Day two of Kyoto was filled with as much joy and warmth as the first, perhaps even more so as the initial novelty settled into comfortable enjoyment. The family explored temples, serene Zen gardens, and bustling alleyway stalls, immersing themselves deeper into the vibrant culture and rich history of the city.
Laughter echoed in every step, every shared photo taken against picturesque backdrops, and every new treat tried, from delicate matcha sweets to savory okonomiyaki, creating a tapestry of cherished memories that Kenji stored in his Mind.
Ren had somehow convinced Kenji to buy him a ninja band, which he wore with immense pride, striking poses at every opportunity, while Ayaka and Aoi dragged their mother through countless souvenir shops, searching for the perfect trinkets and traditional crafts to bring home. Anastasia, in turn, smiled more today than she had in months, her face radiant with a genuine happiness that warmed Kenji's heart, a stark contrast to the strained expressions he'd seen for so long. The sight of her unburdened joy was a reward in itself.
But while his body moved through the day's rhythm, playing the part of the loving husband and father, a part he was now truly embodying with every fiber of his being, Kenji's mind was locked on something darker, a task that awaited him under the cloak of night.
Last night, while his family slept peacefully, oblivious to the dangers lurking just beyond the city's spiritual wards, he had gone hunting.
With no direct lead on the Flesh Rippers Gang's hideout, no convenient map markers, Kenji had relied on his Observation skill, casting it on everything that moved across the labyrinthine streets of Kyoto, scanning for a hint of the bastards where whereabouts.
For over an hour and a half, a painstaking process of sifting through countless mundane observation information, he searched, gaining several levels in the process, allowing for more detailed information to be seen. Then he found it, a single, low-ranking yokai with affiliations to the Flesh Rippers Gang.
He followed it silently, his presence suppressed by his mask ability and stealth enchantments, trailing through narrow streets and alleys, over rooftops and across hidden pathways, until more yokai joined in, converging at a pre-arranged meeting point.
They carried crates and bags filled with strange, unsettling ingredients—dried blood, powdered bone, various components, some deeply disturbing, and even what looked like freshly harvested spiritual organs, materials he quickly recognized as use for dark rituals, powerful enchantments, or perhaps even for their grotesque consumption.
They were clearly preparing for something significant, something that would further empower their gang, if he had to guess, a dark ritual or a major expansion. But he had no interest in finding out that what he needed now was just the information about their base.
Kenji remained hidden, observing from the shadows, his eyes sharp, breath steady, meticulously recording every detail to mind. He noted their numbers, their ranks, and their general demeanor. Then, fortune, or perhaps fate, struck.
The group, seemingly unaware of their tail, began the long journey back to their main base, leading him directly to their lair, a prize beyond his expectations.
Kenji followed, maintaining a safe distance, his movements silent, like a wraith.
Hidden deep in the forested mountains surrounding Kyoto, nestled within a secluded valley, protected by a powerful, shimmering barrier spell that distorted light and sound, the Flesh Rippers Gang's hideout lay nestled against the craggy cliffs, a dark cave of malevolence.
The energy signatures coming from within told Kenji enough: dozens of yokai, many of them Mid-Class, six of them High-Class, and at least one, radiating an oppressive malice, teetering on the edge of peak High-Class, a monster, a truly formidable opponent.
This was a significant force, a small army of dangerous beings, far more organized than he had initially anticipated.
Not quite a faction but no doubt a force to be reckoned with from what he had read in the books, he got. There were a total of just over a hundred yokai here, and that was something.
He tried to get close to focus his senses to try to glean more information, but the moment he got close to the barrier, he felt danger, and he backed off immediately. This will not be easy. He felt that if he forced his way in, the peak high class, they would no doubt sense him regardless of his mask's ability.
He made his decision.
He returned to the hotel in silence, slipping into bed beside Anastasia, the warmth of her sleeping form a stark contrast to the cold calculations in his mind. How would he win this? How does a lone man go up against an army and win? This fight was not like the others he had fought.
His mind raced with possibilities, trying to formulate a plan of utter annihilation.
His mind stopped as something formed in his mind.
He didn't need to fight them head-on, to engage in a risky battle that might draw unwanted attention from the greater supernatural powers of Kyoto or even be the death of him.
So, in the end, it was easy. He didn't need to fight them.
He just needed to kill them. To exterminate them. Swiftly, decisively.
Morning came, and Kenji played with the kids and enjoyed his wife's company. He laughed at Ren's ninja antics, listened intently to Ayaka's tales of historical sites, and shared quiet smiles with Anastasia.
But in the back of his mind, a colder part of him was already preparing for the battle soon. He was thinking of the most efficient ways to unleash devastating, indiscriminate power.
How do you wipe out a fortified base of monsters without losing too much or raising alarms, or leaving any survivors to seek revenge and threaten his family?
You use gravity. His most potent weapon, his ultimate expression of power.
Night fell. The children were asleep, curled up in their beds with dreams of temples and ramen, their innocent slumber a stark reminder of what he was fighting for, the peace he sought to preserve. Anastasia, too, had turned in after a full day of exploration and family fun, her soft breaths a comforting sound beside him. She kissed him goodnight as he told her he needed some fresh air, a plausible, if understated, excuse for his nocturnal activities.
He wasn't lying. The air outside would soon be filled with screams, but not from his family.
Kenji stepped out, donned in his enchanted clothing, which provided both protection and subtle magical amplification, making him feel like a living conduit of power.
