The year was 1801.
In this world, the sun was not salvation — it was a countdown. Every dawn promised only that by the time the sun set, demons would crawl out of the blackness once more.
For centuries, villages in Japan had lived beneath this curse. Demons — creatures of twisted flesh and endless hunger — attacked nightly.They devoured men, tore apart women, and carried infants away into the forest, leaving nothing but blood-stained cradles and unanswered cries.
And once a month… the Demon King himself appeared.
He came when the moon was full and pale, his monstrous silhouette darkening the villages with terror. He did not need to slaughter. He did not need to destroy. He came only for the newborns. Every month, at least 4 was claimed. Mothers would beg. Fathers would offer themselves in exchange. It never mattered.
"Do not resist," the elders always said.
"His hunger is the curse of our ancestors."
Generations believed it was punishment — a sin buried deep in the blood of mankind. Long ago, perhaps, someone had angered the god. Perhaps their ancestors had touched forbidden power. Now, they bore the price.
And so the cycle repeated.
🌑 Human Protection & Daily Struggle
Villagers fought back in the only ways they knew. Fields of burning torches and scarlet flowers lined their borders. They forged iron bells and hung them high, hoping the ringing would drive demons back. Warrior bands carried crude spears soaked in saltwater. Priests prayed, chanting until their throats bled.
None of it mattered.
The flowers burned.
The bells rang.
The spears broke.
The demons still came.
Every night, men died. Every night, families hid beneath the floorboards, listening as screams filled the air. They lived like cattle, waiting for slaughter.
And tonight… was worse.
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In the small village of Takayama, Japan, the rain poured relentlessly, soaking the earth into thick mud. Shadows of writhing demons filled the village square, their claws glinting as they tore through homes. Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating pools of blood on the ground.
And then he came.
The Demon King.
His body was massive, four arms rippling with muscle, each hand ending in talons long enough to pierce stone. His face was stretched with too many eyes, glowing red like lanterns in the storm. He did not roar when he appeared. He simply walked, and the villagers collapsed in despair.
The Demon King's claw reached through the broken doorway of the small wooden house. The father, trembling, raised a crude iron axe, swinging it with all the fear and courage he could muster—but it was useless. One sweep of the King's massive talon sent him sprawling to the muddy floor, knees giving way, forehead hitting the wet earth. Pain and terror stole his breath as he scrambled to rise, only to meet the monster's indifferent gaze.
The mother screamed, clinging desperately to her newborn, pressing him tightly to her chest as if sheer will could protect him. Rain plastered her hair to her face, tears mixing with dirt as she sobbed, rocking the baby with frantic urgency.
"Please… please spare my child!" the father gasped, voice breaking.
"Take me… take me instead! Please, not my son!" the mother cried, holding him as if letting go meant certain death.
But mercy had no place in this world. The Demon King lifted the infant effortlessly from her grasp, eyes glinting with cruel amusement, and the parents could only watch, powerless, as the life they swore to protect was taken from them.
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🌑 The Entrance
The demon King lifted the infant toward his mouth.
And then—
Step.
Step.
Through the storm, A small eight‑year‑old boy with ink‑black hair, a lean, compact frame like a coiled blade, tattered clothes, and eyes that burn a cruel, unnatural red.a rusted knife clutched in his hand.
At first, the villagers thought he was another child fleeing.
Then they saw his eyes.
Red. Faintly glowing. Calm.
The boy walked like the storm bent around him. Like the earth itself acknowledged his presence. Each step carried weight far beyond his years.
Whispers spread in the chaos.
"Yochiro…? That's the Homurao boy…"
"No… he's just a child… he'll die!"
The Demon King noticed him. For the first time, the King lowered the child in his grasp. His many eyes studied the boy, amused.
> "A child dares step before me? Do you wish to die early?"
Demon: " But he was not a normal child "
Demon : > "So eager to die… how delicious. I'll peel the hope from your bones, one breath at a time, until you beg the void to claim you."
The boy — Yochiro Homurao — did not flinch. He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. His voice cut through the thunder like a blade through silk:
> "Die early? Hm."
His small fingers tightened around the knife.
"No. I came here to watch you die."
"I come to finish you — not to destroy you."
The villagers froze. Gasps rippled through the square.
The King's grin widened, a growl rumbling from his throat.
> "Arrogant insect."
He tossed the baby aside into the arms of a nearby woman, not out of mercy, but because his appetite shifted.
"Do you think a child with a broken blade can wound me?"
" This is the biggest mistake of your life "
Yochiro's smirk sharpened. His aura began to bleed out — black flames twisting with red sparks, the air warping as if reality itself feared him.
He raised his knife, the tiny blade now shrouded in demonic aura.
> "You call this broken?" His tone was casual, mocking.
"No… this is enough to carve you into pieces. And if it breaks, I'll just use my hands."
> "I've killed hundreds like you."
> "That was nothing. Your end comes now."
The King's laughter shook the village.
But something in his chest… twisted. For centuries, he had devoured without pause. Yet this child's eyes made him hesitate.
Yochiro took another step, the aura thickening
> Your time will come
> "You murdered for pleasure — even the harmless. You robbed them of peace. Tonight, you taste the harvest of your sins."
His calm tone never broke, but the fury underneath was unmistakable.
"Tonight… the cycle ends. Tonight, you choke on your own blood."
The King roared, finally enraged.
Claws descended. Mud exploded. Lightning split the sky.
And in the storm, the boy who walked like a king clashed with the monster who ruled as one.
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