The Oni Convicts, bolstered by the blood-soaked power of their sacred rations, tackled their duties with a newfound vigour. Muscles swelled under layers of scar tissue, and their eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of fervour and duty. The sweet scent of the CrimsonClover fields clung to the air, light and refreshing, as they waded into the heart of their task: exterminating the creeping vermin that dared to feast on the new sacred crop.
But this wasn’t mere pest control—no, this was a sacred ritual. The method was brutal and unrelenting. The Oni Shaman, with her Convict Jumpsuit now adorned with multiple talismans made from bones, stood at the front of the procession. Her hands moved in practised motions, fingers twitching as the improvised drums began to beat, each thrum echoing through the field with a low, shamanic pulse. She began her chant.
"From shadows deep, where creatures creep,
To fields of crimson, where clover’s seen,
Come forth, small ones, of night and morn,
Your presence felt, your mischief born."
The chant was low at first, a whisper on the wind, but with every beat of the drum, it grew, until the very air around them seemed to quiver with anticipation. Beneath the giant clover leaves, the monstrous vermin stirred—small, misshapen beasts, evolved by demonic nature and imbued with an unnatural hunger. They slunk toward the sound, their beady eyes reflecting the flickering DarkFlame of the lanterns, entranced by the primal beat and the Shaman’s empowered voice.
"To Oni's might, your path is set,
A mighty club, a deadly threat.
So gather near, and heed the call,
Before your kind, forever fall."
The beat quickened, a frantic crescendo, and the monsters could not resist. One by one, they emerged from the shadows, drawn to their own doom, until they stood in droves before the Oni. The field was a sea of trembling, insignificant life—waiting, almost begging, for the crushing end. The Oni Convicts hefted their clubs, nothing more than wooden instruments, but in their hands, they were weapons of pure, unyielding death. Without hesitation, they swung.
The first strike splattered blood across the ground, and the next followed with a wet crunch. The rodent-like creatures barely had time to scream before their bodies crumpled under the force, bones snapping under Ogre-like might. Blood poured into the earth, staining it in a deeper red, as if the very land itself was eager to drink of the slaughter. Yet the monsters kept coming, compelled by the beat, driven to their deaths by the Oni Shaman’s chant.
"Oni, arise, with strength untold,
Protect the sacred fields, where life unfolds.
Drive back the pests, the verminous mob,
To restore the peace, by our sacred oath."
The drumming ceased. The only sound was the quiet squelch of severed bodies, limp and broken, as the Oni began gathering the corpses. With each swing of the club, the air had thickened with the metallic scent of blood, and now that silence reigned once more, the field felt heavy with an eerie reverence. The slaughter was a sacred ritual. Each lifeless form was an offering, fuel for the sacred machine that dominated the castle courtyard—the Fertilizer Combine Spider.
Back in the castle, the Shaman approached the towering construct, her face carrying notes of both devotion and grim purpose. It stood like some ancient idol, its massive legs folded beneath it as it slumbered, exuding an ominous hum that resonated in the bones of all who stood near. She raised a bloodied hand toward it.
"Hear me, devourer of flesh! I offer these, the pests that would consume your bounty. Let their sacrifice nourish your hunger, and may your gifts of growth be bestowed upon the fields again."
With a series of mechanical clinks and whirrs, the Fertilizer Combine Spider came to life. Its maw opened, grinding gears visible within, as the Oni began to feed it the carcasses. Each monster was consumed by the machine, its innards glowing with an arcane energy as it mulched the bodies into something far more useful—fertilizer, dark and rich, imbued with a twisted kind of magic. The Oni Shaman watched, her eyes reflecting the sickly light of the process, her lips whispering a prayer.
"The cycle of life endures. From death, new life shall arise. May the land be fruitful, and may the spiders's purpose be fulfilled."
The reverence was interrupted. Above, cries of Heys pierced the sky as a flock of harpies descended, their wings beating the air with the sound of ruffled feathers. These creatures, too, were bound to the Centauri Castle, though the Oni had little interaction with them. Yet today, they arrived bearing gifts. With ungainly grace, they dropped large parcels wrapped in vines, their harpish faces gleaming with mischievous pride.
“Hey! More fertilizer!” one harpy chirped, grinning.
Another quickly jumped ahead. “Feed it to the Combine,” she said, flashing a knowing smile toward the Oni Shaman.
