Raphael exhaled softly, an almost amused sigh, and with a casual motion pushed the katana's edge away from his throat. The file in his other hand snapped shut and dissolved into the white air like ash in the wind.
"Sorry to disappoint," he said, tone light but edged with something sharper, "but you're not getting ten minutes of anything. Let's just say I'm… a guide. A rookie, sure—but soon to be the next God. Anyway—"
Jacob slid his katana back into its sheath with deliberate precision, the metal whispering home. His stance shifted to stillness, posture relaxed but eyes unwavering. A sigh escaped his lips, quieter than the last.
"So what's the point of bringing me here? If you're some 'next god' or whatever deity you claim to be, does that mean I've died? That's impossible. I haven't been slain in battle."
Raphael smiled, the sort of smile that suggested he knew more than he would ever say outright. He clapped his hands once, the sound strangely resonant in the empty white plane. Then he paused, raised his fingers, and snapped.
The blankness vanished.
They stood suspended in an expanse of infinite stars, galaxies spiraling slowly in the distance, each burning like an ember in the cosmic dark. Raphael's voice came calm, but his words carried weight.
"No. You didn't die. In fact, you wouldn't have—no matter how long you fought. Mr. Black… you are no ordinary mortal. Truth be told, it's impossible to kill you. Even Death herself avoids your shadow." A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "She fears you. But I digress. Your soul is going to be reborn into a world unlike this one. A place of magic, kingdoms, beasts… and all the fantasies mortals dream about. There, you'll find the means to fulfill your desires. Ah—time's up. The rest will be… implemented."
Jacob opened his mouth to speak, but the stars began to blur. The vastness around him twisted, folding in on itself, until it became nothing but darkness. The silence was absolute.
Then came warmth.
He floated in it, a strange comfort pressing against every part of him. A soft rhythm—steady, alive—echoed faintly in his ears. Without warning, something filled his mouth, warm and rich. His eyes snapped open.
A woman's face hovered above him, her features gentle, her smile radiant. She cradled him in her arms, guiding him to her breast as she fed him.
"My sweet baby Yamori," she murmured, gazing at him as though he were the most precious thing in the world. "Such an appetite. Even after a year, you're still so small."
Jacob—now Yamori—froze for a moment. The truth crashed into him with surreal finality. He was an infant. His limbs weak, his body fragile, his perspective a mere arm's length from the woman's heartbeat.
So this is my reality now. A child. Helpless.
Still, he drank. There was nothing else he could do. The act was instinctive, though his mind churned behind his grey eyes.
Raphael spoke of desires fulfilled. Of a world brimming with magic. But he didn't bring me here for charity—no god, or would-be god, acts without purpose. Whatever his true motive, I'll need to uncover it. Slowly. Carefully. For now… I'll grow. I'll watch. I'll learn the tides of this world until I can turn them in my favor.
The woman held him close, humming softly, oblivious to the mind within the child. Outside the small room, the world waited—vast, unknown, and already moving to shape his fate.
Thus began the second life of the Oni of the West—once the most feared samurai on Earth, now reborn as a fragile child. The dice of fate had rolled again, and the game was only beginning.