The Hokkaido incident-II

"She really went straight to murder mode, huh?" Lattrem mused. "I mean, I get it—someone wants to off her baby brother—but damn, she looked ready to tear Jezebel apart with her bare hands."

Shotaro sighed. "Yeah… Miyoko might argue with me, yell at me, and call me a funny looking infact, but the moment someone even thinks about hurting me—"

"Instant bloodlust," Lattrem finished for him. "That girl's got a protective streak as deep as the Mariana Trench."

Shotaro gave a small smirk. "She'd never admit it, though."

The memory shifted abruptly, pulling Shotaro into a new scene—one that felt distant yet painfully familiar.

Kazaya Kinoko stood at the center of her dojo, her piercing eyes scanning the wooden training hall. Her sharp, almost ethereal features carried the blood of both samurai, vikings and something far older, more primal. The weight of her presence was undeniable, even in a simple training gi, her black hair tied back into a loose ponytail.

She was looking for someone.

"Juniyo!" Her voice echoed through the quiet hall, firm yet holding a rare trace of concern. "Where are you?"

The dojo was eerily still. The wooden floor creaked slightly beneath her feet as she moved toward the sliding doors, glancing outside where the evening sun painted the sky in deep orange hues.

From afar, Shotaro watched the scene unfold like a silent observer, his arms crossed. "This was the day everything changed, huh?"

Lattrem's voice hummed in his mind. "The start of something irreversible."

Kazaya's sharp eyes landed on a single piece of parchment resting atop the wooden training mat. The ink was bold, the handwriting unnervingly precise.

She picked it up, her fingers tightening as she read:

"The land of Baal has taken your brother, O heretical teacher of the false messiah. Lady Jezebel demands your presence at the Church of Baal within half an hour of reading this. Should you refuse, expect to receive your little brother's corpse—headless and in less than pristine condition."

The paper crumpled in her trembling fist.

Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with something darker. Something lethal.

Shotaro, watching from afar, felt the weight of this moment press against his chest.

"And just like that," Lattrem murmured in his mind, "the countdown began."

Jezebel stood at the altar, basking in the dim glow of candlelight, her patience running thin. But she didn't have to wait long.

The heavy doors of the church burst open with a thunderous crash. The flickering flames trembled as a storm of severed limbs and shredded corpses of her followers was flung inside, painting the holy ground in crimson.

Kazaya Kinoko strode in, her breaths ragged, her Greatsword of Kinoko dripping with fresh blood. The weapon was an imposing slab of steel, etched with ancient Kinoko sigils, its edge serrated near the tip for tearing through flesh and armor alike. Along its length, faint blue runes pulsed, as if the blade itself was seething with rage. The hilt was wrapped in blackened demon-hide, a relic from the past, and the pommel bore the insignia of the Kinoko clan—a blooming lotus flower encircled by flames.

Her fiery gaze locked onto Jezebel, the hatred radiating from her in waves.

"I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Kazaya roared, launching forward like a demon incarnate.

But then—she stopped dead in her tracks.

Junio stood before Jezebel, not as a hostage, but as a follower.

His once-bright eyes were now shrouded in a golden glow, a mark of Baal's influence. His robes were of deep crimson and gold, embroidered with forbidden sigils, symbols that seemed to pulse unnaturally, as though alive. His hair, usually unkempt from childhood recklessness, was neatly tied back, a ceremonial chain adorning his forehead. In his hands, he held a ritual dagger, its obsidian blade still slick with the blood of an unfortunate sacrifice.

Kazaya's world tilted.

Her baby brother—her sweet, innocent Junio—was no longer standing before her. He had become something else.

And Jezebel? She simply smiled.

"Look, your sister has arrived," Jezebel murmured, running her fingers through Junio's hair with a twisted gentleness. "Now she can finally understand… and stay with you forever."

Junio lifted his gaze to meet Kazaya's, his expression eerily composed. "She will," he said softly. "She just doesn't know it yet."

Kazaya's voice cracked with rage as she pointed her blood-drenched sword at Jezebel. "Who the hell is that brat?!" she roared. "And what the fuck did you do to my brother?!"

Jezebel smiled, unfazed. "I simply opened his eyes," she said smoothly.

Junio, just five years old, stepped forward, his once-bright gaze now hollow and unwavering. "I was tainted," he said, his voice eerily calm. "Tainted for looking like that fake messiah. Only Baal's blessing could cleanse me… only through him have I earned my place in paradise."

