Death of the Gods

The soft light of the moon streamed into the room through a large glass window, bathing the space in silvery tones. In the center, a young woman with long, black hair gazed out at the sleeping city below. Dressed in a light pink pajama set, she rested her arms on the windowsill, her blue eyes reflecting the distant city lights. There was an apparent tranquility in her posture, but the soft tapping of her fingers against the glass betrayed her unease.

The room was spacious and elegant, with dark wooden furniture polished to a shine under the diffused light. Navy blue velvet curtains were partially open, revealing a panoramic view of the city. In the corner, a full-length mirror reflected the slender figure of the girl, capturing the way her silky, straight hair cascaded over her shoulders.

A sound broke the silence. Three soft knocks on the door. The young woman straightened, tugging at the sleeves of her pajama top as though trying to compose herself before turning around.

"Miss?" called a polite voice from the other side, with a slightly hesitant tone.

The girl took a deep breath before responding.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, and a second young woman appeared. She wore a black and white maid's uniform with long sleeves and lace details on the shoulders. Her short, reddish hair was tied with a small blue ribbon, and her orange eyes gleamed under the hallway light. There was something warm in her expression, though it carried a trace of nervousness at that moment.

"We received a call for you, Miss. They insisted it was urgent." She held a portable phone in her hands, approaching slowly.

The room's owner raised an eyebrow, taking the device without hurry.

"Who is it?"

"They didn't identify themselves, Miss. They said they could only speak directly with you."

With a restrained sigh, the young woman held the phone to her ear. The maid, still standing beside her, kept her hands folded in front of her apron, waiting for any instructions.

"I'm listening," the girl said, her voice firm despite the calm tone.

On the other end of the line, a male, foreign voice emerged. His accent was noticeable, as though someone who had learned Japanese but did not fully master it.

"Miss... Tohno?"

The young woman froze. For a brief moment, the maid beside her noticed her lips press together, as if she recognized something from just the name.

"Yes. Who's speaking?" she replied after a brief silence.

The voice on the other side hesitated, as though carefully choosing its words.

"My name is Detective Park. I'm reaching out regarding a missing member of your family."

The young woman felt her stomach tighten. Her hands, which had been steady, now gripped the phone more tightly.

"Go on," she ordered.

"We've found someone we believe to be... Shiki Tohno."

The name hit like thunder in the quiet room. The maid's eyes widened for a brief instant, but she stifled any audible reaction. The young woman, however, remained rigid, though the gleam in her eyes suggested that something had broken within her.

"Shiki?" She repeated, as if she needed to confirm what she had just heard.

"Yes, Miss. However... there are some unusual circumstances surrounding the case. We need to speak in person to clarify the situation."

The silence that followed was dense. The young woman closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to process what had been said. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke again, her voice colder this time.

"I'll be there tomorrow. I'll send someone to confirm the details."

"Understood. Thank you for your time, Miss Tohno." And the line went dead.

She held the phone for a few moments before slowly lowering it. Her blue eyes were fixed on the wall, though clearly, they were looking beyond, at something distant and unreachable.

"Miss Akiha..." murmured the maid, finally breaking the silence.

Akiha Tohno turned to face her. Her expression had changed. No longer was there tranquility or hesitation on her face. Now, she wore the calculated coldness of someone who knew she was about to deal with something much larger than it appeared.

"Prepare the car, Kohaku. I want to be ready to leave in the morning."

"Yes, Miss."

With a slight bow, Kohaku withdrew, leaving Akiha alone in the room.

The young Tohno returned her gaze to the window, but this time her thoughts were far from the peaceful view. Shiki... If it really was him, why had he disappeared? And what did those "unusual circumstances" mentioned by the detective mean?

Her fingers tightened around the windowsill. It didn't matter what answers awaited her. Akiha was determined to get them.

.

.

.

Rodrigo

Rodrigo was shoved into the cell with a harsh push, and the metallic sound of the door closing echoed down the corridor. The noise of the bolt turning felt like a sharp blow to his mind, sealing him into yet another cage.

He stood for a few seconds, observing the cramped space. A metal bed bolted to the wall, a dirty toilet in the corner, and dark stains on the cracked concrete. The air was heavy with the smell of rust and cheap disinfectant. Rodrigo let out a heavy sigh before walking to the bed and throwing himself onto it, immediately feeling the discomfort of the thin, misshapen mattress.

"This is child's play."

The thought came swiftly, full of disdain. Rodrigo had seen real prisons. Prisons where the law ended at the cell door, and what happened inside was dictated by brute force.

He recalled nights spent in suffocating cells in Brazil, where the smell of sweat, cheap cigarettes, and dried blood mixed with the stifling heat. Hunger strikes organized to protest mistreatment, the screams during riots, and the muffled sounds of bodies being beaten in dark corners.

The internal wars were constant. Rival factions fought for territory and power, and those who didn't choose a side were doomed to be crushed in the middle of the conflict. Rodrigo had learned that the hard way. He'd been ambushed in the yard, beaten by a group while trying to sleep, even threatened by guards who preferred to ignore his existence rather than maintain order.

