Suddenly, Hitachi collapsed to the floor.
His body hit the ground with a dull thud, and everything fell into an eerie silence.
The house, moments ago alive with chaos and destruction, now stood frozen in stillness. Smoke lingered in the air like a ghost, curling around the broken furniture and blackened walls. Burned books lay scattered across the floor. The curtains had long since turned to ash. Plates shattered into pieces sparkled faintly among the debris like fallen stars. The air smelled of scorched wood and something darker—something unexplainable.
In the center of it all, Hitachi lay unconscious. His small frame looked fragile, like a broken doll amidst the ruins.
The old man, his eyes wide with fear, ignored the pain in his knees and elbows as he crawled across the shattered floor. Glass crunched under his weight, and a deep cut formed on his palm, but he didn't care. All that mattered now was Hitachi.
He reached him and took the boy's cold, limp hand into his own trembling ones.
"My boy… My boy, please wake up," he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "You're alright now. You're safe…"
But the words felt hollow.
He stared down at Hitachi's still face, barely recognizable under the soot and blood, and guilt stabbed through his chest like a knife. He wiped some dirt from the boy's cheek with the sleeve of his shirt, only for more tears to fall and take its place.
He's just a boy, the old man thought bitterly. Why him?
He closed his eyes tightly as a tear escaped and dropped onto Hitachi's hand.
And then—suddenly—Hitachi gasped. His chest lurched, and his eyes shot open wide.
A scream tore from his throat, raw and unearthly. It echoed through the ruined house like the cry of something otherworldly. But this time, it wasn't from pain—it was from confusion, from terror.
"W-Where…?" Hitachi's voice trembled.
He tried to sit up but immediately cried out, clutching his head with both hands.
"They're in my head…!" he sobbed. "Whispers—so many voices—I can't think! I can't—please! Stop! Please stop it!"
He thrashed about, his breathing rapid and broken. His entire body trembled.
"Grandpa!" he cried. "Help me! Help me!"
The old man was frozen for a moment, paralyzed by the fear of something he didn't understand. But then instinct kicked in. He pulled Hitachi into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around the boy like a shield.
"You're okay, my boy. You're okay," he said through his tears. "We'll figure this out, I swear. We'll find a way…"
But even as he said it, the words rang false in his ears. He didn't believe it himself.
A hollow ache filled his chest. The truth was unbearable—Hitachi would never be the same again. Something had changed. Something inside him had awakened, and it was far from human.
Hitachi looked up at him, eyes wide and wet with fear. "Grandpa… Am I still me?"
There was silence.
"Grandpa…?"
The old man forced a smile, one that barely held back the pain behind it.
"Yes, my boy," he whispered. "You will always be you. No matter what."
Just then, Hitachi's fingers twitched, and a chair nearby rattled on its legs. For a brief second, it hovered inches above the ground—then fell with a loud crack.
The old man saw it. He froze but said nothing.
"There's something inside me," Hitachi whispered. "I can feel it. They're screaming—screaming with rage. They keep saying it over and over…"
He clenched his teeth, voice cracking. "'Let me in… Let me in…' It won't stop."
He broke into tears again. "It's too much, Grandpa. I'm going insane. I feel empty—but not. There's something else there. Something cold… and watching."
The old man gently placed his hands on Hitachi's shoulders.
"My boy, calm down. You're fine… You will be. You just need rest."
He stood up slowly and helped Hitachi to his feet, guiding him toward the bedroom. Though the bed was half-burned and the sheets were twisted with ash and soot, it was the only place he could think of.
Hitachi lay down slowly, still shaking. He closed his eyes, tears streaming silently down his cheeks.
The old man stood there for a long moment, watching the boy. Watching the last piece of his daughter's life—his only family—fight something he couldn't even see.
"He's still the same Hitachi I knew," the old man whispered to himself. "Nothing has changed…"
But deep down, he wasn't so sure.
Hitachi drifted into sleep.
Suddenly, the darkness around him parted—and he found himself standing in the middle of a battlefield.
Ash rained from the sky like snow, and the ground was cracked and dry, soaked in ancient blood. The air was thick and heavy, filled with growls and distant roars.
He turned around—and behind him stood a towering gate, blacker than night. It pulsed, like it was alive. Veins of glowing red energy ran through it like blood vessels. It was more than a gate—it was a heart. A mind. Watching him.
Hitachi stared at it, frozen by its presence.
Without warning, the gate creaked open with a groaning sound that echoed through the world. Thick, black smoke poured out like a flood. From the smoke, figures emerged—demons. Dozens. Hundreds. Crawling, flying, leaping toward him with eyes of fire and twisted limbs.
But then came silence.
A single figure stepped forward from the smoke. Unlike the others, this one did not roar or scream. He moved with calm, almost regal steps. He wore armor made of shadow, and his eyes glowed red like dying stars. No demon dared walk near him. They parted as he passed.
He stopped and stared at Hitachi.
"You are mine," the demon said, voice low and ancient. "The gate has chosen you."
Back in the real world, Hitachi began to scream.
The old man jolted awake and rushed into the room. Hitachi was on the floor, rolling and thrashing, still asleep—his face twisted in pain.
"Hitachi!" the old man cried, grabbing him and holding him tightly. "Wake up!"
At last, Hitachi's eyes flew open. Sweat poured down his face. His breathing was ragged.
He looked up at his grandfather.
"Am… am I a monster… Grandpa?"
The old man hesitated… but then wrapped his arms around the boy.
"No," he whispered, voice shaking. "You're my grandson. And you're not alone