The cemetery was quiet.
It was the kind of silence that wasn't natural—too heavy, too complete, as though the air itself had been drained of sound. No insects buzzed. No leaves rustled. Even the distant hum of the city seemed swallowed by the mist that clung to the gravestones.
Rika walked among the crooked markers, her steps slow, deliberate. The book pressed harder against her back with every stride. It wasn't just weight. It was a warning.
She had come to hunt the Kubikajiri.
The stories were old: a headless ghost, wandering graveyards at night, hungering for heads. Not bodies—just heads. The thing would sniff at corpses, paw at coffins, tear open graves with rotten fingers to gnaw on skulls like marrow bones. Sometimes, travelers unlucky enough to cross its path would vanish too—heads gone, bodies left behind like discarded clothes.
Rika's lips tightened. This was no ordinary spirit.
The mist thickened around her ankles as she stepped deeper into the graveyard. And then she smelled it.
Rot.
Not the quiet rot of old flowers or weathered wood. No. This was wet, sharp, like open flesh left too long in summer heat.
The book shivered.
"Show yourself," Rika whispered.
A shadow shifted between the gravestones. A form hunched low, crawling, dragging itself closer.
She saw it then—the Kubikajiri.
Its body was half a man's, half something else. Its neck ended abruptly, jagged and raw where a head should be. Yet it moved with purpose, sniffing, clawing, searching. Around its waist hung a chain of skulls, some human, some not, their teeth clattering faintly in the silence.
The thing froze. Slowly, it turned—or tried to. The stumps where its head should be twitched, as if invisible eyes were staring straight at her.
Rika raised her hand. The book peeled itself open, pages fluttering with anticipation.
But before she could speak the command, the creature lunged.
It moved impossibly fast, claws raking across the stones, skulls clattering as it leapt toward her. Rika twisted aside, hair whipping as its claws grazed her arm, tearing through fabric but missing flesh.
The croak rose in her throat. Without thinking, she released it.
The air split. The sound was unnatural, bone-shaking, a scream and a growl all at once. Gravestones cracked, the mist shuddered, and the Kubikajiri reeled, clawing at the stump of its neck as if trying to silence the echo.
Rika pressed forward, hand outstretched. "You're mine!"
The book's light flared, black script spilling outward like chains. They lashed at the creature, wrapping its arms, its torso. The Kubikajiri shrieked without a mouth, the sound vibrating through the ground itself.
For a moment, she thought it was over.
But then the chains snapped.
The thing lunged again, faster this time. It slammed into her, sending her sprawling across the dirt. Pain shot through her ribs as she skidded against a gravestone, coughing.
The book hissed, its pages snapping violently.
And then she felt it—the hunger. Not hers. Theirs. The spirits inside. They clamored, desperate, demanding to be released.
Use us.
Her vision blurred. She saw the eyeless child's sockets overlapping her own, saw the woman's humming mouth forming beneath her lips.
For one heartbeat, she let go.
The croak tore free again, louder, deeper, cracking the ground beneath her. Shadows rippled outward from her body, stretching across the graveyard. Her fingers curled, nails lengthening like claws.
The Kubikajiri froze, its headless body trembling. For the first time, it faltered.
Rika rose to her feet slowly, hair spilling over her face. Her voice came out layered, her own words twisted with the voices of the dead.
"You belong to me."
The book opened of its own accord this time, pages shining like a maw. The black script surged forward, not chains now but hands. Hands of the trapped dead, clawing, grasping, pulling.
The Kubikajiri shrieked again, thrashing, but it could not resist. The hands dragged it down, tearing the skulls from its chain one by one, pulling its body apart into smoke and ink.
With a final snap, it was gone.
The book slammed shut.
Silence.
Rika staggered, her knees buckling. She pressed her hands to the ground, gasping, her throat raw, her skin clammy with sweat. Her vision swam with faces—her own, and not her own.
But she was alive. And stronger.
Slowly, she forced herself to stand. Her body trembled with exhaustion, but beneath it, she could feel something new.
Power.
A gnawing hunger that was not hers, yet lived inside her now. The Kubikajiri's hunger.
She touched her lips. They tingled, as though invisible teeth were gnashing just beneath her skin.
The thought made her shiver. But she did not recoil.
She smiled.
And somewhere in the mist, unseen eyes watched her.
Keizo lit another cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating his sharp grin.
Tamao whispered, her gaze still fixed on Rika. "She ate it."
Keizo exhaled smoke, his eyes narrowing. "No… it ate her. And she didn't mind."