His face was concealed by a sleek white mask lined with crimson streaks.
'Time to head out'
He reached the mountain ridge overlooking the yokai hideout, crouching atop a tall, ancient tree, its branches swaying gently in the night wind, providing a perfect vantage point.
The barrier shimmered faintly in the moonlight to his senses, a visible distortion in the air, betraying its presence, a thin veil. He watched.
Yokai moved in and out of the compound, some returning from patrols, their forms tired, others heading out, their forms flickering in the dim light. He observed their routines, their guard rotations, and their blind spots.
He waited. Patience was a virtue, especially when planning annihilation. He would not strike now, not until the conditions were perfect.
At 11 PM sharp, his Perception confirmed it, the final high-class signature entered the compound, a powerful surge of energy that settled deep within the fortress. That made six.
For thirty minutes, he remained perfectly still, checking for any late arrivals, any stray yokai that might have been missed, any last-minute changes to their internal structure. After all, he wasn't really sure of their numbers and didn't know if that was all, he'd after all just know them from yesterday.
None came. The compound was fully occupied, it didn't seem anyone else was going to be joining, so it was time.
He stood up, balancing with amazing Chakra Control on the thin branch, his body a statue of poised power, every muscle tensed, every nerve alert. His thoughts swirled around his chosen ability: gravity. It was his core move. His signature. His Rasengan. His Getsuga Tenshou. His ultimate weapon.
He had trained relentlessly to push it further, to bend the very fabric of space and reality to his will, to transform a fundamental force into a tool of absolute destruction. Creating gravity blasts had taken a week of painstaking practice, compressing and releasing immense pressure.
Shaping gravity into domes, spikes, directional fields—all had been painstaking work, requiring immense concentration and mana, pushing his magical reserves to their limits. But today, he would unleash something else. Something truly devastating. Something that would hopefully leave no survivors, no witnesses, no trace of the Flesh Rippers Gang.
He cupped his hands together, bringing them slowly before him, palms facing each other. The air shimmered, distorting visibly between his palms, growing heavy, almost viscous.
Space itself seemed to ripple and fold inward, bending to his will. A tiny, impossibly dense black orb appeared between his palms, drawing in particles of purple light from the surroundings, bending rays of moonlight around it, creating a miniature void, a point of infinite density.
Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down his temples as he poured immense amounts of power and concentration into its formation, feeling the raw power coalesce. Light rippled outward from the orb, a subtle distortion field, a prelude to its destructive potential.
He felt the immense strain, the pressure of containing such raw, destructive power, a sensation that threatened to tear his very being apart. His muscles screamed, his vision blurred at the edges, but his Gamer's Mind held firm, maintaining the intricate calculations needed for stability.
And then the orb stabilized, encased in a spinning shell of violet energy, growing rapidly to the size of a football, humming with contained annihilation. It was a miniature black hole, a pocket of pure gravitational collapse, a singularity under his command.
With a grunt, a surge of raw power, he hurled it.
The projectile hissed through the air, a dark, streaking sphere against the moonlight, leaving a shimmering trail of distorted space. It drew immediate attention from the guards below, their shouts of alarm echoing too late. They looked up, some reaching for weapons, their faces contorting in confusion and dawning fear, their instincts screaming at the unnatural phenomenon. It was too late.
The sphere landed precisely in the center of the compound, directly on the main barracks.
The moment it touched the earth, the world folded inward. The scream of collapsing space tore through the night, a sound of pure, cosmic agony, a sound that shrieked of death.
Trees, soil, buildings, yokai—all were crushed, pulled, bent, folded, erased, devoured by the immense, localized gravitational pull. It was annihilation in pure form, a silent, all-consuming void that left nothing behind.
Screams echoed, muffled by the sheer force of the collapse, then abruptly cut off as bodies were pulverized into nothingness. Power surged, the very ground trembling, the mountain itself groaning under the unnatural stress. Barriers shattered like glass, unable to withstand the raw, fundamental force of a localized singularity.
And then Kenji cut it off. With a sharp mental command, he severed the connection he had left, pulling back his power that was used to maintain it to avoid world destruction mistakes. Supply, reasserting his control over the volatile phenomenon. The drain on his stamina was immense, but the job was done.
The black hole folded into itself and disappeared with a whisper, leaving behind a perfectly circular crater of pulverized earth, devoid of any life or structure, a clean, terrifying scar on the landscape.
He dropped to one knee, gasping for breath, his body trembling from the immense power drain and mental strain. His hands trembled from the sheer emotional and spiritual cost of wielding such a destructive force, a power that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
That move, inspired by Road to Ninja's Memma and years of anime obsessions, his own version of the "Rasengan" but amplified by true gravitational power, had taken everything to form and control.
His Gravity Manipulation was at level 7. Powerful, yes. But this was the absolute edge of what it could currently do without risking self-destruction or unintended, widespread collateral damage.
Now he was sure that nothing would go wrong. That everything has worked out
Because there were survivors.
He could feel them. Faint, but distinct energy signatures, from the edges of the crater, from deeper within the mountain's caves and tunnels, Those who were luck not to be in the vicinity.
And they were very, very angry.
He sighed. He had been hoping it would be anticlimactic, but Noooo, just had to have people surviving. They just had to want to live. Why couldn't they just accept death peacefully.
Guess he had to fight now.
He sighed again.
His work was not yet done.
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