The moutain village was coated jet black,even the asphalt roads were lost to darkness, There were street lights lining the roads but the lights were dimmed, with little more light from them then the reflection of the nights dew. the faintest light splayed on the asphalt, hazily brining out the white line that denoted the roadway.

To tell a twisted tale none will believe for fiction and reality must remain seperate except in the village of Shutoa here the boundary between reality and fevered dream is not so easily drawn,for when fiction invades reality life and death intermingle and become twisted and tangled like a never ending thread of rope,good and evil become lost in the mists. Do we humans without these traits have a right to judge the morality of those who walk in the night those whos world trasends our own, those who walk in the shadow of death and pray on us mere mortals. in our eyes they are the creators of carnage the personification of death itself.

They are the Yoru-u-oka.



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