Chapter 11: The Jest of Shadows
The forest stood as a silent witness to the carnage about to unfold, its ancient trees unmoving, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. The only sounds were the distant cries of night birds and the soft rustling of leaves, whispering secrets of an impending storm. The moon cast pale silver beams through the canopy, illuminating the three warriors in the aftermath of battle’s first clash.
Then came the laughter.
Not the deep, guttural laugh of an Oni reveling in destruction, but something sharper, more chaotic. A sound that did not belong in the mortal world.
Gozumaru’s massive form loomed in the moonlight, his grotesque features twisted with amusement and bloodlust. His laughter shook the air, his breath thick with arrogance as he towered over the trio. But when Sachiko stepped forward, her small frame tense with fury, the laughter stopped.
She let out a slow breath.
Then—a surge of power.
Her body expanded, muscles rippling as she transformed from her petite, horned self into her monstrous blue Oni form—taller than a man, her skin a deep cerulean, her horns growing and curling wickedly, her eyes burning with crimson rage.
She grabbed her massive broadsword, the ground cracking beneath her as she charged Gozumaru with a war cry that split the night.
A traitor to his kind.
Gozumaru’s face contorted with rage.
His own kind, turning against him? An Oni fighting for humans and tengu?
Unforgivable.
Sachiko swung, her broadsword blurring through the air with devastating force.
Gozumaru caught it with one massive hand.
The force sent shockwaves through the ground, dust and leaves scattering into the night.
With brutal ease, he ripped the sword from her grasp and hurled it aside, the steel embedding into a distant tree with a deafening crack.
Before she could react, his huge hand clamped around her throat.
The monstrous Oni lifted her off the ground, his grip like an iron vice, his sharp nails digging into her flesh.
She kicked, snarled, clawed at his arm, but he squeezed tighter, her air cut off, her vision blurring.
And then, with a snarl of disgust, he hurled her aside like discarded prey.
She hit the earth with a heavy thud, her form collapsing back to her smaller self, her Oni power flickering out as unconsciousness swallowed her whole.
The world spun.
Then—the shadow tanuki stepped forward.
His wide, toothy grin gleamed in the darkness, his beady eyes glinting with something between mirth and malice. The forest itself seemed to shudder as his chuckle rose, beginning as a whisper before swelling into something more unhinged, unnatural—the cackle of a mad trickster unbound.
He tilted his head, his small paws gripping the handle of his battle umbrella—an artifact of old and terrible magic.
"Big, stupid Oni," the tanuki mused. "You laugh too much. Let me show you how it's done."
With a flick of his wrist, he plucked another hair from his fur and tossed it into the air. The strand twisted, multiplied, and from the ground sprouted dozens of tiny tanuki—each a perfect mimic of the original. They swarmed Gozumaru, bouncing and tumbling, yanking his coarse hair, biting his ears, pulling his nose, chattering nonsense in eerie unison.
Gozumaru roared in fury, swinging his kanabō club wildly, smashing the illusions—only for them to vanish in puffs of dark mist, their laughter lingering in the air. The real tanuki, unbothered, merely spun his umbrella with a flick of his wrist.
And then—the horror began.
The shadows beneath him thickened.
From the umbrella’s canopy, something slithered.
Tendrils of darkness, thin and blade-tipped, unfurled like the legs of some abyssal beast. They lashed out, striking Gozumaru with surgical precision, carving deep, crimson lines across his monstrous flesh.
Blood sprayed into the air.
Tengukensei watched, his grip tightening around his katana, unsure whether to be horrified or impressed.
The tanuki's laughter only grew.
With another flick, the umbrella snapped open, and from its depths a bladed storm erupted—black, razor-sharp leaves spun wildly, slicing through Gozumaru’s thick hide as though he were nothing more than parchment.
The Oni staggered. His laughter had stopped. His eyes now held only pain, only confusion.
The tanuki wasn’t done.
His body flickered, and suddenly, there were more of him. Illusions upon illusions, each holding a smaller, yet equally wicked umbrella. They moved in tandem, spinning their weapons, unleashing an unrelenting dance of shadowed blades.
A maiming. A dissection. A nightmare given form.
Gozumaru, the mighty, the feared, was now a slashed and bleeding mess, his breath ragged, his body failing. He stumbled, collapsing to one knee.
