[Seno Estate — Outer Training Yard | March 2008]
The cold bit at Hayato's skin as he drove his shard-arm into the training post. The crack rang out across the yard, sharp enough to scatter crows from the wall.
The plating looked different now. Two years of hunts and secret feedings had thickened it into jagged armor, ridged like stone, glowing faintly in the dawn. His back bristled with shards, Ukaku fragments hovering and twitching like a halo of knives.
He swung again. The post groaned, the wood splitting deeper. Another strike and it collapsed into splinters. Shards fired from his back before he could stop them, burying into the stone tiles with a hiss.
Hayato stumbled. His body seized, his head ringing. For a moment his vision swam red. His chest felt heavy, like his lungs were drowning in liquid fire. He pressed a hand to his sternum, gasping.
Not just hunger. Not just sickness. It was something new, something crawling inside his veins.
From the edge of the yard, Vernon's voice cut through the air. "Control it."
Hayato forced himself upright, the shards at his back flickering weakly before folding into his body. Sweat rolled down his temple, freezing against his skin. His throat burned, but no vomit came — only that strange, metallic bitterness that had haunted him since Jackdaw.
"…Again," he rasped.
Vernon studied him, unreadable. For a moment, the older ghoul considered saying more. But silence won.
[Seno Estate — Inner Corridor | Noon]
The halls smelled of smoke and steel polish. Hayato walked slowly, every step a reminder of how much heavier his body felt now.
It wasn't only nausea anymore. His bones ached at night. His dreams burned — flashes of blood, jaws snapping, fragments of faces. He'd wake with his kagune half-formed, cutting into his bedding before he even realized it was out.
He knew why.
I promised I'd do it again. And I have.
It had stopped being a question after the second time. The third. By the fifth, he no longer bothered lying to himself. The hunger sharpened each time, human flesh dulling it only briefly. Ghoul flesh, though… it sang through him, like fire down his veins.
The sickness never faded, but neither did the power. His kagune struck harder. His shards cut deeper. His aura pressed heavier on the air, enough to make weaker ghouls flinch when he entered a room.
It worked.
He clenched his fists, the skin of his palms torn from training. I'll keep doing it. Until I'm strong enough to walk out of this place. Until none of them can stop me.
He stopped before a closed door — his mother's quarters. The paper was new, the lanterns unlit. The room beyond was hollow.
He lingered, hand twitching toward the handle. He didn't open it.
[Council Chamber — Evening]
The torches guttered in their brackets, smoke curling along the vaulted ceiling. The elders sat in their semicircle, masks gleaming faintly.
"He is changing," one murmured.
"Too fast," another hissed.
"His kagune flares without command. You saw it in the yard."
"It is the mark of feeding. He reeks of it."
One scoffed. "Good. Let him eat. Let the hunger carve him sharp. Better that than weakness."
A voice colder than the rest cut through. "Weakness is what his father had. A nothing who crawled into our bloodline by chance. He died because he lacked discipline. If the boy follows him, he will die the same."
A rumble of agreement circled the chamber. Bastion's name meant little here — only failure, a ghost of shame.
Another elder leaned forward, voice calm but sharp. "And if he doesn't follow? If he survives the rot?"
The clan head raised his hand. Silence fell. His mask caught the torchlight, gleaming faintly as he spoke.
"Then we will use him. Bastion was worthless. His son may yet prove otherwise. Let him feed. Let him grow. If he breaks, nothing is lost. If he endures…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
The others bowed their heads in silent assent.
[Seno Estate — Vernon's Quarters | Same Night]
Vernon sat in shadow, arms folded as he watched the boy from across the yard through the open window. Hayato's strikes echoed faintly in the distance, each one angrier than the last.
He had seen it happen before. Rogues who fed to climb ranks. Ghouls who mistook sickness for strength. He knew the signs: the erratic kagune, the fevers, the way a ghoul's eyes burned brighter with each hunt.
The boy wasn't hiding it. Not really.
You swore you'd keep walking, Hayato. I see where your steps are taking you.
But Vernon said nothing. He would not be the one to break the silence the clan demanded.
[Hayato's Quarters — Midnight]
The room was dark, lit only by the trembling flame of a lantern. Hayato sat cross-legged on the floor, shirt clinging to sweat, his shard-arm half-formed. The plating crawled further across his torso than it ever had, pulsing faintly with each heartbeat.
He lifted his hand. It shook violently, the crimson glow along his veins flaring before dimming again. His stomach lurched, but not with hunger — with something heavier, a pressure that never eased.
It's in me now. Every bite. Every corpse. It won't leave.
He clenched his jaw, fighting the tremor in his chest.
"…I said I'd do it again," he whispered. His voice cracked, hoarse. "And I did. And I'll keep doing it until I'm stronger than all of you."
The plating surged suddenly, crimson spikes racing across his ribs before shattering inward. Pain cut through him, sharp as glass. He doubled over, fists pressed to his temples, breath ragged.
His mind swam — flashes of faces, broken jaws, claws raking at him. He gagged, bile burning his throat, but swallowed it down. His body shook, sweat pooling at his collar.
"I'll master it," he rasped, his voice raw. "It won't master me."
The lantern guttered, shadows clawing long across the walls. His silhouette twisted, jagged with half-formed plating and shards, more beast than boy.
And though the room was silent, his vow lingered like smoke — bitter, heavy, impossible to wash away.