The ruins stretched before them, a graveyard of forgotten battles. Rot clung to the air, thick and putrid, the scent of decayed flesh curling in Amatsu's throat.
Bodies—no, pieces of bodies—lay strewn across the damp ground, limbs half-buried in grime, hollowed-out ribcages gnawed clean.
Heads with empty sockets tilted at odd angles, mouths frozen in soundless screams.
"This place wasn't like this before," Oyama muttered, his voice tight. He had stopped walking, eyes flicking across the carnage. "I've only been here once, but… it wasn't this bad."
Eto crouched beside a severed arm, poking at the discolored flesh with one finger.
"Ooooh, look at this one. Still got fingernails."
She poked it, then scrunched her nose. "Gross. Somebody's got messy eating habits." then flicked the limb aside like it bored her. "Somebody's been having fun."
Amatsu exhaled, slow and measured. This was good. The stench would disrupt any attempts to track them. Not even a ghost could sift through this much death. Unless—
A thought curled at the edge of his mind. Unless the pursuers were strong enough not to need scent at all.
He kept walking. "Keep moving. We won't stay longer than necessary."
Oyama hesitated before stepping forward again. The path twisted into the darkness, broken concrete and rusted metal jutting from the earth like jagged teeth. The ruins were worse than an open grave—here, even the dead were abandoned.
"You're quiet, so stiff" Eto noted, sidling up beside him. "Something tickling that big scary brain of yours?"
Amatsu didn't glance at her. "The Watcher hasn't left."
"What?"
He spun around, breath caught in his throat. "I—I thought you were just saying that before. You're serious?"
He turned sharply, scanning the endless tunnels behind them. Nothing. Just blackness and silence.
Eto, by contrast, only grinned wider.
"Oh-ho~ Someone's shy. Still peeking from the shadows?"
She twirled once, arms open. "Should we say hello?"
Amatsu didn't answer. The sensation hadn't faded.
"The ruins are a good choice," Amatsu said, voice even. "No one sane would track us here."
"Except the ones who did this," Oyama pointed out. His knuckles were white where they gripped his sleeves. "This isn't random. Something happened here."
Eto hummed, stepping over a crushed ribcage. "Whoever did this? They're either long gone…" She trailed off, then giggled. "Or they're watching, too."
Oyama shot her a glare. "Not funny."
"Actually," Amatsu said, "it is."
Oyama looked at him, startled.
Amatsu didn't stop walking. "If they're still here, they're not the ones watching us. That means either they're hiding from it as well, or they were already taken."
The silence stretched. Eto's grin sharpened. "Ooooh. I like that idea."
Oyama swallowed, the sound dry. "What The Fuck?—what the hell does that mean?"
Amatsu glanced at him, eyes unreadable. "It means if something did hunt here, it might still be hunting."
A sound broke the silence.
Not from behind. Not from ahead.
From everywhere. A wet, distant squelch, like something vast shifting through tunnels unseen. Slow. Deliberate.
Oyama froze. Eto tilted her head.
Amatsu exhaled. The Watcher was not gone.
It was closer.
"Move," he murmured.
This time, they didn't hesitate.
The air thickened as they advanced, the stench of rot curling tighter around them, as if the very walls of the ruins exhaled decay. The tunnels stretched ahead, black and yawning, each step swallowed by the silence.
Then—movement.
Not overt. Not reckless. The kind of movement that lingered at the edge of perception, just past the limit of certainty. A shift in the shadows where no shift should be. A flicker of something just out of sight.
Amatsu's gaze flicked sideways.
The darkness wasn't empty.
Far ahead, where the tunnel widened into the remnants of a collapsed street, the shapes loomed. Twisted silhouettes, shifting against the ruin's skeleton. Kagune glistened in the dim light, unfurling like insect limbs—long, gnarled, barbed. Not moving toward them. Not yet. Just waiting.
Watching.
The noise came again.
A wet, sickened breath. Not from one mouth. Many.
Eto clicked her tongue, mock disappointment in her voice. "Peekaboo~ They want us to see them squirming."
"Monsters shouldn't play with their food, but here we are."
Oyama stiffened beside her, eyes darting between the shifting figures. "There—do you see that?"
His voice dropped. "Eyes. I think… I think they're smiling."
Kagune flickered in the shadows.