Kazaya's breath hitched. Disgust twisted her features, followed by a wave of dizziness—shock, horror, sheer disbelief crashing into her all at once. "Shotaro is your friend," she choked out, clinging to reason.

Junio didn't hesitate. "No," he said firmly. "He is a stain on this land… right, Lady Jezebel?"

Jezebel's smirk widened as she placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, her approval silent but absolute.

Jezebel stepped closer, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Now, would you be so kind as to bring us the brat for execution?"

Before she could take another step, Kazaya's fist connected with her face, sending her crashing into her own throne. The impact echoed through the chamber.

"No," Kazaya growled, stance unwavering. "He is my student, you sick fuck."

The room tensed. Weapons were drawn, pointed at her from every angle, but none of them could shake her as much as the one who stepped forward next—Junio.

"You act like you've done something good for him," he said, his voice eerily steady as he looked up at his sister.

Kazaya's breath hitched. A sickening realization crawled up her spine. "Wait—no," she whispered, dreading what he was about to say.

Junio met her gaze, his expression unreadable, his tone laced with the same manipulation Jezebel had poisoned him with. "We all know what you did with him behind our backs. We all know how he 'fell' for you."

Kazaya's vision blurred.

"We all know what kind of things you made him do… just to calm your urges." Junio's words cut through her like a blade.

"And all because he looked like me," he added, the weight of the accusation heavier than any weapon pointed at her.

Kazaya staggered back, shaking her head. "I—" her voice faltered. "I did that to avoid… violating you," she confessed, desperation seeping into her tone. "I—I wasn't able to control myself."

Jezebel let out a soft, taunting laugh as she cupped her own face, tilting her head with a twisted grin. "Well, well… looks like I'm not the only 'sick fuck' in this room. Fufufu~."

"YOU--" She said but was cut off, "I can give you your brother back" Jezebel said, "Just bring me him, Bring me Shotaro Mugyiwara".

All the memories came rushing back—every lesson she had given that little boy, his first clumsy swing of a blade at three, the awe in his eyes when he first took flight, the way he eagerly soaked in everything she taught him. But along with those moments, the weight of everything else crashed down on her—the things she had done, the lines she had crossed. Her fists clenched, her body trembling as tears streamed down her face, mixing with the snot running past her lips. She felt sick, suffocated.

But this wasn't about her. This was about Junio. Her little brother. If she just went along with this, if she played the part, she could take him and leave. Get out of Hokkaido. Put everything behind them. Just her and Junio, away from all of this.

"…Okay," she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

Jezebel's lips curled into a pleased smile. "Good," she purred, stepping forward—before tilting Kazaya's chin up and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against her lips.

"Let us all unite under Baal's teachings," Jezebel declared, her voice dripping with an eerie fervor. Her eyes gleamed with an unsettling light, a grin stretching across her face—wild, almost lunatic in its devotion.

Air ran through their bodies, the lady, the warrior, the boy, they all laid naked on a bed, their body glistened with sweat, with devotions, the trio was panting, Jezebel, Junio, Kazaya, they laid down on bed, together, their bare flesh intermingled, still not away, Kazaya's beutifull breast her suckled by Junio, like an famished infant, while Jezebel wad down their, playing with the bud of her forrest, while her fingers surveyed the forbiddon place of filth, that no one would have touched.

Shotaro stood at a distance, watching this twisted fragment of his memories unfold before him. His stomach churned violently, and before he could hold it in, he doubled over and barfed in sheer disgust. The scene playing out in front of him was a grotesque spectacle—horrible, filthy, drenched in taboo. His mind screamed at him to look away, but the memory held him captive, forcing him to relive every nauseating detail.

Lattrem's voice slithered into his thoughts, laced with cruel amusement. "You seem quite... excited in your pants, watching your master, your friend, and the woman who took everything from you like this."

Shotaro gagged again, another wave of sickness rising in his throat. His entire body recoiled as if trying to physically reject the memory. "I want to go away," he muttered, his voice raw, desperate—begging for an escape from the nightmare unraveling before him.

"Oh, why? Is the forever sass king himself... finally disgusted?" Lattrem's voice dripped with mockery, her tone practically oozing with snark.

Shotaro wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "Shut up." His voice was low, strained, barely keeping his rage and revulsion in check.

Lattrem only chuckled in his mind, clearly enjoying his misery. "Oh, but this is priceless. You, of all people, looking like you just swallowed poison. Guess even you have a limit, huh?"

Shotaro clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "I said, shut the hell up."

