Mura finally reached his destination after spending all morning traveling to Ashuradō. He had taken the bullet train, which was pretty crowded and uncomfortable due to being packed full of passengers. Afterwards his journey consisted of getting lost several times. Either that or having run-ins with multiple unsavory people who either insulted him or picked a fight.

But after all that hardship, his journey was about to pay off. Before him stood a massive circular stadium that was built not unlike a tower, sporting several spires that extended high above the clouds. This was the Zoroaster Memorial Arena, named after the third emperor of Yomi. Zoroaster was a giant of a man, immensely powerful and brutal in his tactics. He enjoyed spending his weekends sparring with and battling anyone that was brave enough. Ironically, he met his end after a fierce struggle with pneumonia.

Mura walked through the automatic doors that opened into the stadium, leading into a luxurious lobby. It felt more like the foyer of an expensive hotel, lined with fine red carpeting, hand-carved reception desks and multiple chandeliers. Taken aback by this unexpected sight, Mura looked around for a sign pointing him in the right direction. He approached a man with slicked back hair wearing a black tuxedo.

“Excuse me, where can I find the desk to sign up for the, uh… the tournament?” Mura asked, a bit flustered. He felt slightly intimidated, as if he had shown up for a grand ball dressed in rags.

“The registration desk is over there, sir…”

Mura looked over to where the suited man was pointing. There was a golden sign clearly marked ‘Registration’ over a large wooden counter. In front of it was a massive line filled with warriors looking to test their mettle.

“O-Oh, uh, thanks!”

Mura looked down at the floor, trying to hide his embarrassment. The air conditioning in the lobby helped cool the warmth spreading across his cheeks.

—Dammit! I need to get a grip! Seriously, I’ve been in several scraps before. This won’t be any different, right? Just a little bit tougher, that’s all. I just need to think straight and use my wits.

Mura stood in the back of the line. A massive brutish demon stood in front of him. He was shirtless and had a colossal battle axe strapped to his muscular back. Mura gulped and felt the anxiety build up in his chest like a flood escaping from a broken dam. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

After almost forty minutes, Mura reached the front of the counter. At last, he could get this over with.

“One registration ticket please.” He said proudly, finally over his initial fears.

A short old man with spectacles looked at Mura from behind the desk. Perched atop a chair, he gazed at the paperwork in front of him.

“Name?”

“Mura.”

The old man scribbled down the information with an oversized quill pen.

“… Just Mura? No surname?”

“Nah, don’t have one. I don’t belong to any clans, families or anything like that.”

The man nodded and asked Mura several more questions.

“Date of birth?”

“May 27th, 200 B.C.”

“Blood type?”

“AB. I also like owls and my favorite color is scarlet.”

The old man looked up, his expression unmoving as Mura beamed. He wasn’t the type for jests, it seemed.

“Yes yes, well everything seems in order Mister Mura. Now we’ll just need the name of your Thrall.”

Mura leaned casually on the counter and gave the man a lost expression.

“My what?”

“Your Thrall? You’re required to have a Thrall under your possession to enlist in this tournament.”

Mura scratched his head, chuckling to himself lightheartedly. He had heard of Thralls before, they were living beings contracted to serve their master in the assistance of performing magic. Sadly, not many people were uneasy regarding their use; as they were treated like slaves just as he was. The old man shook his head, filing Mura’s paperwork away.

“I can’t complete your registration without a Thrall, sir. The people want a spectacle and if you don’t have a Thrall, well good luck trying to cast any sort of magic. A hayseed like yourself will be dead from the strain in seconds.” He said to Mura before continuing. “We’ll be open until tomorrow, so you have until then to find a Thrall willing to enter with you.”

“Alright, thanks! I’ll be back later!”

Mura smiled, containing his feelings as he walked quickly out of the foyer. Once he was outside, he kicked a nearby bicycle so hard it went flying across the parking lot.

“Shit! Why the hell is that damn rule in there?! I have some basic magic knowledge, but I barely even use the stuff! Ughh!”

Mura felt his rage dwindle down after he had finished cursing several times. He realized he couldn’t do anything by just moping around. He had to find someone to help him and fast. Mura looked up towards the looming palace in the distance; noticing golden-colored smoke emanating from the spires. There was only one meaning that smoke could have. The Council of Princes had elected a new emperor.

