Under the bright moon of Jhorfa, Bokun’s laughter returned to fill the air, a sound that seemed to amplify Guhin’s disorientation.

Struggling to his feet, Guhin wobbled unsteadily, his hand pressed against a nearby tree for support. He looked down at his hand, a sense of disbelief washing over him as he whispered, “I’m alive. No… I’m alive…”

Bokun’s laughter continued, echoing in Guhin’s mind, making him question whether it was real or just another fragment of his shattered psyche. He pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block out the sound, but it only grew louder, more mocking.

“This has to be a dream,” Guhin muttered, his voice strained and desperate. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the world around him to fade away, to dissolve into the nothingness that often swallowed him in moments of weakness. But the laughter persisted, grounding him in a reality he desperately wanted to escape.

A whisper seeped into his mind like thick, curling smoke, dark and cold. You... it breathed, with a slow, seductive murmur, soft as a lover's promise yet sharp as a knife. I, saved him, it crooned, each word sliding against his nerves.

image [https://i.imgur.com/mZArAwU.png]

But that laughter… sickening... it annoys us, doesn’t it? The voice pulsed, weaving through him, filling his thoughts. Oh, just, let me put an end to this. Let me sink my fingers into that soft, juicy throat, n'rip out that tongue of his… You want it, the voice insisted, needling deeper. Admit it. You want to watch the life drain from his eyes… feel his skin grow cold under our touch.

The voice pressed harder, more insistent.

I know you feel it—the hunger... Let me... feast.

The pressure built, clawing its way up, its insistent demand swelling until it filled every corner of his mind.

LET ME OUT!

Guhin’s eyes snapped open, and he bit out, “Shut up!” through clenched teeth.

Bokun’s laughter stopped abruptly, his gaze sharpening as he caught Guhin’s strained expression.

“You should have just stayed out of it,” Guhin said, his voice ragged.

Bokun’s irritation flared, his eyes narrowing. “Stayed out of it? I saved you, you ungrateful brat!”

“Then you shouldn’t have saved me!” Guhin shot back, his voice hoarse, words cracking. His hands trembled as he clutched his head, pressing himself against the tree.

Bokun’s mouth twisted with frustration.

"They’d have torn you apart if I hadn’t stepped in.” He paused, his gaze cutting. “And after what you did, after the way you lost yourself out there… I’m not even sure what I saved. If it weren’t for your damn bird, I wouldn’t even be standing here!”

Guhin’s gaze shifted toward Fukujin, who perched silently in the shadows, its dark eyes glinting with a mysterious depth. A jolt of recognition shot through Guhin as memories of his uncontrolled rage flashed through his mind—visions of himself tearing through enemies with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

As Guhin stared into Fukujin’s gaze, he grappled with the realization that the crow might have a deeper connection to his rage than he’d previously understood. Every time he lost control, Fukujin had been there, he had to be, a dark and silent witness to his other side.

The crow's presence seemed to stir a troubling question in his mind. Could Fukujin be tied to his uncontrollable rage, his thirst to draw blood. Guhin’s thoughts raced as he tried to piece together the role Fukujin might play in his search for answers.

“What do you mean?” Guhin asked, his voice hesitant.

Guhin’s sight locked onto Fukujin, whose dark, glistening eyes seemed to draw in the very essence of the night. The air around them grew heavy, as if the world had momentarily paused in anticipation. Bokun, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, followed Guhin’s gaze. He too became absorbed by the crow’s penetrating stare.

The flickering firelight played tricks on the crow’s silhouette. With each subtle movement, Fukujin's wings transformed into colossal feathered shadows, stretching and folding like dark wings reaching beyond the fire’s glow. Bokun's eyes narrowed. “Whatever it did,” he began slowly, his voice low and careful, “I think it saved me... That bird isn't normal, is it?” His words were tinged with a mix of curiosity and unease.

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Bokun’s eyes remained fixed on Fukujin, “How do you know this... thing?” he asked with caution. “Where did you find it?”

Guhin’s mind seemed to dissolve into the depths of Fukujin’s gaze. The weight of the crow’s unblinking eyes pulled him deeper.

Guhin’s eyes glazed over, lost in the crow’s penetrating stare. “It... he, found me... he's been with me ever since,” he replied slowly, his voice trailing off. “Ever since I…”

As Guhin spoke, his consciousness seemed to drift, his words blending with the encroaching fog of memory. The world around him began to blur and dissolve, giving way to a distant recollection.

Suddenly, Guhin found himself lying on a cold, hard surface, surrounded by the remnants of a shattered world, a village set ablaze. He sat up, his head throbbing as he tried to piece together his fractured reality.

The ground beneath him was rough as it pressed against his fingers. Panic gripped him, a tightness in his chest wrapping itself around his heart. As he forced his eyes open for what felt like the first time, the world around him emerged in startling clarity.

