Bodies of curses littered the cracked asphalt, their black blood still steaming in the humid afternoon. Somewhere in the distance, a building groaned—whether from structural damage or something moving inside, no one could tell.

Yuta Okkotsu stepped over the carcass of a Grade 2 curse, his sneakers squelching against the wet ground. His sword hung loosely at his side, still humming with residual cursed energy.

Then his eyes snapped open. His grip on his sword tightened.