❇ ❇ ❇

The towers of Batō Kōkyo leaked golden smoke. The new emperor had been chosen and was ready to make his speech to the world. Media outlets raced to the steps of the imperial palace as the footage was broadcast across large display screens and televisions throughout Yomi.

Naraka walked out of the palace doors, meeting the surrounding audience that had gathered off the street to watch. Several security guards stopped the crowd from getting too close as they screamed out his name.

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“Oh my god, that’s Naraka!”

“Holy shit, it’s really him! The Second Legendary Hero!”

“I have all of your merchandise, Lord Naraka!”

Naraka smiled to himself. He adored seeing his fans, and since there were millions of them he could usually find one around every street corner. He was the retired legendary assassin after all, formerly ranked the strongest in the Jikininki Ten.

“Hello everyone! I’m glad to see you’re all having a wonderful day!”

The crowd nearly doubled in size from the arrival of their favorite hero. A black three-legged crow flew down from the skies and perched itself on Naraka’s shoulder. It ruffled its feathers and cawed contently.

“It’s Yatagarasu! He brought Yatagarasu with him!” One of the fangirls squealed.

Naraka stroked the bird’s beak lovingly. Yatagarasu was his faithful Thrall and old friend, always by his side in battle. Naraka continued his speech as several imperial guards lined out from behind him.

“As you may have noticed, the Council of Princes have elected a new emperor! He is steadfast in his resolve, brave and courageous beyond all doubt. Truly one of the wisest men I have ever known.”

“Is it you, Lord Naraka?!”

Naraka laughed heartily. “No, it isn’t. I’m very much enjoying my retirement anyhow.”

The newly appointed emperor walked down step by step. A large, ornate gown flowing behind him. It was the color of faded jade, decorated with golden twisting designs resembling tentacles and numerous overlapping gilded circles. Even from a distance it bedazzled the eyes. His chest was bare, exposing his muscles slightly behind a crimson haori. On each shoulder were three black tomoe upon the ornate gown. Resting overtop his shoulders was long, flowing grey hair that extended underneath a blackened veil attached to an umbra-colored hat.

“Without further hesitation, I present to you the fifth emperor of Yomi! His Majesty, Emperor Mara!”

The words stung inside Naraka’s mouth like venom, yet he had to put on a façade to the people. They devoured it like honey and wine as Mara stepped in front of Naraka, bringing all the guards to stand attention. The crowd in front of the palace bowed in respect, as did everyone across the underworld witnessing the coronation on live television. People stopped in the middle of their daily commute, as did those tending to their children and others preoccupied as well. Every soul bowed before the shrouded demon lord, their new ruler.

Mara raised his hands into the air, signaling his nation to rise. They did slowly before erupting into applause and cheers. Another man walked out from the palace, his gaze stern with eyes like chips of dirt-stained glass. He stopped next to Mara, standing perfectly still like a statue. His brow was furrowed with many years of stress and hardship worked into the creases on his gaunt face. The man had his black hair pulled tightly back into a long ponytail, exposing his widow’s peak and the sides of his head shaved down into stubble.

Naraka recognized the haunting man whose mere presence oozed with pure malevolence. He was Nergal, a former Jikininki whom was also ranked the most powerful many eons before Naraka’s birth. After he had retired, Nergal joined the police force and rose through the ranks there as well until becoming commissioner. Naraka had known the whole story from others, but seeing the legend in person was something else.

“I assume you all are familiar with Lord Nergal, our vigilant commissioner that helps keep this city safe every day and night?” Mara spoke with a charismatic voice. “As of today, I am promoting him to Minister of Defense for his diligence and hard work defending the weak from evil.”

Mara smiled underneath his veil. This was the moment he had worked up to his entire life, the culmination of everything he had fought for.

“Citizens of Yomi, I am proud to receive this position. I only wish it had come under better circumstances. I wish I could bring back the life of my good friend, but it was tragically cut short by the shinigami commander named Sierro.”

Several boos burst from the audience at the mention of the shinigami, causing Mara to nod his head in agreement.