"I survived that."

He clenched his fists, the knuckles turning white. He had survived the factions, the stealthy attacks, and the death threats. Survived the trafficking that ran freely through the halls, where drugs and makeshift weapons were as common as misery. Rodrigo had learned to navigate this world, making alliances, trading favors, and getting his hands dirty when necessary.

Compared to that, this cell felt like a cheap hotel room. Too clean. Too quiet.

"But now it's different."

He wasn't dealing with common criminals or corrupt cops. He was alone, in a foreign country, in a body he didn't even recognize as his own. And worse yet, he was trapped not because of crimes he had committed, but for something he couldn't even explain.

Rodrigo rubbed his face and stared at the ceiling, trying to push away the thoughts that pulled him back to the past. In the Brazilian prison, at least he knew what to expect. He knew how to act to survive. Here, he was blind.

"If I only had his powers..."

The name echoed back in his mind like an unsettling whisper. Shiki Tohno.

Rodrigo closed his eyes, trying to focus. If this wasn't a nightmare, then he needed to accept the reality and understand his new condition. Shiki Tohno wasn't just any name—it was the name of a fictional character. A fragile boy with a terrifying ability.

The Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.

Rodrigo opened his eyes again and stared at the cracked ceiling. The concept of that ability seemed absurd, but now, trapped in a body that wasn't his, absurdity had become the norm.

"Did I really inherit that too?"

The idea unsettled him. If he had inherited the Mystic Eyes, he would be able to see the lines that held everything together in the world—the lines of death. All it took was cutting them to destroy anything, regardless of size or nature. A power as frightening as it was seductive.

Rodrigo reached for the glasses he wore. They weren't the same enchanted glasses that Shiki received from Aoko, the mysterious woman who served as his mentor. In the game, Aoko had not only helped him emotionally but had sealed his ability with those magical glasses.

"But I didn't see any lines..."

That bothered him. If he had inherited the body, why hadn't he inherited the abilities as well? Or were they just dormant, waiting for something to awaken them?

Rodrigo squeezed the glasses between his fingers, pondering. Maybe it was better this way. The Mystic Eyes were as much a curse as a blessing. In the game, Shiki could barely keep his sanity after seeing the world in such a fragile state, full of cracks and cutting lines.

But Rodrigo couldn't help but think of the usefulness that power would have.

"If they come after me... if I'm in danger..."

He bit his lip, feeling the tension rise in his chest. No matter how calm this cell seemed, he knew that it was just the beginning. That feeling of being watched, surveilled, wouldn't let him be at peace.

Rodrigo turned to his side and stared at the bars, his mind spinning with possibilities. If it was true, if he had really inherited Shiki's power, then he would have to learn to use it. More than that—he would have to learn to control it.

Because unlike the prisons in Brazil, where the threats came from men made of flesh and bone, he felt that what awaited him outside that cell was something far worse.

Rodrigo closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the hard bed as his mind wandered far from the claustrophobic space. He took a deep breath, trying to push away the sense of oppression that the cell brought him. The cold, thin mattress pressing against his back was irritating, but what bothered him more was the uncertainty of what would come next.

"If I really am in Tsukihime..."

The thought echoed like a dark whisper in his mind. He strained to remember everything he knew about that visual novel, the game he'd played when he was about 13, spending hours on forums and fan communities. Tsukihime had been one of his first encounters with the world of visual novels—and one of the most impactful.

It was a dense, dark story full of mysteries. Vampires, demons, and creatures that defied human logic were integral parts of that world. Rodrigo remembered the protagonist, Shiki Tohno, an apparently normal boy, but with a dark secret that tied him to supernatural events.

"If all of this is true... then I have to deal with vampires?"

He swallowed hard.

The first image that came to his mind was Arcueid Brunestud.

A woman with hair as golden as the sun and eyes red as rubies. Beautiful, almost ethereal, but lethal. Rodrigo remembered the impact she made the first time she appeared. Arcueid was a vampire princess, the most powerful of the True Ancestors. In the game, she had asked Shiki for help in hunting down another dangerous vampire, a Dead Apostle named Roa.

Rodrigo let out a low laugh, a bitter sound.

"Arcueid... does she exist here?"

If she did, then that meant Roa would be nearby—and he didn't even want to think about what that meant. He remembered how dangerous Roa was and how intense the fights against him and his subordinates had been in the game.

But Arcueid wasn't the only memory haunting him.

The figure of Aoko Aozaki appeared in his mind shortly after.

"Aoko..."

Rodrigo sighed. Even though Aoko had little presence in Tsukihime, she was a memorable character. A mysterious mage, but with an almost maternal charisma. In Shiki's past, Aoko had appeared when he was still recovering from the accident that nearly killed him. She was the one who helped him deal with the trauma of awakening the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.

He remembered how she had provided emotional support to the boy, but also trained him and prepared him to handle that cursed ability. She gave him the glasses that sealed his view of death points, allowing him to live a relatively normal life — at least until the events of the game began.

