Chapter 9 - GYUTARO'S SECRET REVEALED

Interrogate him about his plans! Gyutaro spat blood, then sneered: "Muzan Kibutsuji... our Demon King... wants Vampire City for his Eternal Night Ritual!" I exchanged a grim glance with Kenji. The name echoed in my skull like a curse, heavier with each repetition, summoning a dread that coiled around my spine. Muzan. The architect of centuries of horror, now setting his sights on the heart of Vampire City, a metropolis that had barely begun to heal after the Crimson War. Kenji's knuckles turned white around his blade's hilt, his breathing sharp and controlled. "What does he mean by Eternal Night?" he asked through gritted teeth, stepping closer to the broken demon. Gyutaro coughed again, ichor spilling from his lips, and grinned. "It's already begun. The city's underbelly—you think those disappearances were random? No, no, no. He's collecting souls, ancient bloodlines, rare hybrids. All fuel for the ritual." My heart sank. Those rumors—families vanishing, elders going silent, even entire vampire enclaves crumbling overnight—it wasn't just street violence or rogue packs. It was orchestration. Ritual. "What happens when the ritual is complete?" I asked, already fearing the answer. Gyutaro's grin widened. "Eternal night descends. No dawn. No sun. Just blood and darkness. Forever. Muzan will become the Solar Eclipse incarnate—a god without rivals." I felt the world tilt. A city without sunlight? A world plunged into endless night? That wasn't just conquest. It was extinction for the remaining humans and a death sentence for those of us who still needed the balance—light and shadow. "Where is he conducting it?" Kenji demanded, pressing his blade's edge to Gyutaro's throat. Gyutaro didn't flinch. He looked eager, fanatical. "The Catacombs. Beneath the old Cathedral. That's where the Pillars sleep. That's where the blood flows unbroken for centuries. The perfect anchor." I stepped back. The Cathedral was sacred ground—or had been. After the Fall, it became a tomb, sealed, warded, left to silence and ghosts. "How long do we have?" I whispered. Gyutaro started to laugh, high and jagged. "You're already late. The lunar convergence started last night. Tonight is the second phase. If you want to stop him—" he suddenly lunged forward, aiming for Kenji's throat with a blade of bone that sprouted from his wrist, but Kenji reacted faster, decapitating him in a clean arc. His body slumped forward, still twitching, the laughter fading. The silence that followed felt thicker than before. "He wasn't lying," Kenji said after a moment, wiping his blade clean. "I could feel the truth in his blood. That ritual—it's real." I nodded slowly. There was no time to waste. We needed allies. But who would stand against Muzan now? Most of the old houses were extinct, scattered, or in hiding. The Night Guard was fractured. But there were still some left—rebels, outcasts, warriors who hadn't given up. We set out immediately, riding the Night Rails toward the lower districts. The sky was already dimming, the moon hanging swollen and red like an omen. Each stop we passed was quieter than the last. Shadows moved strangely. Eyes watched from alleys, windows slammed shut. Fear had spread its roots. We stopped in Sector Nine, where the old dhampir guild used to train. I hadn't been here in years. The old barracks were burned, half-collapsed. But someone was inside. We entered cautiously, blades drawn. "Who dares trespass on cursed ground?" came a voice from the darkness. I recognized it instantly. "Talia," I said, stepping forward. A figure emerged—lean, cloaked, and carrying a glaive etched with runes. Her silver eyes narrowed. "I thought you were dead," she said, voice flat. "I'm hard to kill," I replied. Kenji gave her a nod. "We need help. Muzan's launching the Eternal Night Ritual. We have less than two nights to stop it." Talia's face darkened. "I heard the whispers. The blood sings of it. I felt the shift. I hoped I was wrong." She motioned for us to follow her into the ruins. "There's a war council gathering in the Deep Hollow. What's left of the old guard will be there." We traveled through collapsed tunnels, twisted roots, broken wards. Signs of battles past marked every step. In the Hollow, a hundred eyes turned to us. Lycans, vampires, witches, revenants—strange bedfellows gathered in desperation. Talia stepped forward. "They know. Tell them what you told me." I stood on the crumbling dais. "Muzan Kibutsuji wants to remake the world. Eternal night. No sun. No balance. He's using the Catacombs under the Cathedral to fuel the ritual. It's already begun. We have less than forty-eight hours." Murmurs rippled. A lycan general—Korr—the size of a truck, growled, "Why should we believe you?" I tossed Gyutaro's severed head onto the stone. Its eyes still twitched. "Because his lieutenants are dying to keep it secret." Silence followed. Then a sorceress stepped forward. "If the ritual completes, we'll be trapped. No astral travel. No light-based magic. All of our defenses collapse. The Demon King becomes the axis of the new order." Kenji looked around. "We need to strike first. Hit the Cathedral before the second phase." Korr snorted. "It's suicide." "So is waiting," I said. "But if we go in with a strike force—fast, quiet, brutal—we can break the ritual before it locks in." After a heated debate, we formed a pact. Twenty elite fighters, one mission: infiltrate the Cathedral by midnight, descend into the Catacombs, and stop the ritual. Talia led the mages in weaving cloaking sigils. Kenji distributed silver-dust vials—painful to us, but it would hide our presence from demon scryers. As the sun set, we moved like ghosts across Vampire City's corpse. We passed through Market Row, where once vendors peddled bloodfruit and shadowsteel, now silent and overrun with rot. Past the old Opera House, where the song of the Night Sirens had lured so many to madness. Finally, we reached the Cathedral. Its spires loomed against the blood moon, runes pulsing sickly red. The doors were sealed by flesh-magic—pulsing, breathing. Korr stepped up, driving his obsidian claws into the mass. It screamed. The door fell open. Inside, we descended into a dream of bones. Skulls lined the walls. Candles burned blue with stolen souls. The ritual had already begun. At its center stood Muzan—not just a figure, but a vortex of darkness wearing skin, eyes like collapsing stars. Around him, twelve pillars—each once a powerful entity—now bound in suffering, their life essence feeding the swirling glyphs on the floor. He looked at us and smiled. "I was wondering when you'd arrive," he said. "You're just in time to witness divinity." We charged. Korr's warcry shook the walls. Talia's glaive carved light through shadow. Kenji moved like lightning, cutting down cultists. I faced Muzan. He didn't raise a hand—but the shadows moved. They attacked, became beasts. I called on my bloodline—my inner fire. The sun within me. It ignited. Light clashed with dark, screams echoed. We fought for hours—or seconds. Time fractured. Muzan struck me through a wall of bone. I rose, bleeding, broken, but burning. I grabbed the Sun Relic from my pouch—a last resort. Kenji yelled, "NOW!" I hurled it into the ritual's core. Muzan screamed—not in pain, but fury. The ritual cracked. The sky above trembled. Light bled through. He lunged for me—but Talia intercepted, sacrificing herself in a burst of magic. I saw her die with a smile. The ritual shattered. Muzan was pulled back—banished, not destroyed. For now. The Cathedral collapsed. We barely escaped. Dawn broke over Vampire City for the first time in weeks. Survivors emerged. We had won—but the war was not over. Kenji placed a hand on my shoulder. "He'll return." I nodded. "And we'll be ready."