SHINOBU — PART 1

There is something wrong with the men in my family . It all started  as a joke, the kind you hear on occasional women gossips , the kind told as a tool to deal with the reality. I can't tell when exactly I got so deep into this rabbit hole , taking a simple harmless joke so seriously to the point , now it's almost a certain fact , it has to be there is no other explanation. I wonder what is it like to be normal . don't get me wrong i myself am normal somehow this thing seem to not touch the females it's just that I have this bad habit of putting myself into other's shoes, merely understanding would have been fine but I take it too far. As I walk through these busy streets of Tokyo, as my  clothes brush off against the clothes of these people passing by , as the scent of fragrance worn by each person — light, heavy , some unpleasant hit my nose , as the pleasant summer breeze hits me fluttering by shiny flowing hair into air just as it equally hits everyone around me , I can't help but wonder are these people ... Are these people normal?. Perhaps they have their own problems, perhaps noone really is normal, and perhaps it's the efforts that keeps us normal, that makes people think we have it easy , that we don't have to face anything. There's nothing you can't change if you try hard enough. But what if ...what if you are setup...what if you are setup to lose ...

Cutting through the crowd in front of Hotel X was a white limousine, its surface gleamed under the bursts of camera flashes. The night was starless, smothered by heavy rain clouds  yet the man who stepped out of the car shone with such charm, such dazzling aura, that he became the only star illuminating the darkness. Patrick Johnson , an American born white folk in his 30s , it had been 5 years since he moved to Japan after a very underwhelming music career in America, it was here that he first  got the taste of real success, The ordinarily conservative Japanese public embraced his music with unexpected enthusiasm and now people went wild at the mere sight of him . To say he was a star , would be an understatement . 

He stepped out of the car ,draped in a long denim overcoat with a structured silhouette that gave him a bold, commanding presence. Underneath, he wore a neatly pressed black shirt. On his left , a bright red flower peeked from his coat pocket, a vivid contrast that added a touch of elegance to his look. He paired the coat with relaxed-fit black trousers that tapered slightly at the ankles. For footwear, he chose bold, bright yellow boots adorned with artistic patterns, completing an ensemble that was impossible to overlook. 

His face shone bright under the lights and camera flashes, showcasing his structured jawline ,his cheeks sunken into his face, giving him the look of a model. His skin was smooth and spotless; you’d have needed a microscope to spot an imperfection on it. His eyes were blue , ocean blue, easily able to mesmerize anyone who happened to look into them.And his hair… oh, his hair, the one he took the most care of, was divine—smooth, silky, dyed a light blonde, and tied into a man bun.

"Howdy, my convivial admirers," he said as he raised his right hand a little and waved to the crowd of cameras and fans from one side to the other. He made sure not to miss showing his most desirable looks to anyone present there. He made his way through the crowd as if Moses were splitting the ocean as he went, and entered the hotel lobby. Every chance he got, he glanced at himself in the large lobby mirrors lined along the walls and even at the shiny lobby floors. Then he stepped into the elevator.

He drew closer to his room.

"Ramblin'... ramblin'... on my mind..."Somebody hummed the tune.

He entered his room.

"Ramblin' on my mind..."

Two boys in their twenties were inside. One sat comfortably on the small turquoise sofa beneath the lamp’s shade, leg crossed over the other, humming the tune. The other stood farther away, close to the long balcony curtains, his body turned sideways from the door while his hands clutched the fabric. He stood there without making eye contact.

"And who might you be?"

"Ahh, off course, my Aficionados," he answered his own question with a proud expression on his face, putting a certain emphasis on the last word.

"We been waiting for you, Mr. Patoriku," said the one on the sofa with a calm, friendly voice. 

The glow from the lamp painted one side of his face in a golden yellowish hue, while the other half was washed by the white light of the room.

"Wait? Even the most revered gods would have to wait in line just to listen to a whisper of my heavenly voice."

"Let alone you mongrels. Begone, peasants—your presence is sullying the taste of my divine personage."

He signalled them to shoo away with one hand, and with the other he pulled out a pocket mirror from his coat, checking carefully if even a speck of dust had accumulated on his precious face.

