Chapter 3: Into the Mouth of Death

Midnight strikes, and silence hangs heavy over the Blood Raven Headquarters. The air is thick with a cold wind, and the faint sound of crows echoes in the distance. From the shadows of the courtyard, a figure emerges—Takeshi Hatabe, cloaked in his pitch-black shinobi garb, two katanas crossed on his back, and his demonic black mask concealing his face. Every step he takes is slow, deliberate, and filled with menace. The flickering torches lining the corridor paint his shadow across the walls like the silhouette of a monster.

As Takeshi walks through the stone halls, other shinobi of the clan halt in their tracks. Their eyes widen, some in awe, others in terror. They whisper among themselves, careful not to speak too loudly, for the man before them is no ordinary shinobi. He is The Devil Butcher—a living nightmare, a legend of blood and carnage whose methods terrify even his own brethren. Stories of his merciless executions have spread across the continent: victims torn apart, enemies mutilated beyond recognition, entire units of shinobi reduced to corpses in crimson pools.

The heavy doors of the Grand Master’s hall creak open. Inside, a long chamber illuminated by lanterns reveals Grand Master Hayato seated upon his throne of black oak. Six council members stand at his sides, cloaked in ceremonial robes, their gazes sharp but uneasy. Takeshi steps forward, removes his black mask, and bows deeply. His cold, scarred face emerges from beneath the mask—expressionless, yet radiating a quiet horror.

Grand Master Hayato is the first to speak, his voice calm yet filled with gravity.

“The Devil Butcher… The mission you executed two nights ago has shaken this world. It was beyond impressive, beyond ruthless. You have surpassed all shinobi, not only of this clan but of every clan that still breathes. Yet, with such reputation, comes danger. Many now wish for your death. Syndicates, cartels, mafias, even rival clans—all have placed a bounty on your head. The Red Ghost Clan has already fallen by your hands. Sooner or later, your identity will be revealed, and when that happens, neither you nor Blood Raven will be safe. Tell us, Takeshi… do you have something to say?”

Takeshi raises his head slowly. His voice is calm, deep, yet sharp like a blade drawn across bone.

“I am aware that countless men crave my death. But they will never claim my head. It is I who take theirs. Still, I cannot wait for them to come knocking at our doors. Therefore, I propose a mission for myself. A mission beyond the boundaries of reason.”

The council stirs uneasily, exchanging worried glances. Grand Master Hayato narrows his eyes.

“And what mission do you propose, Devil Butcher?”

Without hesitation, Takeshi’s voice cuts through the air:

“I propose… The Impossible Mission. I will hunt and slaughter every high-class criminal across the continent—mafias, human traffickers, drug lords, corrupt politicians, and every rival clan that dares oppose us.”

Gasps ripple through the chamber. One of the council members slams his hand against the table.

“This is madness! This isn’t an impossible mission—this is suicide! You are too valuable to risk on such insanity. Are you mocking death, Takeshi Hatabe? Do you crave it?”

Another councilor steps forward, his voice harsh and filled with rage.

“Our Devil Butcher has become arrogant. His bloodlust blinds him. Do you think you can stand against the world alone?”

Takeshi’s expression does not shift. His eyes are cold, unblinking, as he responds in a voice that chills the chamber. “I only do what must be done to ensure the survival of Blood Raven. If you have another solution, then I welcome it. But if not, then stay out of my way.”

The council seethes, but Grand Master Hayato raises his hand, silencing the outburst. His gaze locks onto Takeshi.

“You dare present us with a mission no sane man would accept. And yet… if there is one shinobi who can carry such madness, it is you, Devil Butcher. Your record is unmatched. Your methods are brutal, but your results are undeniable. Against a hundred shinobi, a hundred mercenaries armed with steel and guns—you survived. They did not. If anyone is to execute a mission of suicide… it is you.”

The room falls into a tense silence. Then, another councilor speaks, hesitant but curious.

“Takeshi… how can you be certain you will succeed? How can you promise us that you will return alive?”

His tone, calm yet cutting, fuels the Elders’ rage. But before conflict sparks, Grand Master Hayato raises his hand.

“Enough. You underestimate the man who stands before you. This is no ordinary shinobi. This is The Devil Butcher. His skills are unmatched, his brutality legendary, his record flawless. Every mission given, he completes—often in ways more terrifying than we imagined. If there is one man who can execute such a suicidal mission... it is him. I propose full support.” The Elders fall silent, unsettled but swayed by the Grand Master’s words. One leans forward, eyes narrow.

“Takeshi... what assurance do we have that you will return alive?”Takeshi slowly rises to his feet, his crimson gaze sweeping over them. “I cannot promise survival. But I can promise you this: when I am finished, none of my prey will remain whole.”

A shiver cuts through the chamber. Silence reigns. Then, one by one, the Elders nod, granting their approval. Grand Master Hayato bows his head. “Go, Devil Butcher. The world itself shall tremble.”

Takeshi bows, dons his mask, and departs.

As Takeshi departs, whispers of unease ripple through the chamber. One elder leans toward Hayato, voice trembling.

“Hayato… you know this is no mission, but a death sentence. If we lose him—”

Hayato cuts him short.

“Takeshi is not like other shinobi. He fears nothing because he has nothing left to lose but his life. And he has never failed, even when outnumbered a hundred to one. There is only one man who could rival him, The Ghost Wolf. But their paths have long since diverged. With or without him, Takeshi Hatabe is our only blade sharp enough for this task.”

The elders bow their heads in resignation. They know the Devil Butcher now walks toward a mission no man would dare attempt.

As Takeshi strides through the halls, shinobi part before him like shadows before flame, none daring to obstruct his path. In his quarters, he gathers his arsenal: twin katanas and two spares, dual chained kunai, pouches of shuriken, smoke bombs, and above all, the Black Demon Mask—the grim witness to his endless carnage.

But as he prepares to leave, a cold voice halts him.

Hatsuko, the frost-hearted kunoichi who secretly harbors feelings for him, steps into his path. Her eyes burn with anguish.

“Are you insane, Takeshi? This mission… it is suicide. Do you truly wish to taunt death? For what? For whom? Your arrogance makes you hated, even among your own. Is this still about… Haruna?”

The moment the forbidden name leaves her lips, Takeshi halts. Slowly, he turns his head. His eyes glow crimson—like burning coals within the darkness. Hatsuko’s breath falters. Fear seizes her chest. He says nothing. Not a word. He merely stares. And then he turns away, leaving her frozen, trembling, yet strangely relieved.

At his apartment, Takeshi prepares. One by one, the tools of death are laid out. His black shinobi armor, stitched in shadows. His twin katanas, blades hungry for flesh. A reserve set of chained kunai. Dozens of shuriken, each sharpened to perfection. And last—the Black Demon Mask, polished and waiting, its hollow grin forever stained by the screams of the damned.

Two days later, Takeshi is at the airport. His destination: Italy—the first hunting ground where human traffickers, mafias, and drug lords shall be fed to his blades. Passing through security is effortless. His devices scramble every scanner, rendering his arsenal invisible.

At the boarding gate, a nearby television blares with breaking news. The anchor’s voice carries across the terminal:

“The Devil Butcher has struck again. Authorities confirm another massacre of syndicate members, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition. Fear spreads like wildfire. Who is this masked executioner? What does he want? And—perhaps most haunting of all—where will he strike next?”

Takeshi smirks as the boarding call echoes through the terminal. He steps forward, his shadow stretching long and black across the polished floor. The Devil Butcher’s mission has begun.

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