Chapter 46: The Found Weapons

The Tori no Ichizoku buildings, massive in their decaying grandeur, had once been a symbol of power and fear. Now, decades after the clan’s fall from grace, the remnants of that fear lingered like a foul scent in the air. The walls of the ancient building, cracked and broken from years of neglect, seemed to groan under the weight of secrets hidden within. The halls, long abandoned by the human touch, were cold and lifeless, yet there was something in the stillness—something unsettling that made the brothers feel as though the building itself was watching them.

They moved quietly, footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floors, but every step seemed to echo louder than the last. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of history—the Tori no Ichizoku clan had once been the undisputed rulers of the underworld, their power and influence seeping into every dark corner of society. Now, it was nothing more than a tomb of forgotten horrors, a relic of a bygone era, or so they had believed. But as the Kurushimi brothers ventured deeper into the heart of the crumbling compound, that belief began to erode.

Led by Temna, the eldest and most experienced of the brothers, they navigated the labyrinth of corridors. The building had long since been abandoned by its former occupants—most of the rooms were nothing more than skeletal remnants of what they had once been, littered with shattered glass, discarded papers, and half-burned furniture. Yet, there was an undeniable sense of purpose in the air, an ominous feeling that every room, every corner, held something they were not meant to see.

"Stay focused," Temna murmured, his voice low as he scanned the surroundings. His sharp eyes darted from one shadow to the next, ever vigilant. "We’re not just here for a stroll. Whatever we find here, it’s not going to be pretty."

Krishna, always the quiet observer, had been scanning the walls with an unsettling sense of foreboding. His mind raced with calculations and theories, but each new discovery seemed to add more questions than answers. The thought that Dr. Machinist might still be alive lingered in the back of his mind, but there was something else—something deeper—gnawing at him.

Martin, his usual cocky demeanor subdued by the heavy air around them, adjusted his grip on the weapon at his side. His eyes were sharp, but his nerves were frayed. "This place gives me the creeps," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "It’s like it’s all still... waiting."

Takashi, the youngest, was trying to mask his unease with a forced bravado. He cracked his knuckles nervously, his mind spinning in a thousand directions. "What if we’re just walking into a trap? I mean, this whole place is too... pristine for a ruin."

Temna shot him a sharp look. "Keep your wits about you, Takashi. We’re not here to get caught off guard. Whatever happens, we stay together."

They continued forward, the deeper they went into the heart of the Tori no Ichizoku compound, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The walls seemed to narrow, the air thicker, the shadows longer. And then, just as the silence seemed unbearable, they stumbled upon it—a door, old and weathered, barely hanging on its hinges, but it was different. Unlike the other rooms they had passed, this door seemed purposeful, as though it had been left untouched for years, waiting for someone to open it.

Temna didn’t need to say a word; the others could feel it too. The weight of the moment pressed upon them, and without hesitation, Temna pushed the door open. It groaned in protest, the sound echoing down the corridor, as if warning them to turn back. But there was no going back now.

Inside, they found a room that defied all logic and reason. A room filled with weapons. But not just any weapons. These were tools of a twisted design, so unnatural in their precision and cruelty that even the hardened Kurushimi brothers were momentarily struck speechless. The room was vast, the walls lined with shelves and racks holding surgical equipment, blades, guns, and devices of unspeakable function. But what made their hearts race with fear wasn’t just the sheer amount of weaponry—it was their state of preservation. These weapons had been hidden away for decades, yet they were as sharp, as functional, as dangerous as they had been when they were first created.

The first thing Temna noticed were the surgical instruments—sleek, gleaming, and utterly terrifying. They were not the tools of a healer. No, these were instruments of torment, designed for cutting, slicing, and dismembering. Rows upon rows of scalpels, bone saws, forceps, and other implements lined the shelves, each one more disturbing than the last. Some of the tools appeared to have been used, their sharp edges stained with dried blood, but they were still meticulously maintained. The twisted nature of their design became clear as Temna realized these were tools meant not for surgery, but for torture. Each instrument was crafted with an unsettling understanding of human anatomy, meant to disfigure, maim, and kill with surgical precision.

