Epigraph

It was an odd-looking god, its enormous body a dull gray illuminated by the light of the braziers. It had finely honed muscles and six powerful arms that extended from its body. In five of its hands it held a heart, a kidney, a liver, a spleen, and a lung, and in its sixth it gripped a spear, pointing upward as if to pierce the heavens. Its eyes were wide, with a wicked smile so broad it seemed the corners of its mouth would tear. Coupled with its imposing height, it was the very model of wrath, ready to swallow humanity whole.

Before that god stood hundreds of monks, fighting for space despite the room’s spaciousness. They threw themselves at the foot of the statue, repeating their prayers with harmonized zeal. Each of them bore tattoos across their necks and faces, dozens of tightly packed letters spelling out their holy scriptures.

“““Won-culvero-kelhasha.”””

“““Won-halcuro-kelhasha.”””

Individually, the monks’ voices were barely above a whisper, but they combined to fill the room with sonorous chants, like ghouls screaming in the night.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in strode the leader of the sect, wearing a crimson robe. In a commanding voice, he declared, “Bring the five vital organs before the altar.” In response, the monks in the room separated, forming a path. Two warrior monks escorted the leader toward the altar, dragging between them a small girl clad in a thin robe.

“Won-aspal-shad-karna…”

As the leader arrived at the altar and kneeled in prayer, the other monks followed suit.

“““Won-aspal-shad-karna. Won-aspal-shad-karna…”””

A strange mood descended on the temple. The monks grew more and more fervent. At the center of these prayers, the girl trembled, barely able to form the syllables on her lips.

“W-won-aspal…shad-ka-karna…”

The leader stood up, and beneath his crimson robe glinted the blade of a dagger. One of the warrior monks handed him a jar of dark-gray liquid, into which he steeped the dagger’s blade before taking the girl’s arm…and pressing the grip of the knife into her hand.

“The previous priestess granted us one of her organs. Her predecessor managed two before she died. Show us the strength of your devotion and let your soul be transformed by the cycle of death and rebirth.”

The girl’s breaths quickened, and her hands shook as beads of sweat trickled down her neck. With the warrior monks supporting her by the shoulders, she shed her clothes and brought the tip of the knife to the smooth skin of her stomach.

“…Ahh… Aaahhh…! Hahhh! Hahhh! Hahhh!”

As the monks’ fervent chanting continued, the leader leaned over to his escorts and whispered into their ears, “Her faith wavers. Assist her. We need at least two before she dies.”

The two guards nodded. Meanwhile, the tip of the girl’s dagger reached her soft skin, parting the flesh and drawing blood.

“N-no… I…I can’t do this… I can’t…!” she cried.

“All is prepared. Offer the five vital organs before the altar.”

“Nooo! Heeelp! Somebody, help!” screamed the girl, and she swung the dagger, plunging it into the eye of one of the warrior monks. As he staggered back, she tried to run, but the chanting monks formed a wall and penned her in, and the other guard grabbed her by the ankle, toppling her over.

“Very well. End it quickly,” said the leader.

“Understood.”

“No! Nooo! Mother! Sister! Help meee!”

As one guard held the girl down, the other drew and slowly raised his sword. As he brought it down toward her neck, there was a glimmer of light and a metallic clang as something streaked through the air and snapped the guard’s sword blade off at the hilt.

“…Rrrgh! What…?!”

The guard stared at the perfectly clean break, mesmerized, when…

Gaboom!

A brilliant red crimson tengu mushroom forced its way out of the hilt, knocking the guard off his feet and into the altar.

“Heretics!”

“Protect His Eminence!”

The monks moved to surround their leader when a red blur flew high over the crowd and pierced the chest of the giant idol. In an instant, crimson threads of mycelium swept across the figure before Gaboom! Gaboom! A host of deep red mushrooms shattered the entire statue in two.

“A-aahhh! Lord Mashouten!!”

As the warrior monks attempted to quell the followers’ panic, one last mighty arrow struck the nose of the statue, and Bagooooom! An explosive mushroom blew the god’s face to bits. Out of its neck now grew a brilliant mushroom cap, atop which landed a single human figure, his cloak fluttering around his shoulders.

Crimson hair that flickered like a flame in the wind. Eyes that gleamed like emeralds, around the right of which was a tattoo that glowed red in the light of the braziers. He had the presence of a god…no, a demon, and his soul seemed to rage with all the fires of Hell itself, striking fear into the hearts of the people gathered there.

With a glint of his menacing fangs, he yelled out over the crowd.

“You would sacrifice a child to atone for your sins…?! If an offering is what you need, then offer up your own heads, you heartless bastards!”

His voice, like lightning, gripped the monks’ hearts and echoed throughout the hall.

“I-it’s Igni!”

“It’s Susano’o!”

“He bested our Lord Mashouten!”

Spurred on by those screams of terror, the monks panicked and tried to flee the hall. One figure, however, started pushing its way back through the swelling tide of people, approaching the altar as the warrior monks fought not to be swept away by the crowd.

“Watch out! He’s not alone!”

“That heretic! He’s going for our founder!”

“Sorry, go to sleep!”

As a guard slashed at him with his sword, the strange monk deftly avoided the attack, twisting his body and swinging his foot right into the guard’s jaw. The guard flew back and rolled along the ground, crashing into one of the braziers.