Rodrigo touched the glasses on his face.

"But I woke up without her glasses..."

This deeply troubled him. If Aoko had been so important to Shiki, why didn't he, now in this body, have any trace of her training or the powers he was supposed to have inherited?

However, his thoughts didn't stop there.

"And those two..."

Images of the Tohno Mansion maids appeared in his mind: Hisui and Kohaku.

Hisui, the more serious and reserved of the two, with her short red hair and cold eyes, always exuded an aura of calm and professionalism. Rodrigo remembered how devoted and loyal she was to Shiki, despite hiding deep emotions behind that serene facade.

Then there was Kohaku, with her more cheerful and laid-back personality, a ray of light amidst the dark atmosphere of the game. But Rodrigo knew that behind her warm smile, there was a tragic and disturbing story — a revelation that had made him uncomfortable when he first played.

"Do they exist here too?"

He found himself thinking about what he would do if he met the two of them. Would they treat him like Shiki? Would they know the truth about who he really was?

But the memory that bothered him the most came last.

"Akiha..."

Rodrigo sighed heavily. Akiha Tohno, Shiki's younger sister. Proud, controlling, and sometimes even frightening. But, at the same time, protective and affectionate in her own way. He remembered how the relationship between Shiki and Akiha was complicated, full of tension, guilt, and unresolved feelings.

"Shit... even those alternate versions."

Rodrigo chuckled to himself as he remembered the fan-created versions, where it was possible to have a romantic relationship with Akiha. He had never paid much attention to that at the time, but now...

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again.

If he was really in Tsukihime, then Akiha's presence meant more than just family conflicts. She had the demon blood of the Tohno family running through her veins, a dark legacy that made her powerful — and dangerous.

"What if she sees me as an imposter?"

The thought of facing Akiha's wrath made him shiver. As much as she was a captivating character in the game, Rodrigo knew what she was capable of when she felt her family was being threatened.

He rubbed his face, trying to push the thoughts away.

"I need to calm down. It's no use thinking about this now."

He still didn't know if this was real or some kind of elaborate nightmare. But if it was really the world of Tsukihime, Rodrigo would have to prepare. Vampires, mages, demons... none of that was a joke.

Closing his eyes once again, he tried to push away the growing anxiety. If he had learned anything during the years he spent in Brazilian prisons, it was that losing control never helped.

"One step at a time."

For now, he needed to survive in that cell. The rest... he would figure out later.

---

The rain hammered the metal roof and the barred windows of the prison, creating a constant, muffled noise that echoed through the dark hallways. Thunder roared like a distant beast, while lightning briefly illuminated the distorted shadows projected onto the time-stained concrete walls.

Outside, heavily armed guards patrolled in groups of two or three, their boots echoing on the damp ground. None of them dared to walk alone. In that place, even the slightest sign of weakness could cost them dearly. They knew that.

Inside a stuffy, dimly lit cell, two men remained in silence.

The first, lying on the lower bed, was a young man with messy black hair, tan skin, and slightly slanted eyes. He wore a faded orange uniform, marked by stains that never came out no matter how many times it was washed. His eyes were fixed on the metal ceiling above him, but his mind was far away.

Rodrigo. That was the name he used here.

On the top bunk, an older man moved slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked down. He was almost forty but still had the strength and vigor of someone who had spent their whole life fighting. Light skin, blue eyes, and strands of white hair that contrasted with his athletic appearance.

He was simply known as the Captain.

— "Rodrigo." — His voice was low, almost a whisper, but carried firmness. — "It's almost time. You remember what we're going to do when the lights go out, don't you?"

Rodrigo turned his face to look at him. His eyes briefly glowed with a mix of determination and fury.

— "Of course, Captain..." — A grim smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. — "I can't wait to kill a few bastards and get the hell out of this shit."

They exchanged a silent look of understanding. They didn't need more words.

Rodrigo adjusted himself on the bed, but his posture remained tense. The two knew what was at stake that night. The storm outside was the perfect opportunity — it would muffle the sounds and create distractions for the guards, but it also increased the risk. One wrong move and they would be dead before they even took the first step.

The Captain leaned forward slightly, his arm muscles flexing under the dim light of the ceiling lamp.

— "Remember, kid. This isn't just about escaping. We've got something to settle out there."

Rodrigo nodded slowly. He didn't need reminding. There were people waiting for them outside — enemies who deserved to pay for what they'd done.

But before that, they needed to get out of that hell alive.

Rodrigo shifted his gaze to the corner of the cell, where a rusty pocket knife was carefully hidden inside a hole in the mattress. Small, but sharp enough to cut flesh. He had gotten it in a silent exchange weeks ago, trading his pair of sneakers for it. Since then, he had treated the blade as if it were his soul.

He discreetly pulled out the knife and opened it just enough to see the metallic gleam of the blade.

The Captain watched the movement but said nothing. They had rehearsed everything countless times. They knew which guards were weaker, which ones took longer to react, and most importantly — which ones were tired and distracted by a long shift on a stormy night.

