TheTerrorStrickenVillage Be

Yūrin Fūko had been left at her grandmother’s remote mountain village by her mother, who had to travel far away for work. At the very beginning, this quiet little hamlet looked perfectly normal, bathed in ordinary, warm sunlight. No one could foresee the curse creeping in through the fracture of the Inner‑World.

As the days slipped by, something began to warp. The sunlight hanging over the village gradually turned thick, blood‑red. The whole sky was dyed an unsettling crimson, as if endless unseen blood was smeared across the firmament. Fields, trees, tiled rooftops, every corner of the settlement was shrouded under this ghastly scarlet glow. The local villagers grew strangely quiet; their eyes turned hollow and vacant, wandering aimlessly without any trace of human emotion.

Cold dread tightened around Fūko’s throat. She could no longer remain inside her grandmother’s house. Overwhelmed by terror, she fled along the overgrown mountain trail. Wild brambles tore at her ankles, leaving stinging scratches on her skin. She ran toward the long‑abandoned shrine on the outskirts of the village, the only place she desperately hoped could keep her safe.

Weeds tangled around the broken stone torii gate. The wooden shrine building stood worn and decaying, old red paint peeling off its beams and pillars. Fūko leaned against a cracked wooden pillar, gasping heavily, her whole body shaking beneath the blood‑red sky.

Light, slow footsteps drifted out from the deep, still shadows.

A girl emerged. She wore a faded Shōwa‑era school uniform, her long black hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Her face held no expression at all; her eyes were cold, empty, and devoid of life. She advanced slowly toward Fūko, only the faint rustle of her uniform fabric breaking the heavy silence.

She came to a halt directly before the trembling girl. Her lips parted, and frigid Japanese words drifted through the stagnant red‑tinged air.

“地獄へ落ちろ。”

(Go down to hell.)2