The Black Heron was not a ship built for comfort; it was a floating cage of rotted timber and rusted iron. As it cut through the choppy, charcoal-colored waves of the Southern Sea, the air was filled with a sickening mixture of salt, vomit, and the metallic tang of dried blood.
Raizen Kuro stood at the bow, his hands gripped tightly by spirit-sealing shackles. He didn't look back at the receding shoreline of the kingdom that had betrayed him. His gray eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the sky met the sea in a blur of gray mist.
Behind him, the deck was a gallery of nightmares.
"Twelve of us," a voice croaked from the shadows of the mainmast. "Twelve lambs sent to the slaughter so the King can live forever. Tell me, Shinobi... which one of us do you think will be the first to be turned into a flower?"
Raizen didn't turn around. He recognized the scent—bitter almonds and old silk. This was Vane the Poisoner, a man who had wiped out an entire provincial capital by tainting the wells with belladonna. He was thin, his skin a sickly yellow, and his fingernails were sharpened into black points.
"The one who talks the most usually dies first," Raizen said flatly.
Vane chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Cold. Just like the stories say. But look around you, Kuro. You aren't the only monster on this boat."
Raizen finally turned, his gaze sweeping over the other death-row prisoners.
To his left stood Goliath Grog, a giant of a man whose neck was thicker than Raizen's waist. He was eating a raw fish, scales and all, his teeth crunching through bone with terrifying ease. To his right was Kira of the Red Veil, a woman who had murdered forty-two husbands on their wedding nights. She sat sharpening a needle with a look of intense, quiet rapture.
These were the "Damned Twelve." Each was a master of a different kind of death.
Suddenly, the heavy iron door of the captain's cabin swung open. Yurina stepped onto the deck. The sun caught the polished steel of her white-and-gold armor, making her look like a vengeful angel amidst a crowd of demons. She carried her black-wrapped katana in her left hand, and her eyes—those cold, moonlit pools—immediately found Raizen.
"Listen well, dogs," Yurina's voice cut through the sound of the crashing waves. "We are four days from Shinkai. The rules are simple. On this ship, you are property of the Crown. If you fight, I execute you. If you kill a fellow prisoner, I execute you. We need every sword we can get for the landing."
"And what if we decide we don't like your rules, little girl?"
The speaker was Hidan the Butcher, a man whose body was a patchwork of scars and tattoos. He stepped forward, his massive hand reaching for the meat-cleaver tucked into his belt. He was twice Yurina's size, a mountain of aggression.
Yurina didn't move. She didn't even draw her sword. "Step back, Hidan. This is your only warning."
Hidan laughed, a booming sound that made the other prisoners grin. "I've killed executioners before. Their blood tastes just as sweet—"
Before Hidan could finish his sentence, a blur of black and silver crossed the deck.
It wasn't Yurina.
It was Raizen.
Despite his chains, Raizen had moved with the speed of a striking viper. He utilized the Shadow Step Ninjutsu, appearing directly in Hidan's blind spot. Without using a weapon, Raizen struck three specific pressure points on Hidan's arm with his shackled fists.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Hidan's arm went limp instantly. The massive cleaver clattered to the deck. Hidan let out a howl of agony, falling to his knees as his nervous system buckled under the precision of the strike.
Raizen stood over him, the chains of his shackles clinking softly. "She told you to step back. You were being loud. I'm trying to listen to the ocean."
The deck went silent. The other prisoners, who had been looking at Raizen with curiosity, now looked at him with genuine fear. He hadn't used magic. He hadn't used a sword. He had dismantled a giant with nothing but three fingers and a bit of timing.
Yurina stepped forward, her blade still sheathed. She looked at Raizen, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't ask for your help, Kuro."
"I wasn't helping you," Raizen replied, walking back to the bow. "I was helping him. If you had drawn your sword, he'd be dead. I'd rather have him as a distraction when we hit the beach."
Yurina watched him for a long moment, the wind whipping her hair across her face. She knew Raizen was right. On Shinkai, they would need every body they could throw at the monsters.
As night fell over the Black Heron, the atmosphere grew even darker. The waves became violent, and a strange, sweet smell began to drift from the south. It wasn't the smell of the sea; it was the smell of lilies and rotting honey.
The scent of the island.
Raizen sat against the railing, his eyes closed. He was practicing the Internal Furnace Ninjutsu, keeping his blood warm against the freezing spray of the sea. But as he drifted into a shallow sleep, he saw something in his mind's eye.
He saw a giant, golden figure sitting on a throne made of human bones. The figure had six arms and a face that was both beautiful and terrifying. It was laughing.
"Come, Hollow One," the voice echoed in his soul. "Come and see what your Ninjutsu is worth against the gods."
Raizen snapped his eyes open. His heart was hammering against his ribs—a feeling he hadn't felt in years. He looked at his hands. They were shaking.
He didn't know it yet, but the island was already calling to him. The Tensen were waiting. And soon, his physical strength would fail, his Ninjutsu would break, and he would have to find the Wang Energy or die like the rest.
"We're here," Yurina whispered from the helm.
Raizen stood up and looked ahead. Through the thick, unnatural fog, a shape began to emerge. It was a land of jagged cliffs covered in glowing, neon-green moss. Giant, purple flowers the size of houses loomed over the shore.
It was beautiful. It was a paradise.
It was the most terrifying thing Raizen Kuro had ever seen.