Taki: Crimlson Wind by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Taki-Crimlson-Wind-1120652678?file=1

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Choir of the Sunken Spire

Pressure is a living weight in the abyssal trench, a crushing embrace that seeks to fold mortal bone into silt. Taki, clad in a sleek, enchanted membrane of woven sea-silk and demon-hide, drifted downward through the sapphire gloom. Rekki-Maru and Mekki-Maru, her twin blades, rested silent across her back, their intrinsic hum muffled by the profound, alien silence of the deep. She did not breathe as surface dwellers breathe; a specialized Fu-Ma ninjutsu technique allowed her to cycle the oxygen within her own blood, slowing her heart to a singular, rhythmic thud every minute. Below her, the trench cracked open to reveal the sunken necropolis of Velya.

It was a city that defied geometry, a sprawling metropolis of spiraling nautilus-towers and grand basilicas carved from pale, porous bone. Phosphorescent flora draped over the architecture like weeping willow branches, casting a sickening, bruised violet light across the ocean floor. Taki adjusted her trajectory, her boots touching down on a wide avenue paved with iridescent scales. The water here felt thick, viscous, humming with a dark magic that tasted of copper and ancient, unnamable sorrow. Shadows moved in the periphery of her vision, darting between the coral-choked alleyways, but she ignored the lesser denizens. Her focus was absolute.

Her target lay ahead: the Cathedral of the Drowned, the epicenter of a demonic resonance that had been poisoning the coastal waters of Japan. As she approached the grand archway, the immense ocean pressure abruptly vanished. A shimmer of bioluminescent energy formed a massive, dome-like barrier, filtering the crushing ocean into a breathable, heavy mist inside the sprawling structure. Taki stepped through the membrane. The water slid from her crimson armor, pooling on a floor of polished black obsidian. The sudden return of gravity and breathable air made the space feel deceptively like the world above, but the cloying scent of sweet rot suggested otherwise.

"It has been a millennium since a creature of the sun walked these halls," a voice echoed. It was a sound of agonizing beauty, possessing the melodic resonance of a cello played with a bow of spun glass. The vibration of the words seemed to bypass Taki's ears, settling directly into the marrow of her spine.

Taki did not flinch. Her hands hovered over the hilts of her kodachi, her posture a picture of coiled lethality. "Show yourself. I have not traveled to the lightless depths to converse with shadows."

From the swirling violet mist, a figure materialized. He was breathtakingly beautiful, possessing the tragic, porcelain grace of a forgotten prince. His skin was the color of moonlight on snow, translucent enough to reveal a faint, glowing network of azure veins beneath. He wore robes of woven anemone threads that shifted and breathed with a life of their own. Yet, it was his eyes that betrayed his nature—they were entirely obsidian, depthless pools of the abyss, reflecting nothing but an ancient, calculated hunger.

"I am Valerius, Sovereign of the Quiet Court," he murmured, gliding forward. His feet did not seem to touch the obsidian floor. "And you are Taki. The shadow that hunts in the light. The Fu-Ma exile. You carry the screams of a thousand severed souls, huntress. I can hear them vibrating in the steel of your wicked little daggers. It is a terrible burden for such slender shoulders."

"I carry them so others do not have to," Taki replied, her voice flat, betraying none of the creeping dread that sought to take root in her chest. "Your presence taints the currents. Your kin are turning the coastal fishermen into mutated husks. I am here to sever the rot at its root."

Valerius smiled, a slow, mesmerizing parting of lips that revealed teeth slightly too sharp, slightly too pearlescent. "Rot? You misunderstand the gift of the deep, my dear ninja. We do not rot. We preserve. The surface world is a cauldron of endless war, of fire and ash and fleeting, fragile lives. Your existence is a parade of violence, of endless nights stained with the blood of Malfested and the tears of the innocent. Here, beneath the weight of the world, there is only peace. Eternal, quiet preservation."

He gestured gracefully with a slender hand. The mist parted further, revealing the vast interior of the cathedral. It was not empty. Dozens of figures stood in the shadows, adorned in regal, ancient attire. They were elegant, statuesque, their faces locked in expressions of serene ecstasy.
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