The Roppongi subway entrance looked like a war zone, only with more paperwork.
The area was cordoned off with heavy-duty yellow tape and portable steel barricades.
Huge, black-painted vans with the Demon Hunter Corporation logo sat idling on the curb, their sirens pulsing a dull, rhythmic red against the surrounding skyscrapers.
DHC tactical units—guys in heavy ceramic armor carrying high-caliber rifles—stood every five feet, looking like they were waiting for an invasion.
Masaru, Alex, and Yuki stood by the stairs.
Masaru was leaning against a concrete pillar, nursing a lukewarm canned coffee.
Alex was bouncing on the balls of his feet, adjusting the straps of his backpack, while Yuki looked like she wanted to melt into the pavement.
"Bit intense for a Tuesday, isn't it?" Alex said, glancing at a guard who was holding a shotgun like it was a holy relic. "I thought we were just clearing out a few strays. This looks like they're prepping for the end of the bloody world."
"DHC doesn't close a major station for strays," Masaru said, crushing his coffee can. "They close it because people with six-figure salaries are starting to go missing. That's when it becomes a 'public safety crisis.'"
A guard approached them, his visor tinted so dark Masaru could only see his own tired reflection.
"IDs and contractor licenses," the guard barked.
They handed over their plastic cards. The guard slotted them into a handheld scanner. It beeped three times—green, green, green.
"Working for Watanabe's firm?" the guard asked, his voice losing a bit of its edge but none of its suspicion.
"Unfortunately," Masaru muttered.
"Step forward for the sweep."
The search was thorough. They weren't looking for drugs or normal weapons; they were looking for unstable artifacts. A second guard ran a humming, wand-like device over Masaru's body. It crackled when it passed over his Berettas.
"Sigil-etched lead," the guard noted. "Low output. You're the 2nd Deviation?"
"I'm the guy who handles the stuff you're too scared to shoot," Masaru replied.
The guard snorted but waved him through. After Alex and Yuki were cleared—Alex's bag was stuffed with strange, brass-bound gadgets that made the scanner scream—they were ushered past the barricade.
Sakura was waiting for them at the top of the escalator leading down into the dark.
Masaru blinked.
The sleek, ivory-white suits were gone.
Sakura was wearing a pair of faded black jeans, a grey oversized hoodie, and beat-up sneakers.
Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail.
She looked like a college student heading to a late-night study session, except for the violet eyes that still felt like they were peeling back the layers of Masaru's brain.
"You look... different," Yuki managed to say, her voice small.
"Suits are expensive to dry-clean," Sakura said simply. She didn't look at Yuki; she was staring down into the black maw of the station. "And I don't plan on staying clean today. The DHC reports were wrong. This isn't a Grade 3. It's a potential 6th Deviation."
Alex whistled, a long, low sound. "6th? Cor, that's a heavy hitter. We're going to need more than a few ice cubes and a popgun for that, aren't we?"
"Which is why I'm here," Sakura said.
She turned her back to them. There was no sound, no flash of light, and no dramatic chant. There was just a sudden, violent ripple in the air.
Three heavy, rusted iron chains tore through the fabric of her hoodie.
They didn't come from her skin; they seemed to emerge from the shadows cast by her own body.
They moved like snakes, clinking and rattling with a sound that made Masaru's skin crawl.
Before any of them could react, the chains surged forward.
One wrapped firmly around Masaru's neck. Another around Yuki's. The third around Alex's.
The metal was freezing. It didn't choke them, but it felt heavy—impossibly heavy—like the weight of a mountain resting on their collarbones.
"The hell is this?" Masaru choked out, reaching up to grab the cold links. His hands passed right through them. They were physical, but they weren't.
"Life insurance," Sakura said, her voice echoing in the quiet station. "These chains are linked to my own energy pool. As long as you stay within twenty meters of me, the demon's influence cannot touch your mind or rot your flesh. But remember: if you wander too far, the connection will snap. And if it snaps down there, you won't last ten seconds."
"A leash," Masaru spat, his eyes narrowing. "You've put us on a fucking leash."
"I've kept you alive," Sakura corrected. "Now, move."
