[!] The following document was stamped with an odd cross logo “Ketsu-Dansei.” A picture of a karakuran pond was pressed into the paper. Overall the page seemed rather worn, tattered by time. The text below held the contents of the document. [!]
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Casted Stone
It began with the single casting of a stone across a pool. The ripples coming after it landed were larger and more grievous than the last. Spanning over a millennium, the ripples would finally fade, yet the stone still lurked at the bottom of the water. It was during the days when gods still roamed the Earth. Within those sacred grounds there lived an envious and blood-lusting creature. An evil that the gods saw as a disdain on the beauty of the land. He hungered for the dead, for he was what they called a mouryou yokai. Lurking beside the waters, drinking from the corpses of war.
Yet what infuriated the gods the most, was his unprecedented, eerie beauty. His pale skin shimmered beside long white hairs that sprawled down his shoulders. He adorned the most piercing carmine eyes, finely illustrating his sharpened teeth, the canines the most well-kept. He was in no way human but he held the undoubtable poise of one. A name soon arose, keeping with him in a sort of perpetuity, Kyūketsuki. He often wandered solely in search of souls to devour, thoughtless of the pain he would inflict. There was no ambition he carried, other than an urge to fulfill the evil desires laying waste within his heart. But it seemed even a creature, with a blackened soul, could still be enthralled by the idea of love.
It started when the shrine to worship the gods was constructed. It was titled the Akatera Monastery. It required the effort of mortal servants to upkeep the grounds. Of which, a young miko, with hair the color of deep fermented wine, fulfilled the duty. Kyūketsuki often watched her descend the steps, and with each moment his desire to speak with her grew stronger. The feeling tormented him, eating at his soul. There came a point where he felt perhaps it was the feeling of insanity. He could stand it no longer, so he approached her. Their exchange became a ritual, each day she would visit him beside the pool at the bottom of the steps. The miko had no idea the true monster he was, for she blindly enjoyed his presence. He intended to keep it that way. With each passing exchange, he fell further in love.
. . .
Then came the fateful day the stone was cast. A kami, who lived within the monastery, had silently watched the two interact. He descended the steps beside the miko. He looked down upon Kyūketsuki in disgust, that such a creature had indulged in the presence of one of his maidens. In a high-strung, arrogant manner the kami forbade him from lavishing in the presence of Miko, exposing to her that he was a yokai, who prayed on the dead. An evil presence who would certainly harm her. A horrified gaze overcame her once rosy face, it turned white in fear, thinking of the yokai she had come to experience. He reached out in an attempt to show some sort of humanity, yet he was not human. Overcome by the thought he had lied, in order to harm her, she cowered from his offered embrace.
Kyūketsuki could not contain the wrath that encircled him. Fueled by the horrid heartbreak of the Miko’s rejection, he grabbed the kami by his throat, squeezing with a terrible might. At first, the kami laughed, seeing his pitiful reaction. But a moment afterward, the kami began to scream out as Kyūketsuki began to extract his very soul. It was a scream so ear-piercing, so mind-bending, and painful that it made its way toward the home of the gods. He took the soul within his own, the kami was dead. The Miko cried out for justice to be brought down upon Kyūketsuki for such a heinous crime. He looked at her in a painful way, was this what love was?
The gods, who had witnessed the fall of their brother, cursed Kyūketsuki. Giving him a form befitting of his cruel act, which no creature would look upon with wonderment again. Features so vile and horrifying they would scream in fear, just as their brother had. After the curse had transpired, he was damned to Yomi. The gate, of which he crossed into the underworld, was the very pool he had strolled each and every day with the mortal he thought he had loved. Kyūketsuki would glare through the gate, from the bottom of the waters, and for eternity his ire would simmer.
The stone had been cast, but what of the ripples?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Foremost Ripple
In the times of ancient wars and politically destructive presences, the cruelty of mankind was ever-present. It was during the cusp of a transition, from the Azuchi-Momoyama Period to the Edo Period, that the first ripple emerged. It had been five centuries since the sealing of Kyūketsuki. The pool had been preserved by the shrine which believed it truly was a gate to Yomi. During this dangerous era, the island was caught in the crossfire of Japanese reunification. After retaliation arose from Karakurans who were simply attempting to live peacefully, their beloved shrine, originally the Akatera Monastery, now titled the Kisune Monastery, was burned to the ground. This tragedy, brought up by the men of General Toyotomi Hideyoshi, was a cruel act of political gain.
Amongst the soldiers responsible for the destruction, a group of twenty-eight radical anti-shinto believers emerged. Who shared both a distaste for the small island’s rebellion, as well as a secret contempt for their gods. Each had asked for a blessing, for divine protection as they aided in reunifying Japan, yet had been returned the same message. The gods knew their souls were impure.
