Lanterns floated midair like warm fireflies, casting gold and vermillion hues across winding streets. Laughter rippled in the air—kitsune vendors bartered grilled dango, oni musicians clanged sake bottles in drunken rhythm, and floating paper masks danced above crowds as if the air itself had memory.
Here, yokai were free. Peaceful. Hidden from hunters and untouched by kami wars. A place forgotten by time. But that night… the lanterns began to flicker.
Aoji was a Noppera-bō—a faceless yokai—who carved emotions into masks he could wear. That night, he wore "Contentment" on his face, and sat outside his small shop, whittling a new one he called "Longing."
He felt it before he saw it. The air grew still, like a held breath. The laughter didn't die—it choked, like a throat cut mid-giggle.
He stood. A shadow moved in the alley beside his shop. Not in the alley. Not beside the lanterns. It was beneath them.
Aoji stepped forward, blinking. "Customer?" he asked politely.
The shadow rippled. A void-like shape, vaguely humanoid. No face. No hands. Just black mist clinging to bones that weren't there. Then came the scream.
A loud, gurgled ripppp of sound as a nearby tanuki vendor was lifted by the neck and sliced in two—not with a weapon, but with absence. The shadow absorbed light. It didn't walk—it unmade whatever it touched. Aoji dropped the mask. Ran.
Next, there is Hinatsu. She twirled in midair, flames curling from her nine tails as she spun with the rhythm of the music, her fans shimmering with silver sparks. A cluster of human children from the mortal world clapped with delight. She winked.
Then the lights died. The main street—thousands of lanterns—all went out at once. She fell mid-leap, caught herself, eyes scanning. Yokai murmured. Illusions faded. Dancers paused.
Something was wrong. "Stay behind me," she whispered to the children.
Then she saw it: The shadow gliding along the parade floats, each step leaving ash. It paused near a tengu guard who raised a spear—and tore the yokai in half with a gesture like plucking a flower.
Blood sprayed across paper banners. Hinatsu gasped, backing up. Fire welled in her palms. "WHO ARE YOU?!"
The shadow didn't answer. It tilted its head. Then, in a whispery, many-voiced hiss. "They… should not have taken the thread…"
And vanished. Later… The town was locked down. Yokai gathered at the center, the Lantern Court, where elders and watchers whispered of old prophecies. The lanterns still floated, but they didn't glow like before.
Ereshan stepped out of the last grove of The Haunted Bamboo Forest, swatting away the final whisper that tried to crawl into his ear. The air grew warmer, colors more vibrant, and somewhere ahead, music still played—faint and distant, like an old phonograph on its final turn.
They had arrived at the Endless Festival. The town of eternal night. Where yokai danced through centuries and never grew tired. Where joy was law and time, optional.
"Ahh... finally," Hajime exhaled, stretching his arms behind his head, "Civilization. Lanterns. Women. Fried things on sticks. Now this is paradise."
Kiku slinked beside him, her mouth curling in a sly grin. "Lanterns? Women?" She leaned in and licked her lips, slowly. "Haven't you had enough 'fun,' old man?"
Hajime raised a finger, solemnly. "Kiku. My sweet little pet. You don't ask if the sun's had enough sky." He winked.
Mizuchi gagged. "Can we not start with the flirting in the first five minutes? Some of us are spiritually scarred."
Ereshan raised an eyebrow. "You mean physically and emotionally violated by your entire dynamic?"
"I've been wet since the koi fight," Mizuchi muttered. "Still not as uncomfortable as watching Kiku call him master."
Kiku's laugh was like honey over thorns. She leaned into Ereshan's side. "You're just jealous I didn't let you leash me."
Ereshan turned red from ears to neck. But he keep walking, and they made their way through the flickering town, something off in the way shadows clung to corners.
Where were the fire breathers? The drunken oni tossing dice? The endless maze of festival games?
Even the air tasted... stale. Hajime slowed his steps. His grin faltered. "This town," he said, sniffing. "It smells wrong."
Mizuchi rolled his eyes. "You're probably just smelling yourself after 'round fourteen' with Kiku."
Kiku raised her hand, proudly. "I came nine times."
"NO ONE ASKED!" Ereshan and Mizuchi yelled in unison.
Hajime's voice dropped. "No, I'm serious. There's no incense. No takoyaki oil. Not even blood sake. This town should smell like sin in a kimono. But it smells like... ash. Dust. And…"
He paused. Looked at a flickering lantern. "…Fear."
