Tokyo, Japan. Night, 23:47.
Late-night Shibuya. The flow of people at the scramble crossing was as surging as ever.
Four-color neon lights dyed the night sky a suggestive pinkish-purple, while the savory aroma of grilled meat and the sound of loud laughter and chatter drifted out of the izakayas.
Office workers with expressionless, numb faces walked through the stream of vehicles.
High school girls in uniforms, bursting with energy, stopped to help foreign tourists take photos.
On the street, a youth on a skateboard glided lightly across the sidewalk, kicking up a gust of wind.
The traffic light at the intersection turned red.
Hundreds of people stopped before the crosswalk, looking down to scroll through their phones.
Faint murmurs, the rumbling of passing trains, the excited discussions of tourists, the distant honking of a sightseeing bus... countless sounds blended together.
It was a night scene that countless Tokyoites were entirely accustomed to.
No one noticed that the sky above their heads was darkening at an unnatural speed.
“Hey, Tanaka, look at the sky.”
Someone nudged the colleague next to him, his voice laced with confusion. “Is it going to pour? Ah, this is bad. I didn't bring an umbrella. Damn it!”
—The sky, which was normally cast in an orange-red glow from the city's light pollution, had been covered by a layer of gray mist at some point.
The clouds hovering over Shibuya year-round were swirling at a speed visible to the naked eye, gradually forming a massive vortex.
Then, in the center of the vortex, an eye slowly opened.
It held no emotion.
There was no color to it, only the ultimate black and white.
It merely watched in silence, and then, looked away.
In the void that no one could hear, a bored voice echoed:
“Biting off more than I can chew is no good. I think I'll skip this limited-time ‘Night Parade of a Hundred Demons’ script.”
It merely looked away.
Yet in the next second, within the shadows cast upon the ground, tens of thousands of black mists gradually took shape, twisting and finally turning into weeping ghostly faces.
The ghostly faces wept, letting out bursts of despairing wails.
Countless screams squeezed together, shrill and sorrowful.
According to rumors, Japan possessed eight million gods.
At this moment, however, these writhing black mists were like viscous asphalt, continuously radiating malice:
“G-God... God has abandoned us!”
“This land has been rejected by the divine realm.”
“We are not qualified to live in the divine realm. God has abandoned us, abandoned this land.”
“Hate... I hate it, I hate it so much...”
“This place has already become a god-forsaken land.”
...
...
...
Jiangcheng in mid-June seemed to have entered the plum rain season.
The light rain had been falling for nearly half a month, making the air so damp it felt as though mushrooms could grow out of thin air.
The sky was gloomy. Song Mo lay on a chair in a hair salon, her head resting on the ceramic basin.
This was a residential hair salon located at the entrance of an alley.
The storefront was small, likely converted from a first-floor residence.
The glass door was wiped clean and sparkling, and a thick canvas curtain printed with peonies hung at the entrance.
The shop always carried a warm mist mixed with the scent of Fenghua shampoo and sandalwood soap, making people feel drowsy.
Song Mo squinted her eyes, enjoying the owner's exquisite massage technique.
Meanwhile, on the ceiling above her head, half of the curious face of the fierce ghost, A'yan, peeked down.
...
—To put it in a slightly unusual way.
Ever since she “died,” Song Mo actually quite enjoyed physical contact with living people.
“Xiao Song, did you stay up late writing again? Look at how cold your skin is. Young girls shouldn't let their heads get cold, or it'll cause uterine coldness, and having your period will be miserable later on.”
The owner, Zhang-jie, had her hands covered in foam as she gently massaged Song Mo's scalp, her tone carrying a motherly nag.
“Young people shouldn't stay up like this. Your health is the foundation of everything.”
“Yeah.”
Song Mo grunted with her eyes closed, her voice lazy and relaxed. “I rushed out a draft yesterday and wrapped it up. I can rest for a few days now.”
Was there any screenwriter more diligent than her?
She had written the “Jorogumo” script overnight and deployed it, while also refining the Instance rules for the “Great Britain Ghost Subway.”
On the wall opposite the hair washing area hung a television.
It was playing the local morning news. The volume wasn't high, but she could just hear the host broadcasting livelihood news.
Vegetable prices dropped this morning.
The community renovation project had started.
A resident was scammed out of three hundred thousand yuan through online video chatting.
These were all trivial, everyday matters, which, mixed with the bubbling sound of flowing water, actually made Song Mo feel a trace of sleepiness.
