Preamble
Witnesses lie; others refuse to remember. Three carried their truth to the grave.
The living say it began with the Battle of Three Deities.
The dead know it started long before.
Saturn devoured his children.
Assassins, strategists, fallen leaders, soldiers without a homeland—Kanto recruited only the worst.
An army of shadows, forged to bend the nation under a single will.
From the abyss, something new emerged. Or something older than fear itself.
A hell ruled only by executioners.
The streets changed.
Battles were no longer fought for honor or territory, but for the depravities of the underworld.
Every clash was a prelude to a massacre, leaving nothing behind.
No witnesses survived to tell the tale.
The ancient kings of crime fell, one after another.
Bonten was born in fire, in divine silence.
Hares chose their Cerberus.
Guardians of forbidden gates.
The Unholy Trinity.
Doomed to drag traitors into the Ninth Circle, where neither fire nor tears can redeem.
That is how a gang of children became an empire.
They struck pacts with ministers. They disguised themselves as businessmen. They planted eyes in the shadows of every alley.
The Western “God” vanished. The kami disappeared. Amaterasu had long since gone into hiding.
I tore out Buddha’s eyes. Vishnu’s arms.
Here, no bodhisattvas remain to listen. Only blood endures, and the whispers of a place that no longer needs flames.
Devil guardians. Villains of prayers.
When no deity answers, to whom do you pray, when salvation no longer exists?
