They rushed towards the village.
Both their instincts told them that they needed to find the demon before it was too late.
Akuru and Haruto crossed beneath the wooden posts just as the first deep, resonant gong echoed across the village. The sound didn't resonate with a metallic sound; it was a loud thump like wood being struck hollow. In the same instant, the atmosphere changed. The quiet, eerie rhythm the villagers had been moving with all day sharpened into purpose.
Every villager stopped where they stood.
Then, as if pulled by invisible threads, they turned in the same direction.
Towards the shrine.
Akuru and Haruto froze where they stood.
"…Did you see that?" Haruto whispered.
Akuru nodded.
Another gong.
And the villagers moved.
They didn't rush. They didn't run. They didn't chatter in excitement or chant hymns.
They just walked.
All of them. In lines, a wave of people moving with an invisible purpose.
From every part of the village, they emerged. A steady stream of bodies converging on the path towards the shrine with perfect synchronisation. Young children, elderly grandparents, and people of all ages moved with the same precision. The same vacant determination.
In his stomach, he felt a tightening coil.
"The elder said the chief was at the shrine preparing for a festival…," he muttered.
Haruto swivelled his head around grimly, trying to grasp everything at once.
"But festivals don't… look like this."
Akuru tugged slightly at Haruto's sleeve, and they moved toward the market square, keeping to the edges, shadows that looked all encompassing under the now jet black clouds that buried the moon behind its curtains.
Though they didn't need stealth, the villagers didn't even glance their way. The two slayers might as well have been invisible.
As they neared the market, Akuru noticed something he had dismissed earlier now coming fully into meaning.
The tailor's shop.
The door was open, and a line of villagers emerged carrying something large. A gigantic roll of cloth. As it started to unwind, the cloth looked like it was floating on the people's hands. It was dyed a inhuman blood red, adorned with gold silk that split the cloth into exotic shapes like a blade. It required eight people to transport. It didn't look heavy, but it was held in such grace that it looked almost reverent.
It looked almost as if it were a giant ceremonial rug. Thick, intricate patterns were depicted between the celestial gold borders. Spiralled across it were the same figures that were painted by the farmers early morning. It made Akuru's vision waver slightly when he stared too long.
Akuru drew a deep breath.
"That's the same fabric the old man was staring at earlier," he whispered.
As he spoke out his focus on the cloth borderline suffocating Haruto pointed over to behind the people carrying the rug like object.
A row of people held gold-plated ceremonial candles that burned a deep red. The flames flickered as the shadows rose up over all the buildings. The dark they sat in clashed with the glow from the flame like the waves, the border between both growing sharper.
A ritual-like mood had firmly been set as Akuru and Haruto looked at each other, then outwards.
Akuru finally put together why it felt as if the people moved in a chess-like manner. Every person had been positioned, intentionally, around the shrine.
The group carrying the fabric began moving toward the shrine path with unnatural unity. Several more villagers exited the shop with smaller lengths of cloth in forms such as banners, ribbons, ceremonial garlands and followed the procession. The smaller cloths moved with the flicker of the flames, the two reds merging, acting as polar agents to the moonless night.
The gong sounded again.
Every villager shifted slightly, altering the course of their travel.
All moving as one.
Haruto felt bile creep up the back of his throat. His hands curled into fists.
"This is coordinated," he whispered. "Too coordinated."
Akuru tapped the sheath of his sword.
"It feels so rehearsed."
Akuru shook his head.
"Controlled."
Farmers painting charms with perfect rhythm. The overburdened mother with firewood, showing no distress. The fisherman mending spotless nets. The carpenter sweeping dust from a stone well. The old man's walking away from the shrine to the tailor shop despite saying he was going that way. The children mute, expressionless. Nobody knew any missing people.
Each action had been a disjointed piece of something larger.
And now, that greater thing was taking shape.
Akuru spoke in a whisper, with wonder in his tone.
"They were waiting for this."
Haruto whispered back, "What is the 'this' in particular, though?"
"Now that's a good question."
