Solo Streaming: My only viewer is Yandere Goddess

The iron fleet was a cluster of rusted needles stitching their way through a world of wet ash. The Kashima Maru groaned as it pushed through the thickening sludge of the Pacific. The water was so dense with salt and rotted mana that the hull made a sound like a blade scraping against a whetstone.

Ren Hanshin stood on the bow, his boots stomped firmly on the cold steel. He was no longer the Zenith who could fly above the clouds. He was a man who felt the vibration of every rivet, the shudder of every wave.

[Divine Mana: 0.3 / 150]

[Synchronization: 49.0% (LOCKED)]

His right arm, the one that had been charred and reborn, was stiff in the morning air. He flexed his fingers in slow, jerky movements feeling the raw skin stretch. It hurt, but the pain was a grounding wire. It reminded him that he was still in the room.

"Smoke on the horizon," Kaito called out from the bridge.

Ren looked up. Two miles ahead, three silhouettes were anchored in the middle of the grey waste. They weren’t cargo ships or tankers. They were high-speed naval frigates, their hulls reinforced with jagged plates of black iron and bone. They looked like predators waiting in the tall grass.

"Are they Drowned?" Tanaka asked, joining Ren at the railing. He had his hand on his sword, his eyes squinted against the mist.

"No," Ren said, his obsidian eyes narrowing. "Their engines are running too clean, and they aren’t humming."

As the Kashima Maru drew closer, a signal flare, a bright, neon green shattered the grey sky. It was a warning. A few seconds later, a voice boomed over the long-range radio, amplified by the ship’s speakers.

"Attention, Iron Fleet. You are entering the Sovereign Waters. Turn off your engines and prepare for boarding, or be returned to the deep."

The boarding party arrived in sleek, silent skiffs made of what looked like treated whale skin. There were twelve of them, led by a woman with a shock of white hair and a face covered in intricate, blue tattoos. She didn’t wear a mask. Her eyes were a piercing, crystalline blue, the same color as Haru’s core, but without the warmth.

"I am Captain Sora," the woman said, stepping onto the deck of the Kashima Maru. She ignored the Salt-Hunters’ harpoons pointed at her. She was looking at Ren. "I was told the Executioner was dead. You look like you’re halfway there."

Ren didn’t raise his staff. He just stood there, his tattered coat blowing in the brine-scented wind. "We’re just passing through, Sora. We have no interest in your waters."

"Everyone has an interest in the water now," Sora said, walking in a circle around Ren. "It’s the only thing left. The land is a grave, Hanshin. The mountains are just islands waiting to sink. My people... we’ve accepted the truth."

Ren saw it then. On Sora’s neck, a small, grey polyp was embedded in her skin. It was throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

"The Scavenger’s Pact," Ren whispered.

"You call it a pact," Sora said, her eyes flashing. "We call it survival. We give the God of Death our prayers and a portion of our catch. In return, he leaves our ships alone. He gives us the salt to strengthen our hulls. He gives us the peace you’re so intent on breaking."

"Peace?" Tanaka spat. "He’s turning people into slaves! He’s harvesting the coast!"

"He’s giving them a place in the new world," Sora countered. "What can you offer them, Hanshin? A few months of starving on a rusted freighter? A slow death in the mountains?"

Ren looked at the polyps on the necks of the other boarding party members. They looked healthy. They looked strong. But their eyes were hollow, lacking the spark of individual will. They were pawns in everything but name.

"I offer them the right to die as humans," Ren said. "Not as barnacles on a God’s throne."

Sora’s smile was thin and sharp. "The God of Death is patient, Zenith. He told us you would come. He told us you would be weak. He offered us a bounty for the ’Blue Light’ you carry."

From the bridge, Haru stepped out. Her sapphire core was shimmering brightly, a defiant sun in the grey fog. Sora’s eyes widened, the blue in her pupils glowing with a strange, hungry resonance.

"The Sapphire Heart," Sora whispered. "With that, we could power the entire fleet forever. We wouldn’t even need any other resources."

"You aren’t touching her," Ren said.

