It wasn't an amazing night.

The wind blew a discarded newspaper across the empty path. It landed on the other side, clashing terribly with the healthy, green grass that lined the road, to the point where it was even growing through the square outlines of its stones. It was far away from the shrine gate, but near enough to the boy that had been reading it. The typical, dark-haired Japanese boy jogged after it, stooping over to retrieve it. God forbid he litter in a place like this. He sighed, folded it up, and tucked it into the pocket of his red jeans, then pulled his hat tighter around his skull. The wind that stole his paper was colder, and it seemed to be picking up.

…At an alarming rate, too. As if on cue, a black cat charged directly at the young man's shoes, circling him once and then standing before him with its back arched and hair on end – if you wanted to call it hair anymore, that is. The feline was a spirit that brought ill fortune to those who crossed it – or for that matter, his master, the seemingly-typical boy. It gave a low growl, as the boy's body stiffened and eyes narrowed. He was staring into the distance, his face struck by the wild and rapid wind, which tormented any hair sticking out of his beanie. There seemed to be something beyond the gate – a brilliant yet ominous light. He hated this light. It gave all the wrong vibes. And wind wasn't supposed to glow anyway.

The shaman prepared his mind for battle. The cat was ready. The boy reached into his back pocket, rustling the newspaper as he dug for something else entirely. But the light was coming closer, the wind stronger. He let out a gasp of breath before finally finding his medium; a broken mirror. The boy held it out in front of him, facing it away from his face, and the cracked thing reflected the glow in what seemed like a thousand directions. He squinted as the light, the storm, a person approached. All of a sudden, there was another young Japanese boy standing in front of him, with gentle features, but a frightening aura. The apparition smiled, and the maelstrom abruptly ceased.

"Your name is Sugita Daisaku, isn't it?" He addressed the shaman in a light, conversational tone.

Daisaku grimaced. The assumption of his name was correct, but not what he had been expecting. He continued to hold forth the mirror, but waited to oversoul. He nodded, eyeing the spirit suspiciously.

"I was watching you during the Shaman Fight." The ghost continued, his friendly smile unwavering. "You."

Both eyebrows raised on the shaman's face, as a bit of curiosity filtered into his still-serious expression. "That so? And what do you want with me? Is it trouble passing on?"

Everything about the spirit seemed to darken a bit, as his eyes squinted and his smile grew wider. "Indeed, that is troublesome for me… but it's a matter you can't control." The voice began to echo – no, it was actually a chuckle. He was laughing at Daisaku. "You're so tiny…"

"What?!" Daisaku scowled, and held out his hand to signal his guardian spirit. Suddenly, the cat's body disappeared, as though a light breeze had come by and vaporized it. Seconds later, he was holding a glowing spirit ball in his hand.

"Are you going to fight?" The pitch of the spirit's voice raised slightly, to a patronizing tone. "You'll need to be much, much stronger!"

That was that. The boy was officially mad.

"Abunai - Oversoul in Mirror!"

The sound was like glass breaking as the cat spirit merged with its medium. Light burst from it as metal and glass shards formed from the shaman's furyoku, connecting together to create what looked like Abunai's former body – apart from the fact that it was metal, tank-sized, and covered in craggy glass that made up its fur. Daisaku stood on the shoulder of the iron beast, one of a few parts that wasn't spiky, glaring down at the spirit that was smiling up at him.

"Listen up! I survived through the current shaman fight. I won't let a wandering spirit insult my power!"

"Power?" The offender giggled, covering his mouth and taking a few steps backward, to observe the boy's oversoul. "Is that what you call it?"

The boy was about to retort, when suddenly, he felt something searing under his shoes. He gasped. Suddenly, Abunai's body was red-hot, and not only that… the place where they were standing was on fire! And not just that… it was the only part of the area that was burning. The fire didn't spread. It was concentrated solely on his spirit. He screamed as the heat raced up his legs, the flames burning out his furyoku in less than a minute. Immediately his oversoul broke, and he fell head-first to the ground, yowling in pain at the impact as the flames began to subside. It wasn't too great of a fall; he was bleeding from the forehead, but it was nothing to crack his skull or anything deadly. He moaned as he sat up and pressed his hand against the blood, soaking his palm as the spirit calmly walked towards him with a satisfied expression.

"You-!" Daisaku fell backwards again, and then scrambled to his knees. "You're Hao, aren't you? Asakura Hao! You're supposed to be dead!"

"I am." Hao's face became stony as he stood over the beaten shaman. He was unhappy about a lot of things, but this seemed to be the biggest issue at the moment. But Hao was quick to recover. He held out his hand, glimmering like a treasure, to the boy – and smirked.

"And I think you need a new spirit."