Part 1
"Damn. What a mess."
Shiki rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
It was August 1st. His residence was a cramped, run-down unit inside a bargain apartment complex, the kind that advertised itself as "cost-efficient" but reeked of poor insulation and corner-cutting. At the time, he had thought the landlord's offer was reasonable. Given his current financial situation, anything more luxurious had never even been an option.
Still, that didn't make the place any less depressing.
Unwashed dishes were stacked precariously in the sink, some with food hardened onto them like fossilized remains. Empty convenience-store wrappers littered the floor, mingling with crumpled receipts and half-used ammunition charms. A faint smell of stale coffee and iron lingered in the air, refusing to dissipate no matter how often he cracked open the window.
Shiki let out a tired sigh.
"This is getting out of hand."
He stepped over a torn talisman on the floor and nudged a duffel bag aside with his foot. Inside it were spare clothes, a few replacement magazines, and ritual tools he hadn't bothered to return to their proper places. Everything had been dropped wherever he happened to be standing when exhaustion finally caught up with him.
He ran a hand through his hair and glanced toward the corner of the room.
His katana rested against the wall, still in its black scabbard. Even at a glance, it looked painfully out of place in such a miserable living space.
"Guess I should clean up before something crawls out of this dump."
The thought wasn't entirely a joke.
Shiki crouched down and began picking up the trash scattered across the floor. Empty snack wrappers went into a small garbage bag, receipts and scraps of paper were stacked neatly, and he shoved the odd sock and tattered towel into the corner with a sigh.
Next, he turned his attention to the dishes in the sink. The water was lukewarm, a thin layer of soap bubbles clinging stubbornly to the surfaces. He scrubbed each plate and cup until they were sparkling clean.
When the floor was relatively clear, Shiki grabbed a damp rag and began wiping down surfaces. The small desk where he kept his notes and ritual items was cluttered with ink stains, stray feathers, and smudged runes. He carefully wiped each item clean, stacking notebooks and scrolls into a neat pile. His katana remained untouched against the wall, almost as if it were silently judging his efforts.
Finally, he swept the floor. Dust bunnies that had formed under the bed were reluctantly dragged into a pile, and the faint scratches on the wooden floor caught the dim light streaming in from the cracked window. A faint breeze rattled the curtains, lifting the stale air and bringing a fleeting hint of the city outside.
Shiki leaned back against the now-cleared desk, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Not perfect, but at least it's better than before," he muttered, surveying the small, tidied apartment. The chaos hadn't vanished entirely, but the room no longer looked like a battlefield. For a moment, the weight of his responsibilities — the hunts, the devils, the mess of life — felt a little lighter.
He exhaled, stretching his arms. "Maybe now I can actually relax… for like five minutes or so."
Just as Shiki flopped onto his bed, intending to sleep away the rest of the day, his smartphone suddenly rang, shattering the fragile peace he had been carving out for himself.
He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Seriously? Right now?"
The buzzing persisted, insistent and impatient. With a frustrated growl, he rolled onto his side and grabbed the device from the bedside table. The screen lit up with an unknown number, the glow harsh against the dim room.
"Hello? Who is this?"
A familiar, calm feminine voice answered. "Hello, Shiki… It's me."
"Huh? Angela? When did you change your number?"
"I didn't necessarily change my number. I have a variety of phones to choose from. I simply used this one to call you."
"I see. You really have it good," Shiki rubbed his throbbing temple, already sensing an incoming headache. "So what's the reason for calling me all of a sudden? Did something happen?"
"Hm… you could say that. It's a bit of a crisis situation."
"Of course it is," he murmured bitterly.
"Oh, now don't sound so grumpy. It doesn't suit you. Plus, it's work. We can't exactly avoid it, can we?"
Shiki exhaled, already bracing himself for what trouble the call would bring.
"Alright, Angela… just tell me where, and I'll be there."
"Go to the south end of Shijo Street. I'll explain the situation when we arrive there. Don't dawdle and forget to brush your teeth!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it," He pressed the phone to his ear just long enough to hear her confirm, then ended the call with a flick of his thumb.
Shiki swung his legs over the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor.
"Well, that ruins my original plan. In any case, it's time to wake up properly."
He moved to his dresser and pulled out a simple black turtleneck, changed out of his pajamas before sliding it. Dark cargo pants followed, the fabric light and flexible, allowing for maximum movement, essential for work like his.
Next, he reached for his favorite topwear: which happened to be a white, oversized bomber-style jacket. The long raglan sleeves ended in ribbed cuffs, each featuring adjustable drawstrings and small toggles for a snug fit. A small rectangular patch pocket on the left sleeve held a black label. Overall, it gave off a cool, effortless street-fashion vibe, balancing practicality with a hint of style.
Shiki shrugged it on, feeling the familiar comfort settle over him. He then checked the small utility belt around his waist before strapping on his worn combat boots.
Finally, he grabbed his katana, securing the scabbard to his back.
« Kurayami »
That was the name of the katana he carried everywhere he went. Translated, it meant All-Consuming Darkness.
He himself was a devil.
…Or, as the MBSC, which stands for Minus Bureau of Supernatural Containment, referred to it, a half-breed.
Simply put, the sword he wielded was the physical manifestation of his demonic power — the embodiment of his Soul and Heart, two of the three fundamental aspects of a living being. It was immensely powerful, possessing the innate ability to permanently erase anything it cut by devouring their Names.
The concept of Names was the most fundamental essence of existence in this world.
Everything that existed had a name.
Humans, demons, objects, even intangible things shadows.
All of them bore names.
Yet his sword of darkness completely shattered that logic, reducing the very concept of Names to nothingness. It was a power no devil could ever obtain, even if they built a nest and cultivated themselves for a thousand years by consuming countless souls.
Shiki was unique in this regard, wielding a source of power that defied comprehension.
In fact, the MBSC had ranked Kurayami as a Special Grade Cursed Relic. He even believed it wouldn't lose to "Yamato no Tsurugi" or "Red Mercury."
That said, it was not without weaknesses.
For one, he needed to be strong enough to defeat his opponent in the first place. Only then could he cut them and devour their Name. If he failed to do so, his ability would not activate at all.
Moreover, if his sword were ever destroyed, he would die instantly.
It was both his greatest strength and his most glaring weakness.
Which was why he carried it with him at all times.
He was, quite literally, fighting with his Heart.
"...Ugh. Looks like I have no choice but to go out. As the old saying goes: another day, another battle."
His spirits sank even further. Forcing himself to say it cheerfully only made it sound hollow.
Shiki let out a long, weary breath, tightened his grip on Kurayami at his back, and stepped toward the door, knowing full well that whatever awaited him outside would demand every ounce of his strength, and then some.