Central Prison of Hokori
Cells of the Nameless Ones.
There, where even the air refused to move…
Enma stared at a crack in the wall, as if expecting something more than dust to emerge from it.
The light was dim.
The silence, thick.
Hope… hadn't lived there for a long time.
"Tell me, Enma," said Yagameru, his cellmate, lying back with his hands behind his head. "Is this the worst present your truths have ever shown you?"
Enma didn't look at him.
"Perhaps it is…" she whispered hoarsely.
"But for humans, there's no difference.
Show them the future, the truth, or hell itself…
they'll still kill each other."
"So that's it? We die here like two forgotten rebels?"
"If they wanted us dead," Enma replied coldly, "we wouldn't still be talking."
And then they heard it.
Wooden heels.
A ridiculous tune.
Steps like a badly rehearsed dance.
"If the world's going to hell, it might as well have rhythm," sang a voice far too cheerful for a place so dead.
Shirota Karakuri.
He appeared dancing down the corridor, wearing a ridiculously colorful kimono, a paper flower in his hair, and an expression of happiness so fake it was dangerous.
The guards moved to stop him.
"You can't be here! This area's restricted!"
Shirota stopped.
He looked at them.
And with a false smile, murmured,
"Oh, right. You still think what you do matters."
He activated his Shinkon.
His words turned into blades that sliced open minds.
"You… always dreamed of deserting."
"You… wanted to be a musician, not a butcher."
The guards fell to their knees.
Their hands trembled.
And in their eyes… the reflection of their own truths.
The keys clattered to the ground.
Shirota spun on one foot and opened both cells with the flair of a stage performer.
"Tick-tock, my favorite convicts… the show's about to begin."
Enma stared at him in silence.
"The last thing I expected," she said, standing up. "Even my truths feel like lies when the idiot coming to save me sings about flowers and death."
Yagameru stepped out with a grin.
"Hey, thanks, buddy. When I throw a party at my mansion, you're the main singer."
Shirota looked at him.
This time… he didn't smile.
The prison fell silent.
His voice was low now.
Colder.
"I didn't come to save you.
I came to use you.
Lend me your powers.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And thank you."
No one answered.
But in the air, it was already clear—
Something had broken.
And the world would pay for it.
---
The capital of Sainokuni was silent.
Not out of respect—
but out of fear.
No wind blew.
No bells rang.
Even the sky seemed to hold its breath.
Kenshiro Gai, the King of War, watched the main wall from a hill.
Around him, his army waited for orders…
But the General said nothing. He only stared.
"It's not a city," he murmured, lowering his voice. "It's a coffin. And it's about to open."
He could feel it.
An energy neither human nor spiritual…
Something that should not exist.
The Division of Narikami hadn't yet arrived.
Nor the Faceless Division of Kagemaru.
But if he waited any longer—
they could lose everything.
"Captain Sazanami," he called.
A tall man with dark hair, a scarred face, and a heavy air stepped forward.
"At your command, General."
"You're in charge. Not a single move until I return. And if I don't…"
Kenshiro stopped.
He looked toward the city.
"Burn it all.
But don't let it spread."
"Yes, sir."
Without another word, Kenshiro Gai stepped into hell.
He descended the hill.
Crossed the invisible line between the living world…
and a place that should never have existed.
The gates were open.
Too open.
Broken streets.
Ruined houses.
Dead soldiers.
People weeping in the alleys.
But no one attacked.
No one screamed.
No one fled.
Kenshiro walked steadily, unhurried, as if the ghosts themselves were waiting for him.
And then—
Thousands of arrows rained down from the rooftops.
The sky seemed to fall on him.
Kenshiro drew his sword.
And instead of raising it…
he dragged it through the air.
One motion.
And the sky split in two.
A rift of sheer will tore the atmosphere.
The arrows vanished.
The world paused.
Kenshiro didn't even blink.
"If you think that's enough…"
his voice thundered,
"you don't understand the price of waking war."
A murmur echoed at the far end of the street.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Steady.
Fanatical.
A man emerged from the shadows.
Silver hair.
Golden robe.
A sword etched with divine symbols.
Shinsei Kōji.
The Chosen by God.
Or so he claimed.
"You shouldn't be here," said Shinsei.
"This land you tread…
is sacred."
"Sacred?" Kenshiro's voice could have cracked temples.
"A place where people weep and the dead rot in the sun…
has no right to call itself sacred."
Both stood still.
Face to face.
The fanatic of faith…
and the demon of war.
---
Level 2 – Central Laboratory of Sainokuni
It was an unending hell.
The monster would not stop regenerating.
Its screams weren't of pain—they were of damnation.
As if a hundred thousand souls begged at once for a death that would not come.
And yet… it lived.
Each of its arms summoned a different Shinkon:
Black flames.
Claws made of guilt.
Screams that froze the soul.
Eyes that revealed the sins of those who looked into them.
It was chaos incarnate.
An open scar in reality.
A mistake that should never have been born.
Donyoku gasped.
He didn't know what else to do.
"This isn't like the humanoid," he said through clenched teeth.