“You are not worthy. Your greed shall only come to spoil such a sacred gift.”
The men spat in disdain. How dare the gods reject their humble asking! The night before the soldiers were meant to be sent onward for their conquest, the first ripple appeared.
In retribution, fueled solely by foolish anger, they found themselves, stalking in the dead of night, as a heavy rain enshrouded the woods. A lone priest descended the steps, with a small lantern, flickering hopelessly amongst the darkening backdrop. Just as he passed the last torii gate, glancing into the pond, he felt a sudden looming fear. The hairs on the back of his neck stood, as a knife was plunged deep into the side of his throat. He dropped to the floor with a staggered thump.
The anti-shito believers circled the body, each carrying a disfigured smile, hinting at their smug demeanor. They then cast his body into the pool and slowly it began to sink. They chuckled, turning to leave. But to their horrified dismay a raspy, hissing voice, reached through the darkness.
“Sacrifice those you despise. In return, you will be more powerful than even the gods.”
From behind the body a dark creature crawled out. It was dark-skinned, red-clothed, and it had no eyes or a nose. Simply a mouth for a face. Hideous in-human features that oozed darkly, like black tar and oil clumping in the sea. It reached out towards them, a vile chuckle echoing deeply. Able to manifest due to the weakening of the gate, the autumnal solstice was at its peak. It smiled, its gagged teeth overgrown, waiting for a reply. From the crowd, one man spoke, a hint of terror ever present.
“Who are you…” He hesitated for a moment before continuing “What are you?” The second ripple was to come to fruition.
“I go by many names. But you may call me Kyūketsuki. Your retribution for the gods scorning you.”
The men looked upon him with fear, along with a doubting expression. He told them the tale of his cruel sealing. His simple wish to be free, how the gods had wronged him in the same manner as them. He had waited centuries to grant his gift of power and offered if perhaps they would take it.
When the men inquired about how to obtain it, Kyūketsuki offered them a pact. In exchange for the blood of the monastery workers and their guests, who worshiped such unjust gods, he would grant them immense power once he was freed. The souls of those sacrificed would pay tribute, taking the place of his own soul which had been sealed in Yomi. They each painted their hands in the blood of the priest, reciting ancient words Kyūketsuki claimed would bind their pact. It was done. So began the cruel regime, hidden from common Karakurans. They called themselves Ketsu-Dansei, Japanese for “the blood men.”
The smaller ripples that followed were detrimental. Leaving a permanent branding into the minds of the gods, even as the silent dealings were unseen by mortals.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Blood Thicker Than Water
Deep within the woods, ancient blood rituals became commonplace. Ketsu-Dansei’s influence began to grow in the quiet dark of Karakura. As the number of missing individuals climbed, the town became more wary of the dead man’s woods, as well as the monastery as a whole. The entire ordeal would last well into two years, plaguing the lives of the citizens, who feared they may be next. The bodies were never to be discovered, passed across the gate into Yomi, where they were consumed by Kyūketsuki. Each human soul he chained down took one of his own chains. With each sacrifice, he grew stronger, able to manifest for a short time within the living world.
Much to the delight of Ketsu-Dansei, who considered his freedom the reckoning of the gods. In which they would be greater. Kyūketsuki had made sure to conceal his efforts thoroughly, allowing the sacrifices to go unnoticed by the higher powers. It was only a matter of time. Vengeance would be dealt, those who had wronged him would pay dearly. But those foolish thoughts were as clouded as that pool’s water had become in blood.
. . .
On the night of their one-hundredth sacrifice, after the final soul, that of a Miko had been taken, he was entirely unbound from Yomi. Kyūketsuki peeled himself from the waters, his once bright red ropes stained darkly. Able to sustain his form, he floated just above the surface of the waters. He looked upon the body of the Miko, with hair the color of deep fermented wine. He almost wept at seeing a face so similar to hers. The one he had loved. But he had no desire to return to that time. To be looked upon with such disgust, he had attempted to be something he was not. In that moment he knew, he would become what the gods believed him to be from the start. A cold-blooded monster.
The very same fury he had felt during the murder of that kami welled up and overflowed. He turned to his devoted servants, who looked upon him expectantly. Yet from deep within his throat a great, menacing laugh welled up inside of him. He spoke, in a warped, cynical fashion.
“Oh, foolish mortals. Thank you for setting me free. Now you shall rest with the souls you sacrificed.”
The men fell quiet, stunned at his words, but before they could speak, they felt themselves overcome by an overwhelming dread. They fell to the floor, coughing violently. Their lungs began to fill with blood. The irony, they were drowning in the very thing they worshiped. A betrayed look crossed each individual of Ketsu-Dansei, twisted and deformed as they clambered against the floor below him. After several moments of agony, they all fell dead.