The brothers could feel the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end as their gazes shifted to the other weapons in the room. Blades of unimaginable size and deadly intent. One in particular stood out—a massive five-foot blade, its edge gleaming dangerously in the dim light. It was wider than any sword they had ever seen, its sharpness seemingly designed to tear through flesh and bone with ease. There were others like it, all lined up neatly along the wall, as if they had been waiting for someone to come and claim them.

Krishna stepped forward, unable to tear his gaze away from the immense weapons. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "This is... this is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined," he murmured. "These weren’t just made to kill. They were made to send a message."

Martin ran a hand through his hair, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "These... these are insane. How the hell did something like this get hidden away for so long?"

Temna’s expression hardened, the weight of the discovery settling on him. "These weapons... they’re not from some random stash. This is Dr. Machinist’s work. He designed these. And they weren’t meant to be forgotten. They were meant to be used."

Takashi’s eyes widened. "Wait, you think he’s still alive? After all these years?"

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Krishna’s gaze was unwavering, but his voice betrayed a sense of unease. "I don’t know. But if these weapons are here, then either Dr. Machinist is still alive... or someone has been maintaining them. The Tori no Ichizoku’s legacy didn’t just vanish. Whoever was keeping these weapons in perfect condition... they knew exactly what they were doing."

The realization hit them all at once, like a freight train. They weren’t alone. Someone—whether Dr. Machinist himself or a member of the Tori no Ichizoku—had been watching, waiting. The weapons were pristine, their edges untouched by time or decay. Whoever had kept them in such immaculate condition had been preparing for something, and that something was now coming to fruition.

They quickly began to collect the weapons, though their haste was matched only by their unease. Each weapon they touched felt heavier than the last, as though they were absorbing the darkness that lingered in the very air. Surgical tools, gleaming knives, and guns—each one seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy. They packed the weapons carefully, knowing they couldn’t leave them here to be used again. These tools of terror had to be secured, locked away where they couldn’t reach the wrong hands.

But as they filled their bags, the silence in the room became deafening. Every time the brothers moved, every time they touched a weapon, the walls seemed to close in on them a little more, as if the very building was alive and watching, waiting for something to happen.

As they made their way out of the room and back down the narrow halls, their thoughts remained heavy with the knowledge of what they had discovered. Dr. Machinist’s legacy was far from gone. And whoever had been keeping these weapons preserved for all these years wasn’t finished yet. Whoever was still out there was preparing for something big. And the brothers—like it or not—were caught right in the middle of it

the discovery

As the brothers continued their meticulous search through the Tori no Ichizoku building, they came across a room that felt eerily different from the others they had uncovered. This room, though similarly decrepit, contained remnants that seemed too... personal, too deliberate in their placement. The cold air seemed to shift, making their breath catch in their throats as they cautiously stepped inside.

The room was sparse, yet the items that adorned its walls spoke volumes. It was not filled with the weapons or tools of torture they had expected to find, but something far more ominous—a collection of clothing. Dark, blood-red robes hung from hooks along the walls, their fabric stiff with age but undeniably well-preserved. The robes were made of a material that seemed to absorb the dim light, casting a chilling glow around the room as the brothers moved closer. They were the same robes that the Tori no Ichizoku’s most notorious criminal soldiers wore—the Red Robe Soldiers.

The Red Robe Soldiers had been a fearsome faction within the Tori no Ichizoku clan, known for their brutal efficiency and ruthless methods. They were the elite of the elite, trained to carry out the most secretive and deadly operations for the clan. The robes themselves were a symbol of both authority and terror, and each soldier wore one with an air of unshakable conviction. The mere sight of these garments sent a wave of dread through the brothers, who understood the significance behind them.

