15. Corpse Circle
Chapter fifteen
Corpse Circle
Kenji
We hit the threshold, and everyone stopped.
The lollipop fell from Hiro’s mouth. It hit the stone floor with a soft clack , rolling once before resting in a smear of blood.
The air stank of iron and something sweeter like overripe fruit and piss. Death always brought both.
The lights had been shot out, but the moonlight showed us enough.
For a second, I couldn’t move.
Just stared.
Five bodies lay in a perfect circle near the entrance. The perfection of it made it worse. Not one body out of place. Not one limb askew. Not a drop of blood outside the bounds. It was a death painter’s final masterpiece.
In the center of the circle sat a sake cup. Upside down. Empty. As if to say the vow had been revoked.
And all of them were Nyomi’s guards. Men I’d personally chosen to protect her.
All their throats had been slit so cleanly I could see the gleam of tendon and bone. That meant the cuts weren’t rushed. They were surgical, almost elegant. A killer’s signature, left with pride.
One of the men had his hands frozen mid-defense—fingers curled over his chest, mouth still open as if he’d been screaming when he died.
Another stared blankly at the ceiling, eyes wide, blood drying on his lashes. His expression was stuck somewhere between confusion and terror.
These five guys never had a chance.
Rage curled cold in my gut. Whoever did this hadn’t just killed, they’d sent a message.
I returned to the importance of the murderers’ staging.
In our world, a circle meant loyalty. Unity. Blood that never spilled outward.
Circles were the spine of our rituals.
The first sake cup passed from oyabun (the boss) to kobun (the underling), the rim was smooth and round. It was a vow poured in silence, sealed by the rim’s perfect roundness. No corners. No end. Just a bond meant to loop back forever.
When a man failed us, he offered his cut-off finger in a dish shaped like the first round cup. A circle for loyalty and a finger for penance.
Our backs carried circles too. Dragons coiled in ink. Heads bowed. Tails tucked. Koi twisting upstream in an endless current.
The inked family crest, circular like a seal, pressed onto documents we never spoke of.
The ceremonial table where we sat knee-to-knee, shoulder-to-shoulder, always in a ring. No corners. No breaks.
Even the oath —the word itself starts with a circle. That soft, round "O" that opened the mouth, like it opened this violent life.
A blade was straight.
Death was final.
But loyalty?
Loyalty was round.
My father had taught us this.
Therefore, this wasn’t simply murder.
It was a message.
He was saying: The circle is broken. That Hiro and I were no longer part of the family he’d built.
Behind them—six of my own personal security that I’d ordered to escort them.
They were slaughtered.
I’d chosen and trained them. They’d sworn they would die for me, but it was never supposed to be like this. They didn’t die in battle. They were executed and then laid out like cattle.
This time it was no circle. My guards had died in extensive battle.
One had been gutted from groin to throat, his intestines spilled across the bamboo floor in a steaming coil, thick as rope and glistening like wet glass.
Another sat slumped against the greenhouse wall, the left side of his face missing. Completely torn and removed for no fucking reason, but a depraved man’s pleasure.
The third man had been flung against a wooden pillar. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. His mouth was open and each of his fingers were bent in a different direction.
The fourth and fifth were both face-down in the small koi pond near the bamboo. Two orange fish darted around them in nervous loops, but didn’t touch. Blood trailed in a lazy spiral from their mouths, rippling in the water. One’s back was riddled with punctures.
The final man was still kneeling in front of it all with his head completely gone, taken clean off the shoulders. The jagged stump steamed in the cool night air.
His hands were folded in his lap. Blood pooled between his thighs.
A gold coin had been placed in front of him.
I checked it.
The Fox’s crest.
My father’s fucking signature.
My stomach twisted.
The Fox didn’t just send spies. He sent butchers. Killers who didn’t just want to finish a mission—they wanted to defile the very idea of safety. They wanted me to know that no matter how many soldiers I trained or how many strategies I crafted, I would never be untouchable.
That I could never protect the people I loved.
And the worst part?
He’d used my own hands to do it.
I was the one who’d approved every name on that list. I’d walked Nyomi into this trap thinking she’d be surrounded by my best.
Turns out, I’d wrapped her in wolves.
I was going to burn this whole island before I let that happen again.
Hiro stepped up to the coin. His chest rose with a slow, measured inhale. “I recognize your personal guys. So that means the men in the circle are five of the Tiger’s guards?”
Rage surged through me, I spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes.”
“How many men did you assign to protect her?”
“Ten.”
He met my eyes. “Then five psychotic traitors are still breathing and are trying to get off this island—”
“Or they’re hoping to somehow let our father know where we are at—”
“Regardless they probably plan to kill more people on the island in the process—”
“We’ll fucking kill them first.”
“Exactly.”
If they got away—Nyomi would be next. I’d seen what they did to my guards. I wasn’t letting them get close to her. I put my view on the bamboo forest six feet away. “There’s no way out besides this door that we are in front of.”
Hiro turned his gaze to the forest. “So they’re hiding in there.”
“And waiting to kill us.”