A sick, wet noise rippled through the ruins—like muscle stretching, flesh dragging. Hunger thickened the air, heavier than the rot.
Amatsu didn't need to see them to know. They were watching.
Oyama's breath hitched. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he forced them still. "Shit…" His voice dropped, barely audible. "How many?"
Amatsu didn't answer. Instead, he let his eyes adjust—tracking the faintest shifts in the dark. The gleam of Rc cells pulsing in the gloom. The trembling exhale of something that barely remembered how to breathe.
Two. No—three or more.
All crouched low, pressed into the ruins like insects in the cracks. Starving, but patient. Too patient.
Something was wrong.
"They're not attacking," Eto mused, voice light. She took a step forward, twisting her foot against the ground as if testing its weight. "Waiting for something?"
A wet click. A curling tendril flexed behind the rubble.
Oyama sucked in a sharp breath. "No, this—this isn't right. If they were starving, they'd be on us already…"
Amatsu's gaze remained locked on the shifting shapes.
Testing. Calculating.
"They're making sure," Amatsu murmured. "Predators test the weak. They're wondering."
Oyama stiffened. "Making sure of what?"
Eto giggled. "That we're worth eating."
Silence.
Then—
A single figure stirred. Just stepping forward, slow, deliberate. Bones jutted beneath tight, ashen skin. Their eyes—deep, sunken pits—locked onto Amatsu's own.
And they smiled.
Amatsu didn't react. He had already accounted for this.
The others shifted at once. Kagune bristled, curling over jagged shoulders, tightening around wasted limbs. Their breath came in short, animal bursts, excitement shuddering through their frail frames. Hunger painted across them like a fever dream.
Amatsu lunged.
The bikaku tails lashed out, cracking the air. The first ghoul barely had time to react before bone shattered—its ribs caving in under the impact. It staggered, choking on its own breath, but Amatsu was already moving to finish—
Too slow.
A koukaku shield slammed into his side, the sheer weight of it sending him reeling. He caught himself mid-step, the ground scraping beneath his heels—only for the second ghoul to surge forward, koukaku plating rippling along its forearm as it drove a jagged blade straight for his chest.
Amatsu twisted. The blade grazed his ribs instead of piercing through, but the momentary misstep cost him.
Something else moved.
A third one.
He barely registered the koukaku lance before it rammed straight through his stomach.
His breath left him in a sharp, soundless exhale.
The jagged kagune lifted him off the ground, twisting cruelly inside him before yanking back out. His blood splattered against the rubble. His fingers clenched, his vision narrowing—he fought through the pain, forcing his body to keep moving.
The first ghoul recovered.
Its koukaku blade swung, low and brutal.
Amatsu's serpent maw snapped forward to intercept, fangs clamping down—
And tore straight through the ghoul's throat.
Blood sprayed. The body convulsed, collapsing in on itself. Amatsu pivoted, another tail whipping forward to crush the second ghoul's skull in a wet, sickening crunch.
One down.
But the third was already moving.
A flash of hardened kagune. A brutal downward strike to the skull.
His body buckled. His knees slammed into the dirt. His grip faltered—his kagune shuddering as another koukaku spear drove into his shoulder, pinning him in place.
Four.
His mind sharpened—assessing, calculating. Three was already dangerous. Four meant—
The ground spun. His limbs felt heavy.
Something hard pressed against his throat—a koukaku blade, gleaming in the dim light.
A voice rasped near his ear. Low. Tainted with something foul.
"Still breathing?"
A hand traced his cheek. Fingernails scraped against his skin, slow, deliberate. A tongue clicked, mockingly soft.
"You're warm," the ghoul mused. "I wonder… how long you'll stay that way."
Another pressed against his stomach wound, fingers dipping into the torn flesh, probing the damage.
Amatsu's lips curled.
A slow, deliberate smile.
The ghoul holding him faltered. A flicker of hesitation, brief but real. The others stiffened, sensing something just beneath the surface—something wrong. The weight of his injuries should have dragged him into the dirt, but instead, he exhaled, steady and patient.
He had planned this.
The moment the koukaku had pierced him, the moment the weight of four against one had pressed him down—he had already won.
The ghoul with its fingers inside his stomach twitched, realization creeping into its wasted features.
Too late.
Eto moved.
One second she was watching, grinning like she had all the time in the world.
The next—
A blur.
"Hello~" She smiled beautifully.
