August 7, 2000, Kitano Village.
Aoki Akawa looked at the brawny Igarashi Amaha and said with interest, "That Innate Technique of yours really is incredible. What a shame you ended up trapped by monkeys alongside a useless loser like me. What a shame."
"Stop teasing me. Get me a few more Cursed Spirits so I can get you out sooner." Igarashi Amaha lay there, his skin snow-white and unscathed, speaking with narrowed eyes.
"Come on, this isn't Tokyo. Where am I supposed to find that many Cursed Spirits for you to 'eat'? Cut me some slack, will you?" After a few complaints, Aoki Akawa tugged at the chains and continued, "These chains are almost as thick as my head. Who knows what those monkeys bought them for."
"Who kno..." Before Igarashi Amaha could finish, the sound of chains interrupted him.
"Here he comes again..." Aoki Akawa smiled at Igarashi Amaha, his face pale.
Clack, clack! Clack, clack! Clack, clack!
No! Those are high heels!
As the sound drew closer, Igarashi Amaha's expression darkened. He wasn't afraid of that monkey's beatings. He only needed to "eat" one grade 4 Cursed Spirit to recover from wounds like those. What he feared was... the unknown that came without warning...
Two figures emerged in the torchlight: the village chief and a... beautiful woman...
And this woman's status was far from ordinary. The village chief, who normally looked down his nose at everyone, was now attending her like a dog. Just who...
Holding a torch in one hand, the village chief pointed at Igarashi Amaha with the other and began introducing him, looking somewhat nervous. "Miss Sato, this is him. This brat is the monster I caught recently. Look at that face, and that skin. Both are exceptional. And he's extremely strange, too. I beat him black and blue one day, and by the next day, he was back to normal. Um... are you satisfied...?"
"Oh?" Hearing that last part, the woman raised an eyebrow with interest. "Is that true?"
The village chief immediately grew anxious. "Oh, please, how could you say that? I might dare lie to anyone else, but never you! Um... um..." He paced anxiously, then suddenly slapped his forehead. Hastily pulling off his belt, he offered it to the woman. "If you don't believe me, try whipping him a few times. I guarantee he'll be healed by tomorrow."
The woman glanced at the belt beside her in disgust. "Get away from me. No need to test it. Go outside and get your money from Yokoyama. Tell him to bring my tools, too. Get lost."
"Ah, yes, yes! I'll get lost right away. I'll leave you to it." The village chief broke into a delighted smile, hauling his bulky body away at a run.
The woman and Igarashi Amaha looked each other over. Neither spoke.
After a moment, the woman smiled at Igarashi Amaha. "You're quite good. What's your name?"
"Igarashi Amaha."
At the surname Igarashi, the woman looked distracted for an instant, then burst into laughter. "Hahaha! That useless idiot did well, finding such fine merchandise as you. I'm getting more and more excited."
And Igarashi Amaha noticed that instant of distraction.
Hurried footsteps approached. A man dressed entirely in black ran over with a golden chair on his back and a toolbox in his hand.
Bang!!
The man in black set the golden chair down on an open patch of ground nearby with an enormous crash. Yet without the slightest breathlessness, he walked over to the woman and said respectfully, "Young miss, I've brought everything."
But the sight sent waves through Igarashi Amaha's heart. That chair... was made of pure gold, and it was solid. It had to weigh at least five hundred kilograms, yet that man had lifted it and run with ease. This man... was strong!
"Lock him onto Blood Claw."
Blood Claw, is that golden chair's name...? Doesn't sound very good...
"Yes."
Without resisting at all, Igarashi Amaha was locked onto it. His entire body was restrained, even his fingers.
Just as Igarashi Amaha thought this was merely a chair made of ordinary gold, a sense of weakness washed over him. His Cursed Energy had been suppressed...
Then the woman's voice rang out. "Well? Your Cursed Energy's suppressed, isn't it? Hehe. I paid a fortune to have someone make this. A masterpiece of the Cursed Technique Spirit Suppression."
"Young miss." The man in black opened the toolbox, revealing one bloodstained instrument of torture after another.
The woman named Sato put on a pair of red leather gloves, gracefully took a whip from the box, and began talking to herself. "The grade 3 Cursed Tool Demon's Despair. Its ability isn't anything remarkable. Anyone else might not even give it a glance, but to me, it's a treasure. Do you know what its ability is? Just pour in Cursed Energy, and it can multiply 'pain.' Well? Pretty good, isn't it? Hehe."
Crack!!
"Aaaaah-" Igarashi Amaha's whole body began trembling, and a sheen of cold sweat instantly appeared on his forehead.
Having suddenly lashed out, the woman burst into laughter at the trembling Igarashi Amaha. "Well? Hurts, doesn't it? Hahahaha! Less damage, more pain. That's Demon's Despair, a Cursed Tool that would drive even gods and demons to despair if it struck them. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a little more. It won't do any real damage. A handsome young man like you? I couldn't bear to kill you so soon. Hahahahaha!"
Crack! Crack! Crack!
His neck, chest, and abdomen were all struck.
"Aaaaaaaaaaah!" Igarashi Amaha's agonized screams echoed through the basement.
Watching Igarashi Amaha suffer inhuman torture, Aoki Akawa looked somewhat dazed. So... so awful. Each scream made his fingers tremble involuntarily.
Whoosh!
There was a rush of air. Feeling the large hand clamped tightly around his neck, Aoki Akawa struggled to breathe. He strained to glance at the man in black behind him, wanting to speak, but his throat refused to give him the chance.
"Play dead properly. Don't distract the young miss. There won't be a next time." The man in black spoke in an icy voice, then vanished from the spot.
Aoki Akawa slumped there, desperately covering his mouth to keep any heavy panting from bringing death upon him.
Crack! Crack!
"Aaaaaaaaaaah!!!!"
The screams continued.
His eyes bloodshot, Igarashi Amaha looked at the woman before him. He asked no questions and made no pleas for mercy. He simply stared fixedly at her, as though trying to carve her likeness into his soul.
"Nice eyes. I like them. Yokoyama, the pliers." The woman wound the whip around Igarashi Amaha's body, took the pliers the man in black handed her, and spoke again. "..."
Please give whatever support you can. I'd be endlessly grateful.