Five acres of engineered wilderness sealed under glass and steel.
My graveyard of traitors.
At first glance, it looked peaceful. Tall shoots of black, red, and green bamboo reached for the sky, their stalks polished smooth by time, their leaves swaying in the dark. But the serenity was a lie. This forest wasn’t built for beauty.
It was built to break men.
The layout was a labyrinth—winding paths, no symmetry, no sanctuary. The floor was soft moss and volcanic gravel.
Moonlight slipped through the glass ceiling in long, broken beams, catching on steam, sweat, and something worse.
Bodies lay bound to the forest itself—arms lashed behind backs, chests strapped to the thickest stalks. My men had tied them and then let the bamboo grow through their bodies.
It pierced abdomens, thighs, throats—slow, green spears pushing through flesh over the course of days.
Sometimes weeks.
The lucky ones bled out quickly.
The unlucky ones remained alive in torture for days, becoming part of the forest.
Some of the bodies had rotted and been stripped to bone. Others were halfway consumed by pests, organs dangling between shoots like jungle fruit. A few still had their faces. Wide-eyed. Agape. Staring at nothing.
The scent was always the same—death and chlorophyll.
“We should split up,” Hiro said.
“But we won’t.”
His gaze snapped to me. “Now who’s being overly protective?”
“Me. And I’m fine with it.”
“If I need you, I’ll yell for you.”
“We remain next to each other.”
Hiro let out a long breath, but he didn’t argue again. He knew I wouldn’t bend when it came to his safety. Not here. Not in my forest of ghosts.
I turned to my ten personal guards still stationed near the threshold—my sharpest blades outside the Claws.
“We need more men here ,” I told them. “Guard the door. No one leaves without my word. And signal the rest—any remaining loyal on this island should be converging here now. We can’t risk chaos breaking out while we’re in there hunting.”
I turned my attention to the Claws—Hiro’s men that he’d bled beside, punished, trained, and trusted in ways even Reo and I had never fully understood.
Kaede moved first, adjusting his gloves with a flick of his fingers.
Then, with precise efficiency, he put his guns up and drew a collapsible bone saw from another holster along his spine.
It unfolded with a click too soft to be anything but threatening.
That weapon had taken more men apart than most rifles.
Daisuke was behind Hiro, almost invisible until he moved. In one smooth motion, he pulled a silenced pistol from his chest harness and checked the chamber with a flick of his thumb. Two throwing blades slid from his sleeves next.
He rotated them once in his palms, then let them vanish again.
Smoke and steel.
That was Daisuke.
Toma let out a low whistle—too cheerful, too feral—and reached back to grab his sawed-off shotgun from the harness strapped across his back.
He loaded it with a casual, practiced snap and slung a weighted chain from his belt, letting it coil around his wrist like a serpent.
The chain’s steel fangs gleamed.
Toma grinned.
That usually meant someone was about to scream.
The twins—Aki and Yuki—readied at the same time, like a mirror folding in on itself. Their curved tantos were drawn in perfect sync, held in reverse grip, blades catching moonlight for a breath before they lowered into position.
With his other hand, Yuki checked the mag on his compact submachine gun and then clicked it back into place.
Aki unwound his fine garrote wire and looped it once around each gloved knuckle.
Then I checked my own weapons.
I already had both guns in my hands—two custom-modified Uzis, matte black, heavy in the grip, built to cut through flesh like silk. The barrels had been forged with dragon-scale engraving, fine enough to be art, brutal enough to be disrespectful to show in museums.
I cocked the first. The sound cracked through the hush.
I checked the second.
Smooth slide.
Loaded.
Clean.
Across the handle of one, etched in metal was Obey.
Across the other: Burn.
“Put your guns up.” Hiro shook his head. “I don’t want you coming in there with us. You’ll stay by the door.”
“Who the fuck are you talking to?”
“Stay by the door, brother.”
I arched a brow. “You think I can’t handle five traitors?”
“You’re the head—”
“Yeah. Reo said that same bullshit at Hiroko’s club. And now Reo’s in a hospital bed. I’m fucking coming.”
Hiro frowned but didn’t push further. He turned to the twins. “Stay close to my brother. Something happens to him, and you answer to me.”
The twins stepped to my side and flanked me.
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t need the twins to guard me. I need them searching, moving, killing. Not babysitting me.”
“The twins keep you safe.” Hiro’s tone went flat. “That is the deal.”
“What fucking deal?”
“You want to come into your death forest with us, then you will fucking have guards. No other option is available.” Without another word, Hiro adjusted the grip of his custom sidearm.
He pulled it from his belt holster, checked the slide, popped the mag, and confirmed the rounds with a quick flick of his thumb.
I opened my mouth to argue—but stopped. Hiro’s fingers were shaking. Just slightly. Not from fear of dying. I knew him better than that.
It was me he was afraid of losing.
And if letting two silent shadows trail me gave him a fraction of peace, I’d allow it.
Sighing, I checked my watch. Time was passing by so fast. We needed to kill these guys before the bombs.
“Okay.” I gave a clipped nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”
We charged forward.