Hito-mane Extermination Finale

"There's always something worst in the depths."

-Aidan J. Hofer, Future Author of Psyche Gambit

                              ...

The workshop smelled of lacquered wood, heavy oil, and the quiet decay of ambition. 

The scent hung in the stagnant air like a heavy velvet drape, thick and suffocating to anyone but the man who called this desolate space home. Dust motes danced lazily in the slivers of pale moonlight that managed to pry their way through the windows. Kaguya sat perfectly still at his workbench. His posture was rigid, his breathing so shallow and incredibly controlled that he appeared more akin to one of his macabre creations than a living, breathing entity. He ignored the dim lighting as he painstakingly fine tuned the internal gears of a half finished wooden puppet. The doll's wooden frame was unsettlingly human, its joints meticulously carved to mimic the complex anatomy of a mortal being. He worked with the precision of a master surgeon. Every microscopic twist of his wrist, every minute application of pressure, was calculated to the absolute millimeter. 

Carving tools and strange gizmos were scattered across the wooden table in a chaotic yet deliberate manner. There were silver tweezers, fine-toothed hand saws, and spools of razor-wire resting amidst the scattered wood shavings.

A sharp knock echoed from the heavy wooden door. It was a jarring sound that violently disrupted the sanctity of the silent room, sending a subtle vibration through the floorboards. Kaguya didn't blink. His focus remained entirely unbroken, completely detached from the intrusion. He simply continued to adjust a delicate spring mechanism inside the wrist of the doll. The tiny coil clicked perfectly into its designated groove.

The knock sounded again. This time, the door slowly creaked open on its own. The rusted hinges whined in a low, agonizing pitch. It revealed the silhouette of a man whose face was completely swallowed by the shadows of the hallway. The darkness seemed to unnaturally cling to his tailored overcoat, bending the scarce light around his imposing frame.

"I despise it when people invite themselves into my sanctuary," Kaguya muttered. He didn't bother to look back. His eyes remained hyper-focused on the exposed wooden carpals of his latest masterpiece. "What do you want?"

"Quiet yourself," the mysterious man replied. His voice was impeccably smooth. It was wrapped in an extremely refined accent and a cadence that dripped with over formal authority. It was the tone of a man who was entirely accustomed to absolute obedience. "I have a mission for you." Kaguya paused his carving. The silver tool in his hand hovered just an inch above the wooden workbench. "On whose orders?"

The man stared daggers at him, "On mine."

Kaguya finally spun his wooden chair around. The old wood groaned under his shifting weight. He looked the man up and down before a cruel, mocking laugh escaped his throat. It was a dry, hollow sound that held absolutely no genuine humor. "Since when did you have the authority to order around someone like me?" The man completely ignored the insult. He stepped slightly closer, though his features remained hidden beneath the oppressive veil of the room's poor lighting. "Brass has been deceived. Events are no longer proceeding according to the grand design." Kaguya rolled his eyes. He turned his chair back to the workbench and picked up his metal tools. "Has Brass already been defeated, then?"

"No," the man answered coldly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees at the sheer apathy in his tone. "I have already dispatched the Saint girl after him." "Then I refuse," Kaguya said. His voice was entirely flat and devoid of interest. He went back to threading a micro-filament through the puppet's forearm. "I have zero interest in cleaning up Brass’s leftovers. You would have much better luck sending your own son to do the dirty work."

"My son, Harley, is already operating in the vicinity alongside the rest of the Pale Rose Guard, excluding their captain," the man stated. He was entirely unbothered by Kaguya's disrespect. His posture remained a pillar of absolute confidence. "Regardless of your personal opinions, you will carry out these orders."

Kaguya’s hands stopped moving entirely. The micro-filament slipped from his fingers. The workshop grew deathly quiet, save for the ambient howling of the wind outside the thick walls. Slowly, he stood up from his chair. His tall frame cast a long, menacing shadow across the wooden floor as he closed the distance to the doorway. He moved with a terrifyingly fluid grace, unhindered by the cluttered space. He stopped just inches from the mysterious figure, allowing his glowing silver eyes to glare down into the darkness.

"Don't prescribe me my duties, Doctor," Kaguya whispered dangerously. The raw malice in his voice was thick enough to choke on. "Where do you get off trying to order around an Apostle of God?"

                          …

The sands of Harpyra were a violent battleground of shifting sands and gravel. The sweltering heat radiating from the scorched earth distorted the horizon into a wavy, sickening mirage, while blistering winds endlessly whipped granular shrapnel through the air. Zhenyu tore across the massive dunes. His dark trench coat snapped wildly in the desert wind, billowing behind him like the wings of a descending raven. With every single step, he expertly generated micro pockets of anti gravity beneath his heavy boots. The localized repulsions defied the very laws of physics. This allowed him to violently launch himself forward at breakneck speeds, turning his sprint into a blur of motion that kicked up massive roosters of golden sand in his wake.