Rodrigo returned the knife to its hiding place and closed his eyes for a moment.

His breathing deepened, but his heart continued to race. His mind spun with thoughts about the plan. He knew there was no guarantee of success. Escaping from this prison meant facing gunfire, sniffer dogs, and guards with automatic weapons.

But he had already faced worse.

The memories flashed through his mind like lightning — the smell of blood on concrete, muffled screams, and bodies piled on the floor of another prison. The internal war between factions. Drugs running rampant through the hallways, with improvised knives hidden in pockets and predatory stares everywhere.

He had been thrown to the bottom of the pit before and lived to tell the tale. Survivor. Monster. Outcast.

Back then, Rodrigo had done things he'd rather forget. Quick and clean cuts. Executions in dark alleys and whispered threats between bars. But here... here it was different. It wasn't just about survival.

It was about freedom.

He opened his eyes, staring at the metallic ceiling once again.

The Captain finally lay down on the upper bunk, his hands behind his head.

"Get some sleep, Rodrigo. You'll need your reflexes sharp."

Rodrigo sighed heavily. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, but he closed his eyes anyway.

The sound of the rain continued. The storm outside was fierce, but the storm inside him was even fiercer.

Deep down, Rodrigo knew that this escape was more than just getting out of a cell. It was his chance to rewrite his story. To leave behind the man he had been — or maybe, to become something even worse.

And if he had to wade through a sea of blood to do it, then so be it.

He fell asleep, his fingers still touching the handle of the rusted knife hidden under the mattress.

!!!

The thunder roared in the sky like a beast's growl, followed by a sharp crack. The lights flickered frantically before going out entirely, plunging the prison into complete darkness.

Rodrigo barely had time to process what had happened before he felt an impact on his head.

"Wake up, damn it!" The Captain's gravelly voice cut through the blackness. "It's time."

Rodrigo sat up immediately, still groggy. He felt something cold shoved in his direction.

"Here. Put this on."

It was a tactical visor. Makeshift night-vision goggles, probably stolen or smuggled by one of the prison's corrupt guards. Rodrigo slid the equipment onto his face, and the darkness was replaced by neon green tones. He could see the Captain clearly now — standing beside the bed, a predatory smile on his face.

The sounds around them began to shift. First, a tense silence, followed by a single scream.

Then came the chaos.

The metallic crash of iron bars being struck, doors being broken down, and screams echoing through the halls. The sound was a wild mix of rage, desperation, and imminent freedom.

Rodrigo stood up, grabbing the rusted knife from the mattress. The blade reflected the faint light that filtered through the cracks in the security windows.

"This is going to be hell," Rodrigo muttered, adjusting the goggles on his face.

The Captain wasted no time, walking over to the steel door of the cell. He pressed his ear to the metal for a moment, then pulled an improvised tool from his pocket — a handmade key crafted from a piece of metal stolen from the workshop months ago.

Rodrigo moved closer, his heart racing.

"The factions are already moving," the Captain murmured while working on the lock. "Blue Whale and God's Demon must already be getting weapons."

Rodrigo let out a quiet laugh.

"Good." He twirled the knife between his fingers. "Then it's going to be fun."

A dry click echoed as the lock finally gave way. The Captain pushed the door, which slid open with a sharp creak.

"Stay close. They won't hesitate to slit your throat if they see you alone."

Rodrigo just nodded, his eyes gleaming under the green light of the visor.

The corridor in front of them was filled with shadows and moving figures. The other prisoners had already started freeing themselves, pushing doors and breaking locks with pieces of pipes and iron bars torn from their beds. Some carried improvised weapons, while others just used their bare hands to attack fallen guards.

The smell of sweat, rust, and blood was already beginning to saturate the air.

"We need better weapons." The Captain whispered, moving quickly. "The armory is downstairs. But I bet Blue Whale is already there."

Rodrigo followed, keeping an eye on every movement around him. He knew the factions that ruled the prison were ruthless.

The Blue Whale was made up of hired killers and former soldiers who followed a brutal and lethal discipline. They were strategists and masters of firearms.

God's Demon, on the other hand, was a more chaotic gang, made up of religious fanatics and psychopaths who believed they were fulfilling a divine mission. They were known for their gruesome rituals and extreme cruelty.

Rodrigo felt a jolt of adrenaline rise in his chest. Those factions had already made him a target before, and now he would have the chance to return the favor.

They descended a narrow staircase, dodging the bodies of fallen guards and prisoners. The Captain grabbed a fallen nightstick from the floor and handed it to Rodrigo.

"Hold on to this. It'll be useful."

Rodrigo took the nightstick and fastened it to his makeshift belt, keeping the knife in his hand.

As they turned a corner, they encountered a group of five prisoners, all from the Blue Whale. They had already looted a weapons crate and were carrying pistols and machetes.

One of the men pointed at them.

"You there!" he shouted. "Move, and you're dead."

Rodrigo exchanged a quick glance with the Captain.

"Looks like the party's started," Rodrigo murmured, tightening his grip on the knife.

The Captain smiled.

