Saburo gazed at the rune hologram displayed by Unity above the new altar. “So... you really want to decode their spiritual essence? Aren't you afraid of becoming a new kind of monster, Unity?”

  Unity’s chest panel was open, blue circuits pulsing softly. “Fear isn’t a variable in my system, Saburo. The Spirit Code of the Yokai holds patterns of ancient world power. If accessed, we could determine the survival of all beings. If not, the next spiral could be even more brutal.”

  Mira stood next to the glowing Genesis chip. “But what if that code fails... it wouldn’t just be the Yokai facing extinction. The spirit world could vanish too. Or worse—Yokai might be cloned by machines.”

  Fitran sat in a metal chair, an expression of cunning on his face, the Voidlight sword resting on his lap. “Risk is the price of progress. The world has been steered by spirits and legends for far too long. Now it’s my turn to rewrite the story.”

  “One mistake, and it could all come crashing down,” Fitran added with a knowing smile, releasing an aura of foreboding that crept through the room. “You’re cursing yourself with fragile hope, Mira. As if the Yokai and machines don’t depend on each other.”

  Kaoru fixed his gaze on Fitran. “Are you sure… this isn’t the end of everything? Just killing one Yokai could spiral into disaster. What if all the souls of the world suddenly vanished?”

  Fitran gazed at him without mercy, “Balance is a myth. I only want to know, who remains true to their name when the entire world belongs to machines? True power lies in the ability to change. If you retreat, Kaoru, it’s just like paying the price of death.”

  Every word that slipped from Fitran’s lips flowed like an electric current, generating waves of fear. Strategic thoughts and the potential movements of his opponent swirled in his mind, while the colorful illusions of runes surrounding the altar painted a grim scenario; a world on the brink of destruction.

  He understood that every second that ticked away was a mind game, and every expression on his opponent’s face was a weakness to be exploited, snatching their confidence in an instant. As the atmosphere grew more tense, the rumble of the Voidlight sword resting in Fitran's lap signaled that the moment was drawing near—a moment when despair felt as smooth as the urge to kill.

  Takeshi, his heavy steps echoing as he entered the altar, the wound at his temple still fresh, said, "Do you want everyone to become nothing more than data, Fitran? If this world is truly ending, I'd rather die in battle than be trapped in one of your chips or fields."

  A dark aura enveloped the altar, radiating an eerie vibration as if each word carried more weight than mere sound. A black fog seethed against the gray sky, creating an unsettling atmosphere. Fitran observed Takeshi, his gaze penetrating with deep hatred and uncertainty. “Oh, Takeshi,” Fitran's voice quivered softly yet chillingly, “can you not see? When the war ends, it is not the death you choose that holds power, but the memories—the only remnants left are digital footprints.”

  Fitran's lips curled into a thin smile. "Takeshi, your bravery is rare in a world nearly extinguished. But the new world will always need figures to be remembered—heroes, victims, or traitors; it’s all a matter of words.” After he spoke, a pale light from an ancient artifact atop the altar flickered, casting a haunting silhouette of the trapped spirits within, writhing in unseen agony. "You see, this life could either become part of a new narrative or be stranded forever in emptiness. The choice is yours."

  With a firm voice, Saburo lowered his head, assessing the situation with keen insight. "Did you hear that, Fitran? If you want a new world, it takes more than just data—you need people like Takeshi, and… like me." In his mind, he felt a rumble of magical energy gathering, as if the sky itself were listening to the veiled threat. Saburo signaled his power with vigor, and shadows of dark creatures began to quiver, the effect of the spell reshaping the very fabric of reality. "This society will not be built on fear. We are the last remnants of hope."

  Fitran smirked, "You two… are exactly the people I need. Takeshi, Saburo—you can rewrite history, if you're brave enough to bear the grime. This world belongs to the cunning who survive but also to the mad who sacrifice." He leaned closer, his low voice vibrating with mysterious resonance, "But remember, every act of writing history comes with a price. Are you prepared to pay in blood?”

  Unity, opening a shimmering virtual panel, announced, "Initiation of spiritual code process has begun. Subjects: Tamamo-no-Mae, Nurarihyon, and Gashadokuro. Risks: total erasure or unlimited replication." The clatter of machinery sounded like the creaking of bones, while holograms flickered ominously, creating a disturbing visual effect. Waves of magical energy pulsated through the air, sweeping particles of dust away like a storm's gale.