Kyūketsuki stole each of their souls, drowning them in the depths of Yomi, eternally suffering. He fled through the forest wreaking havoc upon the natural flow of the woods. All those who resided within the Ochiba forest that night were slain. His reign of unending terror had fallen upon the innocent people of Karakura. The shrine workers were too afraid to venture into the woods after being persecuted and the gods also fell silent. Yet there was one, who had been guarding the stone since the very beginning. A woman, bound to a tree, who deeply loved the forest. She heard the cries and pleas of those he killed, animal and mortal.
. . .
With the power of the gods bestowed to her long ago, she blinded him with a great light. He hissed, shrinking in horror, she chased him from once he came, forcing him to the shores of the gate. He turned, screaming obscenities one last time. There he was sealed once more, along with those who had been sacrificed. The innocent souls, that of the shrine staff and their guests were taken into the roots of her tree and later fostered flowers. However, those of Ketsu-Dansei were given the fate of an eternity of drowning under the water for the unspeakable acts they had committed.
Soon after, any account of those who went missing vanished from Karakura’s records. The forest, after being condemned for a short time, was reopened. They claimed the pool within had carried a deadly toxin that was capable of stopping human hearts. However, the bodies were never returned to their families and many were left questioning the validity of that final verdict.
The remaining shrine workers were sworn to secrecy. Later they took their secret to the grave. The Kodama continues to watch over the forest, expelling any evils who dare attempt entry to her home. While Kyūketsuki and his followers watch the Shinto believers and priests ascend the monastery steps each and every day. Knowing they will never see beyond the blood-clouded pool, from the depths of Yomi.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[!] A small note was attached to the bottom of the page. [!]
All documents regarding the dealings of Ketsu-Dansei have burned following its original publication. This piece is the last documented evidence, of what I could scrounge up, that proves that the group existed at all. But perhaps it was simply a folktale after all.
-Shrine Kannushi ‘Sho’
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[!] Another document seemed neatly stashed under the Ketsu-Danseicult document. The physical quality of the report seemed newer, of the current times. [!]
The finest details, hardly recognized by wandering eyes, are chronicles waiting to be told. One such feature, of which only a select few have come to question, lives within the overlooked outskirts of the Shinsei Seinaru Monastery. Behind closed doors, a private garden, and stone depictions of long-forgotten history, a rickety table resides. To any outside eye, it appears a relic that soon will be lost to time, as it stands on the brink of collapse. Yet there lives a signature, engraved into the wood, one simple name “Sho.”
The record of this man has withered, however, a few scrolls piece together his history. Of which reports the following tale, of a man who fell victim to the quick-turning nature of mankind’s justice.
. . .
Shoken Miyazaki was born to a strict and devout pair of guardians in the year 1880. After his birth, his mother and father wanted to live a quiet life, separate from mainland Japan. They moved to a remarkably unknown island, Karakura. The life far better suited his father, one of the last original samurai of the age, in comparison to his mother, who lived in a rural upbringing. These clashing backgrounds raised Sho in a disciplined and religious fashion.
He had, with his mother’s guidance, grown close to the monastery and the nurturing hearts of the shrine workers. Sho was there to such a degree that an unbelievable bond was formed between him and the shrine Kannushi. Although little is known about his childhood, it could be said the monastery became a second home to him. It was no surprise then, that when he reached an appropriate age, he worked on the grounds as a priest. Much to his father’s dismay, for he believed Sho was wasting his valuable mind on a career dry of income. Despite this plea to seek better enlistment, Sho disregarded it, knowing full well this was his fate.
He served valiantly under the Kannushi, he spread the word of Shintoism and amity throughout Karakura, for three long years without complaint. Until his relentless effort brought him the promotion of Guji. He had a successful career and was loved by the community, even more so by those he trained.
He was married to Hanako Fujimori, a young maiden of the shrine, at the age of 29. Sho loved her so dearly that he pledged to her a loyalty equal to that of the kami. His life had an unbreakable momentum for the first portion of his career. Though a strong sense of justice, instilled by his father, would rock the boat. At the age of 54, the Kannushi, who had trouble upkeeping his duties, passed his title onto Shoken. He gratefully took up the position, yet he felt greatly troubled to see such a great man leave. It was also during this change, that he embraced another title. Father. Soon, his wife gave birth to two boys.
It seemed the theater performance of Sho’s life, perfectly calculated and scripted, would continue onward without fault. Yet amongst his newfound family, an event that shocked the entire world played out. A war plaguing the heart of Japan. During what would become known as the First World War, over 40% of Karakura’s population, the daughters and sons of many, were drafted. Although this did not affect Shoken’s family entirely, due to their religious position, the fear of what could happen drove their lives.
