A dim light flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across the walls of the hidden chamber. The air was thick with incense and the iron scent of blood—stale, but ever present. At the heart of the room sat a figure cloaked in a regal black coat, his face obscured behind a menacing oni mask etched with crimson fangs. He exuded authority like a furnace exuded heat—silently, but with terrifying presence.
Before him, kneeling low to the ground, was another man garbed entirely in black. His mask was plain, utilitarian, and he dared not raise his gaze.
"So, you're saying an event is currently underway in Shibuya?" the masked figure asked. His voice was smooth, but laced with a dangerous edge—as if every syllable was a blade drawn halfway from its scabbard. "An underground tournament for Supernaturals?"
