"Ahhh… mmmmh… everything hurts…"
Yorimitsu groaned, the sound echoing thin and reedy against the high, coffered ceiling. He forced himself upright, his muscles screaming in protest. As the blur of his vision retreated, he found himself in a vast, airy hall.
It wasn't Tamami but rather stone that had been pierced by giant iron spikes. Heavy hemp ropes, thick as a man's wrist, crisscrossed the space.
"Ah, you woke up! Ahahaha... that's great. I truly thought you had crossed Sanzu." Osaimaru laughed. He clapped his hands with the guileless glee of a child.
Yorimitsu's eyes darted through the shifting shadows of the chamber, finding Watanabe, Gabimaru, and Shion. They lay on woven tatami mats, breathing with a rhythmic steadiness.
Even Shion's neck, which Yorimitsu remembered as a ruin of shattered bone, looked whole and unblemished under the dim glow of flickering oil lamps.
"They are well," Osaimaru noted, tracking Yorimitsu's frantic gaze. "They were in a wretched state, who knew the secret arts I got from Ainu would be so potent?"
"Ainu?!" Yorimitsu repeated, his voice raspy and dry as autumn grass.
"Ahh, yes. You courtly types call them No Ezo, don't you? Tch… if you ask me, you people are the barbarians," Osaimaru spoke flippantly, dismissing imperial disdain with a wave of his hand.
He began pouring tea into unglazed ceramic bowls. The steam carried a pungent, wild aroma of crushed mountain herbs and damp, cold earth.
"Wait... that doesn't matter," Yorimitsu wheezed, every breath stabbing like a needle against his lungs. "There were eight of us. What happened to the others?"
"Ahhh, those four," Osaimaru's voice suddenly lost its edge, falling into a sombre, hollow tone. "I am terribly sorry. Yami had already claimed them by the time I arrived. Even with my arts, they were beyond my reach."
"Ahhh... I see," Yorimitsu murmured, his gaze falling to the floorboards. The weight of the loss settled in his gut like unground Soy.
"Well, that no longer matters... What the hell are you?!"
In a heartbeat, the air in the chamber curdled. Osaimaru's playful demeanour vanished, and in its place came a spiritual pressure so suffocating it felt as though a blade had been placed against Yorimitsu's neck. The flickering oil lamps dimmed, their flames cowering.
"Huuuu... what the hell is this?"
Yorimitsu's hand flew to his waist, fingers clawing for the familiar grip of Dōjigiri. His palm met only empty air. His heart lurched; his blade had been moved across the vast room, leaning casually against the sliding shoji doors like a discarded walking stick.
"Now, wait... that's not very polite, is it?"
Just as quickly as the crushing weight had appeared, it snapped back into lightheartedness. The atmospheric pressure lifted, leaving Yorimitsu gasping. Osaimaru stepped forward, his heavy silk robes fluttering with a phantom wind, and extended a shallow ceramic cup of tea toward Yorimitsu.
"I am of Okami Shrine, named Osaimaru. Now, tell me your name."
'What is wrong with this person?' Yorimitsu thought, his mind racing. 'One moment he radiates the killing intent of a starving ogre, and the next, the bloodlust vanishes as if it were never there.'
Yorimitsu narrowed his eyes, attempting to flood his vision with Reiryoku to see through the man's soul. But Osaimaru didn't even look up from his own tea.
"I would prefer if you didn't do that," Osaimaru said softly. The command was like a physical blade, severing Yorimitsu's technique before the spiritual energy could even take root in his eyes.
Yorimitsu's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. 'He sensed that?'
He forced a long, controlled exhale through his teeth, demanding his body relax. 'If this man wanted us dead, he wouldn't have wasted his time on healing us, so what does he want?' He steadied his shaking hands, took the cup, and met Osaimaru's gaze directly.
"I am named Minamoto no Yorimitsu," he said, his voice regaining the steady resonance.
He took a measured sip of the tea. The effect was instantaneous; warmth bloomed in his chest and strength flooded back into his limbs like a river returning to its bed after a long drought. " Ahh, so he is an Onmyōji of herbs,' Yorimitsu noted, feeling the medicinal spiritual energy stitching his fatigue back together.
Osaimaru leaned back, his eyes narrowing into thin slits of obsidian as he inspected Yorimitsu with a curious, analytical gaze.
"Oh, I see. A child of the North as well... Mhhhhh, but there is something quite strange about you. Tell me, are you truly human?"
"Ha?!" Yorimitsu nearly choked on the brew, the ceramic cup rattling against his teeth.
"No, no, do not take offence," Osaimaru waved a hand dismissively, the wide sleeve of his robe whistling through the air. "I am not saying you are an Oni. It is just that your Reiryoku... it does not possess the flickering quality of a human soul, nor the jagged chill of a demon's. I find myself wondering what manner of creature sits before me."
Yorimitsu's mind raced, mentally deconstructing the internal architecture of his own power. 'Is he sensing the Ryuu seal? No, if it were the seal, the man would surely have sensed the stench of the demonic.'
"What are you talking about?" Yorimitsu asked, his voice was steady despite the storm rising in his gut.
"Mmm, how do I explain this? It is like that of Buddha... but not exactly Buddha," Osaimaru muttered, his hands moving frantically until he was rattling the very ornaments in his hair. He surged to his feet, pacing the stone floor with manic energy.
He glanced over his shoulder at Yorimitsu, his eyes sharp and unsettled.
"Tch... it matters not," Osaimaru sighed, the frantic energy vanishing as quickly as it had come. He returned to his seat, his disposition shifting once more into a mask of chilling calm. He took a slow, rhythmic sip of his tea. "None of your people are normal anyway. I thought perhaps you were aware of your own nature, that is why I asked."
He set the tea bowl down with a deliberate clack.
"I can tell by the height of your cultivation and the peculiar, surging flow of your Reiryoku that your thread of fate is tangled with that of Shuten-dōji. I must warn you now: he is not merely a demon. He is a calamity. A monster that defies the heavens."
"Ha?!" Yorimitsu's breath hitched. To hear that name spoken so casually in this place made the air feel freezing.
"The only way for us to seize victory is to prevent the Deity Gates from fully manifesting," Osaimaru continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "Once they are forged, they cannot be unmade by any mortal hand. You must find the Divine Bodies and bind them."
He pointed a slender finger. Yorimitsu looked down at his own hand, gasping as he saw a small, intricate seal-stamp glowing faintly against his skin.
"Apply that seal to the vessels," Osaimaru commanded. "Before they are forged into the gates.