked by vines, moss, and the occasional stone figure of a cat—some curled in peaceful slumber, others frozen mid-pounce, all looking as though they’d been placed there by some dark, whimsical force.
The closer the Spirit Train got, the more the island revealed itself as an absolute clusterf*** of chaos. The coastlines were jagged, littered with odd stone structures and rows of eerie, abandoned torii gates—many broken and leaning, some half-buried in sand as if the island had been trying to forget they ever existed. Beneath those gates, tiny cat shrines lined the path, flanked by altars that had seen better days, cracked and covered in ancient runes.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
But it was the cats that really made the island come alive. From above, you could see them everywhere—*everywhere*. Some sat perched on the rooftops of buildings that looked like they were designed by a fevered architect who’d spent one too many hours in a sushi restaurant. Others roamed through the twisted, weather-worn streets, dragging their ceremonial robes behind them like mini-yokai. A few even watched from the treetops, staring down with those chilling, amber eyes, making it clear that they were the island’s true rulers.
Moving inward, the dense, almost suffocating forest seemed to be a labyrinth of strange, gnarled trees that twisted and contorted like they’d been caught mid-snap by some cosmic force. At the heart of it all, Ren could see large shrines dedicated to deities Ren could only hope weren’t too interested in his soul. Each shrine was surrounded by hundreds of candles, flickering in sync with the eerie, unnatural wind that seemed to always blow just a little too strongly for comfort.
The cats here weren’t normal either. From this height, Ren could see the shadows of larger-than-life feline figures weaving through the trees, their forms impossibly long and looming. In the distance, the sound of eerie chanting— an almost hypnotic meow, if such a thing were possible— drifted up into the sky. The air felt thick with spiritual static.
At the very center of the island, a large, dilapidated building stood. It looked like a massive old temple or manor, long forgotten by time but still alive with an oppressive energy. Its roof was overrun with cats, like a grotesque infestation of fur. Atop the structure, an altar rested, heavy with the weight of forgotten rituals. This was no cute, peaceful cat paradise; no, this was a place of dark magic and dangerous feline worship.
Ren barely had time to process that, though, before the Spirit Train crashed through the damn island like a possessed Thomas the Tank Engine, spraying sand, rocks, and at least 12 cursed torii gates in every direction. The train screeched to a halt, sending Ren flying headfirst into the debris, his wig falling sideways.
He groaned, his body still buzzing from the earlier emotional nut punch.
Nope. Not again.
Not today.
The island, though? Oh, it had other plans.
Cats. Everywhere. Staring from trees. Crawling over gravestones. Crawling under gravestones. Wearing tiny robes. Chanting in unison like they were summoning a god of mischief. Feral, possessed, and radiating pure chaos energy.
Ren’s eyes widened.
"No… No, no, no. I didn’t survive that fight to be sacrificed by Meow Mix demons in some haunted cat cult."
He stumbled to his feet, but then—
A hooded figure appeared in the air, doing the gritty mid-flight. Yes, the gritty.
|| YOU HAVE ENTERED THE DOMAIN OF DJ NEKROPAWZ, MASTER OF THE SCRATCH. ||
Ren’s brain fried. His Crocs had seen some shit today, but this?
This was a whole new level of existential crisis.
The figure landed with a perfect spin, followed by a moonwalk that defied physics and common sense. The neon glow surrounding this creature was almost blinding, and as it stepped forward, its tail whipped around like an angry whip, sending sparks flying.
Ren stared.
"The hell... am I about to die to a bakeneko who can breakdance?"
||To escape…|| the bakeneko announced, ||You must win… THE RITUAL OF RHYTHM.||
A floating, neon-lit DDR pad appeared out of nowhere, glowing ominously like it was ready to consume Ren’s soul along with his dignity.
Ren blinked, deadpan.
"What? Am I supposed to dance for my life now?"
The bakeneko grinned like it had just sold its soul to a record label.
||DANCE!||
And the music dropped.
ROUND ONE: “Bitch Better Have My Tuna” – Remix by DJ Nekropawz
The moment the beat hit, Ren’s world flipped upside down—literally. Gravity started bending like it had a personal vendetta against him. He couldn’t even get his footing, slipping and sliding like a toddler on ice. Cats screamed, hooted, and howled in hyped approval.
Ren stumbled on the DDR pad, trying to find his balance, but every step felt like he was walking on liquid jelly. His Crocs were gone—disintegrating into a curse of static energy every time he tried to step too hard.
||LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, UP, DOWN—EMOTIONAL DAMAGE COMBO!!||
DJ Nekropawz screamed into the void.
Ren’s body was forced into a move he didn’t agree to—something between a split and a breakdance move, but his Crocs? Absolutely revolting. His body was rebelling, every muscle protesting, yet somehow, some way, he kept going. There was no rhyme or reason. He wasn’t even sure if he was dancing, fighting, or losing his mind.
He screamed. His body jerked through each step in a combination of rage and caffeine withdrawal. The music was so loud it felt like it was shaking his bones.
He nailed a move that was less “precise” and more “screaming at the void.” It caused a crack in the ground that sent a small avalanche of cursed catnip rolling across the island.
DJ Nekropawz screeched, tail flailing in frustration.
Final move incoming.
The bakeneko’s voice reverberated through the air.
||Final move: Nyan Requiem Gravity Vortex!||
Ren didn’t even know what that meant, but the gravity decided it would be extra dramatic. He was flung into the air like a ragdoll, spinning at an impossible speed, twisting in midair. The world shifted around him as his limbs locked into a chaotic, incomprehensible dance.
In that split second of insanity, Ren executed a move that couldn’t even be described—his body bent in ways that made anatomy textbooks cry.
When he finally landed, his Crocs exploded into a puff of mystical glitter. The neon lights shattered like glass.
DJ Nekropawz was flat on its back, twitching with existential dread as the audience of cats either exploded in applause or fainted.
|| BATTLE CLEAR: RHYTHM DOMINATION ||
Ren, panting, hair frazzled, sweat pouring down his face, took a shaky step forward, surveying the wreckage.
He limped to the golden scratching post that had materialized in the middle of the wrecked DDR pad. It pulsed with a strange aura. Ren sat on it like it was his throne, his wig barely hanging on.
"Yeah, you’re welcome. The Wiglord has arrived," he said, too tired to even flex.
But then—
A loud, ear-piercing scream broke the air.
A pink smoke bomb exploded, and out of it came—
Five bakeneko girls.
||OMG, IT’S HIM!||
||THE VOCALOID PROPHET HAS ARRIVED!!||
||I heard his last battle had trauma, plot, and a remix!||
They surrounded Ren, who barely had enough energy to look up at them.
One girl handed him a mic. Another slipped a sequined catboy jacket onto him, practically suffocating him in glitter.
The leader dramatically pointed.
||Time for your audition. To lead us into the new age of Meowtallica Pop!||
Ren stared at the mic, exhausted beyond belief.
"I just got drop-kicked by a DJ cat demon and breakdanced through a dimension of chaos, and now you want me to do what?!"
The lights dimmed.
Another beat dropped.
A glitter-covered tabby, with eyes glowing like radioactive anger, stepped forward, and began singing about emotional codependency in E-flat. It was terrible, but somehow, it made the cats lose their minds.
Ren looked at the mic again. Looked at the girls. Then back at the mic.
He sighed.
"I hate this afterlife."
