Wraith of Iwanai
Ren exhaled slowly, steadying his breath as he fastened the last strap of the armor around his torso.
The fit was snug, secure—but not restrictive. The black underlayer clung to his body like a second skin, flexible yet durable, offering just enough protection without sacrificing mobility. The strategically placed blackened steel plates covered his chest, forearms, shoulders, and areas on his legs, reinforcing his vital areas without weighing him down.
It was perfect.
Next, he reached for the mask.
The black Oni's face stared back at him, smooth and polished, its features sharp and menacing. He ran his fingers over its cold surface before lifting it, securing the straps behind his head.
The second it settled over his face, he felt the shift.
Ren, the thief, ceased to exist.
He grabbed the katana and slid it into the makeshift sheath strapped across his back. He wasn't used to the weight yet, but that would change. Everything would change.
One last deep breath.
Then, he stepped outside.
The sky was darkening, streaks of deep orange and violet stretching across the horizon. Soon, night would fall completely.
Ren crouched low behind the thick brush that concealed the entrance to the cave, his eyes scanning the ruins of Iwanai.
It was no longer a city.
It had turned into an infestation.
Fires flickered in the distance, the warm glow of makeshift camps scattered across the ruins. The invaders had claimed every street, every building, every alleyway. Their voices carried through the night—some laughing, others speaking in their foreign tongue, their presence a constant, suffocating force.
But Ren was not here to listen.
He was here to observe.
His gaze sharpened as he studied their patterns, their habits.
Directly ahead, two men sat around a small campfire, their helmets and weapons resting nearby as they roasted chunks of meat over the flames. They spoke loudly, their laughter breaking through the quiet of the night.
To the right, two more warriors patrolled the street, their movements methodical as they slowly paced the dirt road, torches in hand.
And just beyond them—
One man. Alone. He stood near the edge of a collapsed home, staring off into the distance, his posture relaxed.
Ren's fingers curled around the hilt of his katana, but he didn't move yet.
There was a time to strike. And there was a time to wait.
Carefully, he inched forward, keeping to the shadows.
Ren moved like a wraith, slipping between charred wooden beams and broken stone walls, never lingering in one place too long. He kept his breathing measured, his steps silent, his focus unshakable.
There was a subtle shaking in his hands, maybe fear, or nervousness however he had no time to pay it any attention.
He stopped behind the ruins of a house, peering through the jagged gaps in the wood.
The two by the campfire were still talking, still laughing. One of them raised a flask to his lips, drinking deeply before handing it to the man beside him.
The two patrolling the road walked past the alley's entrance, their backs turned.
And the lone soldier still stood by himself, shifting his weight lazily from one foot to the other.
Ren's body tensed.
He was close now.
A few more steps, and he would be right behind him.
The wall of the ruined house was cold against his back as he pressed into it, barely breathing.
The lone soldier stood just feet away now, his presence almost tangible in the silence.
Ren waited.
Then—
The man suddenly called out to the others, his voice gruff and amused.
The response came instantly—laughter. They seemed to be...mocking him?
Ren couldn't understand their words, but the tone was universal.
He heard heavy footsteps approaching.
The man was coming straight toward him.
Ren didn't move, he held his breath as his life depended on it.
The soldier stopped just beside him, reaching down to untie the cords of his trousers. Then came a sharp hiss of relief.
Ren's fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade.
It was almost time.
Ren waited.
The man finished relieving himself, shaking off before tying his trousers back up.
The others were still laughing around the fire, their backs turned. One of them waved a dismissive hand as if to say, We don't want to see that.
They weren't paying attention.
Perfect.
The moment the lone invader turned back toward the camp, Ren moved.
A heartbeat. That was all the time it took.
The world around him slowed, stretched. The flames of the campfire flickered sluggishly. The laughter of the men became deep, distorted echoes in his ears.
The night felt endless, stretched thin between moments.
Ren was a phantom in the dark, descending upon his prey before the man even realized he was no longer alone.
His hand clamped over the soldier's mouth.
A sharp, muffled gasp—then a flash of steel.
His katana bit deep, slicing through the throat with terrifying ease.
