Meanwhile, Beneath the bustling streets of Tokyo, beyond the perception of the living world, there existed another realm—a place that should not be. This was no simple underground network of tunnels or forgotten ruins. It was something far more sinister.

It was a world cast in shadows, a dark mirror of reality. The air was thick with an oppressive gloom, choked with a swirling black mist that twisted unnaturally, as if it had a life of its own. The architecture, where it existed, bore an eerie resemblance to Tokyo, yet it was grotesquely distorted. Buildings loomed at impossible angles, their surfaces pulsating as though they were breathing. The streets were cracked, overrun with alien flora—twisted, thorn-covered vines that pulsed with an unholy red glow. The trees, if they could even be called that, bore no leaves, only jagged obsidian branches that reached for the sky like skeletal hands.

And then there were the creatures.

Eyes peered from the darkness, slitted and gleaming, shifting between the cracks of shattered walls. The air was filled with an unnatural silence, broken only by the occasional clicking noises, whispers that seemed to come from no direction, yet from everywhere at once. Things slithered through the mist, never fully revealing themselves—figures that flickered in and out of existence, their silhouettes wrong in every possible way.

In the deepest, darkest corner of this forsaken world, something stirred.

A consciousness, fragmented and disoriented, began to awaken. It did not know its name—perhaps it had never had one. It did not know how long it had been here—perhaps it had always existed in this void. But one thought clawed its way to the surface of its fractured mind:

Escape.

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The entity could feel the cold, stone-like surface beneath it, but it was not solid. It was as if it existed in two states at once—both here and not. When it tried to move, its form twisted and shuddered, shifting like a mass of liquid shadow, bound by no clear physical form.

And then, pain. A sudden, searing agony shot through its being, as though the very fabric of this world rejected its existence. It gasped—or did the sound only echo in its own mind?—and for the first time, it became aware of something else.

A presence.

It was not alone.

Something watched from the darkness, its gaze a weight heavier than anything the entity had ever known. It did not see the being, but it felt its hunger, a gnawing void that threatened to consume all. The entity had no name, but the presence did. And though no words were spoken, it understood what it was called.

The Harbinger.

A shadow among shadows, the Harbinger had no defined form. It was the absence of light, a living void with no beginning and no end. Its existence was not natural—it was the very essence of horror made manifest, a thing that should never have been.

The Harbinger moved, and the world trembled. The alien vines recoiled, the darkness itself seemed to shrink away. Even the whispering voices ceased, as though terrified of drawing attention.

The entity, still lost in confusion, felt a pull—a beckoning, a silent command. It did not know what the Harbinger was, nor what it wanted, but it knew one thing: to refuse meant annihilation.

Then, the Harbinger spoke. Not in words, but in raw, overwhelming sensation.

The game has begun. The pieces are in play. The book has been opened. The bridge is forming.

Memories—or something akin to memories—flashed in the entity’s mind. A boy. A book. A world above, untouched by the horrors that festered below. But not for long. The veil between realities was weakening. The rules had been broken.

The Harbinger moved closer, and the entity’s vision blurred. The mist consumed everything. For a brief moment, it saw glimpses of the world above—Tokyo, bathed in unnatural stillness. A classroom frozen in time. A boy standing in the center, unaware that his fate had already been sealed.

Then, everything vanished.

The world below was stirring. And soon, it would reach out.

Hiroshi’s world was no longer safe.

The game had truly begun.