Even though his eyes were closed, his whole world spun. The deafening sounds of the crowd, the shuffling of the riot police, and the wail of sirens cascaded into his pounding skull. His eyes fluttered open, seeing the canvas covered with his thick dark blood. His opponent crumbled over in agony, broken and beaten from the brutal assault. The pain was temporary, but the wound to his pride and ego, those cannot withstand. His affiliations, his curse, stretched thin by the chains of his servitude. Upon this bloody canvas, the crossroads.
Khan lifted his weary form, the black viscous blood dripping from his skull in multiple places. They did not hold back, and focused their attack solely on him. Once his formidable opponent crumbled, they focused their attack on the Mongolian warrior. Good. Bold pulled himself to his feet, resting for a moment against the turnbuckle, glancing at the carnage in the ring, the blood splattered across the canvas. The stench of the yakuza hung in the air. Was it orchestrated by them? AAPW is one of their subsidiaries, an extension by hand.
The Mongolian dropped to the mat and rolled out of the ring. Work had to be done, and it had to be done quickly.
—
A couple of days after the event, Bold’s head was completely healed, but the inside was still burning with rage. He had to be careful, because the Yakuza pulled their move, injuring Khan without a second thought. The card was posted, a double header, back to back nights with title matches. This plays right into the Yakuza’s hands as well, unbeknownst to Mudcock. Each title must be defended, but only one a night. By having two shows, night after night, both titles need to be defended. The Yakuza know that Khan would be weak after his first night, especially if they withhold the Yokai blood, so even if Khan wanted to retaliate, he wouldn’t be able to.
But he wasn’t going down without a fight. His first night on the island revealed the dark underbelly of the Japanese supernatural world. The first sign of the macabre and the divine. The red moon. It was likely a pair of Yokai, different feeding habits and different corpses laid bare. They have yet to be captured by the Yakuza, continuing their feeding habits free from the grasp of chains. One seems to devour the souls of their prey, while the other devours their will. They don’t require sustenance like a vampire, only requiring a bit of their prey’s energy. This made them a very powerful duo, and almost uncapturable by the Yakuza. This makes them powerful beyond even their own comprehension.
The Mongolian vampire sat, watching the night sky, waiting for the change of hue of the night sky. Sometimes it is the moon that changes, sometimes the clouds obtain the hue and texture of blood, revealing the cursed hunt of that particular Yokai. The lore was accurate and one cannot escape their true form and feeding habits.
—
The vampire waited patiently, night after night while the matches drew closer and closer. Two opponents that he wasn’t even preparing for. His past self would beat the unliving shit out of him if he could. He knew both of his foes. Oswald Knight, a peculiar man of talent, beset by his own woes and misfortunes in the form of his brother. His focus remains steady on his Submission Title. However nothing can be given without being earned. Despite the pressure and thoughts for the next match, Khan had to give everything he had in both matches, or else he couldn’t call himself a true warrior in the end.
After his match with Oswald, he is set to defend his Heavyweight Title against Saiko Sasori with his AAPW title. Their best against him. If he could do what they did the other night without weapons, it would be a daunting match. If only Bold could find a weakness, then he could…
His thoughts trailed off, smelling the tantalizing scent of fresh blood in the air, and seeing the clouds in the sky darken to a crimson hue. It was time.
The Mongolian vampire dashed through the streets, faster than a shadow escaping light. His focus was to reach them before they retreated back into nothingness once again. Luckily because of Blovid-13, the streets were still barren, and there were no witnesses to the vampire’s brazen disregard to his presence.
Khan happened upon the scene, a smashed wall to a dwelling, blood scattered heavily across the floor inside, and mutilated corpses in positions of panic on the inside. His stomach rumbled, and he was drawn towards the fresh corpses, the blood waiting to be consumed, or wasted if left unattended. The vampire shook off his urges, smelling the scent of sulfur, ozone like from a lightning strike - a fresh, sweet, and pungent smell - and the unmistakable scent of decaying cherry blossoms. He found his prey.
His vision granted him fleeting glances of one of the creature’s feet, a massive six toed foot with massive claws on the tips. It would be easy to track them from the vibrations from the asphalt alone, possibly triggering a small quake enough to register on the Richter scale. The seismic vibrations made it very easy to track the large Yokai with ease, step by step, the earth shook with fear, as the large creature moved through the dark city streets.