"Ohh I’m gonna love this one."

"I am Satoru, and that over there is my brother Gotan," the boy said as he stood up from the sofa. "We have a simple punis— request for you. Do you happen to know anyone called Shohei?"

"Shohei? What a lowly-sounding name. Never heard of it—not that I care anyway."

"Begone. I am in no mood to soil my room with your dirty, unworthy blood tonight," he said in an annoyed tone as he put away his pocket mirror and faced Satoru directly.

"You are one ugly bastard, aren’t you?" Satoru said, slurping his lips. Then his hands twitched ; his eyes rolled up as if in pleasure. His fingers moved near his face and mimicked an indecent gesture as he said, with a hint of lust, "Ohhh how I love, love to punish bastards like you. I can't control myself."

"How dare you— a mere, peasant-looking, ignoble fool— address me in such a manner?" he snarled, every word edged with fury.

 "And what, pray tell, is that vermin-looking creature doing over there?"

He pointed toward Gotan, who had nearly swallowed himself into the curtains, as though wrapping himself for protection. The remark made him flinch; he retreated even further, drawing the fabric around him until he was entirely concealed.

Satoru took a quick glance at Gotan, then looked back at Patrick and said,"Careful now!! We don't want this to end so quick."

He warned him as he moved toward Gotan on tiptoes.

"It’s okay, Gotan," he whispered softly. "Mr. Patorik will learn a lesson, okay? I’m gonna make him learn. Everything is good."

The curtain swayed a little—almost like a nod from Gotan.With a swift movement, too fast for the eye to catch, Satoru sliced through Patrick’s clothes: his shirt, his coat, and his black undershirt were all reduced to shreds of fabric, revealing his clear white, sculpted physique.

"I don’t see any mark. Do you, Gotan?"

Gotan pulled his head up a little through the curtain and shook it.

"So now I do whatever I want with him," Satoru said, releasing a menacing laugh.

"My precious clothes! You will pay for this disgrace!" Patrick roared, madness twisting his voice.

His Ki surged and rose like a furious tide as it engulfed him. His skin began to crack and melt; his body dissolved into a churning swamp of mud.His hands warped into razor-edged, talon-like claws, and his legs sank entirely into the writhing mass below, swallowed by the very mire he had become.He sank into the pile of mud and vanished for a moment.

Satoru clicked his tongue; a tzzzz slipped from his lips in a mix of mockery and pity.

"So much effort… just to turn into an ugly Dorotabō," he said, shaking his head.

The mud monster surged from behind and lunged straight for Satoru’s throat, its claws poised to cleave through flesh.But before it could strike, Satoru’s body erupted with light.

His form twisted—evolved—into something monstrous.His head morphed into that of a tiger, jaws widening with rows of shark-like, razor-edged teeth. Scales rippled across his torso, gleaming in a deep, luminous yellow. A large fin burst from his spine, arching like a blade, and his arms and legs thickened into long, muscular tiger limbs tipped with deadly fangs.

He snapped at Patrick’s face, but the mud creature dissolved between his jaws and slipped away. Patrick staggered back, then vanished into the shadows.

The room trembled.

Satoru raised his arms.

A massive wave of water roared into existence behind him and crashed forward, flooding the room. The mud monster was swept helplessly into Satoru’s grasp. Satoru seized its ribbed, sodden chest and slammed it onto the bed like a ragdoll.

“Wh– Who… are… you…?” Patrick’s voice quivered through the mud.

“Please… please, leave me…”

“F-fuck man… please…”

“Oh? Now you can talk normally?” Satoru mocked.

“Yes… yes, I was just… just playing with you… man… I won’t… I won’t anymore…”

“Oh, is that so?” Satoru laughed—a deep, feral sound.

“Noooo… I still have to punish you… Pa… to… riiiiikkk.” He stretched the name out, each syllable dripped with menace.

His claws traced Patrick’s face.

“Ohh, this beautiful face of yours,” he purred, “how I would love to ravage it.”

“AHHHHHHHHH—NO—PLEASE— I CAN GIVE YOU MONEY—TAKE IT—”

“SCREAMS.” Satoru growled, tightening his clawed grip.