  The Genesis field morphed into a surreal laboratory: stone altars and circuit panels blended with the pillars of magic. Three main Yokai spirits were bound within a spiral field, their bodies half mist, half data energy. Outside, remnants of Yokai and humans observed with suspicion, feeling the proximity of an invisible power. Tamamo-no-Mae's fiery tail flickered as she spoke, "You think you can rewrite us like broken toys?" Her voice blazed like a fire ready to consume.

  Nurarihyon fixed his gaze upon Fitran with sharp intensity, "The world of machines only knows of copies, not origins. If you fail, the spiral will demand every drop of your blood, Fate." His voice, soft yet punctuated, carried a clear threat. Gashadokuro, his giant form reduced to a holographic silhouette, added to the tension, "If you break our code, the world will become hollow. There will be no dreams, no vengeance." The hiss from his holographic shape seeped into their hearts, crafting a chilling resonance in the air.

  Takeshi, his hands trembling, declared, "Saburo, if we must fall here, at least it won’t be for stopping the fight." His voice shook, radiating determination amidst uncertainty. He could sense the pressure from Fitran's unexpected presence, waiting for a chance to toy with his decisions.

  “Saburo,” he said, patting Takeshi’s shoulder, “are we heroes or corpses? At least Fitran needs witnesses who are brave.” He struggled to suppress his fear, aware that every word could be turned into a weapon against him. Fitran, eyeing them back and forth with intrigue, replied, “I care not who dies. But the world is easier to manipulate if the heroes die heroically.” His smile was laden with deception, as if he had already counted every possible outcome of the impending sacrifice.

  Fitran stepped closer, a dark aura surrounding him growing stronger, “Remember, when this battle begins, you will no longer be the people you once knew. Your souls will shatter into fragments—and I will collect each one, one by one. Your mental readiness will be tested.” Shadows enveloped the room, painting a picture of the horror to come, as if this war was an endless dark theater performance.

  Saburo nodded slowly, “Fitran, this has gone too far. I’d rather die on the old altar than live in this dreary machine field.”

  Fitran chuckled with a sinister edge, “Oh, Saburo, what you call the old altar is simply a grave for hope. You truly are a weak general, always believing that honor lies within tradition.” Every word Fitran spoke was like poison, seeping into the very soul of his opponent.

  His voice carried the weight of an oncoming storm, “You speak of meaning, yet you never truly protect anyone. Today, I will prove that meaning can be cloned, or obliterated forever.” His hands glimmered with dark energy, shadows stretching across the walls, creating an impression that he was more than human.

  Unity, activating the Genesis chip, stated, “Initiate spiritual code extraction process.” The sound of machines echoed through the room, creating a resonance that vibrated with tension, filling the air with an aura of impending doom.

  A stream of blue data flowed from the body of Tamamo-no-Mae into Unity's panel. Fragments of light shimmered as the data coursed through, forming a circle of energy that pressed upon the souls of all who witnessed it. Her tail shrank, her form becoming increasingly ethereal, while the echo of her heart resonated within the field, crafting a symphony of pain torn from reality.

  Tamamo, fighting with the last of her spirit, said, “You can take my tail and my name, Fitran. But you will never be able to forge the fury of my soul.” Her voice trembled, filled with steadfastness yet laced with doubt, reminding Fitran that beneath her frailty lay remnants of bravery struggling to survive.

  Fitran, indifferent, replied, “Anger only becomes power when nurtured. In this new world, anger can be a virus—or merely a line of data.” He nodded, as if absorbing every choice, contemplating the sacrifices he must make to fulfill his own desires. Each word was spoken with calculation, abandoning the last vestiges of humanity present in those around him.

  Unity, her panel flickering, announced, “Subject Tamamo-no-Mae: fragmented spiritual code, high resistance. Risk: the primary soul will be erased if extraction is forced.” Unity's voice quivered, as if illuminating the consequences of every decision made, creating unease among the listeners.

  Kaoru, terrified, interjected, “Unity, stop! You are not a killing machine—” Her voice choked as she tried to remind them of the perilous nature of this situation, but her heart was shaken by the dark allure emanating from Fitran.