Ren expected the kill to be swift.
It wasn't.
The invader thrashed violently in his grip, his body bucking against Ren's weight as he fought for his life.
Thick, hot blood poured over Ren's gloves, soaking into the fabric, but he didn't let go. He tightened his hold, forcing the man downward, dragging him into the dirt.
Not only had the struggle lasted far longer than he had hoped, but it had made far too much noise.
Ren's heart pounded as he flicked his gaze toward the others.
They were still laughing and talking, blissfully unaware that one of their own was being murdered.
Finally—after what felt like an eternity—the man's body gave one last twitch… then went still.
Ren exhaled shakily.
His fingers loosened from the dead man's mouth as he silently dragged the body backward, deeper into the shadows of the ruined house.
He worked quickly, shoving debris over the corpse—broken beams, shattered pottery, whatever he could find. It wasn't perfect, but in the dark, it would be enough to keep the body hidden.
Satisfied, he wiped his blade against the dead man's tunic and turned his gaze upward.
The roof was half-shattered, its framework exposed like the ribs of a decayed beast.
Ren climbed, his movements silent and efficient, something he had done thousands of times throughout his life. He pulled himself onto the structure, his hands finding steady grips on the cracked wooden beams, and crouched low as he scanned the area.
Three left.
The second patrolling soldier was gone, presumably having returned to the main camp. That left two at the fire and the one straying toward it.
Ren's gaze locked onto the lone invader.
The man walked casually toward the flames, reaching out to grab a piece of meat from the roasting spit. For a moment he thought the 3 would stay like this, however...
Just then, there was finally some movement.
Ren's body responded before his mind even finished calculating the risk.
His feet barely made a sound as he dropped down from the ruined rooftop, slipping into the darkness of a narrow side street.
The lone invader, still focused on his food, was completely unaware.
Ren's path was set.
The buildings near the campfire were partially destroyed, but their structures still held firm. He climbed quickly, gripping the rough wooden beams, using the charred remains of a collapsed pillar to pull himself back onto the rooftops.
From this vantage point, he could see everything.
The two suspicious invaders had already crossed the street, their voices low but growing more serious.
They were close to the alley now. They must have realized something was amiss.
But Ren was already moving.
He crept along the splintered roof beams, his eyes locked onto his next target—the lone soldier standing near the fire.
Ren's heartbeat slowed.
The structure ahead had a gaping hole in its roof—a perfect entrance.
Without hesitation, he slipped through the opening, dropping silently into the building just behind the fire.
The air inside was thick with the scent of charred wood and stale sweat.
The only sound was the distant crackling of the fire outside.
Ren crouched low, pressing his back against the interior wall.
Through the broken slats, he could see his target clearly now.
The lone invader had just removed his helmet, placing it beside him on the ground. His dark, sweat-matted hair clung to his face as he took a bite of roasted meat, chewing slowly.
He was relaxed.
Unaware.
Vulnerable.
Ren's grip on his katana tightened. An image of his younger brother flickering in his mind, strengthening his resolve. He never thought he would become a killer but they left him no choice.
He moved.
Ren emerged from the ruined structure like a ghost, the firelight casting his Oni mask into a monstrous silhouette.
The invader didn't even get a chance to scream.
Ren's katana swung in a brutal arc, aimed for the neck.
The steel tore through flesh and muscle, the sheer force of the strike driving deep into the man's cervical vertebrae—but not through.
The sword caught against bone.
The invader jerked violently, his body locking up in a horrible seizure. His mouth opened, but no sound came—just a gurgling, wet choke.
Ren's pulse pounded as he ripped the blade free, sending a fresh spray of hot blood across the dirt.
The invader collapsed instantly, his body twitching before going still.
Ren exhaled, his breath sharp and uneven.
It hadn't been a clean cut.
But it had been enough.
He didn't allow himself to hesitate.
Blood still dripped from his blade as he gripped the body by the back of the armor, hoisting it toward the crackling flames.
The fire hissed as the corpse landed among the burning logs, flesh searing instantly. The flames roared higher, consuming the remains.
Ren didn't stop to watch.
