Night in Toshima was never truly quiet.

Even when the ruined city fell still, something always lingered beneath the silence—the distant crack of gunfire near the old district, the echo of metal pipes rattling in alleyways, the low laughter of men high on Line. The entire city breathed like something half-dead. Rotting. Waiting.

The moon hung low over the skeletal remains of abandoned buildings, silver light spilling through shattered windows and broken highways. In Toshima, darkness was dangerous. Most fighters avoided moving at night unless they had no choice. Visibility dropped to almost nothing in the maze of rubble and collapsed streets, and predators ruled the dark more efficiently than the weak ever could.

And tonight, you had become prey.

The group that drove you from your shelter had been little more than scavengers fattened by Line—twitching, violent idiots drunk on synthetic courage. Igura participants with more desperation than skill. Their laughter still rang faintly in your ears as you moved carefully through the ruins, shoes scraping over cracked concrete.

Your old hideout was gone now. Taken.

That was how Toshima worked. Weakness was temporary. Survival even more so.

Cold wind slipped through the hollow streets, carrying the stench of blood and rust. Somewhere nearby, a generator buzzed weakly before sputtering out again. Darkness swallowed the block whole.

You kept moving.

Another shelter. That was all you needed. Four walls. A roof. Somewhere hidden enough to survive until morning.

Then the screaming started.

Your body reacted before your thoughts did.

You ducked behind the crumbling remains of a concrete wall, breath catching as the sound tore through the night.

It wasn't one scream.

Several.

Raw. Panicked. Wet.

A man's voice choked off suddenly, replaced by another shrill cry that echoed through the empty streets before breaking apart into a pathetic whimper. Like a spark dying beneath rain.

Then— Silence.

The kind of silence Toshima feared.

Slowly, carefully, you leaned enough to look beyond the wall.

At first, all you saw was blood. Dark stains spread across fractured pavement beneath the moonlight, almost black against the concrete. Bodies lay twisted nearby, unmoving. One of them still twitched weakly.

Then you saw him.

Shiki

He stood in the center of the street like he had always belonged there.

Black leather reflected faint silver beneath the moon, long coat hanging motionless around his tall frame. Blood streaked across the blade of his katana in uneven lines, dripping steadily onto the ground below. His gloves were stained red nearly to the wrist.

Dog tags hung loosely from his fingers.

The tiny pieces of metal glittered once beneath the moonlight before he tossed them aside carelessly. They clattered somewhere into the dark.

“Pathetic.”

His voice was quiet. Not tired. Not angry. Just empty.

Using the back of his hand, Shiki wiped blood from his cheek in one slow motion. The gesture was strangely calm compared to the carnage surrounding him. As if killing them had required no more effort than brushing dust from his coat.