Then came the final act.
The tanuki opened his umbrella fully, and from its cursed fabric a tide of blood erupted. Not Gozumaru’s blood—no, this was older, deeper, darker. A flood of crimson that drowned the forest floor, pulling the Oni into its depths, as if some abyss had yawned open to reclaim him.
Gozumaru’s gurgling screams echoed into nothingness.
And then, silence.
When the first light of dawn touched the trees, there was no trace of the Oni—only a dark, unholy stain upon the ground, a lingering scar upon the world.
The shadow tanuki—now grinning softly instead of madly—closed his umbrella with a snap and trotted over to Tengukensei, where Sachiko lay, still breathing, still alive.
Tengukensei exhaled, his grip on his katana finally loosening.
“…Remind me never to play tricks on you,” he muttered.
The tanuki chuckled, but this time, it was quiet.
"Only if you're not funny," he said.
They still had a long road ahead, but for now, they had survived.
And in the Runiverse, that was victory enough.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
Chapter 12: The Ascent to Doom
The lush embrace of the forest ended abruptly, giving way to a hellscape of blackened rock and seething heat. Here, the mountain loomed like the skeletal remains of a fallen god, its surface twisted by ancient volcanic fury. The ground was cracked and scorched, the air thick with the acrid stench of sulfur and something darker—something metallic, like blood left to bake beneath the sun.
Behind them, the echoes of their battle with Gozumaru had faded into memory, but the relentless beat of war drums grew ever louder, rolling up the slopes like the steady march of doom. The Oni warriors were still in pursuit, their monstrous rage carrying them forward.
Sachiko exhaled sharply, feeling the remnants of the brutal fight still thrumming through her muscles. Her transformation had taken its toll, but her blue Oni blood burned within her like a second heartbeat, steady and strong. She clenched her fists, shaking off the haze of exhaustion. They had no time for weakness.
Before them, the Black Demon Castle crowned the peak of the semi-active volcano, a fortress of malice rising from the inferno itself. Lava bled down the mountain’s sides in jagged veins, glowing rivers of molten death that cast an eerie crimson glow against the dark sky. The castle’s walls, made of stone darker than the abyss, jutted out in jagged spires, their edges lined with the charred bones of past victims. Some bodies still writhed within the molten streams, reduced to agonized shadows of themselves, screaming in voices lost to the infernal wind.
Tengukensei and Kurofuku stood in silence, the sheer dread of the place settling upon them like a thick shroud. This was not just a fortress—it was a graveyard waiting to claim them.
Yet, their resolve did not waver. The survivors of Sakana Cove awaited them, trapped in that black palace of horrors.
It was the tanuki who broke the silence, his wicked grin flashing in the dim, ember-lit air. “We’ll take to the skies,” Kurofuku said, his voice laced with mischief. “Your fan, Tengu. My umbrella. We’ll carry Sachiko straight to the lower levels. Those horned bastards have never tangled with a tengu and a tanuki before.”
Sachiko, standing firm once more, nodded and stepped onto Tengukensei’s enchanted fan. With a flick of his wrist, the fan expanded, hovering just above the ground. The moment she settled in, Tengukensei launched it into the air, riding the mountain’s rising heat like a phantom upon the wind.
Kurofuku, ever theatrical, pulled his battle umbrella from his fur, snapping it open with a flourish. The moment the canopy unfurled, his shadow peeled away from the ground, morphing into a dark, living cloud. With a delighted cackle, he floated upward, carried aloft by his own trickery, a specter of mischief ascending into the night.
As they climbed higher, the heat intensified, the air thick with cinders and falling debris. Plumes of smoke belched from the volcano’s throat, momentarily obscuring their path, but they maneuvered with precision—Tengukensei weaving the fan through the torrents of fiery wind, Kurofuku twisting his umbrella to deflect tumbling stones.
Below, the war drums thundered, beating in sync with the heartbeat of the mountain itself.
The castle loomed closer, its black walls glowing with heat. The lower levels were within reach. Sachiko felt her Oni blood pulse stronger, her eyes burning with blue fire.
They had come to infiltrate, to rescue, and to turn the mountain’s own fury against the Oni who ruled it.
And as the drums swelled to a deafening crescendo, it became clear—this was no longer a mere pursuit. This was war.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
