Cold Interference: The Risk of Potential

Snow fell endlessly inside the barrier.

There was no sky above them, only a thick gray ceiling of storm clouds that circled slowly overhead like a lid placed on the world. The snow never stopped. It drifted down in slow, heavy sheets, covering the ground, the trees, and anything else that stayed still long enough.

The forest inside the barrier felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. The wind moved through the branches, but the sound of it never seemed to travel very far. Itaka stood with her shoulders tense, staring at the ribbon tied around her wrist. It looked harmless. Just a thin red ribbon, tied neatly like something you’d see on a gift.

But the longer she looked at it, the more uneasy it made her feel. The surface shimmered faintly when the snow touched it, almost like the ribbon was alive. The other end stretched across the clearing to Zhenyu.

He had both hands wrapped around it, leaning back as he tried to pull it free. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. He planted his foot in the snow and yanked harder. Nothing happened. The ribbon stayed perfectly still. Zhenyu groaned and let go, falling back onto the snow with a muffled thud. Itaka sighed. “You’re not even trying properly.” “I am trying properly,” Zhenyu said, sitting up and brushing snow off his coat. “This thing just refuses to budge.”

He grabbed the ribbon again and gave it another pull. Still nothing. Snow drifted down onto his hair while he glared at the ribbon like it had personally insulted him. “You know,” he said after a moment, “this trip was supposed to be easy.” Itaka crossed her arms. “You say that like we planned to get trapped in a barrier.” 

“I’m serious,” Zhenyu said, standing upand stretching his back. “We were supposed to head north, pass through the forest, and make it to the Crime Flats in a halfs day time.” He gestured around them.

“Instead we’re stuck inside a glorified snow globe tied together like a couple of idiots in a bad sitcom.” Itaka studied him quietly. “You fight like someone who’s been doing this for years.” 

Zhenyu laughed under his breath. “Well that’s flattering.” He held up four fingers. “But here’s the problem with that, I've only been Tatsuchi's vice Captain for four months now” Itaka blinked. “Four?” Zhenyu saw the confused look on her face. "I know, right?"

Zhenyu looked around the silent forest. “So if you’re wondering why I look like I’m improvising right now, that’s because I am. Nobody trained me for cursed ribbons, homicidal swordsmen, or getting turned into holiday decorations.” Itaka couldn’t help it. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You don’t act like someone new.” “Well,” Zhenyu said with a shrug, “my antigravity powers help.” He rolled his shoulders. Itaka tilted her head slightly. “So why did you actually join the Guards?”

Zhenyu looked at her. He thought about it for a while. For a moment, it seemed like he might answer. The wind shifted through the trees. Snow rolled across the clearing in a slow wave. Then a voice spoke from somewhere behind them.

“…Wow.”

The sound of quiet laughter followed. Both of them turned. A figure stepped out from between the trees as if the storm itself had pushed him forward. Brass walked into the clearing with the relaxed posture of someone arriving late to a party. His grey-blue hakama shirt was gone, leaving his chest bare to the cold. A patterned gray kimono hung loosely from his shoulders, fluttering slightly in the wind.

Snow landed against his skin but melted almost immediately. A white sash wrapped around his waist, its ends swaying gently in the storm. He looked completely comfortable in his own element. Like the blizzard around them was nothing more than background scenery.

Brass glanced between the two of them and smiled. “Well this is depressing.” He lifted his revolver lazily. “Did your friend run away while you two were tied up expressing your feelings?” Zhenyu slowly stood up. Itaka’s eyes narrowed. Brass raised both hands. The red ribbons around their wrists led straight to him. Each one was tied neatly around his own wrists. When Itaka instinctively tried to pull away, the ribbon tightened immediately. Brass clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He wagged a finger at her like a disappointed teacher. “That’s rude.” Then he cracked his knuckles. A strange energy spread across his hands. Zhenyu noticed it immediately. “…That’s not your Zyn energy colour.” Normally Brass’s energy glowed a sharp glacial blue. This was something else entirely. The energy coating his hands was a pale black color, soft and fluid, like ink spreading through water. Brass looked down at it himself and raised an eyebrow.