Bold closed in on his prey, but as soon as he thought he could spot them, the footsteps stopped. The vampire slowed down, glancing around at the place he last felt their presence. There were a couple alley ways in between some buildings, but no discernable entry for a creature that large. Chuluun rounded one of the corners to face a direct dead end, nothing on this side. He moved swiftly to the next alley, again, nothing. He moved onto a third, and saw a passageway through. He must close in on his mark. He swiftly ran to the other side, coming towards an open spot between buildings.
Everything went black
—
In the heart of the Mongolian steppes, where the wind whispers ancient tales across endless grasslands, Chuluun Bold readied himself for the most anticipated event of the year: the Great Horseback Archery Competition. This wasn't just any competition; it was the stage where the finest archers from every corner of the vast Mongol Empire gathered to test their skills. For Chuluun, the challenge was personal. His greatest rival, Bekter, had bested him the previous year, and Chuluun was determined to seize victory this time.
The early morning air was crisp as Chuluun adjusted his bow, a beautifully crafted piece of wood adorned with intricate carvings that told stories of his ancestors. His horse, a sleek and strong bay stallion named Ayanga, nuzzled his shoulder, sensing the tension in his rider. Chuluun had trained for months, perfecting his technique and building his endurance. Each day, he’d practice shooting from a galloping horse, hitting targets set at varying distances, refining every movement until it was as smooth as the rolling steppes.
Chuluun’s preparation was thorough. He had consulted with his elders, drawing on their wisdom about the nuances of the competition. They had reminded him that while skill and precision were paramount, strategy and mental fortitude were equally crucial. He knew Bekter well—his rival was not just a formidable archer but also a master of psychological warfare, often trying to unnerve his opponents with a show of bravado.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, the vast arena of the competition filled with spectators and competitors alike. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, and the air buzzed with excitement and the smell of roasted meats from the nearby tents. Chuluun surveyed the scene, his gaze locking with Bekter’s across the field. Bekter, with his piercing eyes and confident stance, seemed to relish the challenge.
The competition began with a series of timed events where riders had to shoot at targets while navigating obstacles. Chuluun’s first round was flawless. He maneuvered Khaan with practiced ease, his arrows finding their marks with deadly accuracy. The crowd cheered as he completed the course in record time.
Bekter followed, and as expected, he was exceptional. His horse leaped over hurdles, and his arrows flew with precision, but Chuluun noticed something— his round seemed to be far better than flawless, even beyond perfection. Every arrow that Bekter let loose struck perfectly, as if placed there by the gods.
The final and most anticipated part of the competition was the “Long Shot” event, where archers had to hit targets from a great distance. This was where Bekter had excelled the previous year. Bekter took his place at the starting line. The signal was given, and rather than stay straight, his horse reared up on its hindlegs. From that position, Bekter let loose his arrow. It seemed to sit in still air, before hitting the target dead center to thunderous applause.
Undeterred, Chuluun took his place at the starting line. The target was a tiny speck against the horizon, barely visible but glinting in the sunlight. He closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself. Ayanga pawed the ground impatiently, sensing his rider’s focus.
When the signal was given, Chuluun and Ayanga sprang into action. The wind was strong, but Chuluun adjusted his aim. The rhythmic pounding of hooves and the rush of air felt like an extension of his own body. He drew his bow with a fluid motion and let the arrow fly. It seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then struck the target with a satisfying thud.
He expected to hear the cheers of the crowd, but the sky started to darken, and where his arrow had pierced was Bekter’s body, pierced perfectly in the chest by Bold’s arrow, bleeding profusely from his wound and coughing up blood. Bold wavered, sensing the shifting change in the world, as the wind started to howl. Bold turned towards the stand only to see the empty steppes. Turning again back to Bekter, he saw that he too was gone, only his blood lingering on the dusty field.
???: You have strayed from your path.
Bold turned to see five hooded figures standing where the crowd had once before. This seemed familiar, but in his mind he couldn’t place them.
???: Dead you are not. My training, you succeeded, death’s not here to greet thee.
Bold could see the obvious skeletal facial structure of the one who spoke, not recognizing them.
???: Your training with me will come into play next. Appeal to what they want, see their goals, advance their goals and you will win allies. Do not try hypnosis, it will not suffice.
