Crow Wings
Jinwoo disembarked at Fukuoka Port on wings of shadow, slipping through the crowds like a ghost toward Hakata Station. His next destination was the heart of Japan: Tokyo.
He purchased a reserved seat ticket for the Tokyo-bound Shinkansen from the automated ticket machine without hesitation. He'd evaded the NIS surveillance net, but there was no need to travel like a primitive within Japan.
Shuuuung—
With a sharp whine, the sleek white bullet train glided into the platform.
The doors opened soon after, and Jinwoo blended seamlessly with the other passengers, sinking into a comfortable seat. The train accelerated silently in moments.
Fukuoka's urban sprawl flashed by the window in an instant, giving way to unfamiliar Japanese countryside, mountains, and sea in a panoramic sweep.
Jinwoo stared blankly out the window.
Having grown up in an orphanage before being thrown straight into the army—another prison—overseas travel had never existed in his life.
This was the first foreign landscape he'd ever encountered. It was beautiful, yet it stirred no great emotion in him. Just another picture.
Only power, conquest, and domination could paint color onto his ashen world—not serene vistas like these.
[Humans marvel at this paltry speed. How dull.]
'Still better than walking.'
Jinwoo closed his eyes, responding inwardly to the Grimoire's tepid appraisal.
Several hours later, the Shinkansen spat him out into the heart of the colossal anthill: Tokyo Station.
Amid the disorienting flood of people and neon signs, he momentarily lost his bearings but soon pulled up his smartphone map and headed to his reserved hotel.
The place he'd booked was a clean business hotel nestled among Shinjuku's high-rise forest, boasting stunning night views. A world away from his moldy semi-basement room.
After a hot shower to shake off the travel fatigue, he perched on the plush bed and fired up his laptop. Time to hunt down the original announcement posted by the Japanese government.
The Japanese-language notice was easy to find. And its contents were far more detailed—and horrifying—than the Mystery Gallery summary.
Target Location: Masakado's Head Mound (Masakado's Head Mound), Otemachi, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
Phenomena:
1. Approximately one month ago, periodic outbreaks of unidentified thick fog around the shrine. Multiple pedestrians passing nearby have gone missing during fog occurrences.
2. Two Tokyo Metropolitan Police officers dispatched for initial investigation went missing after communication blackout while searching near the shrine entrance torii gate. The next day, they were found decapitated at the shrine entrance.
3. Three state-of-the-art drones deployed for internal reconnaissance lost signal and vanished after entering the fog.
4. Recognizing the severity, eight members of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Special Investigation Team (SIT) entered fully armed. All lost communication after 10 minutes. The next morning, all were found decapitated throughout the shrine grounds. Recovered bodies showed almost no signs of resistance.
Request: Identify and completely neutralize the cause of these phenomena.
Reward: Upon successful completion, the Japanese government will negotiate and provide compensation in any form requested by the resolver (monetary, identity, privileges, etc.).
"Interesting."
A smile curled at Jinwoo's lips. This was no mere anomaly. Something capable of slaughtering armed special forces without a trace of resistance. A hunt on a whole different level awaited.
[This is leagues beyond the nightmares that merely lured in your kind before.]
The Grimoire's voice echoed in his mind, heavier than usual.
[Fog, periodic disappearances, isolation upon crossing the boundary (torii). These are signs that the site has become a 'Gate' linking the nightmare dimension to your Earth. Gates are bidirectional doors. They drag things from your world into nightmares, but they can also vomit nightmare entities into yours.]
The Grimoire continued its warning.
[Nightmares are not empty voids. Beyond lies territory of chaotic, malevolent beings beyond your primitive species' comprehension—the so-called 'Outer Gods'. Ignore this gate, and it won't end with mere vanishings. The twisted abominations those Outer Gods spawn could crawl into this land.]
"Then what do I do?"
[One way: Enter the fog yourself. Become its nexus and seek out the elements drawing nightmare energy into reality—be it Masakado's remains or a cursed relic. Destroy them, or absorb and purify their power as your own.]
The Grimoire's proposal was clear. To catch a tiger, enter its den. Jinwoo reread the announcement. His gaze lingered on the word "decapitated."
"The mask requires death and wisdom... This one's obsessed with death itself. Good. Half the mask comes from here."
[Excellent judgment, my lord!]
Excitement tinged the Grimoire's voice.