They began the descent.
The escalators weren't running.
They walked down the frozen metal steps, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. As they reached the first basement level, the smell hit them.
It wasn't just the usual subway scent of ozone and damp concrete. It was the smell of a butcher shop that had lost power in the middle of July. It was thick, sweet, and metallic.
Sakura didn't slow down. She walked with a steady, rhythmic pace, the chains trailing behind her like the tethers of a ghost.
They passed the turnstiles. The scene on the other side made Yuki gasp and pull her hand to her mouth.
A DHC squad—at least ten men—lay scattered across the floor. They hadn't just been killed; they had been dismantled.
Armor plates had been peeled back like sardine cans. Rifles were snapped in half.
One guard was slumped against a ticket machine, his guts spilled across the floor in a long, neat line, looking like a row of sausages.
"They didn't even fire a shot," Alex whispered, his usual bravado gone. He pointed to a rifle on the ground. The safety was still on.
"They didn't have time," Sakura said. "The 6th Deviation doesn't hunt. It harvests."
They moved deeper, toward the platforms for the Oedo Line. The further they went, the darker it got. The emergency lights flickered with a dying, yellow pulse.
The walls were covered in something wet and black that looked like vine-growth, but when Masaru's sleeve brushed against it, it felt like warm, leathery skin.
Then, the sound started.
It was faint at first, coming from the deep tunnel where the tracks disappeared into the earth. It was a woman's voice. She was singing.
It was a soft, gentle melody—the kind of lullaby a mother would sing to a crying infant.
It was beautiful, but in the context of the mangled corpses and the black, pulsing walls, it was the most horrific thing Masaru had ever heard.
"Is that... a survivor?" Yuki asked, her voice trembling. She started to take a step forward, drawn toward the sound.
The chain around her neck jerked tight, pulling her back.
"Don't," Sakura warned.
The singing grew louder. It felt like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Suddenly, the flickering overhead lights gave a final, desperate pop and died.
Total darkness.
"Nobody move," Sakura's voice came out of the black.
"Easy for you to say!" Alex's voice was high-pitched, frantic. "I can't see my own bloody hand! This isn't right. This isn't right at all!"
Yuki was sobbing now, a ragged, wet sound. "I want to go back. Sakura-san, please, let's go back."
Masaru stood perfectly still.
He gripped the handles of his Berettas until his knuckles ached. He didn't speak. He didn't breathe. He closed his eyes, figuring that his sight was useless anyway. He listened to the singing.
Sleep, my little one... sleep so deep...
The voice was closer now. It sounded like it was standing right next to him. He could feel a cold, damp draft on his cheek, smelling of old earth and stagnant water.
The stars are out... and the secrets they keep...
"Masaru," Yuki wailed. "Masaru, where are you?"
"I'm right here," Masaru said, his voice a low growl. "Shut up, Yuki. Just shut up."
Then, with a violent hum of electricity, the lights slammed back on.
They weren't the dim yellow emergency lights from before. They were the high-intensity floodlights from the platform, blindingly white.
Masaru squinted, his eyes stinging. As his vision cleared, he felt the air leave his lungs.
Standing—or rather, looming—on the tracks directly in front of them was a nightmare made flesh.
It was massive.
At least twenty meters long, its body stretched thin and wiry like a starved hound. Its skin was the color of a fresh scab, a deep, angry red that seemed to bleed light. It stood ten meters tall, its spindly, multi-jointed legs braced against the tunnel walls.
It had no eyes. Where a face should have been, there was only smooth, stretched skin.
But its mouth...
Its jaw was unhinged, a massive, vertical gash that extended from the very top of its head all the way down to its chest.
It was wide enough to swallow a car whole. There were no teeth. Just a cavernous, pink throat that pulsed with a slow, wet rhythm.
The creature tilted its head, the skin on its face rippling as it "looked" at them.
The lullaby stopped.
The demon's throat vibrated.
When it spoke, the voice was distorted, layered with the sound of grinding stone and wet static, but the words were unmistakable. It was the voice of a tired, nagging mother.
"Jin," the demon rasped. "Clean your room."