The Waltz of Death in the Forgotten Park.

Ken ran blindly. He had left the base walls behind, leaping into the void with Kazuha's help, but in the concrete labyrinth of the ruined city, his sense of direction had failed him. The black rain fell with such intensity it erased any trail, any footprint, any scent Natasha might have left.

"Damn it!" Ken shouted, skidding to a halt at an unknown intersection. The water stung his eyes slightly from the ash mixture.

To avoid running in circles and wasting energy, he decided to move more slowly, cautiously, looking for a landmark. His steps led him through a rusted and twisted iron gate. Ken stopped. The landscape before him hit with unexpected force, not physically, but emotionally.

It was a park. Or what remained of one. Grass had grown through the pavement. There was a plastic slide melted by some ancient fire and a see-saw split in half. But what captured Ken's attention was the swing set. The rusted chains swayed gently in the wind, emitting an agonizing, rhythmic squeak.

Ken walked slowly toward them, lowering his knife. The image superimposed itself with a memory from years ago. For a second, he saw a sunny park. He saw children running without fear. He remembered his little brother, laughing as Ken pushed him on an identical swing. "A world where Japan was alive..." Ken whispered, touching the cold, wet chain. Nostalgia tightened his chest. For a moment, the war, the Onis, the Regent... everything seemed like a distant nightmare. He just wanted that memory to be real.

It was that second of weakness. That single second of human distraction, combined with the roar of the rain hammering the metal, that sealed his mistake.

He didn't hear footsteps. He didn't hear breathing. But suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood violently on end. A brutal, dense, and suffocating atmospheric pressure fell on his shoulders like a lead slab. The air turned cold, icy, as if death itself were breathing down his neck.

Ken froze. His fingers went numb on the swing's chain. He didn't need to turn around to know. His instinct, screaming in panic, had already told him who was there. It was behind him. Inches away. He could feel the unnatural heat emanating from that presence, a radiation of pure malice.

"The Regent... is here."

The thought crossed his mind. All this time, Ken thought he was hunting the Regent. How naive. The predator had always been one step ahead, stalking him, waiting in the darkness, separating him from the herd.

Why hadn't he killed him already? He could have cut off Ken's head before he even realized. Maybe it was whimsy. Maybe curiosity. Or perhaps, to the Regent, Ken was nothing more than an insect not worth crushing immediately.

Ken swallowed, forcing his body to break the paralysis of terror. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, he turned his head. He wished he was wrong. He prayed it was just another Oni.

But no. There he was. The black demon, gleaming in the rain, filled his entire field of vision. Two red eyes shone with amusement. The Regent stood, relaxed, his immense Odachi drawn but with its tip resting in the mud. Ken could have sworn he saw the monster smile.

"..." The Regent said nothing. He merely tilted his head.

"AAAAH!" Ken screamed, reacting on pure survival instinct.

He focused all his Kijin strength into his legs and made an explosive leap forward, putting five, ten, fifteen meters between them in a blink. He landed in the mud, skidding, and immediately turned, raising his knife in a guard. His heart beat so hard it hurt his ribs. He was face to face with him. Face to face with the nightmare of Hachioji. Face to face with the killer of his friends.

The Regent didn't pursue him. He stayed by the swings. And then, he did something that bewildered Ken more than any attack. He began to laugh. A low, vibrating laugh that mixed with the thunder. "Hahahaha..." And he started to move. Not into a combat stance, but into a dance. The Regent spun on himself, swaying his massive body with a grotesque elegance, as if enjoying music only he could hear. He was mocking Ken. He was telling him: "Look how insignificant you are to me."

Ken's blood, frozen by fear, began to boil with rage. "Stop mocking me!" Ken yelled, tightening his grip on the knife's hilt. "This time won't be like last time! I'm not the same scared kid you almost killed!"

The memory of the beating flooded his mind. But instead of paralyzing him, it gave him strength. "I'm going to end you!"

Filled with suicidal courage, Ken lunged at the enemy general. His speed was impressive. Thanks to training with Natasha, Ken moved impressively. "DIE!"

Ken reached attack range and unleashed a flurry of cuts. Neck. Torso. Armpit. Femoral artery. The knife hummed through the air, seeking flesh.

But the Regent didn't flinch. With a single hand—the one not holding the sword—the Regent began to deflect the attacks. His armored fingers moved with insulting laziness. Ping. Ping. Clack. He tapped Ken's wrist, deflected the blade with the back of his hand, or simply took a minimal side step. It was like watching an adult play with a child holding a stick.

"You bastard!" Ken growled.

Seeing that the slashes were useless, Ken changed tactics on the fly. He feinted an attack to the face and slid across the wet ground, aiming for the Regent's legs. He planted his hands in the mud and launched a spinning upward kick with all his power, aiming for the monster's chin. It was a perfect strike. Impossible to block at that distance.

The Regent didn't block. He simply arched his back backward, defying human anatomy, as if his spine were made of rubber. Ken's boot passed by, grazing the mask, only cutting a raindrop.

Ken, surprised but not defeated, used his spinning momentum. Using his hands as a pivot on the ground, he launched his other leg in a scorpion kick toward the enemy's back. But when his foot reached the target, the Regent was no longer there. He had taken a small vertical hop, graceful as a feather despite his heavy armor, landing softly behind Ken.

Ken stood up, panting, backing away several meters. The Regent returned to his initial position, brushing mud from his shoulders. He was playing. He hadn't even raised his sword to attack.

"It's useless..." Ken thought, feeling despair claw at his mind. "He's too fast. Too strong. He's not even trying."

Suddenly, his communicator burst with static. "...K...en... do you cop...y..." It was Kaori's voice, distorted by the storm and magical interference. "...Retreat... I repeat... trap... humans... traitors..."

"What?" Ken shouted into the mic. "Kaori, I can't understand you! What humans?"

The Regent stopped dancing. He raised his free hand and snapped his fingers, imitating the gesture the blindfolded girl had made earlier.

From the shadows of the park trees and the ruins of the surrounding buildings, figures began to emerge. They weren't Onis. They walked with a shuffling gait, their movements spasmodic. They wore uniforms. Black and green tactical uniforms. Kijin Organization uniforms.

Ken's eyes widened in horror. He recognized the pale, almost blue faces under the rain. They were soldiers who had disappeared on previous patrols. Comrades they had given up for dead. But they weren't alive. Their eyes were white, devoid of soul, and their bodies moved like puppets with cut strings. Some carried rifles, others knives.

"No..." Ken whispered, backing up until he bumped against the slide. "You're using... you're using our comrades again?"

The Regent let out a final laugh. With a nod of his head, he gave the order. The "Traitor Humans," the empty shells of his former comrades, raised their weapons, aiming at Ken.

Far from feeling fear, something inside Ken snapped. Seeing his friends, his comrades-in-arms, profaned like that, turned into toys for this monster... The fear vanished. The sadness vanished. All that remained was a white-hot, pure, murderous fury.

"You..." Ken said, his voice trembling not from terror, but from hatred. "You damned scum... I will never forgive you for this!"

Ken raised his knife, now surrounded by multiple undead soldiers and an invincible general. He was alone, outmatched, and trapped. But Ken wasn't going to run. Not this time.