Asagawa Tora walked through the streets of the quiet, snowy village. The world was silent. Not a single soul came to greet him. Dusty snow tumbled over his boots as he walked through the abandoned streets.

“What on Earth happened here?”

He ordered his men to search the village for survivors. Something had gone down here, something big. He hadn’t heard reports of any battles taking place in this region and yet the village showed clear signs of attack. Houses were on fire, sending dark smoke high into the sky. The snow, piled high despite the rest of the country experiencing the first signs of spring, was splashed with red.

Blood.

He had a bad feeling about this. Like the rest of the country, the north was at constant war with itself. It felt like not a day passed without someone taking offense and sending their clan into battle over it. But this was a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Tora pushed open the door next to him and it fell to the floor with a loud bang. He stepped over it and into the house.

“Oh gods…”

He was assaulted by a foul smell. The floor, walls and roof were painted with streaks of red. The owners of the tiny abode, or at least what remained of them, lay in a pile of mutilated flesh in the middle of the room. Nearby sat a tea pot, completely undisturbed. There wasn’t even a single drop of blood on it. A single cup sat next to it, a few dregs of tea leaves sitting in the bottom. It was as though it sat in its own space and time, oblivious to the devastation that had taken place around it.

“What could do such a thing?” he muttered. This wasn’t the work of humans. He spotted a tiny cot in the corner of the room. Unlike the tea pot it was also covered in blood. Tora swallowed and prepared himself for the worst. He stepped through the bodies as carefully as he could, which was difficult when pieces of them littered the floor. What a horrible way to die, he thought. It was one thing to kill a man on the battlefield, to watch his body drop lifelessly before you when he was also trying to end your life, but this, well this was something else entirely.

The room was eerily quiet, the only sound he could hear was the fire crackling outside. He knelt down and pulled back the blanket, steeling his heart in preparation for what he might see; there was nothing. The cot was empty. Tora’s head dropped in relief. But if it was empty, where was the baby?

“Sir! You’d better come and take a look at this!”

One of his men was standing in the doorway. He faced recoiled in horror when he saw the state of the room. Tora dropped the blanket and stood up.

“Set it on fire,” he commanded. The soldier nodded his head but was horrified by what he saw before him. “May these poor souls find peace in the afterlife.”

“May they find peace…” the soldier repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. Tora patted him on the shoulder as he exited. The man was young, perhaps only 15 at best. He knew his father, a good man who had died in the service of the Fuuma clan. The north was a tough place, and the boy had no family of his own left. No blood family, anyway. Tora’s men were his family now. They would die for one another, and he would die for them. It was how they survived in the north.

A group of soldiers were huddled around something nearby, whispering in hushed tones. They stood to attention as Tora approached.

“What did you find?”

A large body nearly twice the size of a small man lay motionless in the snow. As he got closer he could see the red skin beneath the straw leggings and coat covering its body. Large horns protruded from beneath its long, messy hair, and what appeared to be pieces of flesh were stuck between its teeth.

A namahage.

“What’s this doing down here at this time of year?” he asked in surprise. “They don’t usually bother us until the new year.”

A pitchfork was sticking out of its back and several arrows protruded out of its chest. There were numerous slashes on its arms and legs. The villagers had certainly put up a fight before they managed to bring this thing down.

“That’s not the only thing, sir,” one of his men said, handing him a torn piece of paper. It was a charm. A common charm to keep demons out. “Doesn’t look like it was very helpful.”

Tora looked around the village once more. The entire place was on fire, several buildings completely destroyed. The villagers had either all fled or been killed where they slept. Now he had an onmyodo charm to protect its owners from harm. It clearly hadn’t worked. If the owners were still alive he’d suggest they find the onmyoji and get their money back.

“You know what all this is, right?” he spoke to the soldier who had handed him the charm.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Nothing. Behead that thing. We’ll take it back to Lord Fuuma. Check the rest of the village and then burn it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another soldier approached him.

“Sir, we found tracks leading out of the village.”

“Tracks?” It had been snowing on and off for the past week. How could there be tracks?

“Well, to be more accurate, a track, sir. A single one.”

Tora was confused. “Take me there.”

The soldier was right. A large, single track led out of the village from one of the nearby houses and continued into the forest. The ground beneath it was scorched, like it had been set on fire. He walked into the house and nearly threw up as soon as he entered. He turned and pushed the soldier back.

“You don’t want to go in there.”

Something awful had befallen this village. He needed to get back to Lord Fuuma. Something evil was afoot.