Superintendent Larsa stood in between the building’s doorframe as four armed riot officers followed behind. The red-haired woman adjusted her tortoise shell sunglasses, pushing them up the bridge of her petite nose.

Looking down at the unconscious mortician on the floor, her face tightened into a scowl.

“We have an intruder somewhere with us,” she whispered to the other men.

With a hand gesture from Larsa, two officers moved past her while the other two remained by her side as bodyguards. The superintendent sauntered over towards the unmoving round body on the floor. The mortician was on his back, still asleep and drooling slightly.

“Your nation thanks you for your sacrifice,” Larsa crooned, placing her fingers on the man’s chest.

Within the mortician’s body, a small purple outline in the shape of a cube materialized around his pumping heart. The box was unseen to anyone else looking on, but after decades of implementation Larsa could easily visualize her Tamashi Genkai at work.

After a mere moment, the air pressure within the cube intensified by a thousand: crushing the man’s vital organ into a pulp. Larsa stood back up, her hands unsullied. The mortician was dead, but he looked the same as ever. A heart attack would be the agreed upon cause of death, unless one happened to perform an autopsy on the corpse. With what she had planned, such a possibility would never come to pass.

Naraka meanwhile had pushed Sierro’s corpse back into the cooler, reducing the likelihood of a search within the morgue itself. He knew that they were coming and his pursuers were only a hallway’s distance from his current location. After he no longer sensed the life force of the mortician in the lobby, he steeled himself for the reality that now awaited him.

Currently, the door to the morgue was closed and locked, courtesy of Naraka’s quick thinking. Now he was sealed in a room with no windows and no exits.

—I can’t let them discover me here. I could kill them all, but it could also be traced back to me…

Naraka sighed, resigning himself to holding his ground for the time being.

The purple-haired demon walked over to the wall beside the door; positioned so that he’d be obscured once it opened.

—It’s been a while since I was forced into using my Tamashi Genkai. Kudos, Superintendent.

Forming a mudra sign with his hands, Naraka exhaled as his Tamashi Genkai activated. If someone had been observing him straight-on, it would appear that Naraka’s body slowly seemed to warp and bend away. His body thinned out into nothingness, similar to how a person’s reflection seemingly vanishes within a well-angled mirror.

With a silent jostle, the doorknob turned slightly before being met by resistance from the lock. There was a deafening silence as the officers readied from the other side. In a thunderous crash, the door was forced from its position as one of the men kicked it down. Clinging on by a single hinge, the door hung loosely as the two men in tactical gear slowly walked inside.

They were equipped with shotguns, each with a small flashlight on the side of the barrel. Naraka stood absolutely still, not even flinching as the obliterated door dangled to his left. He could see the men slightly from his peripheral vision as the narrow beams of light from their guns darted around methodically.

—Yomi Special Assault Units… I wasn’t under the impression this was a raid.

All his ability had done was bend the space around his body like a cylinder; making him appear invisible to the naked eye. However, the illusion’s integrity was in jeopardy of being discovered. From certain angles the effect was rendered obvious. Aware of this flaw, he silenced his breathing and masked his Tamashiryoku.

One of the officers began opening each cooler vault individually, creating a loud jolting clang throughout the chilly room. The other officer slowly rounded the corner after inspecting underneath a desk and the autopsy table.

Naraka could see that not a single millimeter of skin was exposed on the men. They were each clad in black armor with white stripes painted in decorative markings to denote rank. Their steel headgear resembled a militarized gas mask as the rounded helmet curved along the side and top of the skull. It was designed to be both practical and intimidating.

The officer in charge of checking the cooler’s yanked open the final vault, yielding Sierro’s corpse. He withdrew a large dagger from a sheath attached to his chest and stabbed the rigid corpse.

“No one here. Isn’t using decoy magic either,” the officer said, his voice muffled and deepened through the mask’s mechanical filters. He turned to face his partner, causing Naraka to catch a glimpse of the helmet’s glowing red optical lenses.

His partner didn’t respond. He was instead walking closer to Naraka’s position, his shotgun aimed dead ahead. His head was still slowly swiveling, an indicator to the seasoned hero that his location wasn’t discovered just yet.

Nevertheless, the officer walked closer and closer to Naraka’s position; unaware of just how near he was to his target. Naraka hoped he didn’t look too thoroughly at the warped space cloaking him.

Despite his wishes though, the man was nearly a meter away from bumping into him. Luckily enough, he was turning the corner to head out the destroyed morgue entrance.

Just then, Naraka felt something brush past his foot. It was a mouse that had been woken from its nest in the dilapidated walls. Curious, it lingered near Naraka’s feet and squeaked lightly.

“What was that?”

The officer stopped and turned in his tracks to face Naraka’s direction. His shotgun was unknowingly pointed directly at the cloaked advisor’s chest. Naraka closed his eyes slowly, refusing to even swallow.

Crunch.

With a squelch and a pained squeak, the heavy combat boot of the riot officer came down on the unexpecting mouse.

“Just a rat. Let’s report back.”

“Roger.”

The two men left through the gateway of destruction they had created. In what seemed like an eternity, the whole encounter lasted a mere two minutes. Naraka exhaled calmly and smiled to himself.

Reuniting with the superintendent, the officers confirmed their findings before squaring up as a single unit once more. Larsa wished to investigate further, but the longer they remained in the building the likelihood of their operation being discovered increased.

“Set up the spells then, let us be done with this place,” she coldly remarked.

The men nodded as one among them pressed a small button on his wrist gauntlet. With a soft confirmative beep, three small LED lights on his armor brightened into a soft white glare. As Larsa and the other three men left the building, one man stayed behind in the lobby of the mortuary.

“Jigadō Number Ninety Eight: Solaris!” the special unit soldier declared.

