...…
22:48
Somewhere in downtown Hokkaido.
Red tape stretched across the street, cutting off the residential block like a wound that hadn't been allowed to heal.
Police lights flickered against the nearby buildings, washing the quiet neighborhood in uneasy flashes of red and blue. Officers stood posted at every corner, keeping civilians back, their expressions tight with confusion more than control.
Whatever had happened here—
Wasn't normal.
Okimoto stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the scene in silence.
Kazumo walked beside him, already pulling out his identification.
They didn't need to say much.
Situations like this had a clear order.
When something beyond human understanding occurred, the rules changed.
Executioners moved first.
Always.
Before investigators.
Before cleanup.
Before anyone else.
Because if KA was still present—
It wouldn't just leave damage behind.
It would spread.
Corrupt.
Kill.
Kazumo flashed his ID.
The officer hesitated for only a second before stepping aside.
"…You're clear."
They ducked under the tape.
The air changed immediately.
Heavier.
Subtle—
But wrong.
Okimoto exhaled slowly.
"You feel that?" he muttered.
Kazumo didn't answer right away.
He was already looking ahead.
Toward the collapsed entrance.
The ground had caved in, revealing a dark tunnel beneath the residential block — jagged, unstable, like something had forced its way through from below.
Not a natural collapse.
Not even close.
"Yeah," Kazumo said quietly.
"It's still here."
Okimoto's eyes narrowed.
No more words were needed.
They stepped forward together—
And entered the tunnel.
The tunnel opened into wreckage.
The train.
The same one Kurosaki had been on.
Derailed. Torn apart. Half-buried in the collapsed underground like something had dragged it down and left it there.
The smell hit instantly.
Blood.
Flesh.
Rot trying to set in.
Okimoto didn't flinch.
Neither did Kazumo.
They were used to death.
But this—
This was different.
Messy.
Uneven.
Wrong.
"Someone enjoyed this," Kazumo muttered under his breath.
Okimoto stepped forward into the torn carriage, boots crunching lightly against debris and something softer beneath it.
His eyes moved quickly.
Reading.
Tracking.
He stopped.
There, across the interior—
A circular blood pattern.
Too clean to be random.
Too deliberate to ignore.
His brow lowered slightly.
"…Ritualistic?" he murmured.
Drip.
Something wet landed on his head.
He didn't react immediately.
Kazumo looked up—
Then snorted.
"…You might want to—"
Too late.
Okimoto reached up, pulled his hand back—
Flesh.
A small piece.
Still warm.
Kazumo let out a short laugh.
"That's new."
And then—
The air snapped.
A blur shot from the shadows.
Too fast for normal eyes.
A yokai.
It latched onto Kazumo's left arm, dragging him down with violent force, its jaws opening wide—aiming straight for his throat.
But Kazumo didn't panic.
He moved.
Twisting his body mid-fall, he forced his weight sideways, just enough to throw off its angle.
The bite missed.
Barely.
His free hand snapped open the wooden box at his side—
And drove it forward.
CRACK.
The impact echoed through the carriage.
Bone gave way under the strike.
The yokai recoiled—
Just long enough.
Okimoto was already moving.
Brass knuckles slid over his fingers in one smooth motion.
He turned—
Fast.
His body twisting fully into the strike, building momentum through his hips and shoulders—
Then—
He punched.
Hard.
The blow connected with a dull, crushing sound.
The yokai's body snapped sideways—
And slammed violently into the side of the train.
Metal dented on impact.
Silence followed.
Brief.
Tense.
Because neither of them believed—
That was the only one.
It began regenerating instantly.
Not growing new parts—
But reconnecting itself.
Flesh dragging back together. Bones snapping into alignment. Scattered fragments pulling toward one another like something forcing them to remember their original shape.
Kazumo clicked his tongue.
The wooden box in his hand shuttered.
Then collapsed entirely.
What remained was a pair of scissors.
At the same time, two more yokai sprang from the wreckage above.
The structure wasn't stable.
This had to end quickly.
Kazumo understood that immediately.
This was exactly the kind of situation his ART was designed for.
DIVISION.
The ART DIVISION is a marvel that is for both close range, midrange, and long range combat.
It enables Kazumo to divide matter equally in an infinite number of pieces—as long as they are equal.
Using the pair of scissors, he opens and closes them using KA enhancement, which enables him to decide how he chops his target—length of the cut and its thickness.
But Kazumo did not want to waste KA.
So instead, he imbued the scissors with KA, giving him influence over them.
The blades split apart.
Then began spinning at untold speeds.
The motion blurred the air itself.
The two executioners moved instantly.
They pinned the yokai down.
And Kazumo directed the blades.
Clean.
Precise.
Equal.
The yokai came apart in perfect divisions—
Not torn.
Not destroyed.
Separated.
Finished quickly.
Kazumo gave a small smile of satisfaction as he spotted it.
A hole in the side of the train.
Despite the derailment, it remained stable.
Clean.
And refraining KA.
"That's an access point," he muttered.
Okimoto stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the lingering energy.
The KA wasn't random.
It was flowing—directed.
"…It's leading somewhere," Okimoto said quietly. "Close. I can feel it. A unique KA signature… right ahead of us."
Silence followed for a moment.
Then Kazumo exhaled.
"We will report this to HANZU TECH immediately," he said.
Okimoto nodded once.
No hesitation.
No debate.
This wasn't a standard incident anymore.
It had escalated.
"First-grade classification," Okimoto confirmed. "That meant a full clearance request."
Kazumo adjusted his grip on the broken remains of his box as he pulled them from the vapouring Yokai corpse.
"Lethal force authorization," he added.
Okimoto finished the thought.
"Warrant issued for search, locate, and extermination… or exorcism."
Both of them looked into the access point.
The same conclusion settled between them without being spoken.
Whatever was ahead—
It wasn't just an incident anymore.
It was a target.
...…
A brown figure was moving toward me.
Kamigari was already engaging it from a distance.
Her KA was visible now—glowing, unstable but controlled.
She was experienced.
Far more than she had initially let on.
The air around her pulsed with each movement, every strike reinforced by KA reinforcement.
Then—
The Seraphim moved.
In its altered form, it raised a hand and released a burst of force.
The brown figure was blasted away instantly, thrown across the field like it weighed nothing.
I pushed myself up.
And turned toward Kamigari.
The Seraphim's voice followed calmly behind us.
"This entire game was designed to force innate Arts to activate," it said.
A pause.
"But yours didn't budge."
The air shifted.
Its gaze locked onto Kamigari.
"…So I will use Forced Enhancement."
The words landed heavier than anything before.
Forced Enhancement—
The forced input of massive amounts of KA into a subject who possesses an innate executioner trait, in order to forcibly awaken their Art.
But the process was unstable.
Dangerous.
And forbidden.
The mortality rate exceeded seventy percent.
Silence followed.
Not the calm kind.
The kind that came right before something broke.
It then pushed a finger into my neck.
And the KA began to flood into me.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
Huge, violent pulses—forced directly into my body.
The pressure was unbearable.
A four-metre radius formed around us instantly.
Anything inside it—anything that wasn't the Seraphim or me—was incinerated on contact.
The air itself burned.
My body felt like it was boiling from the inside out.
Kamigari was still within the radius.
I saw her.
Just for a moment.
Her body already beginning to wither under the pressure of the KA.
Then—
My vision distorted.
My eyes felt like they were about to rupture from my skull.
Everything blurred into unbearable heat and pain.
And all I could do—
Was wait.
For the sweet release of death.