The beat of Tsuneoki’s heart rose in his ears. Began chiming in a low hum. A shudder rolled through his chest, that same peculiar trembling taking root in him as well. Again he searched for soldiers, for samurai, for anyone who might be able to offer an explanation for the sickness plaguing this domain.

These people were not whole. Something had clamped down on their minds and taken hold of their thoughts, its grasp unrelenting and merciless. Tsuneoki whistled for his men, this time his cry like that of a water bird, his fear sharpening the sound.

Flee. He signaled his men. Flee this place, at once.

As soon as he relinquished his hold on the young woman’s arm, the buzzing in his ears began dying down. But still the trembling of his body did not cease. In a flash, Tsuneoki turned his gaze to the moon, deep breaths rocking through his chest in an attempt to dispel the shuddering. With utmost control, he asked the night sky to do his bidding. It descended upon him in a rush. A cool shock of moonlight glowed through his veins. He began turning, shifting, an ice-cold fire rippling beneath his skin, his fingertips burning into tendrils of dark smoke, the demon taking shape.

A howl passed his lips, growing more feral with each passing moment. A further warning to all those who followed his orders. Get away, while you still can. He threw his head back—leaning into the cry—and then moved forward, his black bear’s claws landing soundlessly in the soft earth.

As soon as Tsuneoki opened the eyes of the beast he’d channeled for nearly a decade, the twitching figures around him began moving his way. He heard his men shouting beyond the wall, heard them call for Ren, who appeared to be defying his orders, as always. His animalian sight—now unencumbered by darkness—took in the lurching forms around him as they began closing in on him. Backlit by a white moon, Tsuneoki finally caught sight of what he’d sought earlier. A figure on horseback paused in the middle of the winding dirt lane to his right, watching the scene unfold as though it were part of a play.

The rider’s features were masked by a horned helmet, but Tsuneoki recognized the unmistakable outline of a samurai. As the warrior cantered his way, the insignia of the Hattori clan—two arrows facing opposite directions—became clear.

Beside the lone samurai’s feet strolled a ghostly fox, with yellow eyes much like Tsuneoki’s own. Beastly and unnerving. Otherworldly. A creature of magic. A creature that had sold some part of itself to gain this ability, just as Tsuneoki had. Just as Ōkami had, on a dark night many years ago, revenge feeding their choices like dried brush to a flame.

The fox loped closer, the grin on its impish face widening. Without warning, its thoughts invaded Tsuneoki’s mind, shot across the distance with clear intent, its voice rasping and indistinct.

Run, nightbeast. While you still can.

No. Tsuneoki bared his own fangs, giving his wordless reply teeth.

Run or stay and watch as I turn your men into creatures of my bidding. As I steal from you all your thoughts, your hopes, your dreams. Until you are nothing but a husk drifting about at my whim.

Tsuneoki widened his stance, driving his heavy paws into the ground, anchoring himself to the earth. Preparing for combat. The fox stopped gliding toward him. Glittering white smoke—a preternatural mist—began swirling around its feet.

Don’t be a fool, it said.

Tsuneoki threw back his head and let loose a mournful bay. A howl meant to drive his men back to the forest. A howl demanding them to flee. Demanding Ren to listen and obey, for once.

The fox’s grin broadened as it quirked its head. We are both creatures possessed by wind and sky. Honor me, and I shall honor you. Defy me, and I shall drive you—and yours—to utter ruin.

In the shadows, the samurai on horseback continued watching. Waiting. Tsuneoki began his charge, his claws spreading into a dark fog. The fox responded in kind, the wisps of shimmering white haze spinning in lazy eddies.

Two billowing clouds of smoke—one light and one dark—clashed together in the middle of the winding dirt lane, their figures trailing mists of magic, their bodies slamming into one another with a force that cracked through the night air. The fox was smaller, but faster. Its first gash was just below Tsuneoki’s snout, clearly aimed for his neck—a wound meant to kill rather than incapacitate. In response, Tsuneoki feigned a yelp, limping back, luring the grinning fox closer. Then he pounced, slashing into the creature with a sideswipe of his front paw, catching just below one of its front legs. The fox cried out, then locked its yellow eyes upon him. The color in their centers caught flame. A sinister sneer curled the edges of its black lips. It twisted, the smoke around it dark now instead of light.

Before Tsuneoki could devise a plan, something ripped through his side. A flash of heat tore beneath his ribs, clamoring for his heart, its nails sharp, its bite remorseless. The clawing heat grasped for his mind, twisting and unraveling whatever it managed to uncover. It sank its fangs, trying to force him under its control, but Tsuneoki fought back. Pressed the demon’s magic away from the brink, the effort causing his sight to blur.

With a snarl, the fox wreaked a new kind of havoc as its retribution, stealing from Tsuneoki his most treasured memories, his most secret desires.

What began as a bear’s roar of pain faded to the cry of a young man.

Tsuneoki landed against the damp earth with a thud, no longer a creature of magic. The wound across his torso—a slash of bleeding fire—flowed into the ground. The fiery touch of the fox burned through his skull.

Foolish, foolish boy. The fox tsked as it floated in a circle around him. It stopped to inspect its own wound. Licked the blood from it with complete leisure.

Yumi is her name? It smiled serenely. When I find her, your sister will pay for this.

Marked for Life

The emperor and his elder brother moved through the bowels of the imperial palace—a place where only the lowliest of servants trudged alongside scuttling creatures and reeking refuse. Deep in the shadows beneath a trifling excuse for a window were two single cells barred by iron doors, braced by wooden rafters. Each cell possessed a grate for waste and a floor covered in rotting straw. Nothing more.

It was a small and spare space, but the Golden Castle did not have need of a prison beyond this. Those with the gall to offer insult to the emperor or any of his liege lords were faced with one of two punishments: death or banishment, with death culminating in any number of colorful ways: being dragged through the streets by the throat, hung upside down and drowned, stretched from the ramparts, thrown into a venomous snake pit, or—if luck was at all on the offender’s side—being simply beheaded.

And those who were banished?

They were marked for life.

Roku and Raiden made their way to the cell in the far corner, with four imperial guards at their flank, and the scarred man dressed in shadowy robes still in tow, bearing the iron trunk stained with dried blood.

Crouched against the stone wall sat an unassuming figure. A tangle of dark hair shrouded his features. His black kosode was coated in ash and blood and grime. The shifting moonlight above threw the maze of rafters into sharp relief, cutting angles across the floor beside his feet.

“Takeda Ranmaru,” Roku began in a soft voice. “It is a great honor to finally meet you.”

Ōkami did not move. Failed to acknowledge the greeting with even a glance.

“On your knees, you filth,” Raiden said, his fingers twitching above the white snakeskin samegawa of his katana. “Bow before your emperor.”

Save for a small smile, Ōkami remained seated amid the filthy straw, stretching his legs before him as though he were blissfully unaffected by Raiden’s threat.

Roku grinned slowly. “A rather pitiful show of defiance.”

Still no sign of a response.

At that, Raiden nodded, silently ordering one of the imperial guards to unlock the cell.

The emperor raised a hand to stop them, his head canted to one side. “Words of kindness do not seem to move you,” Roku mused. “And my brother has already opted for intimidation. I’ve lowered myself to base insults, all in the span of only a few moments. What is left?”

Ōkami glanced at the hooded figure hovering to one side. Studied the dark trunk clasped between the man’s bony hands, and the hungry sneer of his cracked lips. “Threats.” His response was pronounced in a cool, unhurried fashion. Though appearing at ease, his body remained carved from stone, like a somnolent mountain.