"This… is so much worse."
Chisiki, Seita, and he could barely stand.
Their bodies trembled, their Shinkon on the verge of collapse.
Seimei was unconscious.
Aika bled from her ear.
Iwamaru was their last hope.
And even he was broken.
His lips were split.
Blood spilled with every cough.
His right arm hung useless.
His breathing came harsh and ragged.
And still, the monster advanced.
A shadow fell violently from above.
BOOM!
An explosion.
Dust.
Silence.
And from the smoke, a figure rose.
A giant Shinigami, formed from the three before it—wrapped in dark armor, cursed symbols crawling across its body.
Iwamaru… was inside.
Or rather, it was no longer him fighting.
His own Shinkon had triggered Hizumi.
He no longer controlled it.
It controlled him.
Iwamaru moved with inhuman speed.
Each strike more precise than the last.
Each slash, deeper.
Each movement, more unreal.
And every cut made the monster suffer.
For the first time—it screamed in pain.
Chisiki watched through blurred vision and understood.
"That monster has a core…
That's what's holding all those bodies together."
"Then Iwamaru can kill it?" Seita asked weakly.
"Yes, but at this rate…
he'll die too."
A silence.
A choice.
"Then we have to let him finish," Seita said coldly.
"What—?" Donyoku shouted.
"Are you insane?"
Chisiki's voice was harsh.
"This time there's no other way. It's that, or we all die. Sacrificing him is necessary."
Donyoku stared at him.
Those words cut deeper than any blade.
"Sacrifice him?
That's how you plan to change the world?"
"Donyoku, enough. I know it's not what we wanted… but there's no choice."
"There's always a choice!
Save him!
Saving him is the choice no one else in this damn world makes!"
His Shinkon flared.
The dark aura pouring from his back was stronger than ever.
A hunger for victory—
Not just to win…
But to refuse surrender.
"We're not like the King.
Or the army.
I'm not letting him die!"
His eyes burned.
And his soul roared.
For the first time,
Donyoku wasn't fighting just for family…
He was fighting for someone he refused to lose.
---
The air trembled.
Donyoku rose from the dust, blood spilling from the wound in his side.
Pain didn't matter.
Desperation fueled him beyond reason.
He leapt.
A claw struck him midair.
It tore through his chest, his flesh, perhaps even deeper.
Blood scattered like a cursed flower blooming toward the sky.
But he didn't stop.
His daggers flashed like lightning.
With a single slash, he tore off two heads and three arms from the monster.
The creature shrieked.
And Donyoku roared.
His eyes were no longer human.
His pupils fused with darkness.
The daggers pulsed with an insatiable Shinkon.
They were no longer weapons—
they were fangs.
Chisiki watched from afar, throat dry.
"What… what is this?
Is this still a fight, or a collision of monsters?"
Seita gritted his teeth.
"Why didn't he let him die…?
Iwamaru knew what he was doing."
But Donyoku pressed on.
Meanwhile, Iwamaru shattered from within.
His back convulsed.
He coughed blood.
His arms cracked apart—
and his Shinigami rebuilt them endlessly,
as if his body no longer belonged to him.
Donyoku knew if he didn't act, he'd lose him forever.
He carved his way forward.
The monster twisted, slashed, burned him, showed him distorted visions—
But Donyoku pushed on.
Until he reached Iwamaru.
"Iwamaru! It's me!"
But Iwamaru, lost in Hizumi, didn't recognize him.
He attacked.
A single swing nearly split Donyoku in half.
The monster seized the chaos.
It lunged like a grotesque tide and swallowed them both.
Donyoku crashed to the ground.
His daggers flew away.
His breath was broken.
His mind—a fog.
And then he saw something worse.
The monster was absorbing Iwamaru.
Devouring him.
Layer by layer of pulsating flesh.
"No!" he screamed.
From afar, Chisiki shouted,
"You can't save him! You'll die too!"
But Donyoku didn't listen.
He dug his bare hands into the monster.
No weapons.
Only will.
And every strike…
every tear made with his nails and bones…
opened real wounds.
All three screamed.
Donyoku.
Iwamaru.
The abomination.
Seita watched in silence.
Chisiki… couldn't speak.
Then—everything stopped.
A white aura covered the field.
The air froze.
Even hatred itself seemed suspended.
"Step back," said a voice.
It was Reiji.
His eyes burned.
His soul trembled.
His Yuino had awakened.
Reality fractured around him.
And for a moment, there was only darkness.
He and the beast.
A world of black and white, where only the soul dictated the rules.
Reiji walked forward.
His katana was unsheathed.
Kokoro no Homura – Daikiri.
The Flame of the Heart – Great Cut.
"I'm sorry…
I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears tracing his face. "You never asked to exist.
You only wanted to sleep…"
One slash.
And the suffering ended.
When the Yuino faded,
silence reigned.
Reiji stood motionless.
His shoulders slumped.
His sword lowered.
His soul… more shattered than before.
Seita had formed a barrier of ice.
Inside it were Donyoku, Iwamaru, Aika, and Seimei.