As he closed the gap on Kaguya, who was still desperately trying to recover his footing from Tatsuchi’s earlier onslaught, Zhenyu sheathed his sword for a second. His hands blurred together. The intricate hand signs were executed with flawless muscle memory. They locked perfectly into the Simhamukha and Shunya Mudra. Kaguya sensed the massive spike in energy immediately. The ambient Zyn in the air warped and screamed in protest. He viciously kicked Asumi away to clear his flank, crossing both of his arms and heavily reinforcing them with dense silver Zyn to brace for the incoming impact.

"Resonance Kai: Baro-mu!" Zhenyu roared into the wind. The sound of his battle cry was instantly swallowed by the roaring desert storm. He drew his blade in a flash. His dark amber Zyn coated the cold steel in its entirety, vibrating with terrifying kinetic potential. The blinding arc of the sword strike tore through the oppressive heat. The strike collided directly with Kaguya’s crossed guard.

But there was no sound. There was no concussive shockwave. There was absolutely nothing flashy about the impact. Zhenyu simply tapped him. The anti-climactic nature of the blow defied every expectation of a high-speed collision. He instantly dropped back and skidded to a halt fifteen meters away, his boots carving deep trenches into the sand, his eyes locked onto his target. Kaguya blinked. His brow furrowed in deep confusion as he looked at his unharmed arms. 

The silver Zyn still hummed protectively over his skin, entirely unbroken. Then, the realization hit him. The sheer, overwhelming force of Zhenyu's technique didn't manifest as blunt trauma. Both of his arms violently plummeted toward the earth. The sheer, incomprehensible gravity applied directly to his limbs caused them to crash into the ground. The impact was so devastatingly heavy that the loose sand beneath his fists instantly condensed into a solid, unbreakable state of sandstone. 

Seeing the perfect opening, Ryuzuki moved. He had been waiting for this exact fraction of a second, analyzing the chaotic battlefield from the periphery. Using his one remaining arm, he dashed in like a phantom. His footwork was entirely devoid of sound, his presence masked by the swirling dust. His dagger, Ares, was aimed perfectly at Kaguya’s newly exposed neck.

But as Ryuzuki lunged for the killing blow, Kaguya’s teeth gritted in sheer defiance. His eyes flared with a manic, unyielding intensity. Straining with everything he had against the crushing weight of the Kai, Kaguya forcibly tore his right arm up from the sandstone. The sheer muscular exertion caused his veins to bulge against his skin, threatening to burst. He threw his open palm directly into the path of the oncoming blade. Ares was plunged straight through Kaguya’s hand. The sickening sound of tearing flesh and grinding bone echoed briefly over the wind. The dark steel jutted out the back of his palm as thick crimson blood spilled rapidly down the edge of the dagger, staining the pristine metal.

Ryuzuki’s normally calm, highly analytical face twisted into pure shock. His eyes widened in horror as the realization crashed down upon him. He had figured out Kaguya’s trigger long ago. He had meticulously pieced together the combat data, but in his haste, he had completely miscalculated the Apostle's willingness to sacrifice himself. He knew Kaguya needed to bleed from the palm to activate his space time technique. They had not trapped the Apostle. They had played right into his hands.

The look of defeat completely vanished from Kaguya’s face. It was immediately replaced by a smile so devilish it made Zhenyu’s blood run cold. The sudden shift in Kaguya's aura was suffocating, a localized burst of pure, unadulterated malice. In his sudden panic, Zhenyu lost his absolute focus, and his gravity Kai prematurely deactivated. The dark amber Zyn flickering around his blade sputtered and died. Kaguya stared directly into Ryuzuki’s terrified eyes.

"Mangekyou Jigen." (Kaleidoscope Dimension).

In a microsecond, right as Ryuzuki violently yanked his dagger free to retreat, the entire world vanished. The golden dunes, the roaring wind, the sweltering heat, all of it was instantly erased. There was no screaming. There was no light. There was just an endless, pitch black void. The absolute absence of reality was entirely disorienting. The only things illuminating the empty space were the faint, glowing Zyn signatures of Kaguya and Ryuzuki. Ryuzuki was completely frozen in the air. He was suspended in an agonizing, terrifying state of slow motion, his body trapped mid-lunge. Every muscle fiber strained against the temporal lock, but he could not so much as blink.