The laughter was gone. The music—a ghost. Shops stood closed behind curtains. A trail of red paper slips fluttered from a closed booth, half burned at the edges. Ereshan bent down to pick one up. "Beware the Threadbearer," it read. "He holds the Stone of Undoing." He paled.
"Kiku," Ereshan said slowly, turning to her, "what exactly did you make me put on that altar?"
Kiku giggled, eyes glinting. "Something... fun."
"Why's it so damn quiet?" Mizuchi muttered, his voice barely above a breath.
Hajime stopped, eyes narrowing at the street ahead. "I said, omething's wrong. This place should be… fun."
Ereshan rolled his eyes. "Define 'fun' coming from a guy who treats cuddles like wrestling matches."
Kiku leaned into Hajime, lips brushing his ear with a devilish smirk. "Oh, he has very specific ideas about fun. But he also has me, so why would he need to pay for a hotel? Unless…" She turned to glare at him. "You do want to spend silver on a mattress instead of using me freely, your useless pet, loyal, cuddly whore—"
A thwip silenced everything. A kunai landed with a sharp metallic twang, embedding into the stone ground just inches from Hajime's foot. He stared down, raised an eyebrow, and exhaled. "Huh. Didn't die."
Then he saw the glowing red tag tied to the kunai's hilt. "...That's new."
BOOM! The street exploded in a flash of fire and smoke. Bricks scattered. Ereshan screamed something unintelligible. Mizuchi hit the ground and rolled into a food cart. Kiku leapt onto Hajime's back like a cat saving herself from a flood.
Out of the rising smoke and rubble, they emerged. Shadow-cloaked figures in silent formation, faces covered, blades drawn. No banners. No symbols. Just movement — fast, precise, and deadly.
"Ninjas," Hajime muttered, drawing his blades. "Because obviously, today wasn't full enough."
Ereshan dusted off his shirt and blinked at the assassins closing in. "Wait, like real ninjas? The kill-first, talk-never kind?"
"Mercenaries," Mizuchi confirmed grimly. "They work for coin. Or worse—vengeance."
Kiku didn't even flinch, arms still around Hajime. "They're jealous. They sensed your stamina, my love."
Hajime smirked mid-block, parrying a blade. "Who can blame them?"
"Can we not flirt mid-assassination?!" Ereshan shouted, ducking behind a paper lantern stand.
"Don't be rude, Ereshan," Hajime said while deflecting two simultaneous strikes. "Let people enjoy things."
Another kunai flew. Mizuchi twisted in mid-air, catching it in a watery shimmer and flinging it back toward the source with a hiss of steam. More shadows dropped from rooftops. The party was surrounded.
But Hajime just grinned. "Alright. Let's teach these masked toddlers what fun really means."
"I said, define 'fun,'" Ereshan groaned, dusting off his pants. "And please don't tell me it involves things that can't be unsaid!"
"Oh, it does," Kiku purred, licking her lips and casting a playful glance toward Hajime. "Fun that burns calories, makes you scream, and leaves you needing herbal tea."
Mizuchi gagged dramatically. "Spirits save us. She's back at it again."
Kiku rolled like a pro, then stood—dramatically tossing off her long outer kimono like a martial arts movie heroine.
Her form-fitting battle gear underneath was sleek, more practical than provocative, but she couldn't resist flair. She licked her blade like it was a popsicle on a summer day. "Time to carve some sashimi, boys," she said, posing with a twirl. "Hajime, draw your twin blades to them, and your… third one to me."
Ereshan choked. "Could you not make everything sound indecent?!"
More ninjas emerged from the smoke—black-garbed, silent, deadly. One raised an eyebrow, confused by the ridiculousness of the exchange. Then they attacked.
Mizuchi ducked and flung spirit water like throwing knives. Ereshan screamed and hid behind a noodle stand. Hajime blocked a blow, spun, and took two ninjas out in one move. Kiku danced between foes, her blade whirling like a fan in a typhoon. "You call that stealth?" she taunted. "My grandma moves quieter in the bath!"
As more ninjas dropped in from the rooftops, the absurdity only escalated. "Kiku!" Hajime shouted, slicing through a ninja midair. "Focus!"
"I am focused," she said, blowing a kiss at him. "On your sexy old man energy!"
"STOP FLIRTING WHILE WE'RE DYING!" Ereshan cried, ducking another explosive tag.