Deep in the mountains near Kyoto, nestled in a forest long removed from any map, was a sanctuary of darkness. Here, concealed by layers of ancient enchantments twisted over time, lay the hidden stronghold of the Flesh Rippers Gang. This was not a place of peace or reflection. This was a place where nightmares bred.
Wards once laid to protect humanity now lay perverted, warped by centuries of yokai influence into tools of misdirection and concealment. Travelers who strayed too close turned into nothing more than food for the creature that live in this darkness. It was an area were Birds fell silent above. Even the insects avoided its heart. The air shimmered with thick, corruption—an oppressive force that settled on the lungs like dust in a tomb.
The entrance to the gang's lair was carved into the mountain's belly. Inside, a labyrinthine network of tunnels and chambers spread like a diseased root system, each passage reeking of rot and malevolence. Blood stained the walls—some long dried, some still wet—and bones lay where they'd fallen, kicked aside like trash. Ancient carvings were scrawled across the walls, both religious and mocking in equal measure. Some depicted gruesome feasts. Others showed long-forgotten rituals.
In the vast central cavern, lit by a roaring bonfire of spirit wood and black incense, dozens of yokai gathered. Most were oni—massive creatures with scarred bodies, jagged teeth, and eyes that glowed with feral hunger. They growled and murmured to one another, exchanging tales of old hunts and violent victories. The scent in the air was enough to make any human gag—metallic blood, sweat, smoke, and something sweet and rotten.
At the chamber's far end sat a throne, constructed from fused bone, scorched iron, and the skulls of enemies—an altar to power and brutality. Atop it lounged Shuten-dōji, the monstrous king of these beasts. Towering, broad-shouldered, and impossibly strong, his very presence was like a taint on the world. Reeking. His crimson skin gleamed like molten iron, his long white mane fell in wild tangles, and his curved black horns cut through the dim firelight like twin blades.
Shuten-dōji was no mindless monster. He was old and intelligent. Cunning. A symbol of what yokai once were and what they would be again one day.
His right hand rested lazily on a kanabo taller than most men, each iron spike dulled from overuse yet still stained red. The weapon radiated a quiet promise of violence. The room fell silent the moment he stirred.
Without warning, a smaller Oni burst into the chamber, breath ragged, eyes wide with terror. He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet, and collapsed on one knee before the throne.
"Boss! Boss Shuten-dōji!" the oni gasped. "It's the others—Rokgu, Bentou, Kishi, and the Marked One Ronzi. They're dead!"
The flickering fire didn't crackle. It hissed as if reacting to the words. Every yokai in the room turned. Whispers erupted.
Shuten-dōji's eyes narrowed. The shift in his expression was almost imperceptible but to those who knew him, it was thunder.
"...What did you say?" His voice was a deep rumble, slow and laced with razor-edged threat.
"Dead," the messenger repeated, voice shaking. "All four. We found them in an alley in the city. Torn apart. Looked like a fight. No other gang though but they were whispers that they had gone after a human they saw."
A growl rolled from deep in Shuten-dōji's chest. He stood slowly, towering over the entire chamber, and the weight of his fury settled like a stormcloud. The ground beneath his feet cracked.
"In my territory," he seethed. "In the heart of my reach."
He lifted his kanabo, slamming it to the ground. The impact shattered a piece of his throne and sent a shockwave echoing through the chamber. Sparks danced through the air.
"Four warriors I trained myself. Four who bore my mark." He bared his teeth. "Ripped apart like prey. Who is this human to dare kill mine?"
The smaller Oni cowered lower. "We searched, Boss. But We couldn't find him. Not a single clue."
"I will tear the city apart," Shuten-dōji roared. "I will burn every shrine, and flay the skin from every mortal who dares walk freely under my sky!"
Just as the chamber began to erupt in howls of agreement, a calm, measured voice broke through the fury.
Were humans that brave now? He was going to find this disgusting human and skin him alive and wear his skin like a coat. He Was a yokai with High Class power. Few could match him and this filthy human.
"Shuten-dōji-sama."
From the shadows emerged a tall figure draped in black ceremonial robes. A long-nosed tengu stepped into the firelight, his expression calm and hands folded over an ancient staff carved with runes.
The gang fell silent again.
"The time is not yet right," the tengu said. "You cannot leave now, we have gotten almost everything ready and we'll need yo u here for the ritual soon."
Shuten-dōji turned his glare upon him.
"The seals are failing," the tengu continued without fear. "The offerings are in place. Hagoromo Gitsune will soon return to us. The world will change."
A stillness settled.
"We are on the cusp of our rebirth. A world ruled by yokai. A world where we do not hide. Where we hunt."
A slow smile crept across Shuten-dōji's face—terrible and cold.
"A world where Yasaka's weakness is torn away, and her 'peace' is drowned in blood," he said.
The yokai howled. Yes, that was good, ohh how he missed the old days, scaring humans, feeding on the flesh and bones. His mouth was already watering at the mere thought of the good old days.
He raised his hand and the room fell silent again.
"But," he said, voice now low and rumbling, "this insult cannot be ignored. I will have his head. The one who dares defy me, who dares raise their hand against mine, they will know agony. I will know their name, their face, their soul. I will tear it from their body and feed it to the fire."
Calling upon one of his generals.
"I want you to find this human, i want him dead and make sure he suffers a long agonizing death. Make him scream and beg for death."
The Oni bowed before calling upon his men and leaving with them.
He turned back to the flames in the center of the room watching them twist and flicker.
"Soon," he whispered. "Soon the blood will run again."
The lady would make sure of it he knew that for sure. She who was their queen in the days old.
And all around him, the Flesh Rippers Gang chanted.
"The old ways return. The hunt begins."
The fire roared higher, painting the stone walls red.
Very soon.
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