“Yes, you are correct to hate the man. He murdered the emperor both you and I loved! A declaration of war, that’s what his methods told me. The shinigami Sierro was captured shortly afterwards and arrested, that is what you have all heard. I met with this shinigami personally, interrogated him. I wondered why he could have committed this horrendous act.”

Mara motioned for Nergal, who then signaled his guards. They escorted a man in chains out from the palace entrance, the man only had one arm and white hair lined in black. It was Sierro himself.

“Now, you would think if this man had any integrity, he would accept his fate. Whatever wrong he committed, a proper man always pays up. Sierro here, he wished to receive life in the maximum security prison Jigokudō. I’d say that’s fitting, correct?”

The crowd burst into applause at hearing Mara’s words. Naraka clapped hesitantly, he could tell by Mara’s phrasing that something was up. Sierro himself looked content with the sentence, something that perplexed Naraka. He half-expected a rebel like Sierro to attack Mara, but the magic-restricting chains prevented any spell use. Still, he could still struggle or plead his case. Everything was going too orderly.

Suddenly two guards on each side of Sierro brought the shinigami to his knees. They held him in place as he looked around frantically, up at Nergal and Mara with a bewildered gaze. His unkempt ashen-white hair fell in front of his desperate.

“But then I began to think to myself. A shinigami like yourself, you’re always crafting something. Your entire nature is based off deception. You wished to declare war on us, after we abide by your kind’s laws and subjection without question? That entire process of thought, thinking you could murder our ruler and get away with a slap on the wrist because you’re a commander?!”

Nergal ominously stepped behind the struggling Sierro, like a starved vulture looming over a dying animal. The shadow of death hung over the shinigami.

“I say that our days of living under the Shinigami’s boot are finished! Today is the day we sever the pact that binds us as slaves to them! Sierro, Commander of New Life of the Empire of Nirvana. I sentence you…”

Sierro’s eyes widened as Nergal grabbed ahold of his hair and pulled back, exposing his neck. Nergal’s other hand reached in front of Sierro’s neck; extending his thumb in front of the shinigami’s skin. To Naraka it looked as if Nergal was enacting some kind of ‘throat-slitting gesture’ on the commander. Sierro opened his mouth, desperate to speak out.

“Wait, please! We had an—“

“— To death,” Mara spoke, cutting off the shinigami’s pleas.

In a flash, Nergal’s thumb darted through the air in front of Sierro’s neck; swiping quickly from ear to ear. The shinigami’s eyes glazed over and his mouth hung open. Sierro’s skin turned pale and a crimson thread of fluid formed across his throat as if slashed by a wire. Naraka watched stunned as Sierro’s body fell forward with a sickening thump. His head peeled off his neck effortlessly with a wet sticky sound. Sierro’s glassy expression remained unchanged as his head was held high by Nergal, all while blood pooled around the palace steps.

—His thumb never even made contact with his skin! Is this… his ability? What the hell just happened?!

The crowd was shocked, including those watching at home on the television. They didn’t know what to think after watching such a gruesome display.

“People of Yomi, I know you may be surprised by what you just witnessed. I judge not by the new laws of Yomi, but by the old ways. Death begets death. The Shinigami felt it needed to turn us into killers after the war, hunting their enemies as they saw fit. Now I say, that they are the enemy. We shall have peace, my brothers and sisters! A peace that will only come when we are liberated from this menace for all eternity!”

The crowd was eerily quiet, so much so that a pin could be heard dropping from a kilometer away. Suddenly, clapping began until the amount of applause was deafening, roaring like cannons in unison. Naraka walked back into the palace silently as Mara lifted his arms, soaking in the praise.

❇ ❇ ❇

Elsewhere, Mura was sprawled out in an alleyway. His face was battered and bruised. Blood had streamed and dried down from his nostrils and the corner of his mouth. His memory of what had happened was fuzzy at best. He blinked slowly, everything was a blur. Mura could make out what seemed to be a silhouette of some sort standing in front of him.

—The hell happened… Shit, my whole body aches.

His vision returned as each second passed. The shadow suddenly placed a foot on his chest, pinning him down. Mura could see it was a slender girl with blonde hair and a knife pointed straight at him.

“Don’t you move a freaking muscle if you value your life,” she hissed at him.

—Crap.