A big town with a big community, a town that never sleeps, they said. But now... it slept.
Not from weariness.
Not to ease fatigue.
It slept because of fear.
One demon. Only a few victims... And yet the entire city ground to a halt. Once again, it proved how fragile humans truly were.
---
And as the night deepened, nature reclaimed the streets.
From the highest mountain peaks, from cold breaths trapped between stone and sky, pale mist began to descend. It rolled downward in patient silence, spilling into valleys, threading through forests, slipping past walls and watchtowers without resistance.
Lanterns dimmed as their light softened, swallowed inch by inch. Streets that were once merely quiet became utterly mute, as though the world itself had pressed a finger to its lips.
The mist crept through alleyways and across rooftops, pooled at doorsteps, pressed against windows like a cautious, unseen guest.
Once again, it was not exhaustion that put the city to sleep.
It was fear.
Fear bolted doors long before midnight.
Fear strangled laughter before it could linger.
Fear made even the bravest guards tighten their grips and whisper prayers for dawn.
And the mist, born from cooling stone and lingering warmth, only deepened that fear.
It hid corners. Erased distance. Turned familiar roads into uncertain paths. Every footstep felt closer than it should have been... Every shadow felt watched.
Nature did not choose sides.
It covered everything equally.
And by the time the moon reached its highest point, the city was no longer awake.
But it was not truly asleep either.
It lay still beneath the veil, holding its breath, as though even movement itself might invite death.
One demon had been enough.
Not to conquer the city, nbut to remind it how easily silence could fall.
And then, within that silence, a man walked. Casual... Unhurried.
His steps held no hesitation. His movements were natural, unforced. His posture relaxed.
There was no fear on his face.
The mist did not trouble him.
If anything, he seemed at ease within it.
As though this veil of uncertainty was not a threat... But a sky.
And he, a bird in flight.
---
Kagerou continued walking through the street.
There was nothing he could see ahead of him. The mist was too thick, swallowing the road entirely. Nothing he could sense behind him either, every step felt the same, as though he were walking in place.
And yet…
His steps remained natural.
Unforced.
As if he had lived in this town his entire life.
*Step*
*Step*
*Step"
No hesitation.
No questions.
To an outside eye, he might have seemed to wander aimlessly.
But he wasn't.
He walked where his heart guided him. Where the mist called him. The mist did not mislead his steps. It guided them... It whispered.
*Step*
Another step.
*Step*
… *Stop*
Silence.
For the first time, Kagerou stopped.
Something felt different.
Something felt… wrong.
The atmosphere shifted.
It was no longer the stillness of fear, nor the quiet of a sleeping town.
It was the tension of a hunt.
But Kagerou was not the hunter.
He tightened his grip around the hilt of his ninjatō.
"It's here," he murmured.
Then-
*BANG!*
The silence was shattered.
One sound.
One attack.
One intent.
Yet in the thickness of the mist, it came from everywhere at once.
Front.
Side.
Behind.
But Kagerou didn't hesitate. He didn't need to. He had only one chance... And that was enough.
Steel left its sheath in a single, fluid motion.
His arm moved before the sound finished echoing.
*CLANG!*
Metal struck metal.
Sparks burst through the mist, scattering like dying fireflies as the night screamed in protest.
... Kagerou was not the hunter, yes, yet he was not the prey either.
Everything happened in an instant and ended just as quickly.
Then-
*BANG!*
*CLANG!*
Another shot.
*BANG!*
*CLANG!*
Each time Kagerou deflected a bullet, the next came immediately, came from a different angle.
Too fast.
Too precise.
'More than one?' Kagerou thought as he knocked another bullet aside. 'No... teleportation? Or is it just moving that fast?'
*CLANG!*
Sparks flared again.
"…Whatever," Kagerou muttered calmly. "I can't let it get too comfortable with this"
*BANG!*
The gunshot rang out once more, but this time, Kagerou didn't raise his ninjatō.
He inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled, releasing a thin stream of smoke into the mist.
The bullet tore through the air, twisting unnaturally as it closed in.
Just before impact-
"Fifth Form: Vanishing Ember"
Kagerou disappeared completely.
Not a trace of him remained.
Only smoke lingered in his place, drifting gently as the bullet passed through it, its force scattering the mist like a disturbed veil.
--------
- With the Gun Demon (Hairo)
Another change brought about by Kagerou's existence in this world.
Hairo was never meant to be here. Not in this town.
In another flow of fate, he would have crossed paths with Rengoku Shinjuro in his early days as a demon, a clash that would have ended his path before it could truly begin. No… not ended it. Tempered it. Forged something deep within him: hatred.
But that encounter never came.
And so, Hairo continued to grow.
---
Since the day he abandoned Bushidō. The day he learned what a firearm could truly do. The day he realized that killing did not require honor... Only efficiency.
That was the day Hairo became a hunter.
For two years, he moved like a shadow from city to city.
Kill. Devour... Grow.
No witnesses.
No survivors.
No mistakes.
Then he arrived here.
This town was perfect.
Nestled between mountains, wrapped in fog, surrounded by forests and winding roads, it was a sanctuary. A place to vanish by day and reap by night. The terrain bent to his favor, hiding gunfire, swallowing echoes, erasing tracks.
A city that never slept, they said.
Hairo made sure it learned how.
One chance.
One bullet.
One victim.
Every night, terror spread.
Every morning, silence followed.
No one ever saw him.
And so, when humans began hiding indoors, when streets emptied and lanterns dimmed earlier with each passing night, Hairo felt nothing but mild irritation.
Prey that refused to come out was inconvenient, but replaceable.
He had already begun considering his next destination.
Then-
Movement.
Barely perceptible.
A disturbance in the mist.
Hairo halted.
Slowly, a smirk curled beneath the shadow of his hood.
"…Another lost sheep," He said as he drew a short blade from within his cloak and, without hesitation, dragged it across his own arm.
Blood flowed freely.
It struck the ground... And then his shadow.
The darkness beneath him twitched.
"Blood Demon Art," Hairo murmured calmly. "Capture Cavity - Shadow Wolf"
The shadow warped unnaturally, swelling outward as if inflated from within. Eyes opened, too many, blinking open one after another, before the mass tore itself free from the ground.
A wolf-shaped silhouette leapt forward.
Then another.
Then a third.
Three Shadow Wolves emerged, their forms made of living darkness, eyes glowing faintly as they spread out in different directions without command.
They knew what to do.
While Hairo himself, lifted his weapon.
A sniper rifle, long, sleek, lovingly maintained.
He rested it against his shoulder, breath steady, finger relaxed on the trigger.
The mist thickened.
Somewhere within it, something walked without fear.
"…Let's begin the hunt"