Ren felt it first. A sudden shift, like the forest itself exhaled rot. The moss grew damp underfoot, the scent of iron bleeding into their nostrils.
“Something’s wrong,” Isamu muttered, tightening his grip on his blade.
“No shit,” Ren whispered, eyes flicking across the clearing. “I think we just stepped into the wrong story.”
The glyphs around the ruined dais dimmed. That heavy hum—so full of memory—had faded, replaced by something quieter. More intimate.
Wet.
Sticky.
They descended slowly into the pit behind the monolith. A narrow, half-collapsed tunnel yawned beneath the roots. The entrance was subtle, almost forgotten—cracked stone buried under crawling vines. Shisui knelt, brushing aside debris.
“There’s blood on the wall,” she said softly. “Old. But recent enough to stink.”
Ren knelt beside her. His fingers ghosted over the grooves in the stone. At first glance, they were just scratches. But then he traced a shape. Letters. Words.
Please don’t eat me.
Carved again and again, like a prayer. Desperate. Fading into madness.
“What the hell is this place?” Isamu’s voice cracked for the first time.
Shisui didn’t answer.
They stepped into the tunnel. Darkness devoured them instantly. Only the faint glow of their shadowborne lights gave them sight—long, flickering trails of murk dancing on the walls.
The descent was steep. Claustrophobic. And with every step, the stench grew stronger.
Eventually, the tunnel opened.
A chamber sprawled beneath them, vast and hollow like the ribcage of some ancient god. Thick pillars of stone held the ceiling aloft, each one engraved with symbols both divine and profane. At the center, a blackened altar stood atop a mound of bone.
Ren froze.
So did the others.
Bodies—hundreds of them—piled like refuse. Men, women, children. Shaved heads. Branded skin. Some with their stomachs flayed open. Some still intact.
All missing parts.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Isamu whispered.
Then they saw it—painted across the far wall, in blood turned rusted brown:
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Rengoku Endures. Through Flesh, Through Fire.
Ren’s mind went blank.
For a moment, there was no wit, no clever quip to hold the fear back. Just the primal part of him that screamed: Run.
But his legs didn’t move.
Instead, he stepped forward, hands trembling, eyes wide. He scanned the remains like they might suddenly speak. Like they already had.
“This is a feeding chamber,” Shisui said softly. Her voice wasn’t surprised. It was numb.
“Why would the Rengoku need—” Isamu stopped himself.
He didn’t want the answer.
“They don’t just kill the enemies of the Divine Court,” Shisui continued. “They consume them. Absorb their essence. Through ritual. Through flesh.”
Ren’s fists clenched. “They’ve been eating people to strengthen their Mandates.”
No one denied it.
Above them, a low creaking echoed through the tunnel.
Footsteps.
Not one set.
Several.
“Hide!” Shisui hissed.
They scattered, slipping behind broken pillars and crumbled slabs of stone. Ren ducked beneath a pile of bones, forcing himself not to breathe, not to vomit. His heartbeat screamed in his ears.
Three figures emerged from the tunnel.
All dressed in ceremonial Rengoku robes. Crimson, gold, and bone-white. Their faces hidden behind masks shaped like fanged demons. One of them carried a bundle wrapped in silk.
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
It moved.
A child.
The bundle whimpered.
"She’s still alive," one of the masked figures said. A woman’s voice—light, almost singsong.
"Good," said another. "The Lord’s essence is fading. He’ll need fresh spirit-flesh to maintain the Mandate."
They reached the altar and placed the child atop it.
“Wait—” the child whimpered.
The woman raised a blade.
Ren surged forward.
He didn’t think. He didn’t strategize.
His body moved on instinct.
A shadow burst from beneath his feet—Tangible Shadows—and coiled around the woman’s wrist. She shrieked as her hand snapped backward, the blade clattering against bone.
Shisui lunged from the side, blade slicing through another figure’s thigh.
Isamu appeared behind the third and drove his sword through the man’s ribs.
Chaos.
Screams.
Blood.
It lasted only seconds.
Then silence.
Ren rushed to the altar and pulled the child into his arms. She clung to him, sobbing.
“You’re okay now,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”
But none of them believed that.
Not really.
Not after this.
Isamu wiped his blade clean, his eyes haunted. “They were going to eat her. They’ve probably eaten hundreds.”
“Thousands,” Shisui said flatly. “This place has been used for generations.”
Ren turned to the wall, the sigils, the bones, the altar.
This was power. Real power. Gained not through training or sacrifice. But through devouring.
“This is why the Rengoku stay on top,” he said. “They’re not just noble clans. They’re predators in silk.”
Shisui nodded. “Now you see why I left.”
Ren looked at her. For once, there was no mocking glint in her eye.
Only fury. And pain.
“I was born under their flag. Raised to serve them. But they would’ve gutted me the same way if it meant feeding some old monster’s soul.”
Ren looked down at the child, then at the dead masked figures.
“We can’t tell the Guild,” Isamu said.
“Why not?” Ren snapped.
“Because if they’re in on it… they’ll kill us next. And if they’re not, they’ll go to war. You think the Rengoku won’t burn cities to keep this secret buried?”
A long silence.
Then Shisui stepped forward. “We don’t tell them. Not yet. We learn everything first. Who’s involved. Who’s not. We use their secrets against them.”
Ren met her gaze.
"Manipulate the manipulators," he said.
Shisui smiled, bitter and sharp. “You’re learning.”
They left the child with Isamu, who would sneak her to an orphanage under a false name. Ren and Shisui lingered behind, staring at the altar one last time.
Ren clenched his fists.
“That’s why I got the Mandate,” he muttered.
“What?”
His voice was cold. Certain. “Because I want to burn this system down. Eat the rot before it eats us.”
Shisui didn’t reply.
But she didn’t argue either.