The Oni Shaman, caught off guard by this sudden generosity, gave a nod of thanks. It was rare for the harpies to contribute to the sacred machine's upkeep. “Thank you for your gifts,” she said, bowing her head.
The harpies, Hey!’ing amongst themselves, took off into the sky once more, leaving the Oni Shaman and the convicts to examine the parcels. Curious, she sliced through one of the vines, unravelling the package.
"!!!" The Oni Shaman recoiled in shock, her heart skipping a beat at the contents. What had once been presumed a monstrous carcass was, in fact, the cold, lifeless body of an Oni Scout. His skin was pale, drained of life, and his limbs were bound tightly by the vine wrappings.
Without hesitation, she turned to the Oni standing at her side, her face filled with reverence. "No doubt this scout died with honour. Let’s not allow his sacrifice to be in vain," she pointed towards the maw of the sacred machine. "His flesh and blood will continue living with us. May his spirit give us strength."
"May his spirit give us strength," the others echoed, their voices a low murmur as they gathered around. They lifted the body of their fallen brother and carried him toward the sacred maw of the Fertilizer Combine Spider. The machine whirred to life as the offering was deposited, its spidery blades spinning with a gnashing hunger. It devoured the body with great gusto, as though feasting on the finest of desserts. When it finished, it belched out a burst of purple flame, the exhaust pipes exhaling in satisfaction, and its engine purred with contentment. The sacred machine gave a low hum, almost as if it were offering its own gratitude to the Oni.
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The Shaman stood in silence for a moment, looking curiously at the remaining three vine-bound parcels. An understanding began to dawn upon her as she reached for the next one. She felt it in her bones—the other packages were of the same quality and nature. All three were the bodies of Oni Scouts. But whether it was morbid curiosity or some deeper compulsion, she found herself unwrapping them one by one, checking their faces.
Her breath caught in her throat as the last parcel revealed the familiar face of Yasuke, one of the Shogun's nephews. The Shaman’s hands trembled. Yasuke’s face was ashen, his eyes closed in a semblance of death, but there was something strange—something off. Being a shaman, she could still sense a lingering presence, a soul that hadn’t yet departed. Souls rarely stayed with the dead for long, and as she pressed her palm against his cold chest to send it to the afterlife, she felt it: a faint pulse, weak but undeniably there.
"He's alive," she whispered, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Yasuke is alive!"
Her fingers traced the vine bindings that constricted his body, and it was then that she realized what afflicted him—the ParasiticVine. The cursed plant fed on life itself, slowly draining its host until nothing remained but a husk. She could see the vine pulse faintly, leeching what little strength Yasuke had left.
Without a moment to lose, the Shaman began to chant, her voice resonating with power. "Ancient spirits, cleanse this soul, restore my friend, brave and sound, [BreakCurse]!" Magic surged from her fingertips, spilling over Yasuke's body in waves of shimmering light. The parasitic vine hissed, withering beneath the power of her spell until it crumbled into ash. The colour returned to Yasuke’s face, his chest heaving as he suddenly sat up, eyes wide and full of confusion.
He collapsed into a violent coughing fit, expelling a thick, green sludge from his throat. The vile substance hit the ground with a splat, and within it, a small, immature seed writhed momentarily before dying.
"Yasuke! It’s me!" She knelt beside him, a relieved smile tugging at her lips. Her hands reached for his, steadying his trembling fingers.
…
Yasuke, his coughing fit finally subsiding, lifted his head to face the figure that had saved him. "Yasuke! It’s me!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with an unsettling excitement.
Her grin, wide and strained, was unnervingly unnatural. Her eyes flickered with a madness that gnawed at the edges of her sanity. Yasuke felt a chill creep down his spine. He recognized her—though she was gaunt and emaciated, a shadow of her former self—this was Kurama, the Oni Shaman, once a favoured plaything of his uncle. The sight of her now filled him with unease.
"Kurama?" he whispered, unsure if he got her name right.
She nodded, the smile never leaving her face. "Yes, it's me. But don’t stand up just yet," she said, her voice lilting with an eerie calm. "I’ve removed the affliction, but you’re still Drained. It’ll take time to recover." With a deliberate motion, she handed him a piece of bread—peculiarly crimson in colour. It was soft, fresh, and its enticing smell immediately made his stomach growl with hunger. He was famished, the ache of starvation gnawing at his insides, and without hesitation, he devoured it in one bite.
[You have obtained: StaminaRegeneration]
Strength surged back into his limbs, enough for him to rise shakily to his feet. "Thanks, Kurama... The Shogun will..." His words trailed off as something caught his eye—something so horrific it paralyzed him where he stood.
