Into the Crow's Wing Ghost Story
Jinwoo was a perfect stranger upon entering the Crow's Wing ghost story. The thick, damp fog blanketing everything made it impossible to see even a meter ahead, numbing his sense of direction. The ground beneath his feet wasn't mere dirt either.
It was soaked with centuries of grudges and blood, clinging to his steps with a squelching, repulsive sensation like trampling corpses. The air reeked of freshly slaughtered beast—metallic blood—and the musty stench of an ancient grave.
Guided by the Grimoire's chilling warning, he pressed through the fog.
His robe's protective wards blocked the bone-chilling cold gnawing at his skin, but the damp, soul-crushing energy was another matter.
How long had he walked? Beyond the fog, a massive, writhing shape began to loom.
It floated in the humid air like a colossal deep-sea jellyfish.
But its bell and tentacles weren't translucent flesh. They were dozens, hundreds of severed human heads. Terrified policemen, enraged special forces, horror-stricken YouTubers, resigned cultists... the recently sacrificed, bound together by wriggling black tentacles into one horrific, colossal mass.
The heads' eyes trembled faintly toward the void, mouths agape in silent screams. At the pinnacle, where all tentacles converged, sat Taira no Masakado's head—stained black by a millennium of grudges, glaring at the emptiness with hatred for all creation.
Jinwoo immediately maxed out his robe's stealth. His form melted into the fog's shadows, then into nothingness within those shadows. Silent as a ghost, he approached the grotesque artwork.
He drew a crude military dagger from his belt. Channeling his mana onto the blade, he focused until a black aura enveloped it.
At last, in a low voice brimming with the conqueror's arrogance—resonating across the cursed space—he intoned the incantation.
In that instant, his body flashed forward faster than the human eye could track. Like lightning, he plunged into the monster's core, mercilessly slashing the tentacles binding the heads with his mana-infused dagger.
"Kieeeek!" A chorus of hundreds of screams erupted in horrific agony, black ichor spraying from severed tentacles.
Disconnected heads plummeted like rotten fruit, crumbling into black dust and vanishing.
Jinwoo swung at Masakado's head last. The moment he thought it was over—
"Fool! It's a trap! This was mere bait!"
Masakado's falling head cried out in desperation.
Simultaneously, the ground beneath Jinwoo quaked violently, as if in an earthquake.
The fog cleared as the earth split like a colossal maw, unleashing an unimaginable behemoth with a hellish roar from below.
It was a headless monstrosity the size of an elephant. Where a head should be, dozens of massive tentacles writhed like living serpents. Its armored back bore a grotesque altar resembling a human brain, pulsing eerie purple light and radiating sanity-shattering waves. In its chest, where a heart should beat, Masakado's head—freshly severed by Jinwoo—screamed in forced embedment.
As the Grimoire warned, the altar on the beast's back flared with ominous light.
Needles—tens of thousands—pierced Jinwoo's mind in a psychic assault.
All the world's pain and despair crushed his brain. But the robe mitigated much of it, letting him cling to sanity amid the torment.
"Poison fog! Dodge—"
Before Masakado could finish, the altar spewed thick green toxic gas like a geyser. Jinwoo leaped back.
Bodies grazed by the fog melted instantly, hissing and smoking black in horror.
"Kraaaah!"
The beast roared, whipping its head-tentacles like siege rams. Jinwoo dodged frantically with robe stealth and magic-enhanced agility, but bone-crushing strikes grazed endlessly. At this rate, he'd be overwhelmed.
Mid-evasion, something caught his eye: recent victims' gear.
A K2 rifle and ammo pouch.
That's it!
Rolling aside from a tentacle, he snatched the rifle, grenades, and spare mags.
"Left! Tentacle incoming!"
Masakado's shout sent him flying reflexively. A massive tentacle slammed where he'd stood, shaking the earth and hurling debris.
Without hesitation, Jinwoo bit his thumb, smearing blood over the rifle and mags. Following the Grimoire's lead, he chanted.
