The village slept under a cold, colorless sky. Rain whispered against rooftops, trickled down bamboo gutters, and pooled silently around the moss-covered stones. All was still, save for a single figure moving like shadow incarnate...
The same kirihito..but with a bit different aura then always...
His feet touched the ground without a sound, his soaked hood dripping slowly. He didn't shake off the water. He welcomed it. The chill. The darkness. The memory of pain and the thrill of what he had become. The thin fabric of his yoksta clung to his narrow frame...dragged downward by the weight of rainwater...making his hauntingly inhuman figure more defined, like a cursed sculpture carved from pale wax.
He stopped beneath an ancient tree just before the village's edge. His breath was quiet, but his heart was loud.
Tonight.
He tilted his head up. Rain streaked down his face, washing away the illusion of calm. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back his hood. Damp silver strands fell across his eyes as a smirk cracked through his lips....wide, slow, dangerous.
The heavens cracked open. Thunder roared.
And in that violent flash of light, the curse on his skin seemed to pulse...black veins gliding under flesh, hungry.
He raised his eyes to the house before him...a large home with an old tiled roof. Wealthy. Prideful. Protected.
"Look who's back," he whispered, voice soft like a lullaby but filled with venom. "For your head… this time."
He shed his outer cloak like a snake, letting it hang from a branch. His soaked yoksta clung to his hips, translucent against his skin. His thigh, bare from the split in the fabric, caught the moonlight. He looked unholy. Untouchable. Desired. Doomed.
Inside the house, a man scribbled by candlelight.
Mid-forties. Brown hair streaked with gray. A tight mouth that never smiled.
A book lay open in front of him...inked in rows, tallied and calculated with obsessive precision.
"Three hundred and sixty bowls of rice a month… minus thirty-two for the useless ones… one spoon of curry each. Water—two glasses. No more. Sleeping hours: four. No breaks unless blood is drawn."
He chuckled to himself.
"Women above a seven in looks… six hours. We need them looking fresh."
Then...
A sound.
A soft whistle. Far too cheerful for this hour. It carried across the wind.
"I see you ~ and you'll see me soon ~"
He stopped writing.
Froze.
His eyes drifted to the window. Then the door. Then the candlelight, which flickered even though there was no breeze.
"Yokai?"
He stood up and made for the door. Just as his hand touched the handle...
"Eyes~ linger ~
like flies to the flame ~
you ache to touch ~ don't even know my name ~"
Sung softly. Male voice. Melodic. Eerie.
"Who's there?!" he shouted.
No answer.
Then—CRASH!
The window exploded inward.
A flowerpot tumbled. A white spider lily spilled onto the wooden floor, its petals stained by the shattered clay.
But that wasn't the worst part.
A head came through the glass.
Rotten. Male. Tongue trimmed and nailed to its forehead.
The man screamed, stumbling backward, clutching the table.
Servants stirred. Doors creaked open.
Before anyone could take a step—SHICK. SHICK. SHICK.
Sharp, too much fast projectiles pierced skulls. Every single servant fell. Dead eyes. Instant death. Except the man and his wife, who had just descended the stairs.
"W-What's going on?!" she gasped, voice cracking in terror.
And then came the voice again.
"Rotten lust, dressed as praise ~ but I've danced through darker days ~"
The door creaked open.
Kirihito.
Hair soaked, framing a ghostly face. Eyes glowing faintly under shadowed lashes. Wet wine red Lips curved into something both cruel and childlike.
"Missed me, insects?" he said. "Because I've missed you even more. Shall we kill more servants to save your precious food?"
They screamed, but he was too fast.
In a blink, he was in front of them. Pale fingers pressed over their mouths, pinning them to the wall.
The curse pulsed down his neck..thick, black veins swelling under the surface.
His nails were no longer human. Sharp. Digging into flesh.
"Shhh ~ Male… and…"
He glanced at the wife and gagged.
"…female insects. Don't scream. Or how will I have fun?"
He looked to the man.
"What were you doing earlier? Counting rice? Let me help solve your problem."
The woman, despite her fear, shifted her chest subtly. Trying to catch his gaze. His wet figure..his visible thigh, hips..was enough to fog their senses.
"Tsk."
Kirihito looked at her like filth , he can't help but think about what kyoren said to him to insult .
"Too cheap. Too lustful. That old fox should've told you that…not me."
He reached for her chest—then gripped hard. Her eyes bulged.
"Careful there ~ My hands aren't gentle. These meat bags might tear."
She sobbed, but her husband stared in horror, paralyzed.
"What are we waiting for?" Kirihito purred. "Let's have some private fun, insects ~"
He bound their mouths with cloth and dragged them screaming into a side room. Thunder shattered the silence behind them. The door slammed shut. Just some faint lyrics of his huntting song was coming..with some flash tearing sounds , muffined screams , moans , chuckle and begging cries for mercy..or for something else was coming...desire for his beauty..
" your sins stitched into your scent ~
I breath ~ you in ~ then lea~ve you bent ~
You watched me fall with a grinning face ~
Now your~ blood will ~ stain My grace ~
No blade in ~ hand ~ No screen to sell ~
I smile and drag ~ you to your hell ~
Bleed for my mirror ~ kneel ~ for the thrill ~
My beauty cuts ~ deeper then ~any kill ~
Lustful insects...you fed my..pain ~
Now I drink yours ~ slow . As . Rain ~ "
Then a muffied chuckle from kitihito...like he's enjoying the best moment of his life .
In the forest.
Kairo lay unconscious beneath a willow.
Rain slid over his skin. He stirred.
"Utsushi…" he whispered. "Where… are you?"
A shape crouched over him.
Eyes glowing red. Crawling.
It bit into his neck.
"You're hunt-worthy too ~"
He screamed.
Woke up.
Panting. Alone.
His hand flew to his neck. Blood.
Black. Warm. Real.
His fingers trembled.
"What… what is this?"
He looked around. Utsushi was gone.
The rain wouldn't stop.
The trees wouldn't speak.
But the garden… was watching...from far away..not a pair of eyes.. but lots of..yet no wats to detect the guqin and flute game they are playing .
[ end of Chapter 10 ]