"Then let's dance."

And before anyone could react, they charged.

Rodrigo knew this night wouldn't end without blood — and he was prepared to spill as much as necessary.

BANG BANG!!!

The bullets cut through the air like metal mosquitoes, ricocheting off the walls and concrete columns of the prison. The echo of the shots reverberated through the hallways, mixing with the screams of the prisoners and the sound of frantic footsteps. Rodrigo and the Captain had already ducked behind a reinforced wall, using it as improvised cover.

Rodrigo pressed his back against the cold concrete, his heart pounding like a drum. He felt the adrenaline surge through his veins, sharpening his senses. The gunfire stopped for a moment, but he knew that was just the beginning.

With a mocking grin, Rodrigo shouted:

— "Hey, you assholes! You really need these guns to come at me? Hahaha! Can't face a real man without a damn pistol in your hand?!"

The brief silence was shattered by indignant murmurs from across the corridor. Rodrigo seized the opportunity to continue:

— "I expected nothing less from the little bitches of the Blue Whale! You're only tough with your fingers on the trigger, huh? But what happens when you have to settle things with your fists? Bet you cry like babies!"

The provocation acted like a fuse. Rodrigo heard the insults in response, followed by the metallic sound of weapons being dropped on the floor. The click of blades being drawn echoed shortly after. Knives and machetes were unsheathed, and iron bars scraped the floor as they were dragged.

— "Let's rip this bastard's tongue out!" — one of them snarled, already charging.

Rodrigo turned his head to the Captain and exchanged a quick look. It was a firm look, full of unspoken meaning. The Captain furrowed his brow, almost as if he were going to contest it, but then he stepped back and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

— "Go ahead, kid." — he murmured. — "Let's see if you're still the same demon as before."

Rodrigo grinned.

He took the baton from his belt and spun it between his fingers, testing its weight. In his other hand, he kept the sharp, worn-out knife.

The five men charged together, each coming from a different angle.

The first one tried a downward strike with the iron bar, but Rodrigo dodged to the side and hit the attacker's knee with the baton. The sound of the bone breaking echoed along with the man's scream as he fell to the ground, clutching his shattered leg.

Without giving the next one a chance to react, Rodrigo spun around and slashed the second attacker's face with the knife, cutting his cheek from side to side. Blood splattered on the wall as the man staggered back, screaming.

— "Is that all you've got?!" — Rodrigo shouted, his eyes gleaming with adrenaline.

The third one tried to stab him with a knife, but Rodrigo grabbed the opponent's wrist before the blade could pierce him. He twisted the man's arm, forcing him to drop the knife. In a swift move, Rodrigo grabbed the blade out of the air and plunged it into the man's throat. Blood gushed out as the body collapsed to the floor.

The remaining two hesitated for a second. Rodrigo saw the fear in their eyes.

— "It's too late to back out now." — he said, smiling like a predator.

The fourth man charged desperately, trying to grab him, but Rodrigo used the baton to break the aggressor's fingers before delivering a knee to his stomach. As the man fell to his knees, Rodrigo drove the knife into the back of his neck.

The last one tried to flee, but Rodrigo was faster. He grabbed the iron bar the first man had dropped and threw it like a spear. The metal struck the man's leg, knocking him to the ground.

Rodrigo walked slowly toward him.

— "You should've kept the weapon." — he murmured before smashing the man's face with the baton.

The sound of bones breaking was muffled by the screams and gunshots still echoing through the prison. Rodrigo turned to the Captain, taking a deep breath and wiping the blood off the knife with his orange shirt.

— "Done." — he said, almost out of breath. — "Let's grab the weapons and get the hell out of here."

The Captain looked at the fallen bodies, then at Rodrigo, a glint of respect in his eyes.

— "You're still the same damn psychopath."

— "Always have been." — Rodrigo replied, grinning.

They then moved down the corridors, leaving the bodies and the smell of death behind, ready for the next challenge awaiting them in the hell of that prison.

.

.

.

Rodrigo slowly opened his eyes, feeling the sunlight pour into the cell and warm his face. The light streamed in soft beams through the small, barred window positioned meters above, casting long shadows on the concrete walls. The smell of rust and sweat lingered in the air, a constant reminder of his current situation.

He let out a long sigh, the sound echoing slightly in the empty cell. He sat up on the hard, creaking bed, running his hands over his face before staring at them with intense focus. For a moment, his fingers trembled, as if they still felt the pulse of blood during the fight in the dream.

"Shit..." he murmured to himself.

The dream had felt so real, so vivid. The images of blood, screams, and broken bones still echoed in his mind. And yet, he knew it was nothing more than a memory from another time, from another life. Or perhaps it wasn't just a memory... maybe it was a reflection of who he truly was, even now, trapped in this different body.

Rodrigo looked at his hands again. They were paler than he remembered. Thinner and more delicate, like those of a boy who had never worked a day in his life. He clenched his fists, feeling the strength that still resided in them, despite their fragile appearance.

"In the end... maybe I'm not so different from you, Shiki," he muttered softly, almost as if he were talking to the original owner of this body.

