Long ago, the Ancient Gods etched a single law into the fabric of the world:
Peace must never be broken by power.
It was the Kimoto Masters who violated that law.
Blessed with martial might beyond comprehension, they shaped empires, silenced nations, and bent nature to their will. The sacred art of Kimoto — a martial discipline forged in divine balance — was no longer a path of harmony, but of dominance.
The Gods responded not with wrath, but with correction.
They created the Jūshin — beasts in the form of men, mediums of celestial judgment. Each Jūshin bore power no mortal could rival. Elemental bodies, cursed claws, roars that shattered minds. These beings were not armies. They were executioners.
Their mission: eliminate every Kimoto Master on Earth.
The war began, and it was never equal.
Even the Grand Masters fell. One by one. City by city. The flame of Kimoto flickered against an ever-advancing storm. Desperation crept into temples. Fear into the hearts of even the strongest. The art that had once brought balance now beckoned extinction.
But one god hesitated.
Among the silent pantheon, there was one who watched — and wept. This god, whose name was long erased from memory, felt empathy. And so, it did the unthinkable.
It tore away its own supernatural essence.
And gave it to a woman — a mother not yet born. A vessel. A promise.
Years later, that woman stood beneath a blood-moon sky, her body torn by the agony of divine labor. The earth stilled. The wind choked. And in the silence, a child emerged.
He did not cry.
He only opened his eyes.
And in that gaze, the abyss itself stirred.
His name was Shinkū Shigeru.
The Abysswalker.