“I WANT SCREAMS.”

A crack of thunder tore through the room.

A bolt of lightning shot in from the curtains, striking Patrick’s head and sliced it clean off in a single blinding flash. The mud collapsed, lifeless.

Gotan stood by the curtains, trembling.

Satoru whipped around, fury blazing in his monstrous eyes. He charged at Gotan.

“WHAT WOULD YOU DO THAT FOR!?” he roared, voice thunderous.

“H-he scared me…” Gotan whispered, shrinking back.

“WHAT!? HE WAS IN MY CLUTCHES!”

“IT WAS JUST STARTING TO GET GOOD!”

Gotan didn’t answer.

He kept his head down, body recoiling from the storm that was Satoru.

Nobody can go against fate , but I was not locked up by the chains of fate . That realisation made me to go down this journey of curing my family. I searched, I asked , I scrolled through our family history books but in vain noone had any clue , but i knew they weren't like this always something changed them . Then oneday , the clue came from a servant, there was an old man living in the woods who fought the last war alongside my grandfather. He must know something...

"I think I see him," he muttered as he peered through the binoculars at the police officer riding his bike below.

"Lemme see."

He looked again

"Can… I… see?"

He checked once more —but the officer was almost out of sight.

"What are we fucking doing? He’s getting away!"

"Dude, did you see his Harley Davidson? 1800 cc, 105 hp—well, 104.69 to be exact. That machine is a beast."

"Do… we have to… do this?"

"You fucking losers, I'm going."

"Well technically, you’re calling yourself a loser."

Akira , a 40 year old man with a sliver of greys on his side hair wearing a bright red jacket chased after a particular police officer. With a summoning circle, he called forth a massive fiery bird. Its neck was long, eyes comically bulging, teeth sharp, flames dripping from its wings.

"Let’s go, Furaribi," he said as he mounted the creature.

"Fly higher. We can't be seen. These idiots even wore bright red."

"Scientifically speaking,human eyes rely on rod cells at night, and rods can’t detect—"

"Shut up you fucking nerd."

"I’m scared of hei—"

"HEY! He went inside that alleyway. Get down!"

Furaribi swooped low. Akira hopped off at the narrow entrance of the alley.Noone there except a silent darkness , everything too still.

He checked every corner and moved up ahead .

"Where the fuck has he gone?"

"Well, if he maneuvered his Harley through this tight space, he must be really skilled"

"It’s because of you dumb fucks! You keep talking nonsense."

"It’s called knowledge. Something your tiny brain—actually never mind, I’m only insulting myself."

A soft vroom… vroom… came from a shadowed opening further inside.

There in that darkness was the bike placed sideways and on it rested the officer they seeked, six foot tall caucasian male , slender slightly mascular build, in his mid thirtees.

"State your business," he said in a low, deep voice.

"Hey, Mr. Officer, we just wanted to ask if you know someone called Shohei—"

"No, fuck that," Akira snapped, expression turning vicious. "We’re here to kill you whether you know him or not."

"Try communicating for once. Research shows social communication leads to longer, healthier lives," he said again, suddenly calm and responsible.

"Who gives a shit?"

"Guys—"

"Who gives a shit? I do. And you’re me so technically you do too."

"Guys… what is—"

"Oh shut up, I’m not a fucking dork like you."

"GUYS—WHAT IS HE DOING?!"

The officer stood, raising both arms into a T-pose. A deep orange glow burst from him. His eyes rolled back and were replaced by blinding fire.The alley split open like a wound in the world.

Heat flooded the air. The ground cracked, split, and collapsed into a roaring pit of magma.

Akira tumbled into the blazing realm, landing hard, flames licking at his feet. Magma erupted nearby like exploding geysers.

He spun in a panic.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS FUCKING PLACE?!"

The only answer was the deep groan of the molten earth.

Above the flames, the officer appeared—now a towering infernal deity.

Four arms brandished weapons of pure fire.

A rotating halo of flame roared behind him like a burning wheel of divinity.

His yellow eyes carved through the air like blades.