He got up slowly, feeling the weight of fatigue in his muscles, but also an unsettling energy burning beneath his skin. He walked over to the small sink in the corner of the cell and splashed some water on his face. The cold touch helped dissipate the shadows of the dream.

If this truly was the world of *Tsukihime*, then everything he knew about that story might be the key to surviving. Vampires, onis, assassins... Rodrigo knew the dangers that awaited in the dark alleys and opulent halls of that narrative.

But something was wrong. Something didn't match up with the memories he had of the game.

In the *Tsukihime* he had played, Shiki Tohno never disappeared. He lived with the Tohno family and followed his routine — chaotic as it was — without simply vanishing like the police reports said. That detail bothered Rodrigo more than he cared to admit.

"Maybe it's an alternate version..." he whispered to himself, trying to find some logic in the absurdity of his situation.

He ran his fingers over the prescription-less glasses on his face. The iconic accessory of Shiki. In the game, those glasses had been given to him by Aoko, and they were the only thing preventing Shiki from seeing the lines of death. But Rodrigo still hadn't seen any lines. No sign of that cursed ability that made Shiki so dangerous... and so vulnerable.

Did that mean he didn't possess the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception? Or had they not awakened yet?

Rodrigo squeezed the glasses between his fingers, feeling the symbolic weight they carried. As much as he wanted to deny it, there was a part of him that feared discovering the truth. If he had really inherited that ability, not only would his view of the world change, but also the way he interacted with it.

And what if, in the end, he wasn't ready to bear that power?

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push the doubts aside. When he opened them again, he looked back at his hands.

"Alternate or not..." he murmured. "If this world really is *Tsukihime*, then I'll need answers. And fast."

Rodrigo turned toward the steel door of the cell, hearing the muffled sounds of footsteps and voices in the corridor. Maybe it was time to stop worrying about what it could be... and start preparing for what was to come.

Time seemed to drag in the cold, stifling cell. Rodrigo spent the first few minutes pacing back and forth, counting the steps between the narrow walls, as if that could speed up the passage of time. But soon, he gave up, sitting back down on the hard bed, his back against the concrete wall.

He stared at the ceiling, his eyes fixed on the cracks and dark stains that seemed to form abstract patterns. At some point, the sounds of the police station began to fade into the background — the voices of officers, the clinking of keys, the heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor.

He closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed since he was thrown into that cell. It could have been hours, maybe even more than a day. Without a clock or any reference of time, Rodrigo felt adrift. The only clue was the cycle of light coming through the small high window. When the golden rays began to weaken and gave way to a more orange glow, he realized the sun was setting.

"Shit..." he muttered, running a hand through his black hair.

He was starting to feel the effects of fatigue. The physical exhaustion was easy to ignore, but the mental weariness — especially after the disturbing dream about his past life — was harder to shake off.

Eventually, Rodrigo lay down again, this time intending to rest. As uncomfortable as the thin mattress was, his body needed to recover.

He slept. And woke up.

And slept again.

The cycles began to blur. Time lost its meaning, each awakening followed by long periods of boredom and introspection. He began to count the cracks on the ceiling, the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, and even how many times a guard stopped to check his cell.

At times, Rodrigo thought about his previous situation — the world he came from. Compared to the Brazilian prisons he had been through, this cell was practically a hotel. There were no screams of torture echoing in the halls, no gangs organizing riots or summary executions. And, more importantly, there were no factions like the Blue Whale or the God Demons, ready to turn any dispute into a bloodbath.

Still, that feeling of helplessness bothered him deeply. Rodrigo hated being a prisoner — in any sense of the word.

His mind wandered back to the world of Tsukihime. The idea of being trapped in that universe, with vampires and supernatural creatures lurking, left him uneasy. But at the same time, there was a small part of him that felt excited at the possibility of facing those threats.

"Arcueid..." he murmured to himself, remembering the blonde with red eyes.

He wondered if she really existed out there. If so, when would he meet her?

Rodrigo also thought about the Tohno mansion maids, Hisui and Kohaku. In the game, they always seemed so innocent—especially Hisui—but he knew there was much more beneath the surface. Kohaku, in particular, hid a dark past that ultimately led to her manipulation of events in the game.

Then there was Akiha, Shiki's sister. Rodrigo felt a slight discomfort at the thought of fan-made alternate versions where the relationship between Shiki and Akiha became... more intimate than it should have been.

"These otakus are crazy..." he whispered, shaking his head.

Despite this, he couldn't shake the uncomfortable thought: What if this alternate version was real? What if Akiha really was his sister now?

These thoughts continued to swirl in his mind as the days—or perhaps just hours—passed. Rodrigo slept and woke up repeatedly, and every time he opened his eyes, it felt like he was sinking even deeper into uncertainty.

Finally, after another indefinite period of light sleep, he was awakened by the sound of firm footsteps approaching the cell.

Rodrigo slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the weak light coming through the window. He sat up on the bed and waited, watching the shadow of someone project against the wall through the bars of the door.

