Time had stopped.
Or perhaps… it was only him that had been left behind.
For a month, Touka's body had not moved from beneath the tree.
Rain had come and gone. Winds had whispered past him. Days had died into nights.
Yet he remained.
Breathing.
Barely.
His skin had begun to pale, his body teetering on the edge of decay—yet his chest still rose… and fell… slower with each passing moment.
But Touka was not there.
Not truly.
He stood instead in a world without ground.
A world without sky.
A world painted in nothing but red.
An endless ocean of bodies stretched in every direction—layered, piled, fused into a grotesque landscape of the dead. No soil. No horizon. Only flesh… and silence.
Touka's eyes were empty as he stared into it.
"…Bodies," he muttered softly.
"Bodies… and more bodies."
His voice did not echo.
Nothing did.
Then—
The world shifted.
As if responding to an unseen command, the corpses began to tremble.
Night fell instantly.
And with it… they rose.
Thousands. No—countless.
Broken limbs dragged across other bodies. Hollow eyes flickered with a dim, unnatural light. Their mouths opened—not in screams… but in something worse.
A chorus.
"J-jo…in… m-me…"
The voices overlapped, distorted, barely human.
They reached for him.
Begged him.
Welcomed him.
Touka did not move.
He simply watched.
Cold.
Detached.
"I will… soon."
The words left his mouth without emotion.
A pause.
Then—
"But not yet."
His gaze sharpened.
"I would rather remain alone… than lower myself to join weaklings."
The moment he spoke, the corpses lunged.
And Touka moved.
The world became violence.
Every motion was instinct. Every strike was precise. He tore through them not as a man—but as something refined by necessity.
No hesitation. No fear.
Only survival.
The screams grew louder.
The red deepened.
And still…
He fought.
Far away—
In another world entirely—
Tokyo stood beneath a quiet sky.
A black car slowed to a halt before an enormous structure that seemed to pierce the heavens themselves.
The church.
Its towering frame loomed like a silent observer—its presence suffocating, its design almost unnatural. Crosses lined its architecture, each one casting long shadows that stretched like grasping hands.
Inside the car, silence reigned.
Katsuro sat still.
Composed.
Watching.
"You're awfully quiet," Kagen muttered from the driver's seat, glancing sideways.
No response.
Only a sharp, unreadable gaze.
Kagen exhaled lightly.
"…We're here."
The doors opened.
And the moment Katsuro stepped out—
He felt it.
Eyes.
Not one. Not ten.
Millions.
Watching.
He couldn't see them.
But he knew.
Each step into the church felt heavier than the last, as though the air itself had thickened—pressing against his skin, testing his presence.
They walked in silence.
Until—
"We've arrived," Kagen said, stopping before a large door.
"If you'd wait here… the Apostle will see you shortly."
Without another word, he turned and left.
Katsuro stood alone.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
Yet not once did his posture falter.
Not once did his guard drop.
Still—
Those eyes remained.
Watching.
Judging.
Waiting.
Then—
It changed.
The countless unseen gazes collapsed into one.
A single presence.
Vast.
Overwhelming.
An eye.
Invisible—yet undeniable.
It pressed down on the room like the weight of a god's attention. Enough to break lesser men.
Katsuro did not kneel.
The door opened.
Footsteps echoed.
And he entered.
Elias Vortigern.
"I apologize for the wait," Elias said calmly.
Katsuro did not respond.
Their eyes met.
And in that instant—
The atmosphere shifted again.
The pressure in the room changed hands.
No longer did it belong to the unseen eye.
No—
It belonged to something else.
Something older.
Something watching from behind Katsuro.
The air grew cold.
The lights flickered.
And then—
They appeared.
Spirits.
Dozens… hundreds… thousands.
Silent figures formed from a faint green glow, their presence filling the space without sound. Their forms were calm—but their intent was not.
Blades manifested in their hands.
And in unison—
They pointed them at Elias.
The room froze.
Not out of fear.
But challenge.
One spirit leaned close behind Katsuro—its presence almost tangible—as it raised a Menpō to his face.
Close.
Too close.
A silent reminder.
A legacy.
Elias glanced upward slightly, observing the blades.
"…How dramatic," he murmured.
Katsuro's voice followed.
"What's the matter?" he asked quietly.
"Afraid of the supernatural… Apostle?"
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
A smile.
Elias leaned back into his seat.
"Not at all," he replied.
"After all… my very existence is a miracle beyond nature."
Katsuro's expression hardened slightly.
"…Prideful bastard."
Elias chuckled softly.
"Let us not waste time."
His gaze sharpened.
"There is someone I want dead."
Katsuro didn't react.
"His name…"
A pause.
"…is Touka."
The name meant nothing.
"…Who?" Katsuro asked flatly.
"A deviation," Elias said.
"Something that should not exist within this world's order."
Silence.
Katsuro turned slightly.
"Then it sounds like your problem."
He began to walk.
"I do not kill without reason. It goes against my—"
"I wonder," Elias interrupted.
Katsuro stopped.
"…if your 'ways' include ignorance."
A subtle shift.
"…What do you mean?"
Elias leaned forward.
"There are answers you've been searching for… are there not?"
A pause.
"…Your clan."
Silence.
"…Their death."
Katsuro's eyes narrowed.
"Curiosity," Elias continued softly, "has always been a dangerous thing."
Then—
"The reward is ten million yen."
The room fell still again.
Katsuro exhaled quietly.
"…Half upfront."
"It will be done."
A long pause.
Then—
"…Where is he?"
Elias smiled faintly.
"We don't know."
Silence.
Heavy.
"…You want me to hunt someone you cannot even locate?"
"That," Elias replied calmly, "is precisely why you are being paid."
Katsuro clicked his tongue softly.
"…At least give me something."
"You'll recognize him," Elias said.
"A man who survived what should have killed him."
A pause.
"…He won't be hard to miss."
Katsuro turned away.
"…Fine."
The door opened.
Then—
Closed.
Elias sat alone once more.
"…Back to research," he muttered.
Far away—
In the world of red—
Touka was still fighting.
Endlessly.
Relentlessly.
Surrounded by the dead.
Drowning in screams.
Yet standing.
Still—
Alive. Barely.