Bold could see the figure of a very petite woman under those robes, speaking as if they were lovers at one point in time, giving instructions to overcome their odds.
Bold: What am I to do?
The wind started to howl, picking up speed like a monsoon before drowning out more words. The figures waited a moment before speaking all in unison, overpowering the wailing wind.
Figures 5: Wake up!
—
Khan felt the all too familiar feeling of his blackish blood pouring from an open wound on his head, as well as the ringing in his ears and pounding headache. A very deep and almost reverberating voice rang out to mix with the tinnitus.
???: He not dead. Me smash again?
Khan’s instincts were to move immediately, but the second voice responded, giving him some reassurance. It was a very light feminine voice, sounding if it was echoing on the wind.
???: Not yet, no normal mortal could survive that blow. Let’s figure out what this man wants.
Khan’s eyes opened up, seeing the two Yokai in the flesh, the smell of brimstone, ozone, and cherry blossoms overwhelming in this alleyway.
Khan's vision cleared, revealing the imposing figure of an Oni looming above him. The creature’s towering frame was highlighted by rippling muscles and a jagged grin, its crimson skin almost gleaming in the faint moonlight. The massive tetsubo, the iron-studded club that had struck him, rested over its shoulder, ready to come crashing down again at a moment’s notice. The smell of brimstone clung to the Oni like a second skin, and each breath seemed to carry the weight of the mountain it hailed from.
To the Oni's side stood the Onryo, her presence ghostly yet somehow tangible. Her black hair, dripping wet as if she had just risen from the depths of a river, hung over her pale face like a curtain. Her eyes glowed faintly from behind the strands, holding a dangerous mixture of curiosity and malice. The scent of cherry blossoms drifted from her as if carried on an unnatural breeze, yet it was somehow laced with the odor of decay and stagnant water.
Khan blinked, trying to shake the fog from his mind as his body ached from the Oni's devastating blow. The vampiric regeneration in his blood was already working, knitting together the torn flesh on his head, but he knew better than to rely on it fully in a situation like this. He’d faced many monsters, both human and supernatural, but an Oni and an Onryo were a rare and dangerous pairing.
He sat up slowly, eyes darting between the two Yokai. The Oni tensed, clearly expecting an attack or an attempt to flee. Khan raised a hand slowly, palms open to show he meant no immediate harm.
Khan: I... I'm not here to harm you.
The Oni's deep growl rumbled again, but this time the Onryo spoke before it could act.
Onryo: Then what is your purpose? Few chase into the realm of Yokai uninvited.
Her voice carried that ethereal echo, as though her words slipped through time itself. Khan could feel the pressure of her presence, unnatural, suffocating, as if reality bent slightly around her.
Khan took a deep breath. He was weakened, but he wasn’t helpless, and the Oni's club hadn't done enough to stop him from thinking.
Khan: I came for your assistance. Your… fellow Yokai are under lock and chain, enslaved by powerful men. They are trapped and unable to escape their iron grasp.
The Oni's grip tightened on its tetsubo, ready to crush Khan if he made the wrong move, but the Onryo's curiosity flickered brighter.
Onryo: You reek of blood and desperation, but there is something else… a hunger. You hide a secret under the guise of a warrior. There is a reason you wear the same shackles as those you are trying to free.
Khan's chest tightened as the Onryo's words cut deeper than any blade. The truth she spoke was undeniable—he wasn’t just a warrior trying to free others. He, too, was bound by his servitude to the Yakuza. The Yokai blood was the key and tool, his endless hunger for strength. His curse.
He straightened himself, locking eyes with the Onryo, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the growing tension between them.
Khan: You’re right. I’m no saint. I’m as much a slave to the Yakuza as the ones I want to free. But I’m here because I know something they don’t—something that could tip the scales. The Yakuza think they can control the Yokai, chain them to their will. But I’ve seen it firsthand... they’re wrong.”
The Oni snorted, the sound like a miniature earthquake, clearly unimpressed.
Oni: Yakuza weak. Why not just smash them?
Khan's gaze flickered to the Oni, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Khan: “Because their grip is tighter than you think. It's not just force or muscle that keeps the Yokai in line. It’s power, knowledge of their weaknesses, manipulation, and methods to control them. That’s why I need your help.”