They pressed closer, keeping pace with the flow of villagers moving toward the shrine. Huginn swooped low, landed briefly on a roof beam, then flapped toward them again with insistence. The crow refused to land on the ground, hopping along the roof as if avoiding something.
They saw it clearly when they reached the main road leading to the shrine.
A great circle of villagers was being formed around the shrine.
Not tightly packed, but with perfect spacing, an equal distance between each person, arranged like dominoes to fall. Every single one of them aligned themselves without a single word exchanged.
A ritual circle.
A ritual powered by unwilling participants.
Haruto swallowed hard.
"This is most definitely a blood demon art."
Akuru nodded.
"It has to be illusions, the eyes are called the windows to the soul for a reason. These people are trying to fight control; you can see it in their eyes. You even saw people try and leave this village," Akuru took a deep breath. "A powerful demon has to be behind all this if they can still control this many people to such a level."
Haruto stared at the villagers forming the circle. "They might attack us if we get too close."
Akuru shook his head. "Not unless the demon commands it. They can't see anything outside of the illusion. Not one of them noticed us."
Akuru and Haruto moved past them through the gaps in their formation. True enough, none reacted to the slayers.
What unsettled Akuru and Haruto the most was the look on their faces.
Soft smiles.
Cool eyes.
Peaceful, almost content.
As if they were glad to be puppets.
Haruto muttered under his breath, "They have no fear… no anxiety…"
"Because illusions are smothering their emotions," Akuru muttered.
"Or replacing them," Akuru further added.
Above them, Huginn shrieked shrilly.
"Come on," Akuru said. "We need to get closer before the demon appears."
Haruto nodded.
They edged their way directly to the shrine. The path was lined with lantern posts, each unlit, their paper coverings fluttering slightly in the faint wind.
Except.
No wind was blowing.
Akuru froze.
These lanterns were not swaying naturally.
They swayed in unison. The exact same rhythm as the villagers' footsteps. Back and forth, back and forth.
Haruto whispered, "It's as if even the environment is involved."
"Not the environment," Akuru corrected. "Our perception of it."
The shrine itself sat atop a short set of stone steps, its roof bowed in age, its beams swollen from years of rain. A small wooden bell hung at the entrance, motionless. Offering bowls sat empty. Prayer plaques had fallen from their hooks and littered the porch.
It looked neglected.
Wrong.
Yet, the villagers around it stood in something close to veneration.
Akuru and Haruto looked away from the shrine as they heard footsteps moving towards them.
The big piece of fabric had arrived.
The eight villagers passed through the people who parted like the sea. They placed the cloth on wooden stilts, never letting it touch the ground in front of the shrine. The fabric unfurled like a living thing, its patterns twisting in subtle, nauseating ways when light hit them. The rug extended nearly the entire length of the path between the villagers like a ceremonial walkway.
"This is an offering," Haruto murmured.
Akuru shook his head somberly.
"No."
Akuru didn't respond further, and Haruto could only look back at the fabric, trying to find something that stood out.
As they watched, more villagers approached, carrying smaller banners and strips of fabric. They draped them over the shrine's pillars, hung them from the corners of the porch, and wrapped them around the stone lion-dog guardians. They never once reacted to either of the demon slayers. The banners billowed slightly even in still air.
Every piece of cloth bore the same spiralling, eye-like pattern.
Akuru wrinkled his eyes.
Illusion Symbols.
Designed to focus sight.
Designed to trap via sight.
His hand instinctively reached for his sword.
Haruto pressed a hand briefly against his shoulder.
"Not yet," he whispered. "We don't even know where the demon is."
Akuru watched the villagers very closely. He had a guess but didn't want to put people at risk if he was wrong.
The villagers arranged themselves along the edges of the massive rug, forming two perfect lines. One on either side, facing inward. A procession path.
Then they went still.
Not a breath seemed out of place.
"They're waiting," Akuru whispered.
"For the demon to come," Haruto supplemented.
Akuru's jaw clenched. Huginn swooped down, landing on a nearby fence post, feathers puffed, head twitching sharply left and right.
Something was coming.
The air thickened, heavy with invisible pressure.
A fourth gong sounded.
This time it vibrated through their ribs.