“Huh.”

Then he grinned. “You know what Zyn energy is, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s positive energy.” He tapped his chest. “Since It comes from the soul.” Then he raised two fingers. “But my boss figured out something interesting.” His grin widened. “If you multiply a positive by itself” The black energy thickened. “It hollowfies against itself, against the positive, and turns into something else.”He pointed at them. “A Negative Point.”

The wind pushed harder through the clearing. “A point only people endowed with Chaos can achieve.” Before either of them could react, Brass yanked on the red ribbon like it was nothing, and Itaka’s feet left the snow. She flew through the air, arms flailing, and before she could even scream, Brass’s fist slammed into her jaw. There was a brutal crack, sharp enough to make her ears ring, and her head snapped back. Her body bent around his fist like soft clay before she bounced off and tumbled across the snow, landing hard with a grunt.

Zhenyu froze, his eyes wide, watching in  disbelief. Brass’s right arm hung at a strange angle, the bones visibly twisted and mangled. But then, almost impossibly, it snapped back into place, as if nothing had happened. The black energy around his hands pulsed faintly, ink-like and alive. The viscous ink-like substance seem to form stitches around the broken area. “See?” Brass said, brushing snow off his shoulder casually. “This will will be a golden experience to show you that there really is layers to this shit.” 

Itaka struggled to push herself up, tasting blood in her mouth. Her jaw was broken, her lips split, and every movement sent sparks of pain shooting through her skull. But her eyes stayed on Brass.

“Let's see if you're up to the task of hanging with the strongest,” he said, reaching one hand toward Zhenyu, who felt an invisible pressure building around him, like the air itself had turned solid. Brass snapped his fingers. Zhenyu vanished, swallowed by a space that felt alive, folding in on itself.

Brass chuckled softly, spinning his saber in one hand. “Shizukana Yobi,” he said, tapping the air. “A simple name for something not simple at all.”

He began to explain. “I fold space,” he said, tracing an invisible square in the air. “Three dimensions… into two. I create rooms out of nothing. Invisible, soundless, sightless, and safe or deadly. Every movement, every sound, every step, I can store it. And when I want…” He snapped his fingers again, and the snow around them shivered like water. “I can release it.” Itaka, bleeding and stunned, tried to sit up fully. Her chest heaving, she couldn’t stop staring at him. “What… what did you do to Asumi?”

Brass tilted his head. For a moment, he seemed to fight a laugh, trying to hold it in, but it broke free, loud and cruel, scattering snow and birds alike from the trees. “Asumi…” He drew a long breath, wiping at his face with one hand. “Your little friend. That sweet girl?” He shook his head slowly. “I killed her.”

Itaka’s heart stopped. Her blood ran cold, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “No… you-”Brass’s grin was sharp enough to cut through her disbelief. “I ripped her head off and chopped her up.” His eyes flicked to the falling snow. “Though… she had nice hair.” He laughed again, the sound twisting cruelly in the wind. “Could make a fine wig. The black market would pay handsomely for that.” Itaka’s hands trembled uncontrollably. The red ribbon binding her wrists seemed to pull tighter, almost feeding off the panic rising in her chest. Every instinct screamed at her to strike, to fight, to run, but she was trapped. She couldn’t reach him, couldn’t touch him, and the knowledge that Asumi was truly gone made her feel hollow. The shape of her soul flickered.

Brass didn't notice and ignored her outrage. He lifted his eyes to the sky of the barrier and closed them. He began a low prayer. “Kuraokami… who dwells in the valleys… divine bestower of snow and rain… I humbly beseech you… cleanse my being of all impurities.”

The snowstorm inside the barrier erupted. It was ten times heavier than before, the air thicker, the world narrower and sharper. The shapes of massive, unseen gods seemed to drift in the fog, watching silently. Brass raised his sword above his head. “Yuki-onna Requiem!” The blizzard became almost tangible, slicing at the skin and limiting sight to a few feet.