Lattrem sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. But you have to admit, this is one of the most messed-up thing you've ever seen... and that's saying a lot, considering your life."

the memories is switched to a rally, banners & horns, man & woman, with Junio walking infront with the flag of Baal.

Jezebel stood on a jeep, from their she rallyed.

The air over Hokkaido crackled with an unseen force, a tempest of conviction and fervor sweeping through the land. At the epicenter of this gathering stood a woman, regal and resplendent, her gaze piercing through the assembly like a divine edict made manifest. Draped in garments reminiscent of antiquity yet commanding the reverence of the present, she raised a gilded microphone to her lips. The hush that fell upon the crowd was absolute, an anticipatory silence as though the very heavens awaited her decree.

"People of Hokkaido," she intoned, her voice a clarion call of dominion. "From this moment forth, this land is consecrated under the aegis of Baal. I, Jezebel, sovereign of Israel reborn, have returned to unite you under the one true faith." Her proclamation, heavy with the weight of millennia, reverberated across the expanse, entwining itself with the very fabric of destiny.

Her expression darkened, the light of righteous fury gleaming in her eyes. "Yet, there exists a festering blemish upon Baal's resplendent glory. A false messiah—an impudent blight by the name of Shotaro Mugyiwara. He may bear the countenance of an innocent, a mere child of five summers, but do not be deceived." Her voice grew venomous, each syllable steeped in loathing. "He is the devil incarnate, an insidious force of heresy that seeks to lure you from Baal's omnipotent radiance."

The congregation stirred, a wave of unease and fervor rippling through their ranks. Jezebel extended an imperious finger toward the distant Mugyiwara estate, its opulent silhouette an affront to her divine mandate. "No longer shall we tolerate his sacrilege. We will hoist his severed head aloft, parading his lifeless form as a testament to Baal's might. Together, you and I shall purge this evil from existence!" Her declaration ignited the throng, a crescendo of voices rising in fervent affirmation.

She turned her gaze to the mansion looming in the distance, a citadel shielding the object of her ire. "Hashirama Mugyiwara," she called, her tone shifting, less a harbinger of doom and more a monarch extending an ultimatum. "Our quarrel is not with you, but with the abomination you have sired. Surrender him, and your family shall be spared the wrath that otherwise awaits."

The moment hung in the air, thick with an oppressive gravity. Would Hashirama yield to the storm knocking at his gates, or would defiance be his epitaph? The fate of a lineage teetered on the precipice of oblivion, the echoes of Jezebel's decree heralding the advent of an inexorable reckoning.

Shotaro watched this fragment of his memory from afar, a silver-haired, red-eyed figure standing amidst the crowd. The people passed through him like air, a cruel reminder that this was but a flashback—a spectral echo of his past, immutable and unchangeable. As the witch Lattrem's voice resounded once more, narrating the scene with an ominous finality, the words chilled him to his core: "Thus began the Hokkaido Incident."

Hashirama, however, stood paralyzed, his fingers clenching into fists as the weight of dire news pressed upon his soul. It had come from Arisu, a childhood friend of Shotaro's, an innocent yet unwilling harbinger of tragedy. The revelation had struck like a blade to the heart—Shotaro's teacher, Kazaya Kinoko, had betrayed him. The woman had captured him, seizing the child as though he were a mere pawn in a grander scheme.

A storm brewed in Hashirama's chest, a tumult of fear and fury interwoven into an unrelenting tempest. The walls of the Mugyiwara estate, once symbols of power and sanctuary, now seemed fragile, besieged by forces beyond reckoning. His son had been taken. And with that single act, the battle lines had been drawn.

Determined to reclaim their son, Hashirama and Himawari devised a plan, their resolve unwavering. Satsuya, their eldest, was entrusted with the care of her two younger sisters, Nishuko and Miyoko, ensuring their safety as chaos loomed. Meanwhile, Alucard, the family's ancient and unwavering guardian—a vampire butler who once bore the infamous name of Vlad Dracula Tepes—was commanded to deal with the cultists who dared trespass against their kin.

The battle for Shotaro had begun.

While the Mugyiwara family braced for battle, little Shotaro lay imprisoned beneath the cold, unfeeling stone of the church's basement. His small body was wrapped in rough cloth, his mouth muzzled to silence any cries for help. The damp air clung to his skin, the darkness suffocating and absolute. For the first time in his young life, fear seeped into his bones like ice, an unshakable terror that made his tiny frame tremble. He could do nothing but wait, helpless in the clutches of those who saw him as nothing more than a point to be made to their god.