The sickening crack of flesh and bone. A body wrenched back with inhuman force. Blood arced through the air.
Amatsu struck.
The twin bikaku tails shot forward, piercing clean through two skulls at once.
A wet, splitting sound.
Their bodies jerked violently, blood gushing from ruptured bone. The grip on his shoulder slackened instantly, the koukaku spear trembling before slipping free.
He was already moving.
The last ghoul barely had time to snarl before his kagune's maw lashed out—teeth clamping down over its head, crunching through bone, twisting, tearing. The body spasmed once, then went limp.
Silence.
Amatsu straightened, rolling his shoulder as the wounds in his stomach and arm began to close. The warmth of stolen Rc cells rushed through him, a shuddering, familiar pleasure.
Eto landed beside him, balancing on the tips of her toes. She whistled, grinning wide. "Oh my~ You really set that up?"
Amatsu wiped blood from his lips. "Of course."
She laughed, stretching her arms above her head.
Oyama, still frozen a few feet away, swallowed hard. His breath came shallow, uneven.
Amatsu crouched before the pile of ruined flesh.
Six bodies. The four ghouls he had killed. Oyama's two friends—breathing, broken, still aware.
Eto giggled as she tossed them forward like garbage, They hit the ground hard, One of them let out a wet, ragged gasp.
Tada—barely breathing, still clinging to consciousness.
Amatsu glanced at Oyama.
The boy was frozen, eyes wide, locked onto the trembling heap that had once been his friend. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, hands clenched so tightly at his sides that his nails bit into his palms.
"Throw them."
Oyama flinched. A shudder ran through him, his fingers twitching as if the command had sent a jolt through his spine. His lips parted—shallow, shaky breath hitching—words gathering at the edge of his tongue, a protest, a plea, something desperate and fragile.
But he swallowed them.
His throat worked through a slow, pained gulp. His hands shook as he moved.
He obeyed.
The bodies thudded against the stone. Blood seeped from the open wounds, pooling beneath them, mixing with the filth of the ruins.
Amatsu exhaled. The scent was thick, overwhelming. Rot, blood, the wet stink of Rc cells leaking from torn muscle.
Perfect.
He let his kagune unfurl.
The Famine Serpent uncoiled in a slow, undulating motion, its intestine-maw flexing, gnarled fangs chattering in fevered anticipation. It convulsed, writhing, urging—demanding. Hunger bled through its sinew, an aching void curling around his spine, gnawing at the marrow of his bones.
It wanted to consume.
Now.
Everything.
Amatsu denied it.
The maw spasmed, its jagged teeth snapping at the empty air. The tendrils lashed violently, writhing like open wounds resisting a cauterizing blade. The hunger howled through his Rc pathways, a seething force pressing against the walls of his mind. It was more than an urge. It was a compulsion. A need. A screaming, starving thing curled inside him, gnashing against the prison of his restraint.
It would not stop.
But Amatsu did not yield.
He forced the maw to still, clenching his will around it like a fist strangling a snake. It bucked, keened, split apart in its desperation to obey its nature. To devour. To flood his body with strength, to swallow the flesh that would sharpen his claws, fortify his bones, expand his dominion over life itself.
Not yet.
The serpent shuddered, quivering with rage.
And so, he took the first bite slowly.
A strip of muscle. Skin peeled back like wet parchment, blood welling at the torn edges. A vein ruptured. Rc cells surged through his system in a trickling, tantalizing wave.
Tada's breath hitched.
Then he screamed.
"P-please—please—" His voice cracked, his body convulsing in weak, pitiful spasms. "Just kill me—"
"Wait—wait! I ! Please, just we can talk first—!"
"You don't have to eat me! I will give you information!"
Amatsu didn't respond.
He took another bite.
The kagune's fangs sank into Tada's side, puncturing the space between his ribs. A slow, twisting pull—not a quick rip, but a methodical extraction. The flesh stretched, sinew unraveling. Organs shifted wetly beneath his skin.
Tada howled.
"I'll give you anything—money, name it, anything! Just don't—don't do this!"
"Please—I have family—I've got a daughter! She just lost her first tooth—!"
His spine arched, his breath ragged, desperate. His lungs wheezed, sucking in air that could do nothing to stop the agony tunneling through his ruined body.
"Just—please—stop—" His voice hitched, turning shrill, animal. "I don't want to die like this!"