The robes were intricately designed, with embroidered symbols running along the cuffs and hem. The stitching was fine, almost regal, but there was a dark aura to them. They were not mere uniforms—they were ceremonial, used to mark those who held positions of great power within the clan. As they examined the robes, they noticed something even more unsettling: they weren’t simply hanging on the wall. They were arranged carefully, almost ritualistically, as if prepared for use. A twisted sense of purpose seemed to emanate from the fabric, an unspoken message left in the folds of the crimson cloth.

Krishna was the first to move, his fingers brushing lightly against one of the robes. His mind raced with the possibilities. “These... they haven’t been abandoned. These robes were kept in pristine condition for a reason.”

Temna stepped forward, a look of grim realization on his face. "Someone's been here recently. No one would leave these behind unless they intended to use them. The Red Robe Soldiers... they weren't just part of the old Tori no Ichizoku. They were the enforcers, the ones who carried out the worst orders. They were practically ghosts."

Martin took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. "But this doesn't make sense. The Tori no Ichizoku is supposed to be dead. The Red Robe Soldiers were gone long before we were even born."

Takashi’s voice broke through the growing tension, his eyes wide with the same unease. "What if they’re still here? What if someone’s been hiding, waiting to revive the old ways of the Tori no Ichizoku?"

But the discoveries didn’t end there. The brothers’ eyes were drawn to a table at the far end of the room. Upon it lay a collection of masks, carefully arranged, each one bearing the distinct markings of the Tori no Ichizoku. These masks were not like any they had ever seen—sleek, cold, and devoid of any human warmth. They were designed to be worn by the Red Robe Soldiers themselves, with hollow eyes and sharpened edges that added an air of intimidation and fear to those who wore them.

Temna picked up one of the masks, his fingers brushing against its surface. The weight of it in his hands felt wrong, as though it was not just a piece of clothing, but a part of something much darker. “These are... the same as the ones worn by the Red Robe Soldiers. But why are they here? Who’s been maintaining them?”

Krishna’s mind raced with possibilities, each one more chilling than the last. “If these are here... it means the Red Robe Soldiers aren’t just a part of history. They’ve been kept alive. Someone has been preserving these uniforms, these masks, and likely the soldiers themselves.”

Martin felt his stomach tighten at the implications. “Are you saying there’s someone still out there who’s been using these to operate in the shadows? Someone’s been hiding in plain sight, like ghosts, pretending the Tori no Ichizoku is gone?”

The realization sank in heavy and slow. This wasn’t just about Dr. Machinist anymore. This wasn’t just about his twisted experiments or his obsession with technology. This was something older, something far more insidious. The Red Robe Soldiers, once the most feared enforcers of the Tori no Ichizoku, had never truly disappeared. They had merely faded into the background, their mission forgotten but never truly abandoned.

Temna stepped back, his mind swirling with the enormity of their discovery. "This is a sign. Whoever’s been keeping these weapons and these uniforms intact... they’re planning something. This isn’t just about weapons; it’s about legacy. The Tori no Ichizoku never died, and neither did their ideals. Whoever’s behind this, they’re preparing for something big."

Krishna nodded, a cold feeling washing over him. “The more we find, the clearer it becomes. We’re not just dealing with remnants of the past anymore. The Tori no Ichizoku has been operating in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to rise again.”

Takashi shuddered, gripping his gun tightly. "So, what now? We just keep searching for clues?"

Temna’s eyes were steely, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "No. Now, we put an end to this. We can’t let whatever’s left of the Tori no Ichizoku continue. We need to stop them before they have a chance to strike."

The brothers exchanged grim looks, their resolve hardening. They had come this far, and there was no turning back now. Whatever was left of the Tori no Ichizoku, whatever shadows remained, they would be rooted out. The old clan’s twisted legacy had resurfaced, and the Kurushimi brothers would make sure it would be stamped out for good.