The King in the Mist

Kaori stepped out onto the external observation platform, ignoring her guards' warnings. The ash-laden wind struck her face, but her eyes were fixed on the sky.

What she saw froze her blood. Above, amidst the smoke clouds, dozens of winged creatures—Karasu-Tengu and grotesque Itsumade—soared. But they weren’t diving toward the base. They weren’t firing steel feathers or spitting acid. They were fleeing. Flying north, away from the city, shrieking with a primal fear.

“They’re clearing the air…” Kaori murmured, a knot forming in her stomach. Could it be… they’re afraid of him.

She looked down at her hand, where the gray ash was accumulating. Finally, all the pieces clicked. “They made us believe we were safe,” she said with contained rage. “They made us believe they were wild beasts acting on instinct. But this… cutting communications, psychological warfare with the ash, clearing the area…” Kaori clenched her fist, crushing the ash. “The Regent thinks in tactics. He’s a general, not an animal.”

She turned and ran back inside, bursting into the communications room. “Connect me to Tachikawa Base! To Iruma! To anyone!” she shouted.

“We’re trying, ma’am!” a desperate operator responded. “Iruma Base isn’t responding! Tachikawa says they have their own problems and their ground forces will take at least four hours to mobilize!”

“Four hours…” Kaori looked at the clock. We don’t have four minutes.

She walked to the central console and, without hesitation, lifted the red plastic cover over the emergency alarm button. She pressed it firmly.

Chaos erupted.

The air raid siren tore through the base’s silence. The spinning red lights bathed the corridors in artificial blood. “MAXIMUM ALERT!” Kaori’s voice boomed over the speakers. “THIS IS NOT A DRILL! COMBAT POSITIONS, LEVEL OMEGA! THE ENEMY IS AT THE GATE!”

In the barracks, the sound of the siren triggered something in Ken’s brain. It wasn’t fear. It was an injection of cold adrenaline. While the soldiers around him ran screaming and grabbing their gear, Ken adjusted the straps of his tactical vest with an unnatural calm.

Is it him?  he thought. Is he finally here?

The scar on his chest throbbed in time with the siren. This was the chance for vengeance he’d dreamed of in the crystal forest. Images of a possibly dead Tanimoto under rubble and of Naomi’s broken body flashed through his mind. His hand trembled on the hilt of his knife, desperate to charge out and kill. But he took a deep breath. No. If I lose my head now, I’m dead… And if I die, no one will avenge them. He looked at Yamato and Shinji, gripping their katanas with trembling but determined hands. Ken nodded. He would stay calm. For them.

On the runway, Kyosuke ran against the wind. “Commander!” a mechanic yelled. “The F-35 isn’t combat-ready!”

“I just need it to fly!” Kyosuke roared, climbing into the cockpit of the base’s last operational fighter jet. “There’s a protocol we need to follow! I need to see what the hell we’re facing before they crush us!”

The jet’s engine roared, spitting blue flame, and Kyosuke took off vertically, disappearing into the gray sky to become the resistance’s eyes.

Far from there, on the southern wall, Natasha stood motionless. Like Ken, she felt the enemy’s presence in her bones. She didn’t need sirens. She knew death was walking toward them.

Minutes passed. The entire base held its breath. Soldiers in trenches, observers in towers, Kijin on the front line. No one moved. There was nothing to attack.

Then, the fog arrived. A thick, black, sticky mist rolled down from the hills and swallowed the runway, blotting out the sun and plunging Yokota into premature twilight.

And from the fog’s silence came the sound. THUD… THUD… THUD… Footsteps. Heavy, rhythmic, making water tremble in puddles.

Slowly, a gigantic silhouette materialized from the haze. It wasn’t a tank. It wasn’t a beast. It was a royal procession.

Four three-meter-tall Onis, with skin red as blood and deformed muscles, walked carrying a massive structure on their shoulders. It was a mobile throne, a palanquin of feudal Japanese style, but constructed of black bone, twisted steel, and war banners made of human skin.

And sitting on the throne, one leg crossed over the other, was Him. The samurai armor absorbed what little light remained. His demonic gaze looked forward with infinite arrogance. The giant Odachi rested at his side. The Regent.

But he wasn’t alone. To his left, standing on the throne’s platform, was a smaller figure, almost delicate by comparison. She wore light combat kimono. Her long purple hair streamed in the wind. And over her eyes, an immaculate white blindfold.

Ken, from his position in the forward trench, felt his blood boil. There he was. Right in front of him. The monster who had orchestrated it all. His muscles tensed, ready to vault the barricade and launch a suicidal attack. Pure hatred threatened to blind him.

Kill him! Kill him now while he's so close!  his instinct screamed.

But then he saw the number of shadows moving behind the throne within the fog. Hundreds of red eyes. And he saw the Regent’s relaxed posture, as if waiting for precisely that. Ken dug his nails into his palm until they drew blood, using the pain to anchor himself to reality. No. Not yet.

The throne stopped a hundred meters from the main gate. The silence was absolute.

No one knew if they would walk away from this night alive. No one knew if reinforcements would arrive. Japan’s Ground Zero was about to fall, and the Battle for Yokota had begun.