She was almost asleep.
Right at this moment, the broadcast on the television suddenly stopped.
First came a brief burst of static noise, followed immediately by the highly familiar opening melody of the national evening news.
The national evening news?
Song Mo's sleepiness dissipated slightly, replaced by confusion.
Legend had it that unless the Earth exploded, the national evening news would never take a day off.
It was only past eight in the morning now. Why was a program that was supposed to broadcast at seven in the evening starting now?
...
Zhang-jie also stopped her movements, looking up toward the television in bewilderment:
“Oh, what's going on? Interrupting with a special broadcast so early in the morning?”
...
...
The television screen cut to the CCTV studio.
The background was the familiar blue Earth backdrop. Two anchors sat in standard suits, their hair meticulously combed.
Only their expressions were much more solemn than usual.
The female anchor turned a page of the manuscript in front of her, and when she spoke, her voice possessed its usual clear and resonant tone, but with a few more degrees of gravity than normal:
“Good morning, viewers. We interrupt our regular programming for a special report.”
“According to reports from our Tokyo bureau, at approximately 1:00 AM local time today, a large-scale abnormal cyclonic weather system appeared over the entirety of Tokyo. The meteorological department did not issue any warnings.”
“Following the appearance of the cyclone, multiple violent attacks of unknown origin and large-scale disappearances have occurred within Tokyo.”
“Preliminary statistics indicate that over three thousand people are missing, and the exact casualties are still being verified.”
...
Song Mo's eyes snapped completely open.
Three thousand people missing?
And in Tokyo?
Good grief, which terrorist organization was carrying out a terrorist attack?
But what was an abnormal cyclone?
Had the people of this world already developed weather weapons?
Zhang-jie was also staring intently at the television. “Oh, something huge happened over in Japan? Three thousand people missing... My goodness, that's terrifying.”
The female anchor's voice continued:
“Currently, the Japanese government has activated a Level 1 disaster response, and the Self-Defense Forces have been deployed to the affected areas.”
“Our embassy in Japan has immediately activated the consular protection emergency mechanism and is making every effort to ascertain the situation of Chinese citizens in Japan.”
“Next, we present the on-scene footage obtained by this station from various channels.”
“We advise our viewers that some of the following images may cause discomfort. Please watch with caution.”
The screen quickly cut.
Passersby walking past the hair salon also stood at the door, watching with rapt attention.
A sanitation worker in uniform also held his breath, his expression blank.
...
...
The first image to appear in the footage was a vertical video recorded on a mobile phone.
The camera shook violently, indicating that the recorder's hand was trembling severely.
The background appeared to be the Shibuya crossing in Tokyo.
The sky was a pitch-black ink. Even though it was the middle of the night, there was none of the brightness that city lights should have cast.
Directly above the center of this city, a massive, slowly rotating black vortex hung in mid-air.
The clouds billowed, resembling a giant eye looking down upon the earth.
The frame was packed with people.
Office workers who had just finished work, young people out late, Japanese people in suits, school uniforms, and trendy brands, and foreign tourists.
Everyone was looking up at the sky, and the noisy Japanese voices merged with the sound of the wind:
“What is that? The sky is pitch black!”
“Is it an abnormal weather event? Is a typhoon coming? There was nothing in the forecast!”
“That's strange... there's something wrong with these clouds.”
Some people held up their phones to livestream, while others pulled their friends back.
Some even pulled out their phones to check the weather forecast, their faces filled with confusion.
The legends of ghosts and monsters had long been debunked by science, and the various demons existing in mythology had been beautified by Japan's own anime culture into cute or cool cartoon characters.
—Even with such a bizarre sky, their first reaction was merely extreme weather.
The camera tilted upward, aiming at the center of the vortex.
Right at this moment, several massive dark shadows suddenly plunged from the clouds.
The shadows were extremely fast, like diving falcons, yet they were dozens of times larger.
A whistling sound of wind slammed into the crowd.
“Aaaahhhhh!!”
The first scream erupted along with it.
The camera shook violently, and the recorder stumbled backward.
The frame was filled with people fleeing in all directions.
Cries, screams, and the sound of objects falling to the ground blended into a chaotic mess.
Someone was grabbed by a dark shadow and instantly lifted off the ground. Before a scream could even escape their throat, they were dragged into the black clouds in the sky.
Only a single leather shoe was left on the ground, along with a rapidly spreading pool of blood.
“Run! Run, quickly!”