[Divine Mana: 0.1 / 150]

Ren stepped between Sora and Haru. He didn’t have the mana for a domain, but he had his intent. He let his 49% synchronization flare, the white streak in his hair glowing with a ghostly light.

"You have a choice, Sora," Ren said, his voice sounding like the grinding of metal. "You can take your skiffs and leave, or you can find out why the Sovereigns were afraid of me."

Sora hesitated. She looked at the blackened arm, then at the obsidian black of Ren’s eyes. She felt the weight of the executioner—the man who had killed his own master’s shadow. Even broken, Ren Hanshin was a mountain she wasn’t sure she could climb.

"The Pact demands we bring you in," Sora said, her hand moving toward the hilt of a bone-handled dagger.

"The Pact demands you survive," Ren countered. "If you fight me here, your ships sink. Your people die, and the God of Death will just find someone else to do his errands. Is your survival worth being a footstool for a grieving god?"

Sora looked at her men. They were uneasy. The intent Ren was radiating was a fierce, stubborn will that the grey mist couldn’t dampen. It was a challenge to the lethargy of the rot.

"Fine," Sora said, stepping back. "We won’t take you by force. Not today. But God has already set the trap. The ’Sunken Library’ lies ahead. If you want to stop the rot, you’ll have to go there, and you won’t come back."

Sora and her men retreated to their skiffs. The black-iron frigates turned, disappearing back into the grey mist like sharks.

The Kashima Maru resumed its journey, but the atmosphere on the ship had turned cold. The encounter with the naval people had shown them the horror of the Grey Horizon that ’it was the way the survivors were starting to break.’

Ren sat in the mess hall, his head in his hands. He felt a light touch on his arm.

"You’re shaking, Niisan," Haru said. She sat beside him, her sapphire light casting a comforting glow over the dented metal table.

"I’m tired, Haru," Ren admitted. "Every time I save them, the world finds a new way to fall apart. They were good people once. Hunters. Porters. Now they’re just... so called salt."

"They’re afraid," Haru said. "The God of Death is a big shadow. People want to hide in the shadows when they’re scared, but you... you’re a fire. It’s hard to stand near a fire when you’ve been in the cold for so long."

Ren looked at her. "The ’Sunken Library’. Did the core tell you about it?"

Haru nodded slowly. "It’s a place where the memories of the old world are kept. Before the first Gates, there was a war between the Earth and the Deep. The library has the seal, Ren. The words that can close the Trench of Souls. But it’s guarded by the Archivist."

"Another pawn?"

"No," Haru said, her voice trembling. "The Archivist is a part of God himself. A memory of the man he used to be."

Ren looked at his wooden spoon, lying on the table. He thought of the day at the shrine. He thought of the way the ground felt under his feet. That night, the fleet reached the coordinates Sora had mentioned. The water here was different. It was perfectly still, like a sheet of dark glass. Beneath the surface, hundreds of feet down, a pale, blue glow emanated from the depths. It was the ruin of a submerged city. Shinjuku, perhaps, or a piece of New York that had been swallowed by the first war.

"The Sunken Library," Kaito whispered from the bridge. "The scanners are picking up a massive energy signature. It’s right in the middle of the subway tunnels."

Ren stood at the railing, looking down into the dark water. He felt a pull of responsibility.

"I’m going down," Ren said.

"Ren, you don’t have a diving suit!" Tanaka protested. "The pressure alone will kill you at that depth!"

"I don’t need a suit," Ren said, reaching for the Kusanagi-Vessel. "I have the hilt. It’s an Earth-relic. It wants to go back to the ground, even if that ground is underwater. I can use the vacuum blade to create a bubble of air."

[Divine Mana: 0.3 / 150]

It was a suicidal plan. Because his mana wouldn’t last five minutes.

"I’m going with him," Haru said, stepping forward.

"No!" Ren and Tanaka shouted in unison.

"The core is the only thing that can find the seal!" Haru insisted, her sapphire light flaring. "Niisan, you can’t read the language of the deep. But the core can translate. If you go alone, you’ll just be fighting in the dark."