The Onryo tilted her head, wet strands of hair parting to reveal her pale face. Her expression remained unreadable, but her voice, as light as it was, held a tone of skepticism.
Onryo: And why would we help you? A mongrel vampire bound by his own lust for power, bleeding on our streets? What could you possibly offer?
Khan hesitated, knowing that he stood on a knife's edge. His next words could either sway them to his side or seal his fate beneath the Oni's club. The wind blew softly through the alley, carrying the smell of decay and cherry blossoms as he steeled himself for the gamble.
Khan: I know where they’re keeping a powerful Yokai. They are one the who is supplying the Yokai blood that is keeping the rest under servitude. She is the heart of the operation. Without the Yokai blood to enslave a Yokai, they cannot control them. You both don’t drink blood, and therefore are not under the subjugation of the Yakuza. One devours souls, the other... consumes will. The Yakuza will try to enslave you using the same methods, just like the others. If you help me free them, we can strike back together. No more chains, no more control. Just Yokai, free and unleashed on those who’ve hunted you.
The Oni's eyes narrowed, glancing at the Onryo as if waiting for her judgment. The Onryo remained silent for a long moment, her presence growing heavier as she considered Khan’s words. Finally, she spoke, her voice as cold as the grave.
Onryo: Freedom comes with a price. What will you sacrifice, vampire? Your strength, your life, or your loyalty?
Khan’s throat tightened, but he knew he had no choice. If he didn’t do this, the Yakuza’s hold on him—and on the Yokai—would never be broken. He had to risk everything.
Khan: I’ll give you my loyalty. Without your help, I will remain forever a slave to the Yakuza. With my loyalty to you, I would be among those similar to me. Help me, and I’ll serve your cause.
The Onryo’s dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, and the Oni cracked a grin, baring its sharp fangs. The deal was made, and Khan knew there was no turning back.
Onryo: Then we will hunt... together.
As the pact was sealed, the air around Khan grew colder. The Onryo stepped closer, her ghostly form almost brushing against his skin. Her voice, now devoid of its earlier malice, was softer, like a whisper carried on the wind.
Onryo: Then we are bound by blood and vengeance. The Yakuza will fall, and their chains will crumble. But remember, vampire… we expect nothing less than total commitment. Betray us, and you will suffer a fate worse than death.
Khan nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of his words. He had gambled his future, his soul, and now there was no turning back. But in that moment, he also felt something else—a flicker of hope. For the first time in years, he wasn’t alone in this fight. He had allies, dangerous and unpredictable, but allies nonetheless.
The Oni’s booming laugh echoed through the alley as he hefted his tetsubo over his shoulder. His massive frame cast a shadow over Khan as the towering Yokai leaned down, looking him in the eye.
Oni: Good! Me like fight! Smash Yakuza good! We start now?
Khan chuckled weakly, pushing himself fully to his feet. His wounds had almost healed, the vampire blood within him working its magic, but the battle ahead would require more than brute strength. He looked between the Oni and the Onryo, his newfound companions in this twisted war against the Yakuza.
Khan: Soon. We need to strike when they least expect it. First, we need to create the cracks in their defenses. Once they’re free, we’ll have the advantage.
The Oni grunted in agreement, while the Onryo remained silent, her pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Together, the two Yokai and the vampire made their way through the dark alley, the scent of cherry blossoms, brimstone, and decay following them like a foreboding omen.
As they reached the edge of the city, Khan paused, looking back at the neon-lit skyline. This place had been his prison, but now, with the Oni’s raw strength and the Onryo’s cunning, he finally had the means to tear down the Yakuza’s empire from within.
Khan: The Yakuza think they can control everything—humans, Yokai, even me. But they’re wrong.
The Onryo floated beside him, her wet hair brushing against his arm as she whispered.
Onryo: They are about to learn the price of playing with the darkness.
With a final glance toward the city, the hunt had begun. The Mongolian vampire, the Oni, and the Onryo moved as one, shadows slipping into the night. When the time was right, they would unleash their fury upon the Yakuza. The blood moon still hung low in the sky, casting its eerie light over the city. It was a symbol, a warning to those who dared to oppose them. The Yakuza’s reign was coming to an end, and Khan, Chuluun Bold, would be the one to drive the final stake through its heart. The Yokai were rising, and the Yakuza’s days were numbered.