Thunder rolled across the sky like a warning—low and endless—and lightning tore brief wounds of white into the clouds. The relentless downpour muffled the echoed footsteps. A young man in a black hoodie and wearing a peculiar porcelain clown mask—with its bright colors and permanently frozen smile—made a stark contrast to the predicament he was in.
Blood and grime covered the man with the clown mask; rips and dirt stained his clothes, and blood from his head painted part of the mask red. Dozens of men followed him, each wearing their own mask.
As he ran through the dense forest, he suddenly blurred, as if swallowed by fog, and vanished—only to reappear a few meters away.
"He can teleport! Don't let him escape!" shouted the pursuer with the oni mask, barking orders at the others. One of the pursuers wearing a fox mask took a small knife and threw it at the clown mask. It missed him by a wide margin, but suddenly the knife turned and pursued him as if it had a mind of its own. It cut him deeply in the stomach, making him grunt in pain. He stumbled a little but kept running.
As the chase pressed on, a thunderous roar echoed ahead of the clown. A swollen river, flooded by the relentless rain, surged across his path. He stopped abruptly and turned, gasping for breath as he clutched his bleeding stomach. Though the mask concealed his face, his eyes burned with hatred and venom—eyes sharp enough to kill with a glance.
The pursuers also came to a halt. They stood a few meters away from the clown and looked at him with caution. A man around two meters tall pushed the others aside and stepped in front of them, his body looking like it had been sculpted to perfection, his dark grey t-shirt barely containing his bulging muscles. He was wearing a red oni mask.
The mask glowed in the dim light as if it had been carved from solid rage. Its surface was a deep, blood-red lacquer, smooth as wet stone. Two horns jutted from the crown, sharp and pale, as though torn from some ancient beast and fastened there to warn the living.
Beneath the ridged brows, the eyes were wide and unblinking—pools of gold encircled by black paint that made them seem alive, watchful. The mouth curled into a perpetual snarl, teeth bared in a grin that could be laughter or the prelude to violence. Long fangs thrust upward from the lower jaw, cruel and gleaming.
"Give up. Is that thing really worth your life? If you hand it over to us, I might consider sparing you." His voice was deep and cruel. His impressive physique, his intimidating mask, and his deep voice made him look like a demon that had clawed its way from hell.
The clown looked at him silently for a few moments, then started laughing. His laughter seemed filled with madness; it overpowered the rain and the raging river, echoing through the forest and making the whole scene eerily surreal. The followers of the oni flinched at his laughter and reached for their weapons, but the oni raised his hand and stopped them.
The clown looked at the oni with spite and said, "Do you think I'm a fool? I know you'll kill me no matter what. That's what all the dreamers do—those who can't resist the temptation of power."
The clown reached into one of his pockets and took out a small brown ring box.
"Isn't this what you want? If you want it, go and take it," he said, and threw the box into the raging river.
The oni and the others were bewildered and shocked, but the oni soon recovered and barked orders: "What the hell are you waiting for? Go and retrieve it!"
The group ignored the clown and rushed to the river. They did everything they could to retrieve the box, but the river's current was too strong—they were helpless against the wrath of nature. The oni was furious and turned to unleash his rage on the clown, but he was nowhere to be found. He had used the chaos to escape. The oni was seething with fury and screamed at the top of his lungs; his voice echoed throughout the forest.
A few hours later, the clown was limping through a small village, one hand pressed against his stomach; he could feel warm blood seeping between his fingers, and his other hand was clenched tightly. He took a deep breath, which made him flinch in pain—it felt like daggers stabbing him from the inside. Even breathing was difficult. It seemed he had a few broken ribs.
He slowly opened his hand to reveal the item inside. At first glance, it looked like any common button mushroom—round, smooth, harmless. But a closer look revealed the difference. The cap wasn't quite white; it held a whisper of grey, as though a fine ash had settled across its surface. The skin was slightly duller, too—less the clean porcelain of the edible kind, more the faded sheen of old bone. You couldn't tell the difference between this one and a common button mushroom unless you looked closely.
Oddly enough, even after all this, the mushroom was clean and fresh; no dust or blood marred its surface. He knew he couldn't carry it with him any longer. He would have to call his allies and ask for help. He reached for his phone, but it was nowhere to be found—it seemed he had lost it during the chaos earlier.
"Dammit!" he cursed, frustrated, but he had a plan B. There was a reason he had come to this village specifically.
This village had a mushroom farm. He planned to hide the mushroom there because the best way to hide a tree is in a forest, and the best way to conceal a mushroom is among others. He could retrieve it later.
After a few minutes, he had successfully hidden it among the other button mushrooms and even set a tracker on it so he could find it easily. He left the village after a few hours, just as the sun began to rise. Limping through a nearby town, he suddenly felt a presence.
He turned around to find the oni staring at him, clenching his hand so tightly that blood began to trickle down his palm. He spoke with barely contained anger:
"This is your last warning. Where is the mushroom? Hand it over, and I will kill you painlessly."
The clown was surprised to see him. He knew he would be tracked down eventually, but he hadn't expected to be found so soon.
He tried to run away but was soon surrounded by the others. He was trapped. His only option now was to teleport, but in his condition, the best he could do was a few meters behind the oni, then try to run again. He was heavily injured and growing dizzy from blood loss. He had no other choice. He became hazy, as if obscured by fog, and disappeared—reappearing behind the oni.
Before he could even react, the oni shot forward like a cannonball. The ground beneath him cracked under the pressure, and dirt and dust flew everywhere. The oni punched the clown square in the gut. He flew back and slammed into a wall, which splintered with spiderweb-like cracks from the impact.
His clown mask flew off his face and landed near a tree. Beneath it was revealed a young man with silky blond hair and blue eyes that resembled a deep lake, shadowed by dark circles. One of his broken ribs had pierced his lung, filling it with blood instead of air. He began to drown in his own blood. After a few minutes, he stopped moving completely.
The clown mask had a drop of blood trickling down one of its eyes; it looked as if it were crying for the death of its owner. Then it shattered into a million pieces.
Far away, the mushroom stood among the others as the sun rose and banished the darkness of the night. The rain had finally stopped, giving way to a pleasant morning.
A middle-aged man with a soft belly that strained against his old shirt moved among the rows. The fabric was faded by years of use, and a ring of grey hair framed his head — thin on top but stubborn at the sides. His brown pants were worn and stained, the knees dulled by long years of work. There was nothing remarkable about him, only the quiet weight of someone long accustomed to hard days and little reason to dress for them.
He seemed to be the owner of the farm, as he usually started the day by preparing the mushrooms for delivery. He weighed them carefully and began to pack them. After some time, two teenagers — his sons — joined him to lend a hand. When the packing was done, he set out to make his deliveries as usual.
The mysterious grey mushroom sat silently among the others.