Ren looked at his sister. He saw the sapphire veins on her neck. He saw the strength in her eyes. He realized that he couldn’t protect her by keeping her away from the fire. He could only protect her by standing beside her.

"One bubble," Ren said, his voice thick with emotion. "If the bubble breaks, we come up. No arguments."

The descent was a journey into a nightmare. Ren and Haru stood on a small platform that was lowered into the dark water. As they submerged, Ren ignited the Kusanagi-hilt. A sphere of shimmering, translucent vacuum formed around them, pushing back the crushing weight of the Pacific. It was silent. The only sound was the frantic thumping of Ren’s heart and the hum of Haru’s core.

They descended past the skeletons of skyscrapers. Schools of grey, eyeless fish drifted past the bubble, their scales reflecting the sapphire light. Ren saw cars suspended in the water, their headlights still shining with a ghostly, necrotic energy.

"There," Haru pointed.

They reached the entrance of a massive subway terminal. The sign above the gate was rusted, but Ren could still make out the letters: GINZA STATION.

’It was the Ginza subway terminal in Tokyo’ Ren thought.

Inside the terminal, the water was clearer. The walls were lined with thousands of shelves, but they weren’t filled with books. They were filled with jars of silver liquid.

"Memories," Haru whispered. "Every jar is a soul that was harvested by the rot."

In the center of the terminal, sitting at a desk made of coral, there was a figure. He was tall and thin, wearing the tattered remains of a university professor’s suit. He was meticulously labeling a new jar. The figure looked up. He had no eyes, only two pits of swirling grey mist.

"Welcome to the Library of the Lost," the Archivist spoke, his voice echoing in their minds. "I was wondering when the Executioner would come to return his own memory."

Ren stepped forward, the vacuum bubble shimmering. "I’m not here to stay, Archivist. I’m here for the Seal."

The Archivist let out a soft, dry laugh. "The Seal? The word that closes the door? Why would you want that, Ren Hanshin? The door is the only thing that can end the screaming. Once the ocean covers the world, there will be no more war, no more weavers, and no more grief."

"And no more people," Ren said.

"People are the source of the grief," the Archivist said, standing up. He was ten feet tall, his limbs elongated and spindly. "The God of Death is a kind God. He wants to save you from the burden of existing. Let me show you."

The Archivist waved a hand, and hundreds of memory jars shattered. Suddenly, Ren was flooded with images. He felt the pain of a mother losing her child. He felt the fear of a soldier drowning. He felt the hunger of the refugees in Okutama. It was a tidal wave of human misery, a mountain of weight that threatened to crush his mind.

[Divine Mana: 0.1 / 150]

[Condition: Cognitive Overload]

Ren fell to his knees, his hand slipping from the Kusanagi-hilt. The vacuum bubble began to flicker and shrink. The dark, cold water of the Pacific began to press in.

"Niisan!" Haru screamed.

She stepped in front of him, her sapphire core erupting in an explosion of light. The sapphire energy met the grey memories, neutralizing the grief. Haru was a purifier.

"The Seal isn’t a word!" Haru shouted, her voice resonating with the power of the ocean’s heart. Her glare caught something on Kusanagi’s hilt. "The Seal is a choice! Ren, look at the hilt!"

Ren looked at the Kusanagi-Vessel. In the sapphire light, he saw a hidden inscription on the hilt, one that Jubei had never mentioned.

’The Earth does not move for the Heavens. The Earth moves for the feet that walk upon it.’

Ren grabbed the hilt with both hands. He ignored the pressure. He focused on the weight of the dirt, the smell of the pine trees, and the warmth of his sister’s hand.

"Shinen-ryu Style: Mugen-Jigoku!"

Ren didn’t create a three-mile domain. He didn’t have the power. He created a small circle of human reality. The Archivist’s grey mist hit the circle and vanished. The memory jars stopped shattering. The subway station groaned as Ren’s intent anchored itself to the concrete floor. In the brink of moments, an energy caught the eye of Ren. His intuition said it was the seal. Ren lunged. He slammed the hilt of the Kusanagi into the coral desk, right into the center of the station’s energy sign. But the power can’t do anything to the seal.