Their strength became monstrous, tearing apart those they loved most.
They dragged the corpses to the ice tree, skewering them onto its branches.
Then they knelt before the black heart, tore off their own bloodied faces, and raised them high with trembling hands.
The ice tree began to move—drinking the blood and flesh, growing taller and denser, branches thickening with each heartbeat.
When it reached one hundred and thirty meters, a single branch stretched upward, piercing the darkness within the door.
The blackness spread down that branch, staining the entire tree in moments.
The faces that had been raised high sprouted fleshy tendrils, leapt from their owners' hands, and scrambled toward the heart.
Their features blurred, colors bleaching pale as they merged together.
Around the heart, they fused—forming a tall, human-shaped figure.
Another gust tore across the plain, scattering snow into the sky.
At Hoshino's feet, one drifting flake caught the light—passing under a hawk's wing.
The sunlight filtering through its pale feathers turned the flake golden.
As the hawk soared away, the light remained trapped inside the snowflake—as though sealed by some unseen force.
It drifted down and landed on the black trunk.
And there were many like it—flakes of light dotting the dark tree, making it glitter like a starry sky.
On the platform, a tall, pale, human-shaped creature stood—its entire body covered in faces.
It reached back and seized the tree.
The ice tree convulsed violently, shrinking, condensing—until it compressed into a single glowing black ring.
The creature grasped the ring, slid it down over its head, resting it about a third of the way down.
The descent was complete.
The Okura Snow Story was over.
"…"
"…"
"…"
"Exactly the same."
Hoshino had seen it before—on the Ice Shrine's main hall.
It stood on the right side, like a king.
The same entity described in Naoto Kobayashi's diary—
the Devil embodying Primal Fear.
Hoshino had almost no chance of survival now.
The only hope left… was for a miracle to appear.
The miracle depicted on the left side of that same mural.
"…Shit. What's it trying to do?!"
Hoshino's gut clenched.
At the center of his vision, the Primal Devil surveyed its surroundings—then pressed its hands together.
Its two merged mouths opened wide, revealing concentric rings of teeth—except they weren't teeth at all, but rows of tiny, bowed, pale human figures.
They slowly straightened, their faces shifting through countless expressions.
Together with the Primal Devil, they pressed their hands together in unison.
In an instant, the world turned gray.
The next second—shattered.
Mountains, rivers, forests, buildings, people—everything vanished.
The mountainous Okura Village became a boundless plain.
Only the platform beneath the Primal Devil remained elevated, like a dark altar in an empty world.
Haa—haa—
Hoshino gasped for air, standing on the shattered remains of the ryokan. His face was pale as death.
He'd thought he was done for—but somehow, that cataclysmic power had skipped over him at the last moment.
He turned his head.
"…Still… there."
The snow-white plain stretched out endlessly, and far in the distance, the mountain supporting the Ice Shrine still stood, alone and defiant.
Relief flickered across his face. He shifted the cocoon shielding Kobeni behind him.
All he could do now was stall for time.
Time—until that white-haired shrine maiden appeared.
He swept his gaze around.
Besides the Primal Devil, there were four humans and two Devils still standing.
He memorized their faces.
Then looked back at the Primal Devil—who was looking right back at him.
In the blink of an eye, it appeared before him, its shadow swallowing him whole.
"…"
"…"
"…"
Run.
Run.
Run!
RUN!!
RUN!!!
Every cell in his body screamed that single word.
It was instinct—raw, animal terror of death itself. A law written into his genes.
Whether Hoshino lived or died, it would remain.
It had existed for millions of years—and would exist for billions more.
His head bowed of its own accord. His hands trembled uncontrollably. His knees wanted to buckle, to crawl, to surrender.
His conscious mind whispered:
His mind whispered desperately, "It's not killing you… it's curious about you. If you kneel, you might live."
But the fear was too much—it crushed every rational thought. His body moved on its own, bending lower, ready to surrender completely.
Then, in the corner of his vision, something white flashed.
He stopped.
In the Primal Devil's shining black halo, a reflection appeared—
a trembling fist.
Two fingers snapped outward.
Bang.
In an instant, the Primal Devil's head was blown apart—gone without a trace.
Everyone who'd been watching from afar froze, stunned, as the impossible unfolded before their eyes.
"Seriously?"
"Is he insane?"
"Huh?"
The white-haired host with the dangling snowflake earrings looked at Hoshino with amused curiosity.
"How interesting… but unfortunately, this is where it ends."
Hoshino's face turned pale.
"It… doesn't die?"
The Devil's shattered head reformed from dust, rewinding like a scene straight out of a sci-fi movie.
Hoshino split off a giant arm to grab the cocoon and pulled back fast, while pouring muscle into his limp left arm.
He couldn't use the giant arm as the price; it took five breaths to regenerate muscle.
The Primal Devil started running—slow at first, then faster and faster.
"Left leg muscle."
His left leg shriveled up, replaced by another thick, fleshy arm propelling him backward.
He raised a finger-gun toward the Devil and opened his mouth:
"—"
But no sound came out.
The Devil was already in front of him. Its middle finger flicked lightly against Hoshino's chest.
He barely had time to weave a thin layer of muscle fiber across his torso before—
Bang!
He was hurled backward at incredible speed, the snow beneath him parting like a blade cut through it, carving a two-hundred-meter-long trench before he crashed hard, sending up a wall of snow.
"…"
Just one hit, and Hoshino lost all ability to fight back.
His vision dimmed, darkness closing in until only a small circle remained. His body felt like it was falling apart. His tongue—frozen solid—tore his mouth into bloody shreds.
"…"
He spat out shards of bloodied ice, the hot liquid sizzling as it hit the snow.
His dull gaze swept around him—and froze.
The cocoon!