Akira whipped around desperately.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS?!"

Silence.

Just the crackling of hell.

He tried summoning ; nothing but half-formed flaming hands and flickering wings.

"WHY THE FUCK CAN’T I SUMMON?!"

No answer.

The fiery deity raised one flaming hand. A ripple pulsed out like a shockwave—

and space itself clenched.

Akira launched himself forward only to freeze mid-air, muscles locked, lungs crushed by invisible pressure.

"What… power… is this…" he gasped.

A flick of the god’s finger.

BOOM.

Akira shot across the burning landscape like a meteor, crashing and skidding across molten stone, sparks and lava trails burst behind him.

Before he could stand, magma split open and demonic soldiers crawled out—bony, burning, screaming.

Akira roared, wings flared up, and sprinted into them—his flaming fists punched so fast the air popped.

Creatures burst apart in flaming chunks, but each one respawned,and  dragged itself back from the magma.

One stabbed him from behind.

He twisted, grabbed its skull, and slammed it into the ground, shattering stone.

Then came the oni.

Huge, with big Horns and a Single eye.

Equiped with clubs big enough to flatten a truck.

They swung downward

THUUUUM

A shockwave blasted molten dust everywhere.

Another swing of the club, and Akira met it with his fiery fist. The impact sent a shockwave ripping through the molten plain.

Akira leaped onto the club as it passed, sprinted up its length like a burning arrow, his wings flaring

CRACK!

His fist slammed into the oni’s single eye.

The creature shrieked and toppled, shaking the entire burning plain.

"HOW YOU LIKE THAT, FUCKER?!"

Not even a second passed before something invisible seized his throat.

He was yanked mid-air, legs kicking, choking

The fiery deity hovered calmly behind him, telekinetic grip tightened.

Akira’s eyes rolled up as he suffocated and died.

His vision snapped back instantly. He revived on the ground, gasping but surrounded again by respawning monsters.

He screamed in fury as flames engulfed him.

This time, the transformation completed.

His wings exploded open—massive, scorching arcs of fire.

His arms sharpened into burning blades.

His torso glowed molten red.

His legs turned into the limbs of a beast built for speed.He shot forward

FWOOOOM

leaving a comet-like trail behind him.Every demon in his path disintegrated in a single slash.He zipped, vanished, reappeared—movement so fast it left afterimages everywhere.

He reached the deity in a blink.

A telekinetic barrier slammed into him but this time Akira broke it with brute force, shattering it like glass.He lunged.The deity countered.Fire clashed with fire, sparks raining like fiery rainstorms.Punches cracked the air.Shockwaves rolled across the magma fields.Each hit shook the burning world itself.

Akira slashed across the deity’s guard but the deity struck back, molten fist glowing like a miniature sun.

WHOOOM

The punch drilled straight through Akira’s stomach, blowing out a trail of molten matter.

He died instantly and revived once again, stumbling forward with rage.

The deity hissed, out of breath for the first time.

"I can’t control this power properly yet," he muttered.

Akira roared and charged one last time—but the deity slammed his lower hand into the ground.

RRROOOAAAARRR

A tidal wave of magma erupted like a continent rising.

It swallowed Akira whole, liquefying his body in an instant.

The whole realm cracked ,folded  , collapsed and shattered.

Darkness snapped back to the alley.

Both men hit the pavement.

Smoke curled from the officer as he wheezed, got up, staggered to his bike, and rode away before Akira’s eyes fluttered open.

An hour later Akira woke, drenched in sweat, body aching as if every bone had been turned to molten steel.

"You’ve been out for an hour," he said. "You disappeared into flames. We don’t remember anything. What happened?"

Akira coughed, throat scorched raw."Where the fuck were you guys…"He limped past them in silence, too drained to speak further. 

The one lead led me into the woods , where stood a row on ascending steps , with worn out crimson tori gates leading upwards to the shrine nestled in the heart of bamboo trees , where there lived old man gorō , one who served my grandfather for several years and here's what he said in his own words ," Your grandfather made a deal with something , something...sinister, i don't know what it was but it cursed him it cursed his entire family..."