He brought the sword down in a sweeping arc. Then, the sound of metal clanging against an invisible wall. Brass froze. He looked down, and there she was. Tatsuchi.

Her yellow kimono was gone. She now wore a shrine maiden uniform. Her left eye glowed red, her right eye purple, and white raven feathers traced along her left arm. On her back, the kanji for Liberation burned faintly in the snowstorm’s glow. Brass’s chest tightened, a memory stabbing him sharply.

He was in a hallway. A man across from him, scars like cracked porcelain stitched together. Brass called him "Graves", as he joked about the stitches, and the the attempt at healing if he had made any. The arrogance. A boy, no older than eight, had argued with him then. Same black hair with white streaks. And now here she was, a mirror of that past defiance, alive and dangerous.

Brass’s laugh was sharp, slicing through the snow. He stepped back, eyes darting. “…Is he here?” Steel met steel. Tatsuchi struck first, her blade singing through the snow as it clashed with Brass’s saber. Sparks flew, flying snow swirling like fire. Brass fired his revolver, and Tatsuchi twisted aside, flames erupting along her blade as she whispered, “Sangre del Infierno.”

The fire consumed her sword, turning the red and blue ribbons into a living blaze. She struck forward, and the attack pierced where Brass’s heart should have been. But the moment the blade passed through, he dissolved into snow, only to reappear behind her, perfectly unharmed.

The world shifted violently. The ground beneath them disappeared. Everything flattened, folding around Brass’s gestures. Tatsuchi’s hands clenched as she tried to adapt, slicing through the air, swinging and dodging in a ballet of motion. She had to feel for the pattern, the rhythm, the way his fingers folded a third dimensional space with terrifyingly accurate intent. Each movement of hers was countered almost before she could finish it.

Brass spoke casually as they fought, almost enjoying the chaos. “Every action requires intent. You see that? You move, you strike, you breathe, they are all choices. When you're in a high-stakes battle, you don't have any time to think about your actions. You only rely on Intent.”

Tatsuchi dodged a sweeping strike and leapt backward, her eyes scanning the folding world. “You’re strong, but I can read you,” she muttered. She slashed sideways, slicing through a segment of the barrier he’d folded into two dimensions, trying to predict how it would collapse or strike. Each attempt only revealed a fraction of his method.
Brass grinned. “Not bad, clever, but not enough.” He snapped his fingers. The barrier folded again, trapping her movement, compressing the space around her. She pivoted, twisted, and lunged, trying to free herself, fire and snow colliding, her blade scorching the snow in streaks of red and blue.
Brass turned, smiling down at her, then back at Tatsuchi. “Learning, are we? Fine. 

Let’s make this cinematic.” He snapped his fingers. Space shifted violently again. Tatsuchi darted forward, twisting to dodge walls of invisible force, trying to understand how his folding worked, trying to find a rhythm she could exploit. Each dodge and strike became a test to read the pattern, anticipate the fold, predict the snap of his fingers.

“Your moves are sharp,” Brass said casually, firing again, bullets grazing the edge of Tatsuchi’s vision, leaving her no room to breathe.

Tatsuchi pivoted midair, slicing diagonally as she landed, her blade igniting again. She gritted her teeth, the fire along her ribbons flaring brighter. She adjusted her stance, letting her instincts guide her attacks, pushing the boundaries of speed and perception. Brass was starting to take notice of the changes. "Her hair is streaked with white and she's beginning to mimic the movements of that Pale Rose Brat."

Brass’s grin faltered. He saw her shifting pattern, her blade strikes threading between the folds of space he created. The girl wasn’t just learning, she was adapting.

And he loved it.

The battle became a blur. Every swing, dodge, and fold felt like a calculated dance. Tatsuchi tested his space, struck where he hadn’t predicted, and for the first time, Brass had to move beyond instinct. The snow around them twisted and turned, fire and blood mixing in a storm that seemed almost alive.

