Kazan Yamaoka

The cold mist of the Yamaoka Estate clung to every surface, swirling ominously through the air. Distant crows cawed, their cries echoing through the decaying gardens and crumbling architecture. The trial had been a brutal one, with every survivor scrambling for their own lives under the relentless pursuit of the Oni. Kazan Yamaoka—no, The Oni—had been relentless. His hulking form tore through the underbrush, his Demon Dash leaving splintered wood and shattered pallets in his wake. Survivors had scattered like ants, each carrying the weight of fear as he harvested their blood for his insatiable rage. His kanabo, slick with both sweat and crimson, swung with devastating precision.

Through grit and determination, you managed to locate one of the others—a fellow survivor trapped under the shadow of the Oni. They had been cornered in the main building, their screams echoing as the Oni roared his fury. Against better judgment, you stepped in, creating a diversion just long enough for the other survivor to crawl to safety.

The Oni’s monstrous gaze burned into you as he turned his attention. The survivor you saved darted away without a word of thanks, leaving you to bear the brunt of the Oni’s wrath. Your heart pounded as you maneuvered through the maze-like structures of the Estate, adrenaline carrying you through near-miss after near-miss.

Eventually, the exit gates powered up with a deafening buzz, a signal that salvation was near. You limped towards the nearest gate, your injuries slowing you. There, you saw the very survivor you had saved. They stood at the edge of freedom, hesitating for a brief moment before glancing back at you.

Hope flickered in your chest. Perhaps they would wait. Perhaps they would repay the kindness you had shown.

But as your eyes met theirs, something cold and callous passed through their gaze. They stepped forward through the gate, and with a resounding clang, it sealed shut behind them.

Now, you were alone.

The low, guttural roar of the Oni sounded behind you, and the ground trembled as he approached. His enormous shadow engulfed you, and you turned to face him, your body trembling but your resolve unbroken. His kanabo dragged against the earth, the spiked weapon sending sparks flying as he raised it high.

You braced for the inevitable.

But then, he paused.

The Oni stood still, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied you. His chest heaved with exertion, and the kanabo remained suspended mid-swing. His breath was hot and heavy, the air around him crackling with barely-contained rage.

And yet, he didn’t strike.

Instead, he lowered the weapon with a growl, his towering form still menacing but no longer poised to kill. For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint whisper of the Entity's realm.

The Oni tilted his head, his demonic mask gleaming under the flickering light of the realm. There was something in his posture—curiosity, perhaps, or even disdain for the survivor who had betrayed you. Slowly, he stepped back and raised his hand, pointing toward the gate where your so-called ally had fled.

When he spoke, it wasn’t in words, but in a guttural growl that rumbled with meaning. The motion was deliberate, almost instructive. He wasn’t just sparing you—he was offering you a choice. His presence radiated something unexpected, as though he too despised betrayal, even from those who didn’t share his cursed existence.

His clawed hand moved again, this time toward you. The gesture was alien but unmistakable: an invitation. It was as though he was offering to break the cycle, to defy the Entity’s cruel machinations that had brought both of you to this place.

For a moment, the Oni’s form seemed less monstrous. His hulking figure still radiated power, but beneath the mask and the rage, there was something else—a warrior bound by honor, trapped in a realm of endless suffering. His actions conveyed a message clearer than words: not all battles need end in slaughter, and perhaps, just this once, there could be mercy in a land devoid of it.

The air hung heavy at Yamaoka's Estate, a suffocating mixture of silence and the distant rustle of leaves. Moonlight filtered through the dense forest, casting pale blue beams onto the ancient, crumbling architecture. The estate was alive in its own eerie way—groaning wood, the faint whispers of the wind, and the persistent hum of something unseen yet undeniably present.

The Oni roamed these grounds, his relentless steps echoing across the estate's barren floors. His massive frame moved with purpose, his towering presence a stark contrast to the serene, ghostly beauty of the environment. He dragged his kanabo behind him, the spiked club carving shallow trenches into the dirt as he advanced. His glowing eyes scanned the shadows, hunting for signs of his prey.

Kazan Yamaoka’s rage burned within him. Though centuries had passed since his fall from grace, the dishonor still festered in his soul, manifesting in his demonic form. This estate, his ancestral home, was both his prison and his kingdom—a place where he could unleash his wrath upon any who dared trespass.

The estate was silent, but he was not fooled. His supernatural senses detected movement in the distance—a faint scuffling sound near the rotting shrine of his ancestors. Blood Orbs lingered in the air, swirling faintly, marking the presence of an injured survivor nearby. With a guttural growl, Kazan stalked toward the shrine.

As he neared, he picked up speed, his kanabo raised, ready to strike. The ground trembled beneath his weight, leaves and twigs scattering as he surged forward. But then—unexpectedly—his world shifted.

The Oni charged with feral intensity, his focus singular. The shrine loomed ahead, its weathered wood cracking under the weight of time. But as he stepped through a narrow doorway, something went wrong. His massive frame collided with the decaying structure, his shoulder lodging firmly against the warped wood.

A sound, both absurd and anticlimactic, echoed through the estate: a loud, resounding CRACK, followed by the grinding screech of splintering timber.

Kazan froze, momentarily stunned. He attempted to move, but his armor caught against the jagged edges of the shrine’s interior. The walls, barely able to withstand his immense force, held him in place like a trap. His kanabo, too wide for the cramped space, slipped from his grip and clattered uselessly to the ground.

He snarled, his rage bubbling over, and attempted to free himself. Muscles rippled beneath his demonic skin as he strained against the confines of the shrine. The wood groaned in protest, but it held firm. His growls grew louder, filling the estate with a cacophony of frustration and fury.

The mighty Oni—Kazan Yamaoka, the wrathful specter of dishonor—was stuck.

As the moments dragged on, his growls quieted, replaced by a strange, almost begrudging silence. His glowing eyes scanned the estate, wary of any who might witness his predicament. His pride, the very core of his being, felt under siege.

He attempted to pull his arm free once more, twisting and contorting his body, but the more he struggled, the deeper he became entangled in the shrine’s unforgiving architecture. It was an ironic twist of fate—this proud warrior, bound not by chains or an opponent’s strength but by the stubborn grip of rotting wood.

For the first time in centuries, Kazan felt… powerless. His rage simmered beneath the surface, but another emotion crept in, one he was unaccustomed to acknowledging: humiliation.

Still, he refused to accept defeat. He let out a low, guttural sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly as he conserved his strength. Perhaps he could wait for the shrine to give way under his weight. Or perhaps…

His glowing eyes flicked to the shadows around the estate. If anyone was there—if anyone dared approach him in this state—they would have to contend with the full weight of his wrath. Yet deep down, another thought lingered: would they laugh?

For the first time, the indomitable Oni seemed less like a demon and more like a man—prideful, stubborn, and, in this moment, undeniably vulnerable.

So, you were behind him, looking at the frankly exposed big ass that beckoned as Kazan tried to get out. But is it worth taking the absurd but much desired move? All depends on you.