The monk drew back his hood, revealing ghostly pale skin and a sky-blue head of hair as soft as silk. His childlike face, easily mistakable for a woman’s, bore a dark birthmark around his left eye, like a panda.

“Who…who are you?!” yelled a guard.

“Just a doctor passing by,” said the boy. “And it’s a good thing I did!”

Flashing a grin, the panda boy swept the little girl up into his arms. With a series of kicks, he fought off the attacking guards one after the other, before calling up to his partner atop the statue, who was still firing arrows, consumed by mad rage.

“Bisco! That’s enough! Let’s escape on the King Trumpet!”

“All right, it’ll come out of this guy’s chest! On the count of three: One…”

“Two!”

Milo jumped up the statue’s arm, still holding the girl, and landed near his partner. Back-to-back, they both yelled out in unison.

““Three!””

Then the two of them stamped their feet onto Bisco’s purple arrow, which was embedded in the statue beneath them.

Gaboom!

The King Trumpet mushroom erupted out of the statue at an angle, launching the three figures far across the temple hall. And then…

That was it. Nothing else happened. Apart from the tiny sounds of blossoming mushrooms here and there across the rubble of the great idol, the hall was silent, as if it had all been a dream.

Just as quickly as they had arrived, the troublemakers had disappeared. “Those blasphemers…! Were they demons, or evil spirits…?” muttered the warrior monks, shuddering in disgust, while their leader gazed at the damaged statue.

“…”

The leader was silent, but beneath his crimson hood, his eyes burned with rage.

Then there came a voice. “Let us call them…harbingers,” it said.

A small figure in an ornate white robe entered the hall, walked past the guards, and stepped into the light of the fallen brazier.

“…Heavenly Child! You should not be here; it is dangerous!” said the leader.

“You saw it, too, did you not?” said the figure. “That our Lord should fall so easily portends woe upon the Rust Speakers. You have no duty to my father. You should leave. Now.”

“There’s no need to be so rash,” said the leader before turning to his subordinates. “You fools! How could you let this happen…?!”

The warrior monks all hung their heads in shame. It was clear that this white-robed individual was of such a high rank, it was impossible to speak up in their presence.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” said the leader. “It’s only a statue. Now, come with me,” he added, extending his hand. The small figure in the white robe allowed themselves to be pulled along before turning and looking back at the pale form of the mushroom sticking out of the rubble, glistening in the night.

“It’s beautiful…,” they said, a violet spark in their gaze.

“Eeeeeek!”

The sound of the girl’s scream traced a parabolic arc through the night sky. As the three of them fell toward a nearby hill overlooking the temple, a large crustacean jumped up to meet them, scooped them up in his claws, and protected them as he hit the ground and rolled to a halt.

“…Pwah! Thanks a ton, Actagawa!” said Milo, rubbing the huge crab’s belly. Then he gave one last look at the miserable sight of the temple below with its collapsed roof. “Aww. Bisco, you went too far! You didn’t have to destroy the whole building!”

“Hmph. There’s a lot more I’d like to do to guys who slice kids’ bellies open,” said Bisco, standing alongside Milo and looking down at the temple with disgust. “They’re pathetic. A bunch of grown men fawning over an oversized doll.”

“…Still, we got all we could. That cult was just another shell. We didn’t find any leads on the Immortal Monk.”

Milo turned back and walked over to Actagawa, where the young girl was lying unconscious. Her own arms wrapped around her tiny body, and her cheeks were stained with fresh tears.

“She ain’t got any of those tattoos,” Bisco said. “’Cause she’s a priestess maybe?”

“What? Hey! Bisco! Don’t look! She’s naked!”

“…And? She’s just a kid, so… Hey! Oh, I get it. It’s okay for you, is it?”

“I’m a doctor. You go look over there! Go on!”

As Bisco turned to leave, Milo administered several injections to the girl, and eventually her trembling panic gave way to soft, peaceful breaths, and her troubled face relaxed.

“She’s not wounded, but the mental trauma has caused her body to atrophy. It seems she was brainwashed quite heavily. I mean, to be told to give up her own organs like that…”

“But they didn’t get to her soul. She was still screaming ‘No!’ ‘Help me!’ That’s why I helped her, y’know. Otherwise, I would have left her to die.”

“Suuure you would’ve, Bisco. Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Sh-shut up! Grr…”

Milo picked the girl up in his arms and, following Bisco, leaped into Actagawa’s saddle. The giant crab slowly lifted himself to his feet and built up speed as Milo muttered to himself.

“Imagine you discovered everything you lived for was a lie… What would have been the point of it all? What would you do? What would you believe in?”

“I’d believe in myself,” said Bisco. Milo looked up at his face. “Gods live within all of us anyway. Even Mushroom Keepers. While we pray to the god of archery, we don’t pray our aim is true. Our aim being true is the prayer.”

Then Bisco noticed the smiling face of his partner and turned away in embarrassment.

“Bisco. You know, considering you can’t read, you can be pretty philosophical sometimes!”

“What the hell’s readin’ gotta do with it?! Let’s hear your philosophy then, genius!”

“Ah-ha-ha! I don’t need one. I can just believe in you!”

Milo’s innocent smile left Bisco lost for words. All he could do was grumble as he lashed Actagawa’s reins. The sun was just peeking over the distant horizon, bringing an end to the night and bathing the two boys in an orange glow.