Pamp! Pamp! Pamp!
The deep, resonant boom of traditional ceremonial drums suddenly shattered the silence. With every strike that rang through the void, different corners of the pavilion abruptly flared to life with glowing lanterns.
The interior was vast and incredibly spacious, but unlike the jade-laden exterior, the stone had vanished. It was entirely lined with dark, polished cypress wood and immaculate, pristine Tatami mats. Standing squarely in the centre of the grand hall was a bizarre figure donning a wild, bushy-haired ritual mask and clad in expansive, layered ceremonial robes.
"Ohhhhhhuuuuuu—!" the masked figure wailed toward the rafters.
Pamp!
He struck the massive frame of his drum once more, his voice booming with theatrical cadence. "From the North he arrives... bearing the fragile hopes and dreams of the doomed populace!"
Pamp!
As the drumbeat echoed, dozens of beautiful women glided out from the deep shadows of the hall. They wore vibrantly colourful, flowing robes and held long, elegant silk ribbons that twirled gracefully through the air. Concurrently, a full ensemble of classical instruments began to chime in a mesmerising harmony: the sharp plucking of a Koto, the twang of a Shamisen, the rhythmic thudding of hand drums, and the low, haunting wail of a horn. They played a sweet, melodic tune as the dancers closed in, spinning in a tight circle around Yorimitsu.
"Praise him... the bringer of a light!" the masked man chanted.
Instantly, the warm lantern glow morphed into a ghastly, sickening blue fire, casting long, distorted shadows against the walls. They, too, danced joyfully.
Without warning, the women abruptly stopped their clockwise rhythm. Reversing their steps, they converged tightly upon Yorimitsu, their hands reaching out to drape over his shoulders and chest in a fluid, seductive manner. Yorimitsu remained perfectly still, saying absolutely nothing. His cold, blue-glowing eyes merely darted around the room, tracking every fraudulent pulse of energy.
"When exactly do you intend to stop playing with these cheap illusions?" Yorimitsu finally spoke, his voice cutting through the music like ice.
With a swift, casual swipe of his hand through the open air, he tore the entire fabrication apart, shattering the dancers, the musicians, and the festive lights as effortlessly as if he were sliding open a paper Shoji screen.
"Ohhh... it seems you are not in the mood for any entertainment," the masked figure purred, his voice dripping with mock disappointment as the phantoms melted away. "I merely thought it would be a grand gesture to host a vibrant festival for you before you departed for the afterlife."
"Huuuuuu—"
Yorimitsu took a slow, deep breath.' Just looking at him... I can fully tell that he has gone beyond human reasoning.'
His eyes locked onto the colour of the Master's spiritual energy. Orochi was entirely swathed in a thick, suffocating crimson aura so dense and viscous it looked as though he were actively swimming inside a swirling pool of fresh human blood.
"Tell me... You do not seem entirely human yourself, do you?" Orochi spoke, his masked head tilting at an unnatural, skeletal angle. "I can smell it on your breath. There is something lurking deep inside your soul that is not natural. And yet do not carry the pathetic scent of Shuten's pawns... so tell me, boy, what are you?"
'Ah...? Could it be that he can tell the origin of the seals, or is he talking about me? Yorimitsu wondered, his brow furrowing.
Refusing to waste another breath on the psychological games, his hand gripped his hilt. With a harsh, metallic hiss, he drew Dōjigiri from its sheath. The legendary blade instantly sparked, erupting into a violent, roaring blaze of cleansing fire that illuminated the dark pavilion.
"Ha! Dōjigiri…" Orochi's voice rose, twisted by an unsettling, amused hiss. "Hehehe... you sure have brought a wealth of exquisite treasures with you, haven't you, little boy?"
"Ah….?!"
In that exact, overlapping breath, the reality beneath Yorimitsu's feet completely vanished. Without a single warning sensation, he suddenly found himself plummeting headfirst through the air, falling away from the ceiling toward a pitch-black pit bristling with hundreds of jagged iron spears pointed directly at his chest.
'What is this now?! I didn't feel a single trace of Reiryoku movement just now!'
Mid-fall, Yorimitsu forcefully twisted his torso in mid-air. Grasping Dōjigiri with both hands, he swung the flaming blade downward with terrifying physical force. The arc of fire cleaved straight through the mass of incoming spikes. But instead of the iron snapping and clattering to the floor, the spears cracked and shattered like fragile sheets of glass, vanishing instantly into thin air as the illusion fractured.
"Do you like stories, Sun of the Winter?" Orochi's voice rang from all directions. Just as it faded, a great, disembodied force slammed into Yorimitsu from the side, sending him barreling toward the far wall. But just as impact seemed inevitable, the structure itself folded inward, the wall opening up like a yawning mouth, and Yorimitsu tumbled through, continuing his fall sideways through the fractured space.
"Tch, this is mad," he muttered, channelling his Reiryoku. Materialising a luminous, flaming Hagoromo that was woven itself like a blazing halo around his chest. The fires arrested his horizontal freefall, suspending him. Moments later, he was propelled upwards and began to levitate stably in the air.
"A long time ago, there was said to be a being..." Orochi's narrative began, omnipresent yet unseen. "...the very first to come into existence. The most perfect embodiment of humanity. She, who could control all the fundamental rules of heaven and earth, the Child of Flames Ametarasu."
Yorimitsu was already countering even as the story was told. Murmuring a rapid incantation under his breath, he raised his hand, forming a complex seal with his pointer and middle fingers and thrusting them outward. His hand crackled with intense blue Reiryoku. From that swirling blue light, four monstrous hounds materialised, spectral and made of compressed lightning. "Seek him."
The four lightning hounds instantly blurred, running across the illusory walls and ceiling, searching. Orochi's story flowed uninterrupted. "It is said she stood against some ancient beast... and was eventually destroyed by it. And from her spilt blood, the first people came to be born."
"What the hell is he talking about?" Yorimitsu spat, confusion warring with concentration. Just then, one of his lightning hounds, a spectral beast that shone like a small star, suddenly stopped its pursuit, growling low as its light flared intensely on one side of the vast, shifting pavilion.