Aozaki Aoko Case File

At first, it was just a faint, dull thud, followed by a brief, strange whimper—not a scream or a groan, but more like a reflexive, involuntary response, akin to a knee-jerk reaction.

One of Tohno's private soldiers crumpled silently to the ground. His fate mirrored the countless animals that had perished in the mountain forest over millennia—his body stained and buried in the damp soil, destined to rot and return to nature, unnoticed by anyone.

But unlike those who died naturally or fell prey to wild beasts, this fully armed hybrid soldier bore only a single wound. Someone had bypassed his helmet's protection and shattered his skull from the front, ensuring his death after only a few seconds of struggle.

In those final moments, he tried to use the remnants of his fading consciousness to warn his comrades. But the attacker had anticipated this, leaving him incapable of action. His comrades spread thinly in a dispersed encirclement, were too far away to notice his unnatural demise.

Or perhaps, this silent death was exactly what the assassin lurking in the shadows had orchestrated.

The dull thud came again, and another soldier met the same fate. He died as silently and meaninglessly as a mouse caught in a trap.

A shadow landed beside the once-proud hybrid soldier's lifeless body. The figure, a young man, bore a bright, carefree smile. His short hair was neat and practical, easily manageable for his line of work.

Undoubtedly, this was a human—a human who, in mere moments, had dispatched two fully armed hybrids. In his hand was not a gun or blade, but a cold, unassuming weapon: a short club-like rod with no sharp edges. Its gray-black surface glinted faintly with a metallic sheen.

The man ignored the faint traces of life lingering in his victim and moved on to his next target.

Like a phantom in a nightmare, the assassin systematically dispatched the soldiers Tohno Makihisa had meticulously trained. Within minutes, more than half of the invaders in the forest had been slaughtered.

This unnatural silence sent a chill through Tohno Makihisa, who sat in his car at the foot of the mountain. Uneasy, he attempted to contact the leader of his soldiers via radio. The response was troubling—there was nothing unusual to report, save for temporary radio interference, likely due to the forested terrain.

Tohno Makkihisa clenched his teeth, immediately suspecting the work of their old enemies: the demon exorcists.

"I should have wiped them out long ago," he thought bitterly. Once this was over, he resolved to start with Fujou.

Urgently, he contacted Kouma Kishima, who was advancing directly through the mountain and pressed him to quicken his pace. Kouma responded with a terse, "Mm."

Meanwhile, the young assassin had eliminated all but one target: Kouma Kishima. Yet he felt no triumph, only a vague thought: Today's work is nearly done.

He had deliberately saved Kouma Kishima for last. The towering, one-eyed hybrid was someone he recognized—a child he had encountered years ago during a mission to exterminate a hybrid family.

Nanaya Kiri, the top assassin, was about to confront his end for the first time.

He knew that the boy before him, now a formidable warrior, was destined to kill him one day. So he had struck first, maiming the child by destroying one of his eyes but sparing his life. Unlike his deranged kin, Nanaya Kiri found no joy in killing. For him, assassination was a craft, an art form to be perfected.

Unwittingly, he had surpassed everyone around him, becoming the head of the Nanaya clan. Yet the memory of sparing Kouma haunted him.

Now, perched silently in the trees like a spider, Nanaya Kiri watched the one-eyed hybrid below.

"Nanaya Kiri," Kouma Kishima said at last, his voice calm. He had recognized the assassin's name.

Through his enhanced Pure Eyes, Nanaya Kiri saw Kouma's crimson aura—a feral intensity born from generations of inbreeding within the Kishima family to train destructive power.

At less than ten years old, Kouma had gone mad, slaughtering his entire family. Imprisoned deep in the mountains, he had grown into a living weapon.

Without further words, Kouma attacked.

He lunged with terrifying speed and strength, shattering the tree where Nanaya had been perched. Before it fell, Nanaya had already leaped into the air, twisting in ways that defied human limitations.

Kouma's attacks lacked technique, relying instead on raw power and speed. A single missed punch left Nanaya's cheek stinging from the sheer force of the displaced air.

Undeterred, Nanaya countered, stabbing his iron rod into Kouma's muscular arm. But the strike had no effect; it was as though the rod had struck solid steel.

Unfazed, Nanaya flipped away, evading another devastating blow that obliterated a nearby rock. Using the flying debris as cover, he became a shadow, positioning himself at Kouma's blind spot—the right side, where the hybrid's damaged eye could never see.

From this vantage, Nanaya attacked relentlessly, striking the same spot on Kouma's neck dozens of times. Yet not a single wound appeared.

Kouma swung wildly, his massive hand missing its mark as Nanaya evaded with inhuman precision.

For the first time that night, Kouma felt the icy grip of fear. Death loomed closer with every calculated strike from the assassin.

"Just a little more," Nanaya thought, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Just a little more, and I can kill this monster."