The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the city still bled moisture. Neon lights reflected in broken puddles, twisting into warped colors along the cracked streets. An abandoned art district loomed ahead-rows of shuttered galleries, ruined theaters, and warehouses once meant to celebrate beauty. Now they stood hollow, like corpses stripped of purpose.
This was where the reports had led.
Wataru adjusted his coat, twin pistols resting comfortably at his sides. His eyes scanned the rooftops, every shadow a possible threat. Behind him followed the youngest hunters-Nao, Aoi, Hana, and Riku-each quiet in their own way, nerves hidden beneath resolve.
And walking slightly ahead, lantern raised, was Shinzo.
Unlike the other Lampmen they had encountered before, Shinzo carried himself with calm confidence. His lamp burned brighter than most, etched with ancient sigils that pulsed softly like a heartbeat. Two other Lampmen flanked him-Kuro and Mika-their lanterns forming a protective triangle of golden light.
Shinzo stopped suddenly.
"This is the place," he said. His voice was steady, but there was tension beneath it. "Multiple disappearances. Civilians reported... paintings moving. Faces screaming from the walls."
Nao swallowed. "Paintings?"
Shinzo nodded. "The demon's name is Geijutsu. An Art Demon. Extremely dangerous."
Aoi scoffed lightly, trying to mask unease. "So what, he throws paint at people?"
Hana didn't laugh. Her eyes were fixed on the darkened gallery ahead-a massive building with shattered glass windows and faded banners. "No," she murmured. "This feels... wrong."
Riku rested a hand on his short swords. "What kind of demon makes art?"
"The worst kind," Wataru answered. "The kind that enjoys it."
Shinzo turned, lantern lifting higher. "Geijutsu doesn't just create art. He gives it life. His drawings act as gateways. The things he paints can step into the real world."
A silence fell.
"...How many?" Nao asked quietly.
Shinzo hesitated. That alone was answer enough.
They entered the gallery.
Inside, the air was thick with rot and oil paint. Canvases lined the walls from floor to ceiling-thousands of them. Landscapes twisted into unnatural angles. Portraits with too many eyes. Smiling figures whose mouths were stitched shut.
Mika gagged softly. "These were... once people."
"Yes," Shinzo said. "Victims. Turned into inspiration."
The lantern light flickered.
Then-
A scraping sound.
One of the paintings trembled.
Nao stepped back instinctively. "Did that just-"
The canvas tore open.
A clawed hand burst through, dripping black ink instead of blood. The painting ripped wider as something crawled out-a grotesque humanoid figure made of charcoal lines and dripping pigment, its body unfinished, its face half-erased.
A Sketch Demon.
"CONTACT!" Wataru barked.
Riku moved first. His blades flashed, slicing clean through the creature's neck. The head fell-but instead of blood, ink splattered across the floor, writhing like living worms.
The body kept moving.
Aoi cursed. "It's still alive!"
Hana raised her hand. Flames spiraled outward, engulfing the creature. The ink hissed, evaporating into smoke as the demon screamed-a sound like tearing paper.
It collapsed into ash.
Before anyone could breathe, more canvases began to shake.
Twelve. No-fifteen.
"They're all activating!" Kuro shouted.
Shinzo slammed his lantern to the ground. The light expanded outward, forming a barrier. "I'll hold them back-but not for long!"
"Split up," Wataru ordered. "Nao, Aoi-protect the Lampmen. Hana, Riku-you're with me."
The walls exploded with motion.
Demons poured out-beasts of oil and bone, monsters stitched from brushstrokes, warped animals with human eyes. One leapt straight at Nao.
His heart hammered. "Beast Dog-NOW!"
The spectral form erupted beside him, snarling, jaws snapping shut around the demon mid-air. Ink sprayed as the Beast Dog tore it apart.
Nao gasped. I did it.
Aoi summoned Nekoma beside him, the yokai cat landing silently before ripping through another sketch demon with razor claws.
"Stay close," she said. "They're endless."
Elsewhere, Wataru fired.
His pistols thundered, enchanted bullets punching holes through demon skulls. Each shot was precise, efficient-no wasted movement. Riku danced beside him, blades singing as he carved through ink-born horrors.
Hana's fire lit the gallery like a furnace. Paintings burned, faces screaming as flames reduced them to nothing.
Then-
Slow clapping echoed through the hall
Slow. Mocking.
"Well done... truly well done."
A figure stepped out from behind a massive canvas.
He was tall and thin, dressed in a painter's coat stained black and red. His face was pale, eyes sunken, mouth stretched into a delighted grin. A massive brush rested on his shoulder, its bristles dripping something dark.
Geijutsu.
"Such wonderful movement," he said. "Such color. You hunters are... exquisite subjects."
The walls shifted.
Behind him, a colossal mural began to glow.
Nao's blood ran cold.
The mural depicted a battlefield-hunters screaming, Lampmen burning, demons rising victorious. And at the center...
Them.
"It's predicting us," Riku growled.
"No," Shinzo said grimly. "He's creating it."
Geijutsu swept his brush across the mural.
The ground cracked.
From the painted battlefield, larger demons began to emerge-fully formed, armored in ink and rage.
Wataru raised his guns, eyes narrowing. "Target confirmed."
Geijutsu laughed, ecstatic. "Run, little heroes. Fight. Struggle. Every moment... is art."
The first mission had only just begun.
And the canvas was far from finished.