Corrupted Code

The Next Morning - Azabu-Juuban District, Tokyo

The dawn did not bring clarity; it illuminated a nightmare. The upscale Azabu-Juuban district was now a sealed cordon of police tape and grim-faced officers. The air, once fresh with morning dew, was thick with the coppery tang of blood and the suffocating smell of death.

The scene was not one of a battle; it was a slaughterhouse. Bodies, or what remained of them, lay scattered like broken dolls. They weren't just dead; they were unmade. A man's torso was ripped open from collar to hip, his spine visible like a broken column. A woman's head was crushed flat, a mess of bone and hair. Limbs were twisted into impossible angles, torn from their sockets not with a blade's precision, but with the sheer, brutal force of being pulled apart. Every surface was painted in a drying, rust-brown crust of blood. It was a canvas of carnage, and the artist had used only his hands.

Senior Detective Tanaka, a man with two decades on the force, stood in the epicenter of the horror, his face a mask of pale shock. He had seen murder before, but this... this was an extermination.

Detective Tanaka: (to a forensics officer, his voice hushed) "Anything? Any shell casings? A weapon?"

Forensics Officer: (shaking his head, looking nauseated) "Nothing, Tanaka-san. No bullets, no blade marks. The lacerations... they look like they were made by claws, but the bone fractures are from pure, overwhelming blunt force. It's like they were... dismantled. And the CCTVs are all fried—not just broken, but the internal memory is scorched. It's impossible."

Tanaka's eyes scanned the area. Every single window was shattered, walls were cracked, and cars were dented as if a bomb had gone off. Yet, amidst this destruction, there was a single, chillingly clean path carved through the bodies, leading to a central point where the devastation was absolute.

Flashback: Yesterday, Moments After Belphegor's Escape

The thick, supernatural mist began to dissipate, but the silence that remained was more terrifying than any sound. Kokushiro stood panting, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of Belphegor's final blast. New cuts bled freely, and his already broken ribs screamed in protest. But the physical pain was a distant echo.

The bloodlust had him.

It wasn't a rage; it was a primal, all-consuming hunger that had been awakened and then left unsatisfied by Belphegor's escape. His prey was gone, but the scent of blood was everywhere. His eyes, vacant and glowing with a faint red hue, scanned the periphery of the ruined street.

He saw movement.

A shopkeeper, hidden behind a collapsed counter, peeking out in terror.

A couple, clutching each other, frozen behind the windshield of their car.

A young man, phone in hand, having recorded the entire end of the fight, now trembling behind a shattered bus stop.

They were witnesses. They were loose ends. They were... prey.

He didn't run. He walked. A slow, deliberate predator stalking his territory.

· The Shopkeeper : Kokushiro reached the counter. The man begged, hands raised. Kokushiro's left hand shot out, grabbing the man's head. With a wet, crunching sound, he slammed it into the reinforced counter once, twice, until the skull gave way, painting the white marble with a Rorschach test of grey matter and blood.

Then, his speed changed.

The slow, deliberate walk became a blur of terrifying motion. In the blink of an eye, he was no longer at the counter.

· The Couple in the Car : He was just there, at the vehicle. The woman screamed. He drove his rigid, fractured right arm through the windshield like a battering ram, the glass exploding inward. He grabbed the man by the throat through the broken window, pulled him halfway out, and with a brutal twist of his torso, ripped the man's head from his shoulders with a sickening tear of muscle and tendon. He discarded the head, reached back in, and silenced the woman's scream by crushing her windpipe with his fingers.

The blur moved again.

· The Man with the Phone : The young man turned to run. Kokushiro was on him in two strides. He didn't grab him; he kicked the back of his knee, dropping him. The man dropped his phone, which was still recording. Kokushiro placed a foot on the man's back, pinning him. He then bent down, gripped the man's head and one of his arms. With a powerful, wrenching motion, he twisted until the spine snapped audibly and the arm tore free from the shoulder socket. He dropped the limp limb onto the body.

He moved methodically but with impossible speed, a harvester in a field of fear. He tracked down every gasp, every whimper. An office worker hiding under a desk—he was suddenly there, flipping the desk and stomping on his chest, feeling the ribs cave in. A student who had locked herself in a bathroom stall—he materialized before the stall, tore the metal door from its hinges and broke her neck with a single, sharp motion.