Every villager lifted their head at the same angle, same height, same timing.
And then.
They opened their mouths.
Not wide.
Not screaming.
Just open enough.
And they exhaled.
A soft, whispering breath.
A collective sigh.
The sound echoed out of sync with their bodies. Overlapping and distorting like layered voices. A low hum followed, building steadily, threading through the air like silk drawn taut.
Akuru stepped back.
Haruto reached for his swords.
The shrine door behind them creaked open a fraction.
Just enough for a sliver of darkness to spill out.
The fabric near the door fluttered. The spiral patterns seemed to pulse.
Akuru felt a pressure on his temples, a pricking behind his eyes.
"Don't look directly at the cloth," he hissed.
Haruto jerked his gaze away immediately.
The villagers raised their arms in eerie synchrony. Shadows bent strangely around their fingers.
The hum grew louder.
Akuru's pulse hammered.
Images flickered at the edges of his vision, movement that wasn't there, shifting shadows, the faint outline of something crawling across the fabric rug.
Haruto whispered still starting at the temple.
"Akuru… it's starting."
The cloth that was standing on the stilts moved. Haruto, still focused on the door, didn't notice. But Akuru did, the shadows that hid from the flames moved in protest. The darkness under the cloth swam, snuffing out any light that found its way under the cloth. A symphony of silhouettes danced under the bright red fabric. Akuru nudged Haruto, getting him to look over.
Two faint, glowing eyes peered beneath the cloth.
Red.
Blinding red.
Blending perfectly with the cloth.
Akuru inhaled sharply.
This cloth was no ceremonial rug; it was the demon itself. Akuru thought it over; he never saw the cloth that the farmer stared at under the sun. It had been hidden right in front of his eyes the entire time. Spreading illusions and strengthening them from inside the tailor shop. Through fabric infused with its blood.
Every clue he had found snapped into place.
Their expressions.
Their detachment.
Their incorrect memories.
Their mechanical behaviour.
The shrine is the focal point.
All arose from locations with a visible piece of fabric he had thrown out of his mind as useless information.
The villagers weren't preparing for a festival.
They were preparing a stage. A stage for the demon to have a feast.
Akuru steadied his stance.
Haruto exhaled slowly beside him, drawing his blade an inch from its sheath.
The red eyes blinked.
Akuru felt the world tilt sideways. Huginn screeched violently.
The demon's illusion snapped for half a second, long enough for Akuru to breathe.
Haruto whispered, "Akuru… we need a plan."
Akuru's grip tightened on his sword.
His white blade now out shimmered faintly in the dark.
"We cut through the illusion."
The villagers smiled in unison.
The two boys jumped, skidding to a stop several dozen meters away from the shrine. Not one of them spoke.
The villagers now stared over at them.
Akuru hunched lower. Haruto did likewise, sweat sliding down the side of his neck.
"Worse than expected…," Haruto whispered.
Akuru nodded. "They aren't protecting the demon. They're. waiting."
"For what?"
"Us."
The first rule of demon hunting: do not harm civilians unless absolutely necessary, pressed against their ribs like iron. The two boys exchanged a long look. They weren't dealing with a few manipulated people. They were dealing with an entire village, corralled through illusion, stripped of will, functioning like a hive.
"We split them," Akuru whispered. "If we can knock them out off formation, then we can pull them out from the firing line and finish this demon for good. Thankfully for us, it looks like the demon wants to use the people as weapons and not meat shields."
Haruto muttered, glancing back toward the pathway.
"And how do we split a hundred people without hurting any of them?"
"Don't," Akuru said, touching the hilt of his chokutō. "Just… distract."
Huginn fluttered silently from his shoulder onto a branch above them, sharp eyes tracking the crowd.
"Haruto, when they turn toward me, circle left. You'll probably find a path through the formation if you get to the other side. If you can't, follow the original plan and split them further apart from the group I bring over to me."
"You're going to bait them?"
Akuru smiled a gentle smile.
"Only enough to move them away from the demon, after that we can both team up against it."
Haruto grinned.
"Alright, sounds like a plan."
They both got ready to move.
A demon awaited in front of them, ready to be slayed.