Shotaro saw himself from afar, standing in the shadowed corner of his own recollections, an unseen specter to his own suffering. He seethed, helpless frustration writhing within him. How badly he wished to intervene, to wrench himself free from the shackles of memory, but he was no more than an observer—a prisoner of his past.

Lattrem's voice curled into his consciousness like smoke, laced with bitter amusement. "This is one hell of a sorry state you are in."

Suddenly, the door to his prison burst open, the heavy wood crashing against the stone walls. Hashirama stood in the entryway, his breath ragged, his form imposing in the dim candlelight. In his arms, unconscious and limp, was a child—Junio, Shotaro's perfect double.

Before Shotaro could fully process what was happening, the memory shifted again. He now stood amongst the crowd, his spectral form adrift as the cultists erupted into frenzied celebration. The air reeked of smoke and charred flesh, the sky illuminated by the macabre spectacle of a small, burning body nailed to a cross. It was paraded through the streets, an effigy of the so-called false messiah. Jezebel laughed in triumph, reveling in the flames that licked at the tiny form. Some among the masses wept, mourning what they believed to be the loss of a child. Others rejoiced, their voices lifted in exultant cries. And yet, the majority merely watched in silence, their expressions unreadable.

Shotaro's fists clenched at his sides, his teeth grinding together in rage. He knew the truth.

"That isn't me," he muttered, his voice a growl of fury.

A ghostly chuckle echoed in his mind, the witch's presence slithering around him like an unseen specter. "Yes, your father caught Junio—your doppelgänger—lacking and replaced him with you just in time. Fufu~"

Shotaro's heart pounded in his chest. His father had saved him, but at what cost?.

Satsuya, Shotaro's older sister, knew this wasn't him. When the headless, burnt corpse of the child was presented to her, she observed it closely, her hands trembling. The flesh was charred, its features indistinguishable, but one vital detail was missing—the Mugyiwara mark on the right shoulder. Her breath hitched. Her father had deceived them all. Her brother still lived.

But she kept it to herself, burying the revelation deep within her chest, for she knew that truth—so blasphemous to the zealots—would only usher in greater ruin. Yet in choosing silence, she unknowingly ushered in chaos. Jezebel, drunk on her own triumph, basked in the adulation of the masses, lifting the microphone once more.

"Behold! The will of Baal made manifest! The false messiah has perished in holy fire, his impurity cleansed from this land! Rejoice, for we have struck down the trickster who sought to lead you astray! Let his ashes be scattered, his name erased from history, and his heresy forgotten! Hokkaido is reborn in Baal's light!"

A thunderous cheer erupted, shaking the earth itself. And in that moment, Satsuya realized—her silence had only made things worse.

The celebration reached its fever pitch, Jezebel standing tall amidst the fervent masses, basking in their adulation. The pyre of false martyrdom blazed behind her, casting grotesque shadows against the revelers who danced in its ghastly glow. Yet, for all their mirth, the illusion of triumph was ephemeral.

For the moment was shattered when the night air itself seemed to twist and recoil, darkness coalescing into a swirling maelstrom of malevolence. The cheers faltered, then ceased, as a swarm of bats blotted out the moon, an obsidian tide that heralded something far worse than any could imagine.

From the abyss of that churning mass, he emerged—tall, regal, his crimson gaze ablaze with unfettered wrath. Gone was the eternal butler of the Mugyiwara clan, the ever-loyal Alucard. In his place stood a legend from the depths of history's most dreaded annals.

Alucard was no more. In his place stood something ancient, something dreadful. Gone was the eternal butler of the Mugyiwara clan, and in his stead had risen the scourge of the living, the Voivode of Wallachia, the Son of the Dragon.

Vlad Dracula Tepes had returned.

His presence alone sent a wave of primordial dread rippling through the congregation, their revelry turning to hushed horror. He had seen the charred remains, had borne witness to what he believed was the desecration of his young master. And that vile woman, that apostate Jezebel, had dared to commit such an atrocity?

His fangs bared, his voice was no longer the measured, composed tone of a servile attendant but the guttural growl of the Impaler reborn.

""You've sealed your end, my friend -- for, whoever strikes Mugyiwara --"," he intoned, his voice a serrated whisper that sliced through the terrified silence, "strikes Death!".

He moved like a shadow given form, his body dissolving into an unholy amalgamation of tendrils and abyssal night, reappearing amongst the cultists like a wraith of vengeance. His hand plunged through a man's chest, fingers curling around a still-beating heart before ripping it free, his victim's body crumpling like a discarded marionette. Blood arced into the air, a grotesque tribute to the slaughter.

