Fear!
It is the singular emotion inherent in every living creature. It is the invisible hand that keeps a child from the flame and prey from the predator's jaws. Every animal has its own instinctive ritual for survival: some bury themselves in the dark earth, while others puff their chests and hiss at the encroaching shadow.
"Run!" Arikuni's mind screamed. "My body is telling me to run!" He wanted to bolt, to tear through the shoji screens and never look back, but his legs were leaden. His gaze locked onto the raised platform where a figure sat opposite the great Patriarch, Fujiwara no Sanenori. It was a young boy, draped in robes of bone-white silk, holding a massive ceremonial plate of sake in his small, delicate hands.
The boy looked almost mundane at first glance. His skin was as smooth and pale as fine porcelain, and his hair was shaved in the Chonmage style of a young lord. But as Arikuni's eyes met the boy's periphery, the sensation of fear was replaced by something colder and more absolute: Death.
"This is bizarre," Arikuni thought, his throat constricting until no sound could escape. "My voice... I can't even speak. And that boy... he is not human." Arikuni's instincts were screaming the truth. The aura radiating from the child was so oppressive, so thick with the scent of the grave, that Arikuni had to consciously force his lungs to expand and contract just to remain conscious.
Tap!
Tap!
Tap!
The sound of blood falling to the ground. Reaching into the folds of his kimono, Arikuni found a small brass pin. With a sharp, desperate motion, he pricked the meat of his palm. The sting of pain acted as a tether, pulling his mind back from the brink of paralysis. He used the moment of clarity to fall to his knees, pressing his forehead against the floorboards.
"Many greetings," Arikuni managed to choke out, the words feeling like shards of glass.
The boy didn't even look his way. He raised the massive plate of sake to his lips and drank deeply. "Ohhh... Sanenori," the boy spoke, his voice carrying a resonance that didn't match his small frame. "This one has potential."
"Hahahaha! You think so, Shuten-sama?" Sanenori's laughter felt oily, sliding through the oppressive silence of the room. "He is indeed a gifted child. I realised his potential long ago. Though his brother keeps a watchful eye and restricts his movements, Arikuni has already managed to build a merchant empire that rivals the best in the land, Umi no Michi Shōten."
The words hit Arikuni like a physical blow. Shuten? The name echoed in the hollow of his chest. This was the person his family revered, the god-king of their secret rites. But why was he a child? He had expected a towering ancient old man, not this porcelain-skinned boy with eyes like deep wells.
Even worse was the realisation of his own failure. "How does Father know about my company? I buried the ledgers. I never met the agents in person. All my plans... they were never secret at all."
Clutch!
In the span of a single heartbeat, the air vanished. Before Arikuni could even blink, a small, pale hand rested atop his head.
"He is skilled," the boy Shuten spoke, his voice vibrating through Arikuni's skull. "But his Reiryoku pathways are stagnant. They are blocked. He lacks the raw, explosive talent that his brother possesses."
Arikuni froze. He hadn't seen the boy move. One moment, Shuten was sitting by the sake plate; the next, he was standing over him. The weight of that small hand was impossible; it felt like being pinned beneath the crushing force of a mountain waterfall. The coldness radiating from the boy's skin was so intense it felt as though his neck might shatter like glass if he made a single move.
Shuten shifted, squatting down until his face was inches from Arikuni's. Up close, the porcelain mask of his face was even more terrifying. There were no pores, no imperfections, just a smooth, deathly stillness.
The boy looked Arikuni directly in the eyes.
"Kekekekek! You are one interesting boy," Shuten Dōji cackled, his voice a jarring contrast to his porcelain, childlike face. "So many plans... so much scheming. Had you been born with your brother's body, most of Nihon would already be yours. But look at you they heavens are a funny thing, aren't they? They had to make it fair for everyone else, so they gave you a weakened, sickly body. Do you find it fair to you, though?"
Shuten's eyes, blackened, pulling Arikuni by his face, "Swear your loyalty to me, Shuten Dōji, and I will give you a better body. A vessel capable of handling Reiryoku properly. I will turn your stagnant pathways into a rushing river of absolute power."
Arikuni felt the room spinning. He looked toward his father, Sanenori, but the Patriarch simply continued to sip his sake, his eyes distant.
Ttttttttttttttttt!
The sound of his own pulse became a frantic, high-pitched ringing in his ears.
Human desire!
When we are forced into a corner by overwhelming power, we shed all falsehood, and our true selves come out. Arikuni had told himself stories of "saving the family" and "continuation of the family legacy," but beneath the noble lies lay a singular, jagged truth: Ambition.
He wanted control. He wanted to look down on Sukemichi. He wanted to be the one who decided who lived and who died. The presence of Shuten Dōji merely acted as the sunlight that caused him to bloom. Ugly as it was, this was his true self.
He felt a new resolve swell inside him, all that he thought he wanted before all felt like a lie to him, and then he said them, the words that would forever change his life.
"I swear myself to the great Shuten Dōji," Arikuni whispered, his voice cracking but certain.
"Yes, that is a great choice." Shuten Dojji's voice boomed, a great smile plastered on his face. Arikuni felt the air drop a few degrees; he fell to the floor as his body got heavier.