Feathers rustled in the crimson wind. The fallen angel stood tall on a broken column, wings spread like a divine judge among the younglings "Your first trial is complete," he announced, voice laced with both disappointment and cruel satisfaction. "The dead? Forgotten. The survivors? Marked A hush swept across the remaining initiates—those who had survived the test of will, power, and violence.
"You are to return to your homes," the angel declared, his arms rising. "For two months, prepare. Your official ceremony begins... by slaying your elder Whispers. Gasps. Horror masked as confusion. Some fell to their knees; others grit their teeth "No mercy. No hesitation. Kill your elder," he repeated. "Then return here, stained with betrayal and reborn in devotion As if to punctuate the command, feathers of obsidian flared outward, slicing the air like daggers. The message was final Lazarus remained silent, eyes unreadable behind his mask of bone. He turned and vanished in smoke Honoka glanced toward the parasite within Akuma, a quiet fire burning behind her disgust
But within the forever-expanding limbo—beneath the tangled roots of Akuma's unconscious—another Akuma stirred
Limbo – A Forest of Fog and Ghosts
Akuma blinked. Then blinked again. "Still here?" he mumbled, staring at the eternal fog before him The trees were tall, gnarled, and whispered in languages that didn't quite exist. He scratched his head "Alright. Note to self. No more demon tea before bed He took one step forward. A twig snapped beneath his foot. Instantly, a dozen glowing red eyes appeared in the bushes "...Did I step on your cousin?" Akuma asked. "Look, I'm not into rodent politics.
The eyes inched forward—revealing terrified humans, yokai with stitched faces, and demons gnawing on their own fingers They stared at him like he was a god—or the devil who forgot to button his pants "Hey!" Akuma waved. "Anyone got a map? Or at least a donut?"
One of the yokai screamed and ran. Another threw up. A third knelt before him, crying "Oh wow. That's a lot. I'm flattered. But I'm no messiah—unless being lost counts as divine Suddenly, the fog parted. A figure walked through—clad in worn samurai armor, eyes like still water, sword sheathed
Akuma straightened. "Aha. The boss battle. Alright, I'm ready.
"You," the samurai said, drawing his blade slowly, reek of confusion and jokes Thanks. That's my new cologne. It's called 'Lost & Laughing The samurai did not smile. "You stand in the realm between memory and madness. You should not jest Bro, I'm stuck in a foggy forest full of crying demons. What else am I gonna do? Learn interpretive dance?
With a sharp shhhk, the samurai charged
Akuma barely sidestepped, grabbing a fallen stick. "Okay! Sword fight! Let's go! I've seen anime!"
They clashed—blade against stick, experience against chaos
Akuma ducked under a swing, rolled, and came up flailing wildly.
The samurai's strike grazed Akuma's arm, drawing an ethereal line of blue light.
"Hey, watch the jacket! I only own... whatever this is."
They circled each other. The forest seemed to bend around them.
"You fight like a dreamer," the samurai growled.
"And you talk like a fortune cookie," Akuma shot back. The samurai slashed again—Akuma parried with the stick, which promptly snapped in half.
"Okay, Plan B," he muttered, flinging half the stick like a boomerang. It missed.
"You lack form. Discipline. Focus. Yeah? Well, you lack a sense of humor." Their battle became rhythm—Akuma's erratic movement dancing against the precise strikes of the samurai.
The Turning Point
Eventually, Akuma's stick shattered entirely. The samurai stood over him, blade at his neck.
Any last words?"
"Yeah. I regret nothing... except trusting the stick. "The blade didn't fall. The samurai stepped back.
"You are not yet ready to die. But you amuse me."
Akuma sat up, coughing. "I'll take that as a compliment. Or a death threat. Same vibe. "You must find the truth of your soul," the samurai said. "Or the parasite will consume your name."
"Yeah, speaking of that—he's out there making moves on a girl named Honoka. The samurai's eyes narrowed. "Then time is shorter than you think. "He sheathed his sword. "Follow the fog. Find the gate. Your real trial begins soon."
Beyond the Fog
Akuma stood, dusting himself off. "Alright, Mr. Cryptic Samurai. Thanks for the workout." "Also," Akuma called out, "if you see a sword store in there—point me that way."The samurai disappeared into the mist without another word.
Akuma looked down at his hands. A faint glow pulsed from his chest."Okay... okay. Let's not panic. Let's laugh it off, and... maybe not die again."He began walking—toward a faint light flickering in the distance.Around him, spirits watched, silent and unsure."Don't worry," he said to no one. "I'll figure this out. Just gotta get out, get my body back, stop the parasite, and—"He tripped over a root and fell flat on his face."—and maybe learn how to walk without eating dirt."