Screams rang out as spears of obsidian erupted from the earth—Vlad's infamous forest of death reborn. The Garden of Wallachia sprouted anew, lances skewering bodies mid-flight as they tried to flee. Their struggles only impaled them deeper, their lifeblood cascading down the towering spikes, feeding the soil with their sacrilege.

A monstrous shriek tore through the night as his body twisted, grotesque and inhuman, a chimeric amalgamation of man and beast. His limbs elongated, sinew snapping and reforming, his maw distending into a cavern of razor-like fangs. His wings, massive and leathery, unfurled like the banners of death itself.

And then he fed.

His jaws clamped onto a screaming woman's skull, the crunch of bone reverberating through the chaos as he devoured her whole. He waded through the masses, tearing, feasting, his body shifting between forms—one moment the Impaler, regal and composed, the next an abomination of nightmare and hunger.

Jezebel, the self-proclaimed queen, watched in frozen horror as the congregation that once cheered her name was torn asunder. Men, women—none were spared. Those who tried to resist were shredded by the claws of a beast long thought to be myth, their corpses flung into the sky like discarded dolls.

The air burned. The land wept.

And then, Vlad raised a single clawed hand. The earth obeyed his will.

The lances of his homeland rose anew, an entire forest of sharpened stakes bursting forth like the fingers of the damned. Hundreds were impaled in an instant, their bodies writhing in agony as gravity pulled them further onto their wicked thrones. The scent of burnt flesh and charred souls filled the air as infernal flames erupted from the very ground, consuming what remained of the cult in a funeral pyre of divine retribution.

The massacre was total.

As the last of the flames flickered out, the once-lively gathering place of Jezebel's faithful was reduced to an expanse of scorched earth, a wasteland littered with impaled corpses and the faint echoes of their dying prayers.

Dracula stood amidst the ruin, his crimson gaze falling upon Jezebel, the lone survivor of his wrath.

He licked the blood from his lips, his smirk as cold as death itself.

"Now... let's talk about heresy."

A chimeric abomination, he expanded, wings unfurling with the force of a hurricane. The land warped beneath him, reshaped into his own personal Garden of Wallachia—a forest of impaled corpses, their silent, lifeless eyes gazing eternally upon the horror they had wrought.

He was merciless. He was unrelenting. He was death incarnate.

But just as he prepared to unleash another wave of annihilation, a desperate voice cut through the carnage.

"Mr. Alucard, Shotaro isn't that! That's Junio! Dad replaced them!!!"

Vlad's blood-red eyes snapped toward the source of the voice—Satsuya, her expression frantic, her body trembling but steadfast. The words struck like a lightning bolt through the haze of his fury.

The charred corpse on the cross… was not his master.

His monstrous form shuddered, contorting as his claws clenched at the realization. His fangs, still dripping with the blood of the damned, ground together. A low, guttural growl rumbled in his throat as his body began to revert, the monstrous abyss within retreating into the form of Alucard once more.

The butler of the Mugyiwara clan stood amidst a land of ruin, surrounded by the remnants of his wrath. His crimson gaze, no longer blazing with unbridled carnage, turned to Jezebel—who, for the first time, was utterly silent, her smirk wiped from existence.

Alucard exhaled, a sound that carried the remnants of a storm. Then, in a voice as cold as the grave, he uttered:

"Thank..lord".

But Kazaya heard that & Literally broke down mentaly, the corpse she betrayed to save her brother, was her brother itself, "NO---NOOO--DON'T FUCK WITH ME" She bit her lip as blood came out, her fingers dugging in her flesh.

"DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!! DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!!".
She finnaly puked all over the corpse, not letting it go & passed out.

Shotaro looking at that part of his memories, from afar, tried to hold his master, the one he adored as a man once, but looking at her & what she did, all he wants to do is now rape her above the corpse of that burned flesh.
"Don't let your feelings get to you, Messiah boy" Lattrem's voice said in his mind.
"Jezebel's takeover" Shotaro said, "Alucard's temporary reverting back to Dracula, My master's decent" he continued his voice sounding angry yet sad, "This was the Hokkaido incident".
"She is broken now" Lattrem's voice said, "She blamed you for it, from now, gone were her plans to run away" she continued her voice stern & soddem, "Now she is the biggest follower of this cult...whatever left of it".
"I know" Shotaro said, "I have retrieved most of my memories now, thanks for you help".
"Oh no no no no" Lattrem's voice said her voice sounding mocking, "There is still one part left".
"Don't fuck with me" Shotaro replied, angrily to which Lattrem chuchkled & replied, "like master like student".
Suddenly he looked around & noticed something, "Where is....Jezebel?" he said before realising what's up, his eye widened with horror & rage, "NO!!! NO! NOOOOOOO" he screamed before running towards the highway.

a car sped down the desolate road, carrying the last fragments of hope away from the inferno.