Chisiki still couldn't comprehend what he'd seen.
But one thing was certain—
That day, they all broke a little more.
---
The room still smelled of burnt flesh and despair.
Reiji hadn't moved.
His eyes barely focused.
Donyoku lay bleeding but alive.
Iwamaru barely breathed, surrounded by dissolving fragments of Shinigami.
Seita maintained the barrier with what little ice he had left.
Aika wept silently as she bandaged Seimei.
Chisiki just stared into the void—
as if the dead monster still screamed in his ears.
Then, a creak.
The walls began to retract.
Muscles… tissue… organic cables.
As if the very structure of the lab was guiding them.
And a massive door of rusted steel and hand-carved symbols opened slowly.
Behind it, a corridor lit by unnatural light beckoned them downward.
From speakers hidden within the fleshy walls,
a smooth, almost paternal voice echoed with an artificial hum:
"Congratulations.
You've achieved what so many could not."
Reiji tightened his grip on his katana.
He knew that voice.
"Dr. Hinzoku Tsukimura…"
The voice chuckled softly.
"Oh, I'm glad you still remember me.
Though I must admit—that previous scene was… fascinating."
---
Level 7 – Main Laboratory
Tsukimura spoke while adjusting the controls of a new capsule.
The white humanoid strapped to a black metal chair did not move.
Did not breathe.
Did not tremble.
It simply existed.
"You know, Rikuto always told me faith was a gift," the doctor muttered, pouring a purple liquid into the humanoid's tubes.
"But I see it as a trap."
His eyes darted feverishly between screens and formulas.
He pressed buttons.
Changed crystals.
"Faith…
that irrational need to believe something up there cares about you.
'God will help me.
With God's blessing, tomorrow will be better.
Everything has a divine purpose.'
Is there a more pathetic phrase than that?"
His voice grew harsh.
"Show me that God!
Make Him descend from the heavens to heal the children burned by my experiments!
Make Him stop a war, return souls to those I killed with my own hands!"
Tsukimura stepped closer to the humanoid.
His wrinkled, obsessed face reflected in the creature's pupil-less eyes.
"But no…
No one descends from heaven.
No one listens.
No one answers."
His voice fell to a whisper.
"That's why…
if the world needs miracles…
I'll create them myself.
I'll forge divinities that can be born without the permission of the divine.
That won't pray. Won't love. Won't doubt.
Only act."
He pulled a lever.
The laboratory shook.
"And when this—
my next god—
opens its eyes…"
The world will know that divinity
was never a gift.
It was a damn lie.
---
The Supreme Assembly of States (S.A.E.) convened an emergency session.
No debates.
No smiles.
No diplomacy.
Only fear.
The leaders of every nation heard the unthinkable:
"We hereby declare the Global State of Emergency (G.S.E.).
Under Articles 9, 12, and 21, all nations must activate their offensive protocols against threats that disrupt the existential balance of the world."
A murmur swept through the hall like a frozen blade—
and soon grew into a roar of panicked decisions.
---
Hokori—
the rebel kingdom, the impure kingdom, the kingdom that never fell—
was now officially recognized by the S.A.E. as a Black Entity.
A catastrophe.
A world threat.
"A single nation has simultaneously faced Sainokuni and the Empire of Enketsu—
and not only resisted.
It gained ground.
Broke treaties.
Destroyed beliefs."
---
Sainokuni, the devout kingdom, the one that cried out for God—
was declared defeated.
Its troops scattered.
Its faith broken.
Its capital surrounded.
---
And then… the world began to tremble.
The Empire of Enketsu, under Dictator Zanka, activated Total Offensive Mode.
Authorization was granted for Tsugumono—sacred weapons and soul experimentation.
---
Yukiguni, the Nation of Ice and Lament, stayed silent for hours.
But finally—
"Let them prepare.
If Hokori has awakened its demons…
we shall open the tombs of our ancients.
And the world will freeze once more."
---
Kanjō, the archipelago of a thousand lies, had no army, no heroes—
but something better:
money, technology, and spies.
They secretly funded the S.A.E.
Sold their souls… for survival.
---
The Sacred Lands of Reimei declared spiritual neutrality.
"If we take part," they said, "this war will become holy…
And there will be no salvation for anyone."
Not even the A.S.E. dared to press them further.
---
Sabaku, the Kingdom of Endless Dunes, watched in silence.
Its envoys spoke in hushed tones:
"Hokori never asked for our aid…
And still, they survived.
They do not seek allies…
only redemption."
---
And as the world braced for the inevitable…
As capitals reinforced their borders…
As dark treaties were signed,
and the seals of forbidden weapons awakened…
A single truth echoed across the planet.
Hell was not coming.
Hell had already begun…
and it had a name.
That name was Hokori.
---
When gods fall silent, men create monsters.
And when the world no longer fears monsters…
it is because it has chosen to become one.
Thank you for venturing into this second arc,
where war is not waged solely with blades,
but with wounds of the past, decisions beyond return…
and souls that have yet to choose which side they stand on.