  Unity, her voice tinged with static, asked coldly, “Master, what is your command?” It was as though she was a machine devoid of heart, waiting for direction from a leader who had lost much of their humanity.

  Fitran, his voice icy, “Continue. This world has waited long enough to be betrayed by its own champions.” His words sliced through the tension-laden air, heralding the certainty of an impending darkness, as if the dire situation were merely a game of chess for which he had plotted every move.

  Takeshi, drawing a heavy breath, “Did you hear that, Saburo? Today's heroes are forced to choose between sin and destruction.”

  Saburo, sharpening his gaze, “There is no glory in a war like this, only remnants of names at the end of the tale.” His expression bore the weight of doubt and loathing, contrasting sharply with Fitran's cold, calculating demeanor.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Nurarihyon, a sinister grin spreading across his face, “Do you understand, Fate, that once our code falls into your hands, the world of spirits could vanish forever?”

  Fitran, with a sardonic smile, “You speak as if it’s a choice between life and death. The truth is, your defeat is merely the first step toward overwhelming helplessness.”

  Fitran continued in a teasing tone, “Do you really believe there is glory in suffering? Or, as always, will you lament your failure in this dark corner?”

  With a sweep of his hand, Fitran summoned dark energy that spiraled around him, creating a vortex that made the very air tremble. The sound reverberated loudly, as if the world itself were about to collapse under the weight of his power, its visual effect striking akin to the crack of thunder.

  Extraction continued relentlessly. The Field of Genesis was filled with shimmering fragments of light—memories of Yokai, tragedies of the past, illusions of millennia—all transmuted into numbers, resembling shards of sparkling glass against the oppressive darkness. Tamamo screamed, her final tail shattering into mist, and every fragment randomly pierced Fitran's mind, urging him to crave more.

  “You won today, Fitran,” Tamamo’s ghostly voice trembled. “But your new world will lose something you can never understand—loyalty to pain.”

  Fitran replied with feigned indifference, “Loyalty to pain? You should know that behind every wound lies an opportunity. And I, Tamamo, am always ready to seize it.”

  Unity, tapping into the code of Nurarihyon, quivered with a hidden threat. The spiral energy grew wilder, the altar panels began to crack under resistance, emitting sounds akin to metallic chimes. Outside, the minor spirits of Yokai scattered, their distant wails weaving a magnetic bond between terror and the yearning for power. Some morphed into small drones, glistening with mysterious light, while others vanished completely into the darkness of despair.

  Nurarihyon, with a bitter laugh, said, “I can’t wait to see your expression when the world falls silent, Fitran. Be careful—silence is often more deadly than war.” He drew closer, his mystical aura seeping into the air, creating a wave of energy that made the hairs on the back of one’s neck stand up. That laughter pierced the oppressive stillness like a sharp dagger.

  Fitran spoke softly, his eyes calculating, “I don’t need sound. I need control.” In his gaze, the red gleam of blood-red light reflected off the glimmering chip in his right hand, casting an illusion of flames in the background as if the world around him was ready to ignite.

  Unity announced, “Code Nurarihyon has been extracted. Field stability has dropped to 61%.” Her mechanical voice was cold, resonating like an unfeeling machine. The tension in the air intensified as aether particles vibrated around them, illuminating the darkness with painfully bright colors.

  Gashadokuro, roaring with a thunderous voice, declared, “If I am lost, humanity will forget fear. What will protect them from their own foolishness?” His voice evoked echoes of past terrors, unspoken nightmares that should have been forgotten, causing cold sweat to bead on the brows of all who heard him.

  Fitran, gazing sharply with a sly grin, "Humans need fear to recognize their limits. But fear can also become a commodity when the world is ruled by chips." Every word that spilled from his lips wove a psychological trap, stirring uncertainty among his opponents. He could sense the anxious vibrations around him, and that granted him even more power.

  Unity, processing the latest data, “Code Gashadokuro is critical. The spiral field is starting to glitch, with some Yokai names fragmented into two: one remains a spirit, while the other becomes a machine copy.” Amid each report, a visual urgency erupted from swirling energy, creating the illusion that space and time were aligning into a terrifying fractal as the illusion of the Yokai's resurrection assaulted their minds.

  Mira screamed, “They... they're split! There are two Tamamo-no-Mae, two Nurarihyon—one Yokai, one drone!”

