The roots sealed shut behind Akira with a sound like grinding bone.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
For a heartbeat, panic surged—raw and suffocating—but Akira forced it down. He had trained for this. Darkness was a hunter's oldest companion. He steadied his breathing and lifted the blade.
The crimson symbols along the steel flared softly, casting a dim, blood-red glow.
The tunnel stretched downward at a steep angle, its walls formed not of earth alone but of intertwined roots and something else—old stone, slick with moisture, carved with symbols too ancient to belong to any human language. The air was warm here, unnaturally so, pulsing with a slow rhythm.
Breathing.
The forest wasn't just alive.
It had a heart.
Akira's boots sank slightly with every step. The ground was soft, almost yielding, as if he were walking on flesh rather than soil. Each footfall sent a faint vibration through the tunnel, like a warning ripple.
He wasn't alone.
From the shadows ahead came movement—dozens of pale shapes clinging to the walls, crouched along the ceiling, watching him pass. Their eyes reflected the blade's glow, unblinking and hungry.
Ghouls.
They did not attack.
They bowed.
Akira's stomach twisted.
"What kind of king makes monsters kneel?" he murmured.
The tunnel opened suddenly into a vast underground cavern.
Akira stopped short.
The chamber was enormous, its ceiling lost in darkness. Massive roots descended from above like pillars, wrapping around crumbling stone ruins that hinted at an ancient structure—perhaps a temple long swallowed by the forest. Bioluminescent fungus clung to the walls, casting sickly green and violet light across the space.
At the center of the cavern stood a throne.
It was not built.
It was grown.
Roots, bones, and fused skulls twisted together into a massive seat, pulsing faintly as though fed by something deeper still. And upon it sat the Ghoul King.
Akira had imagined many things.
None of them prepared him for this.
The Ghoul King was enormous, towering even while seated. Its body was humanoid, but warped beyond recognition—skin stretched tight over muscle that looked carved from stone, veins glowing faintly crimson beneath translucent flesh. Antlers—no, branches—rose from its skull, tangled with leaves that never withered.
Its face was disturbingly human.
Too human.
Eyes deep and dark regarded Akira with ancient intelligence, and when it spoke, the sound reverberated through the cavern and through Akira's bones.
"Welcome home, Akira."
Akira staggered back.
"My home is gone," he snapped. "Burned. Buried. Because of you."
The Ghoul King tilted its head slowly, studying him the way one might study a familiar but broken tool.
"No," it said calmly. "Because of me, it endured as long as it did."
Akira raised his blade, the symbols blazing brighter in response to his rage.
"You took the children," he said. "Release them. Now."
A low chuckle echoed through the cavern.
"Children?" the King repeated. "Ah… yes. The seeds."
Akira's blood ran cold.
"They live," the King continued, leaning forward slightly. "For now. They are untouched. Unbroken."
"Then why take them?" Akira demanded.
The Ghoul King rose.
Roots creaked and groaned as the throne reshaped itself behind it. When it stood fully, Akira realized the creature was far larger than he had first thought—nearly twice his height, its presence oppressive, suffocating.
"To grow," the King said simply. "To continue."
Akira shook his head. "You feed on humans."
"We feed on despair," the King corrected. "On abandonment. On fear left to rot."
The cavern trembled.
From the shadows stepped another figure.
Akira's breath caught in his throat.
The man was tall, his body bound in blackened roots that wrapped around his limbs like restraints. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken—but unmistakable.
"Father…?"
The name left Akira's lips as a broken whisper.
The man's eyes flickered.
Then focused.
"Akira…" he said hoarsely.
Akira took a step forward, then another.
"I watched you die," Akira said, voice shaking. "I buried you."
The Ghoul King placed one massive hand on the man's shoulder.
"You buried a shell," it said. "What remained was claimed."
Akira's father looked away, shame etched into every line of his face.
"I tried to kill it," he said quietly. "I nearly succeeded. But the forest doesn't let go so easily."
Akira's grip tightened on the blade.
"You used him," Akira snarled at the King. "You turned him into this."
"No," the King replied. "I saved him. As I will save you."
The words hit harder than any blow.
"I don't need saving," Akira said. "I'm here to end you."
The Ghoul King smiled.
A terrible, knowing smile.
"You are here because you were meant to be," it said. "Because the hunter line was never meant to destroy us."
The cavern darkened.
"The first ghoul hunter was not our enemy," the King continued. "He was our warden."
Akira's heart pounded.
"What are you saying?"
The Ghoul King spread its arms.
"You are not the last ghoul hunter," it said. "You are the last key."
The roots around Akira's father tightened, drawing a strained gasp from him.
"Run," his father whispered urgently. "Akira, run—before it's too late."
But the ground beneath Akira's feet began to shift, roots coiling upward around his legs like living chains.
The blade in Akira's hand burned hot, symbols flaring violently as if in protest.
The Ghoul King's voice boomed, filling the cavern.
"Choose, Akira," it commanded. "Become what you were born to be… or watch this forest devour everything you love."
The roots tightened.
The ghouls watched in silence.
And Akira realized the truth too late—
The hunt was never meant to end.