Would it be another police officer? Or perhaps someone had finally brought answers to the riddle he had been thrown into?

Rodrigo felt his heart race as the footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway. His eyes fixed on the cell door, but his mind kept working, quick and precise, assessing the possibilities.

If it came down to it... he thought, clenching his fists. I could do this again.

The idea came so naturally it startled him. Rodrigo knew he still had the instinct to kill, the ability to analyze an environment and turn it into a hunting ground. He recalled the layout of the precinct—the main room with its disorganized tables, old cameras, and relaxed guards. The kitchen with unlocked drawers and knives within reach.

If he was fast enough, he could move before they noticed. Disarm a guard, use the uniform, or even slip out through the shadows. The possibilities unfolded in his mind like a well-rehearsed escape plan.

But then Rodrigo took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

No. Not again.

The promise echoed in his mind like a hammer striking cold iron. He had sworn to leave that part of him behind—the man who did what was necessary, no matter the consequences. He had promised not to return to being that shadow moving among criminals, leaving trails of blood in its wake.

"I'm not that guy anymore..." he murmured, letting out a heavy sigh.

Rodrigo opened his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment on his shoulders. He knew violence was always an option, but he also knew the price it came with. This time, he was determined to solve things differently—even if it meant kneeling and swallowing his own pride to get out of this prison.

The footsteps grew louder. A constant echo reverberating in his ears, pulling him back to the present.

Rodrigo straightened up and faced the door. He didn't know who was coming, but he was ready to face anyone.

The shadow stopped in front of the cell.

The sound of keys turning in the lock filled the suffocating silence. Rodrigo felt his muscles tense instinctively, but he remained still, focused.

The door opened slowly, revealing a man in formal uniform, likely a detective, holding a notebook. Behind him, another police officer stood rigidly, watching everything with attentive eyes.

"Rodrigo... or should I say Shiki Tohno?" the detective asked, in a neutral tone.

Rodrigo only narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut. He knew any wrong word could make things worse.

Here's the translation with some adaptations for fluency:

---

"It seems we have a lot to talk about."

Rodrigo let out an internal sigh, bracing himself for another round in this psychological game. No matter how tired he was, he knew it wasn't time to let his guard down.

The detective snapped his notebook shut with a sharp sound and pressed it against his hip. He stared at Rodrigo for a moment, his eyes scanning every detail of the young man sitting in the cell.

"Unfortunately, I can't continue with the interrogation," he said, his voice formal but laced with tension.

Rodrigo raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing almost instinctively.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, keeping his voice steady, but controlled.

The detective made a slight motion with his chin, pointing toward the hallway behind him.

"Someone's here for you."

The words hung heavily in the air. Rodrigo felt a chill run down his spine. He leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as his eyes locked onto the detective.

"Who?"

The detective hesitated for a moment before answering.

"I can't give you details. All I know is this person has clearance to take you into custody... and they're quite eager to see you."

Rodrigo felt his stomach twist. Custody? The thought of being transferred, whether to another prison or something worse, made his muscles tighten. Reflexively, he looked at the detective as if trying to extract more information with just his gaze.

"You seem to know more than you're letting on," Rodrigo finally replied, crossing his arms. "Is this person related to Shiki Tohno?"

The detective pressed his lips into a thin line and briefly averted his gaze, as if trying to avoid the question.

"Let's just say... they care a lot about the name Tohno."

Rodrigo felt his body grow cold. The name hit his mind like a sentence.

"So, that's it..." he murmured to himself, staring at the floor for a moment.

He wasn't sure exactly what to expect, but the name Tohno brought fragmented images of his memory— the mansion, the dark corridors, the maids... and Akiha.

Damn it... could it be her?

Rodrigo raised his gaze to the detective again.

"And what happens if I refuse to go?"

The detective gave a slight smile, devoid of humor.

"It's not really a choice, kid."

Rodrigo gritted his teeth, but kept his expression impassive. He'd dealt with worse situations before. Even though he was trapped in a strange body, he was still the same survivor who had made it out alive from Brazilian prisons.

The detective signaled to the officer behind him, who began unlocking the cell.

"Get up. They're waiting for you outside."

Rodrigo took a deep breath before standing up. He glanced at the cold bed where he'd spent the last few hours and then locked eyes with the detective once more.

"I hope you know what you're getting into..." Rodrigo muttered as he left the cell.

The detective didn't respond, only watched as Rodrigo took his first steps out.

In the corridor, Rodrigo felt a shiver run down his spine. He could hear muffled voices ahead, and although he couldn't distinguish the words, there was something in them that made him uneasy.

Who the hell came for me?

Rodrigo clenched his fists and continued walking, ready to find out what awaited him on the other side of the door.

Rodrigo walked alongside the investigator down the narrow, slightly muffled hallway of the precinct. The creak of the officer's boots against the ceramic floor echoed softly through the space, creating a near-hypnotic rhythm. Rodrigo kept his hands in the pockets of his detainee uniform, his shoulders relaxed, but his mind still sharp.