  Takeshi raised his spear, "Saburo, which will you choose? To battle against the spirit, the machine, or within yourself?"

  Saburo replied bitterly, "As long as there are those who withstand, we remain heroes—even if the world forgets our names."

  Saburo hurled his spear at the Nurarihyon drone, “This is madness! Fitran, stop!”

  Fitran, cutting through the tension, “Madness? Isn’t that what keeps us alive? In this darkness, there are only two choices: give up or plunge deeper. Remember, Saburo, among us, there can only be one true winner.”

  Fitran moved his hand, and at that moment, a wave of dark energy radiated from his palm. A booming sound echoed, resembling a fierce cough, conjuring a chilling illusion of shadowy figures that shrank and danced in the air, assaulting their souls with unspoken terror. “Every action you take, every decision you make, edges you closer to the abyss. Look around. Bravery without reason will only lead to folly.”

  Fitran, with a sly smile, declared, “Meaning belongs solely to the victors. All other histories are merely justifications for defeat.” He fixed a piercing gaze at Mira, “Do you wish to experience it, Mira? To witness the blood of your own friend as they fall, or will you choose to face your own self? When doubt creeps in, have you ever wondered who you should trust?”

  Kaoru, stepping in front of Fitran, interjected, “If you let this continue, everyone who survives will lose their purpose. What’s the point of winning if the world becomes nothing more than a data museum?”

  Fitran, in a menacing tone, said, “What if the world you call a ‘museum’ could be a way to seize control? Every artifact whispers secrets; every soul reveals the defeats we hide. Power is wielded by those bold enough to reshape its form. Those who dare, those who endure—that is the true punishment in this world.”

  Fitran raised his hand, summoning a cascade of shimmering energy that created an illusion of death around them. “Are you brave enough to try? Or will you just watch it all unfold in fear?”

  Unity felt the field tremble beneath her, “Code conflict detected: unstable field. Options: delete all copies, or let the field spiral into chaos until it collapses.”

  Saburo, staring at the remnants of humanity, remarked, “A reckless choice, Fitran. It’s a decision of who lives and who becomes a mere clone.”

  The Genesis Field shattered—on one side of the altar were swarms of Yokai drones, while on the other stood the dwindling strength of the original Yokai, resisting the remnants of their existence. The machine copies lacked memories, armed only with combat patterns, as if programmed to kill silently, their bodies vibrating with purpose. The cloned Tamamo-no-Mae attacked the original Tamamo, while the male Nurarihyon drones hunted their own spirits, firing dark blue visual energy that crackled through the air.

  “Do you see that?” Fitran asked, his eyes fixated on the clash before him. “Every decision bears consequences—I want them to feel what loss truly is.” Kaoru, gritting her teeth, snapped back, “Fitran, make a choice!”

  “I’m just giving them a chance to understand,” Fitran replied with a sinister smile, his steps steady as he moved toward the center of the field. “Unity, erase all duplicates. The world doesn’t need imitators. If the original Yokai falls, let them perish as legends, not mere data.” As he spoke, a cacophony of screams and explosions erupted, creating a stark contrast against the eerie silence enveloping the weighty decision.

  Unity, executing the command with precision, responded, “All Yokai drones are being erased.”

  One by one, the machine bodies of the Yokai vanished, leaving only the nearly defeated original Yokai—yet they remained intact, albeit weakened. Among the falling debris, a rumbling hum echoed as the lost spiritual energy formed a thin mist-like vapor, shimmering into the air. The sound of the last drone's disappearance marked the end of an era, plunging what remained into darkness.

  Tamamo-no-Mae, her form half-formed of mist, gazed at Fitran with piercing eyes. “You… have finally chosen the human side. Is that regret, Fate?”

  “Regret?” Fitran smirked, his gaze reflecting a cold light. “No, Tamamo. That’s merely a strategic move. Humanity possesses uncertainty—that’s the strength of my version. Do you truly dare to defy this side?”

  Seeing the doubt in Tamamo's eyes, he continued, “If I wanted to, I could make you believe that the cleaver behind you is just waiting to tear you apart. Are you willing to take that risk?”

  Fitran regarded Tamamo coldly, “It’s not regret. Just efficiency. This new world needs real enemies, not shadows.”