He extended his left arm outwards, bracing it with his right. His entire left shoulder erupted into a ball of flames as magma curled and coiled around his outstretched arm. Upon reaching his palm, the man’s hand became a beacon of light and fire as a miniature sun materialized from his glove.

The glowing orange orb flickered and hovered in place, simply pulsating. Lowering his arm, the man silently turned around and left the building. Only the Solaris spell remained, still floating in place as flames and embers licked from its molten surface.

A few blocks away, Superintendent Larsa stood solemnly alongside the men around her. Once the last soldier returned to their ranks, he turned to face the mortuary which was nearly out of sight. Larsa simply crossed her arms and gave her order.

“You may detonate when ready.”

The masked officer that had cast the spell wasted no time.

“Ignite,” he said, uttering the codeword with mechanical coldness.

Within the lobby of the mortuary, the Solaris orb bubbled momentarily before quickly collapsing on itself and shrinking in size. Exactly half a second later, every building and car window within a twenty meter radius blew out into a shower of glass.

Charon Mortuary exploded into a massive, cresting inferno of flame and debris. The detonation left nothing where the old building once stood but an empty lot, having reduced everything to ash and rubble. Even the surrounding complexes on either side of the mortuary were gone.

All that remained was a tower of fire, reflected on the lenses of Larsa’s designer glasses.

❇ ❇ ❇

Kokuana Shrine, Ema — Later that evening. Mura and Lilith had been on a stakeout the entire afternoon, with Lilith keeping watch up close and Mura from beyond the gate. There was a festival of some sort tonight, causing lots of commotion on the streets as civilians lined up to partake.

Mura sat on a bench across the street, waiting for Hangaku to head home. He occupied himself by browsing the internet on Lilith’s phone for the past several hours. Visiting online shops, information pages and tourist sites, Mura immersed himself within the culture of Japan and the human realm in general.

—That’s why I felt so horrible within that shrine? From what these sites say, a divine kami guards each shrine. Entering through that gate is literally heading into the den of a god… I didn’t even bow…

He noticed a familiar face heading towards him. Looking away from the glossy screen, he saw Lilith walking across the street towards him.

“What are you doing away from the shrine?” he asked.

“Mura… Food…” she whined childishly. On cue, her stomach growled fiercely.

“I never thought a ghost could have such an appetite… But it makes sense, we’ve barely eaten anything since arriving on Earth.”

“You just keep an eye out for Amano, I’ll grab some takoyaki off that cart over there!” Lilith said excitedly.

“No stealing. Last thing I want to do is attract any attention. Who knows what spirit or god we’ll anger by stealing from a food cart.”

As much as it pained a former thief to live an honest life at times, it was beginning to feel oddly right to Mura. Not that he’d ever admit it to Lilith, out of the fear she might tease him.

“Go back to the shrine and yell if anything happens, okay? I’ll buy us some food,” Mura said with a lazy smile. He was also feeling hungry now that Lilith had brought the subject up.

The young yokai beamed with excitement and ran back to her post within the sacred site.

Mura stretched and slipped his partner’s cell phone into the inner pocket of his coat. With a yawn, he walked across the sidewalk to where the festivities were occurring. The succulent smells of fried foods and steamed vegetables laid heavily on the humid air.

—Damn, that smells good! So many things I’ve never seen before! What were those things she wanted called? Tacky-yakos?

He approached a food cart where a kind-looking woman stood, rotating spheres of juicy goodness on her steaming skillet.

“Hello! Um… I was wondering if I could have some of those things you’re making. Could I have about twenty?”

“You mean my takoyaki? Hahaha! You speak perfect Japanese and yet have never seen takoyaki before? Such a peculiar man indeed!”

The old woman chortled with kindness in her voice, bringing a blushing smile to the demon’s face.

“That’ll be eighteen-hundred yen, sir!” she said, motioning to a glowing white square on the front of her cart.

“R-Right!” Mura said, taking his credit card out and looking at it briefly. There was nowhere to insert or slide the card, so he slowly moved it towards the square she motioned to. The white square turned green with a happy sounding jingle.

“Alright sir, here you are! I gave you extra sauce with it, since you’re so cute.”

Mura bowed and took the takoyaki, having been packaged into a white rectangular container made from some kind of recycled material.

“Thank you, ma’am! Oh, by the way… What is this festival all about if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oho! This is a celebration to pray for a good harvest this autumn. In fact, you can see the parade right behind us!”

Sure enough, Mura turned and saw a line of dancers and floats roaming down the street as people cheered and partied from the sidewalks. They were scattering some sort of objects around and dancing in colorful costumes as men beat on powerful drums to the music playing. Fireworks were being set off in the sky, filling the small street-side with enough fervor to match the bustling city.

“It seems very interesting. What role do the dancers serve?” he asked.

“They represent the spirits who protect us, safeguarding our fortunes from evil, you see. Oh and there he comes now, the rascal!”

A dancer, crouching and hopping about, leaped from the shadows alongside the others in the parade. He was wearing a red mask with grotesque horns and a gruesome, red face.

“That there is a demon, coming to trick the spirits. They only want one thing, after all. Misfortune! They want to take the wondrous gifts the gods blessed humans with,” she said.

“So the demon is… bad, huh?” Mura said, his heart growing a little heavy at the display he witnessed.

“Well, of course! I’ve never heard of a demon being good, have you?” the old lady said with a laugh.

“N-No… of course not…”

Mura watched as the dancers waved their arms and moved their bodies towards the demonic caricature with stupendous choreography. The demon cowered in fear at what was depicted as divine power banishing the creature, causing it to slink back into the shadows where it came from.

“Pretty incredible, isn’t it? As you see, good always prevails! In times of need, the gods will always come through for us…”

The elderly lady turned to see that Mura had vanished without a word.