He left no one. Not a single soul who had seen the aura, who had witnessed the truth of what he was, was allowed to live. When he was finally done, the only sound was the drip of blood from his fingertips and the slow crackle of the dying energies. The area was silent. Truly, utterly silent.

He had not just won a fight. He had erased the audience.

Back to the Present

Detective Tanaka knelt, looking at the clean path through the chaos. His experienced eyes pieced together the horrifying narrative.

Detective Tanaka: (whispering to himself) "This wasn't just a fight... this was an extermination. They killed their target, and then they... cleaned up the witnesses. One by one."

A young forensics officer, her face pale, hurried over to him, holding a small, sealed evidence bag.

Forensics Officer: "Tanaka-san, we found something. It was on a piece of collapsed rebar from the main building that was destroyed. It's blood, but it doesn't match any of the victims we've identified so far."

Tanaka took the bag, holding it up to the light. Inside, a twisted piece of metal was stained with a dark, dried substance.

Detective Tanaka: "One of the perpetrators? Could they have been injured?"

Forensics Officer: "It's a strong possibility, sir. The blood type is AB Positive. It's human, and it doesn't match any of the victims we've cataloged. We just don't know who it belongs to."

Detective Tanaka: "And the victims? What's the count?"

Forensics Officer: "The scale is... overwhelming, sir. We're still cataloging the remains. It will take the forensic team considerable time to process all of it—the bodies, the blood patterns, this sample. But the initial assessment of the wounds suggests extreme, close-quarters brutality from multiple angles. The working theory is that we are looking for a group. A highly organized, incredibly violent team of serial killers. The coordination to do... this... suggests more than one individual."

Scene Shift - A Private Medical Clinic, Tokyo

The sterile, antiseptic smell of the clinic filled the air. Kokushiro sat on an examination table, his torso bare, as an elderly doctor with tired eyes carefully taped his ribs.

Doctor: "These are clean fractures. You are a very lucky man, Akuma-san. A car accident with failed brakes... it could have been much worse." The doctor's fingers probed gently around the dark, angry bruising. "The impact must have been considerable. Are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital for a full scan?"

Kokushiro's face was a placid mask. He offered a slight, pained smile.

Kokushiro: "Thank you, doctor, but that won't be necessary. It was just a small accident. I was fortunate to walk away with only this."

The doctor finished his work, securing the last piece of tape. "Very well. The hairline fractures in your forearm should also heal with rest. But you must take it easy. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity."

Kokushiro: "Of course. I'll be sure to rest."

He paid in cash, the transaction quick and anonymous. As he slipped his shirt back on, carefully buttoning it over his bandaged torso, the doctor's words echoed in the quiet room.

A lucky man.

Scene Shift - Police Forensics Lab, Tokyo

The humming of servers and the sharp scent of chemicals replaced the outdoor smells of death. Detective Tanaka stood behind a forensic scientist, Dr. Akagi, who was staring intently at a complex DNA sequencing graph on her monitor. Her face was a mixture of confusion and scientific fascination.

Dr. Akagi: "Tanaka-san, we've completed the full analysis. The results are... disturbing."

She turned to face him, her expression grim.

Dr. Akagi: "The sample presents two conflicting possibilities. The first, and simplest, is cross-species contamination. The blood at the scene was mixed—human and animal. Perhaps a stray dog or some other creature was caught in the violence. The animal DNA is so aggressive and foreign that it's overwhelming the human markers, which would explain why we can't get a clean match."

Tanaka nodded slowly. "And the second possibility?"

Dr. Akagi: "The second possibility is far more troubling. This isn't contaminated blood. It's a single source undergoing a radical transformation. The DNA shows human markers actively rewriting themselves, littered with bestial gene sequences that shouldn't exist in a human genome. It's evidence of cellular metamorphosis."

She zoomed in on the screen, pointing at the violently shifting genetic patterns.

Dr. Akagi: "So either we're looking for a man whose blood mixed with an animal's... or we're looking for a man who is literally becoming the beast."