During this time, many came to Shintoism in great waves to pray for the safety of their loved ones. It was a time of grief, yet Shoken refused to let that deter his venture. His sense of justice for those who still resided was unwavering. He began to offer counsel and prayer. Even going as far as to bless war-bound citizens so they would be under the protection of the kami. Despite how well-loved the monastery had become during this time, many blamed the gods for such misfortune. Some attempted to deface and destroy the serene beauty the shrine attempted to offer. It pained Sho greatly to see his home subject to such scrutiny.
. . .
When the war came to a close, the small town of Karakura became more glum than before. Although the town was covered in a heavy wave of bitterness, Shoken continued to campaign for the shrine to be Karakura's refuge. Yet he felt a deep betrayal towards many. Even after he had given everything in order to forward the joy of Karakura, they still managed to send hatred of various forms toward the shrine. He could not escape the anger plaguing the town. As good of a man, as he was, small things began to bother him a great deal. His yearning for justice swelled, leading him to take matters into his own hands.
A change in a person often occurs due to old age, a scarring event, or something much more tame. In the case of Shoken Miyazaki, the war spurred this and something unforetold cemented it. Beginning as a harmless fixation with the shrine folktales, that he believed wholeheartedly were once a reality. This was viewed by those around him, as understandable considering his faith. Soon it began to spiral into something far more malicious.
He had been perusing the racks of old texts within the shrine when he found a crumbled scroll residing in the back of the shelves. It was entirely dust-ridden, as though it had not been touched in decades. As he unfurled the scroll, a great amount of surprise flooded him. It spoke of an evil, a cult who had sacrificed their very lives to commit atrocities against the gods. This tale resonated with him, something pulled at Shoken, more than ever before. Soon his sense of justice warped, if he could not write the wrongs of the war, then he would right the wrongs of this evil entity lying within Karakura.
Shoken selected a portion of the ancient cave within the monastery, to plot the existence of the cult. Past several doors and his hand-planted garden, he stocked a room full of books, scrolls, and a large desk. He would later carve his name into it, in frustration of finding dead end after dead end. Perhaps the stress of the war had driven him to madness. However, the true downfall of his plot came in the form of a tip, from a report he had been given, depicting several surnames. One in particular, the Ishikawa family.
The Kannushi had become so invested in this tale, that he had lost all common sense of what was truthful and just another folktale. It was far too late, after months of scouring for leads, he could no longer control his urge to find the truth.
. . .
The time came as an unsuspecting summer evening. Shoken knocked upon the door of what he believed to be the Ishikawa family’s residence. He originally had no intention to do anything extreme, however upon the door being answered, his blood boiled. As though he were locking eyes with those responsible for the war. A young woman, with light-colored hair stood before him, dressed in a nightly sort of attire.
“Good day, sir. How can I help you?” She scanned him with a nervous demeanor. He furrowed a brow and with an aggravated tone asked “Could I come inside?” The woman, shook her head, attempting to close the door, clearly unnerved by the sudden intrusion of the priest. At that moment, Shoken lost all sense of the man he used to be. Without hesitation, he reached forward and gripped her tightly around the wrist. She screamed out in fear, unveiling a knife she had pocketed in her nightgown. She swiped it across his eyes in a fearful and vigorous manner. Shoken stumbled backward, holding his hands to his eyes, screaming in agony. He was blinded.
This encounter left many with a distaste in their mouth. Especially after the tale of his plotting room within the caverns of the shrine came to light. The once highly regarded Miyazaki name was run through the dirt in one swift incident. Shoken slowly lost his ability to do his duties as the Kannushi after he had been blinded. Many, who had sought comfort in the monastery, were driven away, and even Shoken’s own wife, was at a loss for how such a kind man could turn so maliciously.
He claimed his innocence, he had no intention of harming anyone within the Ishikawa residence. But another story was told instead of his innocent plea, that of a desperate and frantic man, obsessed and corrupted by the ways of his religion.
In short, the last years of his life were a steep decline. He lost his footing, eventually falling to the very bottom. Before his death due to age-related complications, he passed his title onto the guji of the shrine. Taking with him the disgrace he had covered the monastery in. His wife, promptly after his death, moved to mainland Japan, in order to escape the barrage of hatred.
Shoken Miyazaki is a perfect example of what a sense of twisted justice can lead to. A once kind-hearted and well-loved man turned into a monster by the idea he was righting the wrongs of those before him. Most of his life has been forgotten to time, yet the relic of his anger, his own name, remains. Although it is only a matter of time before he too becomes a folktale.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[!] A small note was attached to the bottom of the page. [!]
The following was collected from scrap documents belonging to the Shinsei and Seinaru Monastery. Although it may not be entirely correct, this is from what I could piece together, the most accurate depiction of one of the old shrine Kannushi.
-Shrine Guji, Yūrei Gushiken O’Sullivan
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Last edited:
