"That may be so, but isn't he afraid of a backlash after using the Oni to drive away the other yokai? That's not exactly how 'driving away the wolf to swallow the tiger' is supposed to work," Sū ěr remarked, still finding it difficult to grasp the logic.
[Who knows? We don't know what kind of agreement they reached with the Oni. Besides, back when Tamamo-no-Mae died, the Oni tribe lent their strength to Izumo's side, didn't they?]
"So that means the spoils have already been divided..." Sū ěr nodded in realization.
High in the sky, the deity continued his ceaseless recitation of crimes. One couldn't help but wonder if his throat was parched, or if he was growing weary of the reading.
From defying the imperial mandates of Ōkuninushi above, to rampant street thuggery and the harassment of humans below—these offenses, great and small, were now piled up like a mountain, serving as the justification for erasing the lives of those involved.
What Sū ěr found most ironic and amusing was that more than half of this long string of reasons involved humans: snatching human food, using physical threats, assault, and the like. While there were indeed many man-eating yokai within Izumo, the consumption of humans as food was strictly prohibited within the city limits. This was one of the few laws that was actually enforced with any rigor—naturally, breaking an arm or a leg to keep as a snack was also forbidden.
That said, beyond the most basic protections for life and physical integrity, the broader oppression of humans was inevitable. In the past, there had never been any intention to prosecute such acts. Thus, while these regulations were carved into the very gates of Izumo, not a single yokai had ever taken them seriously.
Until today.
The deity, whom Sū ěr was beginning to find rather noisy, finally finished reading the list of charges. There seemed to be no "Leader of Izumo" speech to follow; the proceedings moved swiftly to the final step—execution.
Or rather, a massacre.
The scenes of flying flesh and blood require little description. Even the executing deities were swapped out in shifts as their blades became too chipped and dull to use. Sū ěr initial prediction came true: a river of blood, deep enough to submerge one's feet, flowed along the foundations of the houses and the pavement, streaming out of the city or seeping into the soil.
The crowds of onlookers, who usually cheered whenever a blade fell, were silent now. Their minds had been completely colonized by terror. Some even bit down hard on their own fingers, using pain to keep themselves from screaming in fear. Each stroke of the blade felt as though it were landing on their own bodies; they collapsed into the river of blood, limbs limp, and some simply fainted away.
Perhaps, for them, losing consciousness at such a moment was a mercy.
"Kazami Yuuka would probably like this sort of thing, wouldn't she?" Sū ěr suddenly spoke up. Only the space beneath his own feet remained a sanctuary untainted by blood. He watched the frothing red rivers, still radiating heat, as they carried away small bits of debris.
"I doubt it? Don't people like her prefer the process of fighting a powerful foe? Simple carnage has no real meaning... oh wait, perhaps once this river of blood has soaked in, she might like the flowers that grow from such fertile soil?" Having revealed her form, Think watched the gruesome scene—where corpses were piling up faster than the ground could hold them—with an interested hand to her chin.
"...People like her?" Sū ěr suddenly turned his head, catching the "blind spot" in Think words.
"...Just people like her," Think confirmed nonchalantly after a slight stiffening of her body, realizing what she had let slip.
"Fair enough," Sū ěr nodded, acting as if nothing had happened. "Let's go. There's no point in staying here any longer."
It seems... a certain someone hasn't forgotten either, has she?
He was not afraid of corpses and possessed a startling resilience toward death, but even so, watching such a grand spectacle left Sū ěr feeling slightly nauseous.
He poured a cup of tea, only to dump it out seconds later after seeing the curling steam and smelling the fragrance. He sat in his chair, trying to steady his emotions.
A massacre like this might not even earn the right to be recorded in the history books. In tens of thousands of years, it wasn't even certain if these gods and yokai would still exist.
"What will happen next?" Sū ěr murmured to himself.
"I don't have the power to predict the future, but there is one thing I am certain of—the yokai will absolutely retaliate," Think whispered, floating behind Sū ěr and massaging his forehead. "After all, the very reason for their birth doesn't allow them to swallow their pride and ignore the deaths of so many of their kin... even if they don't actually possess much in the way of 'familial love.' Isn't it interesting? No matter which world you're in, you can't escape this vortex. War? Death?"
Think was naturally poking fun at Sū ěr bizarre luck—how every time he managed to settle down, his environment would undergo a sudden, violent transformation.
"...You really haven't changed at all, have you?" Even though he was being massaged, Sū ěr somehow felt his headache intensifying.
"Really? I feel like I've changed quite a bit," Think countered casually, leaning over from behind to peck Sū ěr on the cheek. "...Like this."
Tch.
No matter how much Sū ěr denied it, he knew. After experiencing so much, he could no longer be called a normal human. At the very least, a normal human wouldn't be in the mood for flirting after witnessing such a harrowing massacre. He had likely been infected by Think—let's call it the "Think Virus" for now.
Normally, their reaction should have been like the two little ones cowering in the corner: faces pale, bodies trembling, wishing they could bury their heads in their own stomachs.
Taiko aside—he was just a normal human child—but what was up with this brat named Shin? This fearful display was completely inconsistent with the rumors Sū ěr had heard in Izumo regarding the Oni. He was far too weak; he didn't look like a yokai at all.
When the first blade fell, Sū ěr had pulled Taiko over and covered his eyes. The boy was sensible and didn't struggle. By the end, even when Sū ěr wanted to let him go, he couldn't; the boy was clinging to him with a death grip.
Taiko indeed couldn't see the massacre, but he could smell the thick, almost suffocating scent of blood. For anyone in this era, the scent of a wound is something never forgotten. His face was currently devoid of color, as if the blood flowing from the execution ground were his own.
Children here weren't always fond of watching beheadings.