Chapter 3: Bloodmoon
The mist hung thick like an old curtain over forgotten memories.
But this time, something was different.
Daisuke didn't scream. He didn't bolt for the trees or drop to the dirt in hysteria. Instead, Emiko ran.
"No—No no no—! I'm not dying here!"
She darted in the opposite direction of the path, crashing through brush and foliage, gasping with panic in her lungs. Her arms clawed through vines as if they were chains pulling her back.
She thought she had escaped. She hadn't. The trees repeated, the trail curved—back to the same clearing. She was lost, panicking, the forest spiraling into a dizzying loop.
"Help me! Someone—anyone! I don't want to die!"
Her scream broke through the mist like glass.
She stumbled back into the group, panting, crouched low, hands on knees, too exhausted to look anyone in the eye.
Kintaro stared at her, confused. More confused than scared now. "Why does this place feel... wrong?"
The fog deepened, rolling in unnaturally fast. It swallowed their outlines.
"We should move," Daisuke said sharply, nodding toward the path. "Stick to the trail."
They walked. Cold air clung to their skin. Silence nestled between each step, and the further they went, the more Kintaro watched.
Sayuri... Emiko... Daisuke… something's changed in them, he noted. But the others—Arata, Uyeda, hiro—they're the same.
A crooked wooden sign emerged from the fog, planted at a fork in the road.
Where shadows walk, the truth hides. One path lies. One path binds. But only minds unclouded shall find the sign.
"Tch. Riddles?" Kintaro spat. "Screw that."
Arata squinted, shielding his eyes. The light fell to the right path. Shadows consumed the left.
"Unclouded... no shadows..." he muttered. "Right. That's the one."
Kintaro rolled his eyes. "Nerd." But he followed.
A cabin soon appeared—weathered, decaying. It leaned like it had given up long ago. Broken shingles, faded paint, time-worn wood.
"Open it up! Before something finds us!" Kintaro barked, thumping on the door.
Inside, the air was stale. Moth-eaten blankets sagged over old beds. A table stood in the center, and upon it—a book. Closed. Heavy.
Daisuke secured the door. Everyone settled for the night. Even Kintaro—though reluctantly—yielded his claim on the better bed.
But his eyes stayed fixed on the book.
He picked it up, sniffed. Old parchment and... something else. Burnt copper?
He moved toward the door.
"Tuk."
A hand tapped his shoulder. Emiko.
"You shouldn't," she whispered, her voice low. Too calm.
He raised a brow. "You serious?"
"Leave it. Sleep."
Kintaro shrugged. "Whatever," he said, but walked out anyway.
The fire crackled as the book curled in the flames.
Later, Kintaro's breathing slowed. Sleep took him.
Until—
Slashhak!
"AHHHHH—!"
Sayuri screamed. Emiko stood above her, blood-drenched, knife in hand.
Not Emiko.
A twisted face peeled through Emiko's like wax melting off a sculpture.
A Doppleganger.
Blood painted the floor. Uyeda lunged with his fists.
"You fucking freak!"
The Doppleganger shrieked and clashed with Uyeda. His punches landed—but not clean. Each blow sank like hitting jelly. He was fast, brutal—but it wasn't enough.
"Argh—!" Uyeda gasped as claws raked his side. He staggered, bleeding, cornered.
Kintaro watched.
Fuck this. I'm not dying here.
He ran.
Through the trees, blindly. No direction. No plan. Just away.
And somehow... he didn't loop.
He escaped.
He collapsed beneath a tree, panting.
Darkness.
He fell asleep under a big tree.
Morning came.
Kintaro opened his eyes. Alone. Still alive.
Then—
Srkk… srkk…
Rustling.
From the brush, three figures emerged. Dark-skinned. Bare-chested. Their garments were woven leaves and patterned cloth—distinct, tribal, ancient. Spears in hand.
"Wok sahh elk makh saouh!" one growled, gesturing.
Their eyes widened. Hungry. Predatory.
Kintaro ran.
Spears flew.
One grazed his leg. He fell. Screamed.
"AGHH—shit—!"
He yanked the spear out. Pain blinded him.
But he ran. Again.
The fog thickened. He found the cabin.
Half-collapsed. Empty.
Before he entered, he wrapped his wound with his tie. Limped through blood-stained floors.
The air was foul. Mold. Rot. Blood. A memory soaked into the wood.
He gagged.
Then he saw them.
The bodies.
Uyeda's arms twisted the wrong way. Daisuke's glasses shattered beside his caved-in skull. Sayuri's hair matted with something dark—something wrong.
And Emiko…
No face.
Just teeth. All of them. Smiling.
Everyone.
Dead.
"Huek—!" He vomited.
He crawled backward, hand landing on something.
Paper.
Sticky with blood.
The words were etched in slanted, manic strokes:
"You cannot win. You will never win. Even when you run, even when you survive, the circle will find you. The hour strikes again. Over. And over. Until you break. Or are broken."
Kintaro stared at it. Frozen. Then trembled.
He stayed there, the whole day.
Until sunset.
Dragging his bag. Limping. He moved on.
If I die again, will I come back?
He paused. The moon... wasn't there.
No… Wait. It's already past 6 a.m. But nothing happened after that. Isn't it 6 a.m?
The trees thinned. Below—
A village.
Wooden houses. A gate. Sloped hills.
Relief.
Then—
TENG—TENG—
The clock. Six.
PM.
Fog returned. Fast. Choking.
The moon—crimson.
Rain fell.
Not water.
Blood.
"Agh! What the fuck—!"
He clutched his ears. A bell—piercing.
Laughter.
Hiro's voice?
"Hahahahaha—!"
Blood trickled from Kintaro's eyes.
His body warped. Melted.
He split in two.
Kintaro died.
Death Count: 2.
Again—the pain. Again—the memories.
But this time, not his.
Emiko's.
A soft piano played in the background—just memory now. Her mother, always dressed in silk, sat across a crystal dining table, sipping wine, never once looking up.
"Emiko, go to your room."
"I just wanted to—"
"Now."
Her father never raised his voice. He didn't need to. His absence screamed louder.
Their mansion was vast. Empty. Cold. Emiko's laughter once echoed in its halls. Then it didn't.
Friends came for the parties, not for her.
She learned to smile in mirrors.
She learned that crying only stained the porcelain.
So she dressed prettier. Louder. She said the things people wanted to hear. She laughed when it wasn't funny. She became the kind of girl they couldn't ignore.
"Pick me, pick me, pick me..." the voice inside her whispered, so often that it began to sound like her own.
Underneath it all, she just wanted someone to stay.
But no one ever did.
And so the mask hardened.
Then—
A voice.
Deep. Whispering.
"Kintaro… The clock marks the curse. From you guys don't die before the hour passes. Or the bloodmon will give you a punishment Again. And again."
He woke.
Again.
Back at the beginning.
Uyeda Amaya. The thug. His rival.
"Oi! Kintaro!"
He stomped forward, arms rolling up.
"I haven't forgotten what you did!"
Sayuri stepped between. "Stop! Now's not the time to fight!"
Then, the voice.
Not from around them—but in them.
"Welcome."
"This world awaits your challenge. Follow the path. Do not turn back. There is no escape—only forward. Defy this, and the death loop welcomes you again."
"Survive. Win. Or fade into nothing."
Daylight. No moon.
A different start.
But the same rules.
The world ahead waited.