“Llama Desgarradora.” Tatsuchi’s voice cut through the wind as she swung her blade, ribbons flaring red and blue, fire lickig along the edges. Brass didn’t flinch; he simply melted into the shadows, vanishing like smoke.

The barrier around them shuddered violently and then collapsed. The world snapped back into normal perspective. The air returned, the snow settled, and gravity felt real again. Zhenyu and Asumi lay unconscious nearby, half-buried in snow, the storm momentarily hushed. Brass raised his hand, ready to snap his fingers and fold the world again.

“Shikkoku no Ketsugan.”

Time seemed to hit pause. Brass’s blood froze in his veins, the motion of his arm locked as if caught in ice. His entire body stiffened. He couldn’t even twitch.

Then he noticed it. The markings from her earlier Ketsugan, the faint, intricate designs that had burned into the air around her, were still active, lingering like invisible chains around his movements. Tatsuchi smirked, her chest rising with ragged breaths. “Guess you talk too much,” she said, her voice carrying calm authority despite the chaos around them.

Brass’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he stared at her. Then he laughed. Not the easy, casual laugh he usually gave, but sharp and dangerous. “Not bad,” he admitted. But his expression hardened quickly. “But I refuse lose to a half-pint using her better half’s power.” Tatsuchi tilted her head, a faint teasing edge to her tone despite her exhaustion. “Why not just give up?”

Brass smiled, a predatory curl of his lips. “Because…” His muscles bulged violently as he tore his arm backward. Blood tore apart. Veins snapped. Muscle twisted and flailed like raw meat in a butcher shop. His hand ripped free from the frozen blood inside it, leaving the blood suspended midair, perfectly shaped like his veins. Then, almost instantly, he regenerated the hand, the flesh knitting and moving with terrifying precision.
He pushed forward, cutting through the floating blood as if it were water in zero gravity. "Because that's how losers think!"

Then he noticed something unusual. The shape of Tatsuchi’s soul, or at least a portion of it, was starting to change. The energy she projected, the raw intent behind every movement, it was starting to resemble that white-haired brat from the Pale Rose Guard.

He snapped his fingers again. The impact hit like a brick wall slamming into Tatsuchi. Her body crashed against the asphalt of the now empty roads, leaving a streak of blood in her wake. She pushed herself up, barely conscious, the shrine maiden uniform she had worn fading like ash into the winds. Only her torn shirt and loose, baggy pants remained, her long black hair fell loosely from her bun, now matted with snow and burnt blood.

Her purple eyes rolled back, but she didn’t stop. She still moved forward, gripping her sword with trembling hands, the red and blue ribbons still faintly hanging along the blade. Brass’s laughter rolled across the storm.

“Can you see this?!” he bellowed, glancing behind him to check her progress. Then he froze. Tatsuchi kept walking. Every step deliberate, every movement determined. The ribbons along her sword burned faintly, defiant against his attempts to crush her.
Brass sighed, the sound long and slow. Then his grin returned. “Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me? Even though you still haven’t figured out the secret of my technique?” His voice dripped with amusement. “Like a rodent that's been run over but refuses to lay down and die in the street?”

Tatsuchi’s lips barely moved as she murmured, weak but clear enough for him to hear: “I can’t beat the shit out of you… without getting closer.”

Brass’s laughter rang out again, sharp and teasing. “Oh ho! Then come as close as you like.” Before their blades could meet again, a figure appeared between them. A hooded girl, no older than sixteen, materialized in an instant. She moved with precise, fluid motion, as she picked up a kunai off the ground she sent another stabbing straight toward Brass’s chest.

He vanished from her strike, teleporting backward thirty feet with a grunt of irritation. Snow erupted where he landed, clouds of powder rising around him.

Brass glared at her, teeth clenched. “Mosa, fucking, Saint.” His voice was sharp, laced with equal parts fury and surprise. “What the hell did I tell you about interrupting me?”
Mosa ignored him entirely. Her hazel eyes reflected the pale snow, calm and piercing. She scanned Tatsuchi, then back to Brass. A single, quiet sigh escaped her lips.

“It’s time to go,” she said.