Blood Of the Forsaken

The forest no longer whispered—it growled.

Beneath the dense canopy, shadows stirred where light dared not tread. Every step Keiji took sank slightly into the damp earth, as if the ground itself were trying to pull him under. Ahead, the others moved cautiously, but even Ayame's usually sharp presence felt subdued, her breath hitching every so often.

They were close now. Too close.

The reports had spoken of a cursed shrine deep within the Crimson Vale—a forgotten place where blood rituals were once carried out to seal away the "Nameless Ones." No one had returned from the last scouting mission. Keiji remembered the expression on Commander Rin's face when she handed him the mission scroll: a flicker of doubt… or was it guilt?

"Hold," Ayame whispered, lifting a hand.

The group froze. Silence fell, pressing down like a burial shroud.

Keiji felt it before he saw it. A low hum beneath his skin. The air vibrated—faint, but constant. It wasn't chakra. It wasn't even alive. It was something else, something wrong.

"There," muttered Shin, pointing.

Nestled between two ancient, half-collapsed trees was the shrine. Twisted with black ivy and bones tied into the overgrowth like decorations, it looked less like a place of worship and more like a warning carved into the earth. A dying torch still smoldered at the base of the steps—fresh.

"We're not the first here," Keiji said quietly.

"No," Ayame agreed. "But we might be the last if we're not careful."

They approached, weapons drawn. The closer they got, the heavier the air became. Keiji's vision pulsed—once, then again. A faint whisper echoed in the back of his skull. It wasn't words, exactly, but memories. His memories—twisted, replayed, and bleeding with regret.

His sister's face. His hands, stained red. The taste of ash.

He clenched his jaw. "It's trying to get inside our heads."

Ayame nodded. "A spiritual corruption. Old. Very old. These kinds of places… they feed on pain."

The shrine doors hung open, barely attached to their rusted hinges. Inside was a single chamber, and at its center—an altar.

Stone. Carved with runes Keiji didn't recognize. And lying upon it, a body.

Or what was left of one.

Shin gagged. Hiro turned away. But Keiji stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

"Fresh," he said. "Recently sacrificed."

"Look at the markings," Ayame whispered, running her fingers along the edge of the altar. "This isn't just a prison. It's a gateway."

Keiji's stomach turned. "A gateway to what?"

Before anyone could answer, the room shuddered. The runes on the altar pulsed with a sickly red glow, and a howl—not of any living beast—pierced the silence. Keiji's blood ran cold.

Something had been awakened.

Shin turned, eyes wide. "We need to get out. Now!"

But the doors slammed shut behind them, and the torches lining the walls erupted into ghostly green flames. From the shadows, a figure emerged.

Tall. Cloaked in rags. No face—just a mask made of bone, etched with symbols that burned with crimson light. In its hand: a jagged blade that dripped with black ichor.

Ayame stepped in front of Keiji instinctively. "A Deathbound."

Keiji felt the power radiating off it—raw, ancient, hungry.

"I've read about them," Hiro said, voice shaking. "They're not demons. They're… forsaken humans. Twisted by forbidden pacts. They want to die—but not before taking everyone else with them."

The Deathbound raised its sword. The air screamed as it moved.

Keiji barely deflected the strike, his arm jolting from the impact. He gritted his teeth, pushing back.

Ayame joined in, her blades slicing at impossible speed, but the creature moved like mist, its body phasing between forms. It laughed—a sound like bones grinding together.

"We can't beat it here," Keiji shouted. "It's feeding on the shrine's energy!"

Ayame glanced around. "Then we destroy the source!"

Keiji turned toward the altar, eyes narrowing. The runes were bright now—overloaded. Maybe if they could disrupt the flow…

"Hiro! The markings! Do you recognize them?"

The boy nodded quickly, flipping through a worn tome he always carried. "Yes—but you're not gonna like it. To disrupt the runes, we need a blood sacrifice."

Keiji stared at the altar. Then at the creature. Then at the dying light in Ayame's eyes as she fought alone.

His hand twitched toward the blade at his side.

"I'll do it."

"No," Ayame barked, slashing through the creature's mask, revealing a second, grinning skull beneath. "You're too important."

"We don't have time to argue," Keiji said. "It just needs blood. Not death. Just… enough."

Without waiting, he stepped to the altar and sliced across his palm, letting the blood drip onto the runes.

The reaction was instant.

The runes flared, then shattered like glass. The creature screamed—high, shrill, and pained. Its body convulsed, losing shape. Ayame wasted no time, driving both her blades into its center.

The Deathbound fell, crumbling into dust.

Silence returned. The torches dimmed. The doors creaked open.

Everyone stood there, catching their breath.

Keiji's hand throbbed, but he was alive. For now.

Ayame walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You did well."

He looked at her, the echoes still rattling in his mind. "That thing… it was human once. Like me."

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

They all knew what was coming. The deeper they went, the more blurred the line between man and monster would become.

And Keiji was already standing on the edge.