Towering before him was a monstrosity unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was an amalgamation of metal and death, a twisted, hulking machine that exuded Terror. Formed from the broken remnants of battle—torn armour, shattered katanas, and jagged shards of weapons—it stood like a colossus of nightmare. Plates of metal and twisted blades bristled from every surface, all melded together into a Metal-Clad Effigy of Death and Destruction. Clawed pincers, grinders, and vicious, bladed limbs sprouted from its body in odd angles. Its spidery head bore a maw filled with spinning blades, gnashing idly as if waiting to devour anything foolish enough to come close.
The machine groaned, emitting a low, tortured hum, like the anguished cries of the damned souls whose essence might still cling to the scrap. It was too large, too vile, and too unsettling to be a mere construct—it was alive, or worse, waiting.
And then, the horror deepened. Yasuke’s gaze shifted to the Oni surrounding the machine. They moved in a feverish dance of madness, their eyes empty of reason, consumed by some horrific reverence. The bodies of his comrades, Soka and Roku, were dragged before the machine.
Before Yasuke could react, he watched in abject horror as the Oni unceremoniously tossed Soka into the maw of the metal behemoth. The blades within spun to life, shredding the body into pulp in an instant. He trembled as the machine belched purple flame, infusing the air with something ancient and arcane.
The Oni convicts, far from horrified, chanted in unison, "May his spirit give us strength," before offering the body of Roku to the maw.
Yasuke stumbled back, his legs giving out beneath him. He collapsed, his heart racing, terror clawing at his mind. "What... Why???" he choked, his voice barely a whisper. He felt like a child lost in a waking nightmare, his mind struggling to comprehend the depth of the atrocity before him.
Kurama, her voice calm yet brimming with mania, stepped closer. "Yasuke," she said, her smile now devoid of any semblance of sanity. "This is our Kami. We must offer it sacrifices." She gestured toward the Metal-Clad Effigy of Death and Destruction as if it were a sacred deity, deserving of worship.
"This... This thing?" Yasuke stammered, his voice cracking with disbelief. He tried to scramble away, but his body refused to cooperate. His strength was faltering again. He looked at Kurama, desperate to see some glimmer of the woman he once knew, but all he saw was madness. "What happened to you? What happened to all of you?"
Kurama's expression softened, almost tender, but her eyes remained wild, feverish. "The Spider King protects us. We serve him here, within Centauri Castle. We are Convicts, but we are blessed by the Spider King’s mercy." Her gaze drifted upward, and Yasuke followed her eyes. Dark figures—monstrous, skittering shapes—crawled across the castle’s walls, their many legs clicking in the shadows. Spiders, massive and unnatural, moving with a horrifying intelligence.
"The... Spider King?" Yasuke stammered both in confusion and disbelief.
"Yes," Kurama continued with manic reverence. "We are safe under his rule. We serve the sacred machine. We feed it and it protects us, blessing the land with life." Her words, though mad, were filled with an unshakable conviction.
Yasuke's heart pounded in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, but there was nowhere to run. The castle walls loomed high and unyielding, and the dark creatures prowled the shadows, watching. His eyes flickered between the nightmarish machine and the Oni, who now gathered drums and began to play a fevered rhythm, their chanting rising in fervour. They were lost, every one of them, their minds sacrificed to the forces of chaos.
The hum of the machine deepened, and Yasuke felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The Metal-Clad Effigy of Death and Destruction stirred, its bladed limbs twitching to life. With a sickening creak, it rose, its appendages unfolding in a display of uncanny grace. It took one step, then another, the ground trembling beneath its weight. The Oni cheered, their drums echoing the machine’s dreadful cadence.
Yasuke’s legs buckled again. His sanity was slipping away with each beat of the drum, with each step of the metal colossus. He was trapped in a waking nightmare, surrounded by madmen worshipping a machine of death.
Kurama gripped his arm, having more strength than any gaunt woman should. "Come, Yasuke," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "We must support the Sacred Machine. It walks to bless the fields. We are its servants now."
Yasuke's vision blurred. The ungodly machine, the chanting Oni, the skittering spiders—they all swam before his eyes. His mind screamed for escape, but there was no way out. He was trapped like a fly in a web.
He could feel his sanity slipping through his fingers like sand. The last coherent thought that flashed through his mind was this: ‘This is worse than death’.