"With my blood as sacrifice, my mana as powder! Upon this worthless iron and lead, I engrave death bold enough to pierce the Outer God's creation!"
⟨ Consecration of the Mundane ⟩
The rifle and ammo vibrated with an eerie red glow where his blood touched. He yanked a grenade pin and hurled it at the beast's "face."
"Dodge right! It's counterattacking!"
Guided by Masakado, he vaulted opposite the blast.
Boom!
The grenade shredded tentacles but fell short of lethal. It bought a moment. As the beast recoiled in pain, Jinwoo shouldered the consecrated rifle.
He aimed at Masakado's agonized face embedded in the beast's chest.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The consecrated rounds roared not like gunfire, but divine wrath. Ordinary bullets would have ricocheted off the armor, but these—trailing red tracers—ignited on impact, searing and melting the Outer God's foul flesh.
"Kraaaak!"
The beast thrashed in unimaginable agony, but Jinwoo didn't relent. He emptied the mag, reloaded cinematic-fast, and poured more consecrated death into the wound.
Finally, dozens of mana rounds blasted the chest into a massive crater from within.
Masakado's head vanished in the explosion, a faint nodding illusion amid the light. The beast shuddered, collapsing forward with a landslide rumble.
"Hah... hah..."
Jinwoo lowered the smoking barrel, breath ragged. Victory was his. Where the corpse melted, a small black crystal—condensed essence of pure Death—glowed ominously. Material for his new face.
But no time to claim spoils. The colossal corpse convulsed, space tearing above it. Oily, viscous darkness ripped open like spilled ink, sucking the remains into a silent void. Flesh and shell shredded with wet tears—its disappointed master's cold retrieval of the failed hound.
As the corpse vanished, a faint, blue-tinged translucent warrior appeared.
Taira no Masakado. A millennium of grudges gone, his face showed weary liberation, not hate.
Thanks to you... I escaped this horrific bondage. I am truly grateful.
"You guided me too, so we're even," Jinwoo replied curtly.
No, this debt must be repaid. I must depart, but I'll leave a gift. The pouch that hound used to cross dimensions. I seized it before it vanished with the corpse.
Masakado extended his hand; space warped in his palm, revealing a small leather pouch twinkling like a miniature night sky.
Masakado handed Jinwoo the pouch. [That power... truly vile and horrific. It must never taint this land again...] With that, his form shuddered, a satisfied smile forming as he dissolved into light particles. He had achieved Buddhahood at last.
Jinwoo nodded lightly in farewell. He brought the subsapce pouch to the Grimoire at his waist. Pages flipped open; the pouch dissolved into light dust, sucked inside. Instantly, he sensed a container-sized void within the Grimoire.
"Now it's finally useful."
Then the entire space began collapsing. Cracks split the sky; the ground crumbled to dust. With the ghost story's core gone, the temporary dimension dissolved.
Jinwoo moved swiftly. He grabbed the K2 rifle, spare mags, grenades. His eyes fell on a wheeled unmanned ground vehicle (UGV) nearby, topped with a machine gun and grenade launcher. Without pause, he stowed all spoils in the now-vast Grimoire subsapce. Finally, he collected the scattered JSDF heads. Gruesome work, but his expression never changed.
Everything secured, he sprinted for the sole exit leaking light: the torii gate. As he passed through, the world behind him collapsed in thunderous ruin.
"..."
Back in Tokyo reality. The commander and JSDF troops stood frozen before the torii where he'd vanished, simply waiting. They gaped as the fog cleared and he reemerged like a specter.
Jinwoo approached the commander, withdrawing JSDF heads from subsapce one by one, placing them respectfully on the ground. Gruesome proof of mission success—and his rite for the fallen.
"......It's done."
The commander stared in awe and terror, then gestured. Moments later, two black briefcases appeared: one heavy with gold bars, the other stuffed with dollar bills.
Jinwoo wordlessly hefted them. Then, like vanishing into fog, he melted into the crowd. Behind him, the commander saluted, but he never looked back.