Amatsu watched.
His kagune trembled—still trying to break free, still trying to end this quickly. But he forced control. Forced it to slow down.
Another bite.
A tendon snapped between fangs, curling against Amatsu's tongue like a string of overcooked meat.
Tada screamed.
Not words anymore. Just sound. Raw. Broken.
"Stop—stopstopstop—kill me, please, PLEASE, JUST KILL ME—"
"You're enjoying this… you're enjoying this—"
"You—! You're a fucking monster—"
"Oyama—OYAMA! You said we were brothers—! You said—you said we were—"
Amatsu swallowed. The Rc cells trickled into him, slow but growing. Not enough.
He took another bite.
The kagune's mouth clamped down around Tada's stomach, fangs digging in, twisting. The flesh gave way in increments, each inch exposing raw muscle, organs, pulsing wetly.
Tada convulsed. His mouth opened—too wide, like something shattering inside him. His vocal cords gave out.
A gurgling, choking sound. His body seizing. His eyes rolling.
"This isn't real. This is a dream. I'm—I'm gonna wake up."
"Hurts—it hurts, it hurts it HURTS—! Something's crawling in me, something's—pull it OUT!!"
"Mom? Mom—? I—I don't wanna go to school today—"
Still alive.
Not enough.
Another bite.
Tada twitched. His remaining eye—bloody, wide, unseeing—flickered toward Oyama. A shredded whisper of breath slipped from his torn lips.
"…help… me…"
"Still here… still…"
"…I see you. I see you, you bastard…"
"Ah—ah—ah—guhhh—"
Oyama didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Just watched.
Eto giggled. "Ooooh, this is so fucked up."
She wasn't wrong.
Amatsu took the last bite.
The screaming stopped.
Each bite.
He could feel it—minute, nearly imperceptible changes rippling through his body. A tightening in his muscles. A sharpening in his senses. The shift.
His mind worked like a scalpel, dissecting the sensation with surgical precision.
At the start, his Rc count had been 4,200. He had estimated this before based on his strength, speed, and recovery. A rough calculation, a hypothesis he had been waiting to confirm.
Now, with each careful, measured consumption—he could feel the numbers climbing.
Another bite.
4,600.
Another.
4,900.
The threshold had been crossed. 5,200.
A clean 1,000 increase.
And with it, the smallest but undeniable shift—a fractional boost to his body's natural state. His grip strength. His vision. The way his mind processed the world in sharper, faster increments.
"Fascinating," Amatsu murmured, licking blood from his fingers.
Eto crouched beside him, resting her chin on her palm, eyes glinting with interest. "You look like you figured something out."
He glanced at her.
"Our theory was correct. Rc cells don't just accumulate—they convert. Strength, perception, reaction speed… Each thousand marks a measurable threshold." His gaze returned to the remnants of Tada's body. "I was at 4,200 before. Now, I'm at 5,200. The difference is subtle, but it exists."
Eto grinned. "So, the numbers are correct. And I guess you want to confirm it more?"
Amatsu's eyes flickered toward the three remaining corpses.
He rose to his feet.
"Obviously."
—
The next body went down faster.
The hunger in his kagune still thrashed, desperate to tear and gorge, but Amatsu forced it into compliance. Slow. Measured. Observe every increment.
Each bite was an equation. A variable slotted into place.
5,600.
6,200.
By the time the second corpse was gone, his Rc count had climbed to 7,100.
A slow exhale. The change was more tangible now. His limbs carried a faint, thrumming tension, like an engine purring beneath his skin. His sight stretched further into the shadows.
The underground ruins felt clearer, less like a fogged landscape and more like a precise, calculated map.
Still…
Not enough.
The third and Fourth body.
More flesh. More Rc cells sinking into his bloodstream, integrating, threading into his very being. His kagune twitched, adjusting to the increase in raw potential.
8,200.
9,000.
9,800.
Amatsu exhaled.
For a long moment, he just stood there, the last remnants of his meal sliding down his throat, his body absorbing the final trickles of strength.
The shift had settled. The increase stabilized.
The change was undeniable.
He flexed his fingers, watching the way his kagune moved, the way they responded. Faster. Sharper. More efficient. The Rc pathways within him burned—not painfully, but like a reforging.
Power.
It was real. Measured. Controlled. Increased.