Looming before him at the heart of the village was a vast temple engulfed in flames, its once-majestic columns now twisted and blackened, silhouetted against the fire-lit sky. The air was thick with the sickening stench of smoke and burning flesh. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, limbs bent at unnatural angles, as if they had been crushed by some monstrous force. The heat was unbearable, searing through the air and making it hard to breathe.

Amidst the destruction, he clung to the one thing he had in his possession, a peculiar amulet hanging around his neck. A trinket of some sorts that depicted a holy figure encircled by masked heads. Its meaning was lost to him, but it offered a small sense of stability amidst the chaos and confusion that overwhelmed his mind.

His fingers grazed its cold, golden surface, its metal somehow cool against his skin despite the surrounding inferno. As his thumb traced the etchings, the amulet seemed to hum faintly under his touch.

Struggling to piece together his identity, he looked around at the fiery ruin, the world around him a distorted blur of flames and shadows. Where am I? He thought, struggling to hold onto the fleeting fragments of his memory. Who am I?

The temple’s flames roared higher, casting flickering shadows that danced with malicious intent. From within the blazing entrance, people eaten by the flames were slowly making their way out—monks, their skin burning and bubbling, eyes bursting as fluid spilled down their charred flesh. As they stepped forward, swirling dust rose from the ground, forming into silver masks that settled over their faces, hiding the horror beneath. Dark yellow robes began to materialize from the base of the masks, sliding down their bodies, each fold of fabric binding tightly to their limbs.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7Y9zVqi.png]

When the final strands coiled around them, they tilted their heads in unison, and, with a simple gesture, shimmering blades formed in their hands. Their hollow gazes locked onto Guhin. His heart pounded as he took a step back, feeling the searing heat close in around him.

“Who are you people?! What do you want from me?!” Guhin yelled into the chaos, his voice cracking with fear and frustration. But the monks only stared, unresponsive, their weapons glinting in the firelight.

A voice slid through his mind, cold and insistent, a voice that wasn’t his own. Run, it whispered, woven into the very core of his being. It was undeniable, urging him forward with an intensity he couldn't resist.

Then, with a swift motion, they flung their blades toward him. Guhin’s eyes widened, his body instinctively twisting as the deadly steel grazed past him. Without a second thought, he turned and bolted, weaving through the flames.

His eyes darted around, searching for an escape as he sprinted over smoldering wreckage, dodging the weapons that followed his every move. Each blade sank into the burning wood along his path, sending sparks and embers erupting with every impact. The burning village was a labyrinth of fire and destruction, each corner offering another dead end. His movements were frantic, driven purely by raw survival instincts.

As Guhin fled through the inferno, his thoughts were a whirlwind of terror and confusion. It was amidst this chaotic flight that he first glimpsed Fukujin—a dark silhouette perched on a crumbling wall, watching him with inscrutable eyes.

The crow’s presence seemed to both comfort and unsettle him. As he stared into its eyes, another vague familiarity began to emerge. Guhin’s gaze met Fukujin’s, the bird’s dark eyes reflecting the same anguish and confusion he felt. It was then that Guhin realized the crow had been there, an ever-present witness from the moment he woke up.

The world around him began to slow, the flames flickering, the masked figures moving as if through thick air. Fukujin's gaze bore into him, and Guhin felt a strange pull, as if something deep within him was trying to surface, something dark and ancient—a presence that stirred an instinctual fear.

The monks closed in, circling him with their weapons held high. Guhin tried to move, to flee, but his body refused to obey. He could only watch in helpless terror as the blades came hurtling toward him, their edges gleaming with the promise of death.

The last thing Guhin saw before the darkness closed in was the flash of steel inches from his face. And then, everything went black.

A voice echoed softly in the void, chilling and possessive. My turn.

Guhin's heart pounded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The connection to Fukujin, the darkness within him, and the memories of his first, disorienting awakening in this world had surfaced once more.

Bokun, noticing Guhin’s distress, repeated where Guhin had left off. “Ever since?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

As Fukujin took flight, disappearing into the starlit sky, Guhin replied, “I... I’ve known him for a long time. He’s a friend.” His voice was calm, yet it concealed a deeper uncertainty he wasn’t ready to confront, even to himself.

Bokun’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, a flicker of suspicion crossing his eyes. Guhin was clearly hiding something, but Bokun decided to let it slide for now. He shifted his focus to a more pressing concern. “And those masked freaks? What do you know about them?”

Guhin’s eyes met Bokun’s. “Why do you care? You’re just like them, you're nothing but a murderer...”

Bokun’s face flushed with anger. He stood abruptly, his hand reaching instinctively for his greatsword, gripping the hilt tightly. “What did you say?” he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Guhin remained silent, his eyes locking onto Bokun’s, a quiet defiance in their depth. The air between them crackled with tension, as each waited for the other to make the next move.

GUHIN!