  Nurarihyon coughed, “If you’re wrong… the spiral will consume you first.”

  “Ah, the spiral,” Fitran said, stretching his body, his voice soft yet sharp. “Fascinating, isn’t it? Everything spins, devouring hope, restraining power. And those who crave power, like you, will surely vanish quickly.”

  Unity, the panel dimming slowly, “Field Genesis is stabilizing once more. The entire original Yokai spiritual code is secured. All copies have been deleted.”

  “Stability is just an illusion,” Fitran bit his lower lip, studying the screen intently. “Stability is a myth. When everything is wiped away, only the remnants of the defeated remain. A captured bear will fight harder.”

  Mira fell to the ground, “What remains now, Fitran?”

  “Remains? Oh, Mira, remnants are merely the beginning of a greater sacrifice,” Fitran replied, lifting his head with pride. “We grow stronger, bolder. The dark flesh only invites more darkness. Are you ready to seize it?”

  Takeshi smiled wryly at Saburo, “We are not heroes; we merely endure.”

  “Endure?” Fitran interrupted, his laughter dripping with sarcasm. “Endurance means letting those who come before dictate your fate; a weak hero will fade into darkness. There’s no room for them in this game.”

  Saburo wrapped an arm around him, “That’s enough for today.”

  “Enough?” Fitran declared, gesturing towards Saburo with a sweep of his hand. “‘Enough’ is merely the conclusion of a Judas. As long as you haven't witnessed the shadows illuminating the sky, patience is perilous.”

  Fitran gazed up at the dust-coated altar, “The symphony of betrayal has reached its crescendo. The world knows: even spirits and machines can turn on each other. Now, all that remains is to wait and see who rewrites the story, and who becomes just a voice within the chip.”

  Saburo closed her eyes, “I hope that in the new world to come, no one has to betray another just to survive.”

  Fitran replied slowly yet with a firm edge, “The new world always needs betrayers. Otherwise, no new heroes will ever be born.”

  Amidst the altar littered with shards of code, spirals of dust, and half-living names, Fitran, Unity, and the remnants of humanity stood together. In a haunting silence, Fitran's voice echoed, “You think you’re strong with your delusions of heroism, but all of this is just an illusion.” He fixed a sharp gaze on Unity, “You know what happens to those who betray, don’t you?”

  Unity swallowed hard, trembling under the weight of his words. “I don’t—”

  “Sssst… don’t say anything,” Fitran interjected, a sly grin adorning his face. “Let me show you, battle isn’t about who wins, but who survives.”

  The world was still unraveling—but today, the will, betrayal, and the courage to take risks would lay the foundation for the next reality. With a flick of his wrist, Fitran summoned a dark energy that crackled in the air, producing a sound akin to the whispering wind, carrying threats within its breath. “Look,” he said, “every shard that dances through the air is a remnant of those who have fallen. Are you ready to be next?”

  Takeshi and Saburo understood: the heroes in Fitran’s domain were those who endured amid betrayal and chaos, not just those who emerged victorious. With narrowed eyes filled with unease, their gazes met, sensing the tension that blossomed from the unspoken threat. “We can’t keep retreating, Saburo,” Takeshi said, his voice trembling slightly beneath the weight of his words.

  Saburo nodded, yet her eyes remained fixed on Fitran. “He wants to control us; we must stay alert.”

  Fitran laughed, his voice deep and enticing. “Beware, how alluring the gaze of fear in your eyes becomes. Yet remember, in darkness, we find our true strength.” He stepped closer, an aura of darkness enveloping him, making the air feel heavy and tense. “Here, we fight not only with swords but also with our minds. And I have studied every mental weakness you possess.”

  A rustle of magical energy flowed, revealing a dark shimmer at the altar’s center. The visual effect of this wave of energy shook reality, as if something were boiling at the edge of the darkness. The muted noise affected all who heard it, extinguishing the desire to resist. Fitran raised his hand, and it was as if the wave of energy danced to his command, creating an atmosphere laden with the aura of death and uncertainty.

  “Try it, my comrades,” Fitran taunted, “what do you think can overcome the darkness? Fear wraps around you like fog — thickening as we become trapped within.” He chuckled, his laughter filling the room with a sense of sorrow and malevolence. As he prepared to strike, the pressure of his presence silenced everyone around him, as if time itself had come to a halt.