Shotaro sat beside Himawari, unresponsive, his vacant crimson eyes staring through the windshield as though he were looking into a void. He was broken. The weight of the night had shattered something within him, his mind unable to process the reality of what had transpired.

"Junio… is dead?" he murmured, his voice hollow, but Himawari did not answer.

He couldn't hear words. He couldn't process images. He was too fractured, too lost in the nightmare that refused to end. Satsuya, sitting in the back seat, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her voice straining to keep steady.

"We will take a boat from here," she whispered. "Then we'll reach Musashi no Yamato. One of Father's properties is there. We'll keep a low profile, live a normal life…"

Her words wavered, her breath hitching. "And listen to me..whatever happens to us...me...promise me"

"You will keep moving forward"

She reached out, rubbing the boy's head in a feeble attempt at comfort. But peace was a fleeting thing.

Himawari's grip on the steering wheel tightened as her gaze flickered to the cliffs ahead—and her heart stopped.

Jezebel stood atop the precipice, silhouetted against the broken sky, her body battered and bleeding. Yet, in her trembling hands, she held an RPG, her final act of defiance burning in her eyes.

Time slowed.

"NOOO!!" Shotaro screamed, his phantom form lunging forward, trying to punch her away, only for his fists to phase through her as he remembered—this was just a memory.

Jezebel, with the last of her strength, aimed the weapon directly at the fleeing car, her lips curling into a bloodied smirk.

"Glory to Baal," she rasped.

And then, she pulled the trigger.

BOOM.

Shotaro watched in horror as his smaller self crawled out of the burning wreckage, his tiny body coated in soot and caked in the ashes of what was once his mother. The five-year-old did not scream, did not cry—he simply stood there, hollow-eyed, his mind unable to comprehend the finality of it all.

Jezebel had already turned away, satisfied with her work, disappearing into the shadows as the child stood frozen in the smoldering wreckage of his past. There was no grief left in him—only silence. And so, without a word, without a single tear, little Shotaro turned and walked towards the shipyard, his tiny frame swallowed by the night.

Lattrem's voice echoed in the void of his thoughts.

"You lost your mother. And you ran from everything. While your family mourned you and her. While your sisters lost yet another mother. While your friends grieved you as though you had already died."

Her voice dripped with something between pity and amusement.

"To save yourself from all this, you rewrote history in your mind. You gaslit yourself into believing she said, 'You have to save people.' But the truth? The truth is that the child born from a virgin maiden, the child who was meant to shake the world, died that night. Jezebel disappeared into the shadows to rebuild her cult, and what was left in the wreckage..."

Her voice grew softer, yet heavier, sinking deep into the marrow of his being.

"What was left was a boiling pot of self-hatred, savior complex, sass, and sarcasm. What was left… was the savior. What was left… was Shotaro Mugyiwara."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.

"AHH!!"

Shotaro jolted awake in Lattrem's hut, his body drenched in sweat, his breath ragged. His lip throbbed, busted from his own unconscious bite, his fingers dug deep into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped wounds. His vision blurred with unspilled tears.

He was back. Back in this accursed hut, in this wretched present, as much as he loathed it. He was awake.

Lattrem watched him with mild amusement, munching idly on a biscuit. "What? Didn't like what you saw?"

Shotaro pushed himself up, unsteady, still raw from the nightmare. Without a word, he turned to leave.

"Oh? No thank you? Such a rude messiah these lands have," she mused, feigning disappointment.

Hearing that word—messiah—again made his stomach turn. He doubled over, vomiting onto her floor. Lattrem sighed dramatically. "So unhygienic, too."

She took another bite of her biscuit as he wiped his mouth, his hands trembling. "So, what now? Now that you have your memories back? Are you just going to save people again?"

Shotaro didn't answer. He simply grabbed his katana, his grip tightening around the hilt. He cast her one last look—silent, resolute—before storming out of the hut.

Lattrem watched him go, a smirk curling on her lips. "I guess I know the answer."