Encounter

Azare wandered the barren wasteland.

"Okay, so, kitty, how do I get out of this Obligation's Cradle?" Azare asked.

"Kitty? Have some respect. I have lived nearly 17 of your lifetimes. It's Oblivion's Cradle, and there is no way out—not one that I am aware of," the Anima said with exasperation.

"What? You're that old and haven't seen a way out? I mean, if there's a way in, there must be a way out. And if there isn't, then I'll make one," Azare said with tenacity.

"You are far too weak."

"Weak? Didn't you see how I beat that thing?"

"That 'thing' is a Hell Titan, and it's by far one of the weakest yokai here. The strongest yokai have more humanoid appearances, with noticeable horns made of Amrita," the Anima explained.

"Amrita? What's that?" Azare asked.

"All living things have Amrita within their bodies. It's the fuel of the soul. Humans have Amrita flowing through their souls like a river. Amrita is what allows you to use my abilities. If you didn't have adequate Amrita, our fusion would have failed, and you would have died."

Azare shivered at the thought of burning alive, which reminded him of Emberfall's destruction.

"You can't see the Amrita humans wield. Yokai are different. Their flow of Amrita has been corrupted, solidifying into what's known as a soul core, which sits at the center of their bodies. If that soul core is destroyed, they die. Yokai are essentially immortal unless their soul cores are broken.

"The yokai with horns are a special case. You must destroy their horns first before breaking their soul cores; otherwise, they regenerate.

"Their soul cores are also inside their bodies rather than outside. They're formidable foes you don't want to face."

"You make them sound like invincible monsters. How am I supposed to beat that?"

"You need to focus on getting stronger. Your physique is poor," the Anima said.

"What would a cat know about physiques?"

Growl

Suddenly, through the fog of embers and ash, a massive figure emerged—a hellhound. Its eyes glowed like molten copper, and its bared teeth formed a snarl that could chill even the bravest hearts. The beast was a grotesque fusion of shadow and flame, its fur resembling smoke with embers dancing in its wake.

Azare focused, summoning a ball of fire in his hand that quickly transformed into a silver sword. He stepped back.

"What are you so afraid of?" the Anima asked.

The hound lunged, its gnarled teeth poised to tear into Azare's arm.

Azare's sword ignited, and he swung it across the hound's snout, the flames burning its flesh.

The hound let out a low growl as it recoiled. It prepared for a second attack but stopped and howled, the sound echoing across the wasteland.

"I sense nothing but fear from you.

"On the battlefield, fear is a consuming fire that turns allies into ashes. Only through bravery can we extinguish its flames and forge a path to victory."

"I'm not afraid. I can do this."

The hound sprinted toward Azare. His amber eyes focused on the beast's jaw. As it closed the distance, Azare sidestepped with incredible agility and planted his sword into the hound's side.

The beast howled in pain but released a massive cloud of smoke and ash toward Azare.

"My eyes!" he cried, stumbling backward. His vision was obscured. He couldn't see anything.

Suddenly, searing pain shot through his right leg as the hound's teeth sank into his flesh. The agony spread through his entire leg like wildfire.

He fell onto his back as the hound released him.

Opening his eyes, Azare realized something. Though he hadn't seen them before, glowing eyes—like embers—pierced through the dark fog.

There must have been twenty of them.

"There are so many of them."

Just then, flying shards of golden crystals, shaped like knives, streaked through the fog. Each one struck precisely at the core of the hounds.

The beasts collapsed to the ground as ash rose into the air.

A moment of silence followed.

From the fog and ash, a silhouette emerged—a humanoid figure with what appeared to be horns atop its head.

As the figure stepped closer, Azare could make out more details: a masked warrior wearing a black oni mask with two golden horns, clad in black shinobi-like attire.

The figure radiated an intimidating aura that shook Azare to his core.

In its hands was a weapon unlike anything Azare had ever seen. A golden crescent blade was attached to a chain, and at the other end of the chain was a ring large enough for a hand to grip.

Azare staggered to his feet, his leg throbbing with pain. His vision remained blurred, but he could see the masked warrior standing still, their presence alone exuding authority.

"Who... are you?" Azare called out, gripping his sword tightly.

The figure tilted their head slightly, as if inspecting him. Then, in a calm but cold voice, they spoke:

"You? You're barely worth my time."

Azare bristled at the remark, straightening despite the pain in his leg. "Is that so? Then why save me?"

The warrior didn't answer immediately. Instead, they twirled the chain of their weapon in a lazy arc, the golden blade catching the faint light of the embers swirling in the air.

"These beasts were in my way," they said simply. "You just happened to survive."

The Anima spoke in Azare's mind. Careful. This one… she's far stronger than you.

"I didn't need your help!" Azare shouted, his frustration masking his fear. He raised his sword, its flame flickering unsteadily.

The warrior laughed—a low, mocking sound that sent chills down Azare's spine. "Bold words, for someone who can barely stand. If you're so determined, show me your strength."

Before Azare could respond, the warrior moved. No, vanished. In an instant, they reappeared behind him, their crescent blade spinning dangerously close to his neck.

Azare spun around, barely parrying the weapon with his sword. The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, nearly causing him to drop his weapon.

"You're slow," the warrior commented, stepping back effortlessly. "And predictable. If you fight like this, you'll die before you take ten more steps in this place."

Azare gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain in his leg as he lunged forward. He swung his sword with all his might, aiming for their midsection.

But the warrior sidestepped with ease, the crescent blade whipping around on its chain. It struck Azare's sword, disarming him and sending his weapon clattering to the ground.

Before he could react, the chain wrapped around his wrist, pulling him forward. He stumbled, falling to his knees.

The warrior leaned in close, their mask just inches from his face. "You're reckless. Driven by emotion. That'll get you killed."

Azare's breathing was ragged, but his amber eyes burned with defiance. "Then teach me how to survive."

The warrior paused. For a moment, the air between them was tense, charged with unspoken intentions. Then they yanked the chain free, releasing Azare.

"Why should I waste my time on someone so weak?"

"Because," Azare said, struggling to his feet, "I'm not going to stay weak. I'll fight. I'll learn. I'll get stronger—strong enough to escape this place and destroy anyone who stands in my way."

The warrior stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a flick of their wrist, the chain retracted into a tight coil.

"You've got tenacity, I'll give you that. But tenacity alone isn't enough." They turned to leave, their silhouette fading into the ash and fog.

"Wait!" Azare called out, stumbling forward.

The warrior stopped but didn't turn around.

"Survive and meet me at The Blood Forest. If you are stronger than you are now. I might consider it."

The warrior vanished into the fog leaving Azare with nothing but humiliation.