[Though extracting the essence of 'wisdom' from it seems unlikely, such a pure and potent 'death' authority is a rare harvest! That entity fixates on the concept of death incarnate. Not mere slaughter—within the ritual of severing life at the most symbolic site, the neck, dwells mighty death essence. Harvest it, and even unfinished—wanting 'wisdom'—your crow mask will instill half its power: the terror of death in all who behold it!]
Jinwoo nodded in satisfaction. He opened the battered backpack by the bed. What he drew out clashed utterly with his imposing new robe: a crude item, like cheap plastic for plague doctor cosplay from an online mall. Glossy black plastic with a long, pointed beak. No real leather or bone—just a bargain knockoff.
He stared at it silently for a moment. 'Even a cheap toy like this beats nothing.'
[Hmph. To hide your face with such a grotesque facsimile. We must procure the true mask posthaste.]
Ignoring the Grimoire's snark, Jinwoo donned the crude plague doctor mask. He pulled the shadowy robe's hood low over it.
The mirror reflected no longer a human youth. Only an ominous, bird-like monstrosity of unknown origin stood there.
He left the hotel room. Toward Masakado's mound.
To uproot the nightmare and claim materials for his mask.
By the time Jinwoo arrived near Masakado's Head Mound via subway, the site resembled a war zone.
Yellow police tape cordoned it in multiple layers, backed by heavily armed Self-Defense Force troops and armored vehicles in strict formation.
News helicopters buzzed noisily overhead, while crowds beyond the barriers gawked with smartphones at the bizarre spectacle.
And at the entrance to the shrine—the epicenter—new "exhibits" had been added in recent days.
Beside the special forces corpses lay young bodies clutching cheap broadcasting gear, heads vanished. Amateur YouTubers blinded by views who'd crossed the line.
Next to them: a monk in prayer pose as if dead mid-chant; a Western priest clutching a cross; a Shinto priest collapsed mid-purification rite. Corpses of every faith littered the ground.
And among them, the most recent horrors: all in amateur cosplay. Shoddy wizard robes and plastic crow masks ordered hastily online.
Fools lured by greed and rumors of a government memo: "Do not block those resembling the crow wizard." All proved the malice within cared naught for real from fake—every corpse headless without exception.
Jinwoo already wore his shadowy robe.
Yet no one registered him.
He glided through the crowd like a specter, past guarding police, right up to the final line of Self-Defense Force troops.
Armed with cutting-edge surveillance, the robe's perception hindrance rendered him mere irrelevant scenery to their eyes and minds.
He halted before the commander.
And deliberately loosened the robe's recognition jamming magic just a touch.
Instantly, the air before the commander warped like a hallucination. From empty space protruded an ill-omened shadow in sinister form.
"Wha...!"
Surrounding troops recoiled in shock, rifles snapping up. Their flawless perimeter breached unnoticed sent chills down spines.
The commander, sweating coldly, gripped his mic. Wariness laced his voice with faint hope.
"...You... how long have you been there..."
"From the beginning."
The voice from the mask was inhuman.
Warped by the Grimoire's magic, it blended man and woman, elder and child into an eerie, alien timbre.
Even voiceprint analysis from recordings would yield nothing—a perfect veil of anonymity.
The commander recalled orders from above. The "wizard" had arrived.
With trembling hand, he signaled his men to lower weapons.
"From command... we've been awaiting you. Are you... the 'wizard'?"
"That simplifies things. Transmit this to your government regarding success fees."
Jinwoo splayed his fingers.
"First: untraceable 99.9% pure gold bars. Second: bundled U.S. dollars with mixed serials. No yen or bank transfers. Prepare to my satisfaction. Upon success, I'll contact you."
The commander nodded grimly, grasping the intent. Jinwoo turned his back.
His gaze fixed solely on the red torii wreathed in ominous fog. The troops parted like the Red Sea.
He strode toward it without pause.
One step, foot into the torii's shadow.
All worldly noise vanished like a lie. No helicopter roar, no crowd murmur, no city din. Perfect silence cloaked his ears.
Two steps: air temperature plummeted. Like stepping into a freezer midsummer, biting chill pierced the robe.
Three steps: fully past the torii, Tokyo's skyscrapers and troops behind dissolved like a mirage.
All around: thick, damp fog. Air reeked of iron tang and ancient blood.
He no longer stood in Otemachi, Tokyo.
He had stepped into the nightmare of Masakado's Head Mound itself.