The investigator, perhaps trying to lighten the tense atmosphere, asked an unexpected question:

"So... how was it sleeping in a cell? Doesn't sound like a comfortable experience for anyone."

Rodrigo let out a light, nasal laugh.

"Piece of cake."

The investigator raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Rodrigo rolled his eyes but soon explained:

"It was easy as hell." He shrugged. "If you think this is tough, you should see the medium-security prisons in Brazil. This? This feels like a cheap hotel compared to the hellhole over there."

The investigator furrowed his brow, surprised.

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." Rodrigo flashed a crooked smile. "Crowded cells, unbearable heat, no food... And let's not forget about the gangs. You have to pick a side on day one, or you're dead meat. This? This is child's play."

The investigator nodded slowly, as if processing the information.

"Sounds surreal. We always hear stories, but hearing it from someone who's lived through it is different."

"Yeah, it's not something I'd recommend to anyone. But it taught me a few things." Rodrigo gave a faint smile, darker this time.

They continued walking. The investigator changed the subject, commenting on politics and how tensions between Asian countries had risen in recent years.

Rodrigo and the investigator kept walking down the corridor of the precinct. The investigator, clearly more at ease now, took the opportunity to strike up a conversation:

"So... Brazil, huh? Must be tough living there. I always hear about the favelas, the drug trade, and corruption."

Rodrigo let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.

"Tough? That's an understatement. There, you're born owing someone something. Whether it's the government, the bank, or some bastard on the street."

The investigator raised an eyebrow.

"Is it really that bad?"

"Worse. Here in Korea, you're worried about North Korean spies, right? In Brazil, you're worried about the guy on the corner. And he doesn't need a reason to screw you over. Just being in the wrong place is enough."

The investigator crossed his arms as he walked, reflecting.

"But what about politics? I've always heard about corruption, but it seems like nothing ever changes. Don't they try to reform the system?"

Rodrigo snorted.

"Reform? Every election, some savior shows up promising to change everything. But once they sit in the chair, it's the same old thing. Politicians in Brazil just want to steal without getting caught. And when they do get caught, they still find a way to get out."

The investigator gave a slight smile, almost as if trying to suppress a comment.

"It's not perfect here either. We have our scandals. But at least the politicians who get caught stay caught. Or at least, that's what the public thinks."

Rodrigo laughed this time.

"Yeah, you got me there. At least you guys pretend well. In Brazil, they don't even bother pretending anymore. Everyone knows they're thieves, but they still vote for them because they think the next guy will be worse."

The investigator shook his head.

"It feels like an endless spiral."

"Exactly." Rodrigo shrugged. "But you know what's worse? Most people have already given up. No one expects justice, they just want to survive another day. That's why crime grows so much. It's easier to grab a gun than to get a decent job."

The investigator paused, glancing sideways at Rodrigo.

"And you? Is that why you got into this life?"

Rodrigo stopped walking for a moment but quickly resumed his pace.

"Let's just say I had my reasons." He replied dryly, avoiding diving deeper into the subject.

The investigator noticed the resistance and decided to change the topic.

"So, about the phone? The one the doctor gave you?"

Rodrigo relaxed a little with the sudden shift in focus.

"Oh, right. I want it back. Dr. Elias gave it to me. It's kind of old, but it works."

"I'll see what I can do."

But before the investigator could continue, they arrived at the main room. Rodrigo stepped forward, but was interrupted by a clear feminine voice.

"Onii-chan doesn't need an old phone."

Rodrigo froze instantly. All the previous conversation vanished from his mind with a snap. The voice was delicate but carried a strange weight, almost too familiar.

He slowly turned to face the person who spoke. And when he saw the girl standing there, his heart skipped a beat.

Standing in the room was a girl. She looked about 17 years old, with long, shiny black hair falling like silk over her shoulders. Her light blue eyes shone with an almost supernatural intensity. She wore a formal, immaculate uniform that emphasized her rigid and authoritative posture.

Rodrigo felt his throat go dry.

Damn... it can't be.

He recognized that face. Even though it was more alive and real than he ever imagined, there was no way he could mistake it.

"Akiha..." The name slipped from his lips in an almost involuntary whisper.

The girl frowned for a moment, as if evaluating every detail of him.

"So, you remember, Onii-chan?" Her voice came out cold, but with a slight tremor, as if there was something behind that mask of authority.

Rodrigo felt his blood boil. His body tensed, and his mind raced in a thousand directions.

This isn't real... This can't be real.

The investigator looked from one to the other, clearly confused by the situation.

"Onii-chan?" He repeated the term, furrowing his brow.

But Rodrigo barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on Akiha, as her words echoed in his mind.

He tried to open his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The girl, on the other hand, stood firm, her eyes leaving no room for escape.

"Let's go home, Shiki."

That sentence hit him like a punch in the stomach. Rodrigo felt the weight of the name fall on him again. He wanted to protest, to shout that he wasn't Shiki Tohno, but the words got stuck in his throat.

All he could do was stand still, staring at the girl who, somehow, seemed to have already decided his future.