“What is that? What on earth is that!”
“Help! Kenta! Kenta was taken!”
A woman's heart-wrenching cries echoed from the video.
The camera shook even more violently.
The recorder ran with the crowd toward the subway station, stepping over scattered bags, phones, and broken high heels along the way.
...
The footage suddenly switched again, changing to the surveillance video of a roadside convenience store.
The timestamp showed it was 1:17 AM local time.
It began to pour in Tokyo.
Raindrops the size of beans pelted the glass, clattering loudly.
The water on the street outside the convenience store quickly rose past ankles. Pedestrians were running, and the clerk was preparing to pull down the shutter.
Just then, a dark green shadow appeared in the curtain of rain.
It was only a little over a meter tall, its body slimy all over. It had a bald head, a shell on its back, short and thick limbs, and webbed fingers.
It was the small monster of Japanese culture, the “Kappa.”
But unlike the countless beautified versions in movies and television.
This “cute” monster was currently squatting in the water by the roadside, dragging a fallen woman straight toward the riverbed beside the road.
The woman struggled desperately, her hands clawing at the ground, leaving several bloody scratches as a shrill scream escaped her lips:
“Help me! Help me!!”
The surveillance footage was silent.
The woman was dragged into the water inch by inch.
Finally, a few bloody bubbles welled up on the water's surface, and the Kappa vanished without a trace.
The footage was quiet, but everyone who saw it could feel a bone-chilling coldness.
Immediately after, the third segment of footage cut in.
It was a video captured by a dashboard camera.
The windshield wipers were swinging frantically, and the driver was likely driving for their life.
The street in the footage was empty, with only the curtain of rain illuminated by the headlights.
Suddenly, something rolled over from the opposite side of the road.
It was an oxcart.
Its wooden frame burned with a raging fire, and the flames were a bizarre greenish-blue.
The most terrifying part was the wheels. In the center of the two large wooden rims, a massive, ferocious, bald ghostly face was embedded in each.
The ghostly faces were wrinkled, their eyes were two black holes, and their mouths were split to their ears, revealing a dense row of sharp teeth.
What was most horrifying was that as this thing rolled, it would let out weird, sinister laughter:
“Yo-hehehehehehe!”
The dashcam captured a clear image:
The wheels ran over a pedestrian sheltering from the rain by the roadside.
The human body was instantly dragged into the wheels, and the crisp sound of bones snapping could almost be heard through the screen.
The ghostly faces opened their mouths wider and wider, their blood-stained teeth clearly visible.
As the wheels rolled past, only a patch of mangled flesh and shredded clothing remained on the ground.
The driver let out a terrified scream, spun the steering wheel wildly, and the screen went black.
...
...
Zhang-jie's hands washing the hair stopped completely, freezing in mid-air.
Foam dripped down her wrist, but she didn't even notice.
Song Mo blinked her eyes extremely slowly.
Kappa?
Human-Faced Oxcart?
Tengu?
Could this be a little too coincidental?
In the limited-time script she had discarded, there were indeed materials for Tokyo's “Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.”
...
...
The footage was not over yet.
The fourth segment of material was a live broadcast from a helicopter of a local Japanese television station.
The camera was at a high altitude, showing the entirety of Tokyo shrouded in a black vortex, with the city below in utter chaos.
Firelight and fleeing crowds were everywhere.
The reporter's voice trembled as they did the on-scene broadcast:
“Currently, we are flying over Shibuya, Tokyo. We can see that the entire city has fallen into chaos. Unknown creatures are still continuously appearing, and casualties on the ground are severe...”
Before they could finish, a massive dark shadow suddenly appeared in the frame.
It was a bird, absurdly large, pitch black all over, with a wingspan nearly a dozen meters wide.
It possessed a crimson face, a high nose, and a pair of eyes gleaming with ferocity as it charged toward the helicopter.
It was the classic image of a Tengu from Japanese mythology.
The reporter only had time to let out a short, startled cry:
“Is that... a Tengu?”
Immediately after came a violent impact.
“Bang!!”
The helicopter's body tilted violently, and the camera spun crazily.
Alarms and the screams of the flight crew blended together.
The final frame captured in the footage was the massive, crimson eyeball of the Tengu drawing near, along with its beak as sharp as a knife.
“Bang—”
The screen went completely black.
The signal from the livestream was cut off, leaving only the crackling static of white noise.
And the faint, sickening crunch of flesh and bones being chewed.
Rate on N.U.