Using the rising flames to block any possible vision, he turned slipping back into the shadows of the ruined building, disappearing once more.
The hunt was not over yet.
Luckily, the two remaining invaders had no luck finding their missing comrade.
After a few frustrated minutes of searching the alleyway, they exchanged a few grunts of annoyance and gave up.
"Bah," one of them muttered, shaking his head.
"Baaz ruugaa butssan baikh," the other grumbled.
Whatever the case, they were more interested in eating than searching for a fool who disappeared mid-shift.
They trudged back toward the campfire, their boots crunching over the dirt and rubble, their breaths steaming in the cold night air.
As they approached, something felt off.
The fire had grown larger.
The flames, once modest and controlled, now flickered wildly, crackling hungrily at the logs beneath them. The heat was intense, enough that they instinctively squinted and took a step back. It also smelled horrible, like burning flesh.
One of them scratched his head, confused.
The other hesitated.
Something wasn't right.
But hunger outweighed suspicion.
They sat down on opposite sides of the fire, one stretching his legs out with a sigh, the other tearing a chunk of meat from a spit, chewing noisily.
The distance between them was now greater than before.
They could barely see each other through the dancing flames.
At first, the conversation was casual.
Perhaps more complaints about the cold.
A few laughs at how their missing comrade had probably lied about needing to piss and snuck back to camp.
But there was an edge of unease in their voices.
That was when it happened.
A sharp clatter of stone echoed from one of the abandoned buildings nearby.
The invaders froze.
Both sets of eyes snapped toward the ruined house.
The noise was unnatural. Too deliberate.
Something was there.
Or someone.
One of them grabbed his sword and stood.
The other remained seated, watching, hand resting near his weapon.
Neither spoke.
The standing invader took a cautious step forward.
Ren cursed under his breath.
The stone had slipped.
He had used the remains of a broken wall to push himself higher, to get into a better position, but the brittle rock had crumbled beneath his weight.
A mistake. A rookie mistake.
And now, one of the invaders was coming to investigate.
Ren remained still, hidden in the rafters of the ruined building. His heart beating out of his chest, and his mind was racing.
The invader moved cautiously, his boots making soft thuds against the floor.
He had drawn his sword, holding it with the ease of a seasoned warrior.
He began stabbing at the shadows, sweeping the blade through the dark corners of the room.
Ren watched from above.
The invader's helmet glinted in the dim light of the fire outside, his movements somewhat erratic.
He wasn't careless.
But he wasn't looking up.
Ren tightened his grip on his katana.
Now was the time.
Even if the other invader saw the kill, Ren could still escape.
He shifted his weight, preparing to drop—
Then—
A loud, metallic clank shattered the silence.
The invader near the fire snapped his head toward the sound.
Something had moved.
The pile of burning logs shifted, metal ringing against stone.
The flames hissed, sparks bursting upward as the body shifted in the fire.
It had finally begun to curl inward, the heat tightening its tendons, forcing a final grotesque twitch.
The seated invader's confusion twisted into horror.
He shot to his feet, shouting in alarm.
The invader inside the ruined building turned toward the fire—
That was the moment Ren needed.
He dropped.
Like a shadow untethered from the night, he fell from the rafters in total silence.
Before the invader could even turn back, Ren was upon him.
His katana thrust downward, aiming for the narrow gap between the helmet and chest armor.
The blade sank in effortlessly.
Ren felt the sickening crunch of sternum breaking, the rush of hot blood spilling over his hands.
The invader gasped sharply, his body seizing, muscles locking in a final, desperate struggle.
His fingers twitched, trying to raise his weapon.
Trying to scream.
But the blade was already too deep.
Ren saw the terror in his eyes.
Saw the moment he realized he was dying.
The invader tried to speak, his lips forming silent words, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth.
Ren didn't let him finish.
He ripped the blade free, then slashed across the throat in a single, brutal motion.
The invader collapsed, blood pooling at his feet.
Ren had no time to think.
He let the body fall to the ground and moved it just a bit to be outside of view.
Now it was time to finish off the final invader before he alerted could alert anyone else.