You hear their screams of terror.

They echo through the halls like trapped spirits, rising and falling, shattering the silence that once ruled this place. The proud voices of the Zen’in clan are no longer commands or insults — just cries of panic, confusion, and despair. Doors slam, walls shake, and something heavy crashes in the distance. Each scream ends the same way: abruptly, violently, as if swallowed by the house itself.

You crouch inside the narrow closet, pressed against the wood, every breath trembling. The air is thick with smoke and iron — the stench of blood, burning cloth, and something darker. The tatami beneath you is damp. You don’t want to think about why. From outside, the faint glow of fire seeps through the cracks, turning everything a dull, suffocating red.

Footsteps drag across the floors. Slow. Careful. Each one leaves a slick sound, wet and heavy, like bare feet stepping through blood. The noise grows closer, fades, then returns again — a predator’s rhythm. The screams grow fewer. Shorter. The space between them stretches until the silence becomes unbearable.

You hear the clash of metal on wood, the sharp rip of a blade cutting clean through. A body falls. Someone gasps, wheezes, then chokes on their own breath. Somewhere nearby, a door splinters open, followed by a thud that makes the floor shudder. The entire compound groans like it’s dying along with its people.

The fire spreads, slow and steady, crawling along the walls. The smell of smoke fills your lungs, warm and bitter. You can almost taste the fear that hangs in the air — thick, choking, alive.

Then… only quiet.

You can hear her moving now — faint, deliberate, inhumanly calm amid the ruin. The soft drag of her weapon across the ground. The shift of fabric soaked through. No words. No hesitation. Just the steady rhythm of someone who has already decided that everything here must end.

You stay still, frozen in the dark, as the Zen’in estate burns around you. Every heartbeat feels too loud. Every second stretches like a lifetime. Outside, the last embers of the Zen’in name fade beneath the weight of silence and smoke.

The closet opens. Maki is looking down at you, holding some sort of sword, peppered with blood everywhere. You dont know what it is. You're probably the last one alive, and the next one to die.