Kaguya slowly stood up straight. He rolled his shoulders, working out the stiffness from Zhenyu's localized gravity, and casually checked his wounds to ensure his arms were functioning properly after Zhenyu’s gravity attack. He looked around the infinite blackness, a dark, uncontrollable laughter bubbling up deep within his chest. The sound was distorted, bouncing off invisible walls in the vacuum. He could hardly believe they had been foolish enough to hand him the exact condition he needed to win. He walked slowly toward the suspended Ryuzuki, savoring the absolute dominance of his domain. Each footstep sent a tiny ripple through the nothingness.

"You knew the trigger," Kaguya mocked, his voice echoing endlessly in absolute silence. "Yet you let your desperation blind you. You traded your hard earned victory for a simple splash of my blood. Look at you now. You will spend your final moments realizing what it truly means to cross an Apostle of God."

Kaguya’s blood soaked hands reached up. The crimson fluid dripped upward in the zero-gravity environment, floating like morbid rubies. They wrapped tightly around Ryuzuki’s throat. He was not playing anymore. His sadistic amusement was instantly replaced by cold, calculating execution. He began to squeeze with lethal intent.

Just as Ryuzuki’s face started to turn a pale, suffocating shade of blue, a sharp crack echoed through the space time continuum. It sounded like an iceberg fracturing under immense pressure.

Since the void was simultaneously finite and infinite in a sense, Kaguya could not pinpoint the origin of the sound. He scowled, tightening his grip on the Ryuzuki's neck. He didn't even bother trying. The architecture of this dimension was his own creation. It was supposed to be fundamentally impossible to break his technique from the outside. Then, the entire void shattered like a fragile pane of glass. The pitch-black walls fractured into millions of jagged, glowing shards that instantly dissolved into thin air.

Before Kaguya could even process the sudden sensory overload of returning to the desert, the blinding sunlight, the scorching heat, the deafening wind, Zhenyu was already there. He had perfectly timed his desperate sprint with the collapse of the dimension.

"Gravity: Atlas Upheaval!" Zhenyu bellowed. He reversed his grip on his katana mid air. The amber Zyn surrounding the blade condensed into a hyper-dense edge of pure kinetic devastation. In a swift, brutal arc, the blade cleaved cleanly through bone and muscle, completely severing Kaguya’s right arm from his body.

Kaguya screamed and dropped Ryuzuki. The sudden, agonizing loss of his limb sent him into absolute shock. He immediately teleported forty five meters away in a desperate flash of spatial displacement, leaving a mist of his own blood lingering in the air. He landed near his dropped bo staff, falling to one knee in the coarse sand. He clutched his bleeding stump in agony, his breath hitching as searing pain completely overwhelmed his nervous system. He quickly channeled his Zyn into the wound to stop the bleeding, cauterizing the severed arteries with raw energy, though he knew regenerating the limb completely was impossible in the heat of this battle. He cursed under his breath, his silver eyes frantically scanning the three warriors ahead of him.

When did he get the chance to activate his technique again, Zhenyu thought to himself. He gripped his sword tightly and prepared to charge once more, his amber aura flaring violently to life.

But Kaguya was not looking at Zhenyu. He was completely ignoring the swordsman who had just amputated his arm. He was staring intensely at Asumi. The only thing in this world capable of shattering his dimension from the outside was the absolute property of Hollow Zyn. And he could feel that exact resonance violently simmering deep within her. It was a cold, void-like frequency that clashed abhorrently against the natural energy of the world.

"It was you," Kaguya whispered. A cold understanding washed over his face. The puzzle pieces rapidly snapped into place. 

Asumi had kept her Hollow Zyn a complete secret from everyone, even her own squad, and had coordinated perfectly with Zhenyu's dash to break the trap. Kaguya picked up his bo staff with his remaining hand. His knuckles turned white around the polished wood. His energy flared wildly as he pooled it all into his feet, entirely zeroed in on destroying Asumi. But before his muscles could even fire, a blur of ruby red violently blitzed across the sandy battlefield.

"Protocol 2-B!" 

Tatsuchi’s voice tore through the desert air. It was a command spoken with absolute, terrifying clarity. Asumi didn't hesitate. Back in Kokohama, they had established this exact emergency system during their long nights of strategy planning. Asumi had secretly placed a teleportation talisman on the hilt of Tatsuchi's katana, keeping the matching pair on her own person. As the talisman on Tatsuchi's hilt flared with blinding light, the world warped.

In a fraction of a second, Tatsuchi and her blade swapped places with Asumi. Tatsuchi materialized directly in front of Kaguya where Asumi was. She was moving fast, harnessing the immense momentum from her previous leap. Her katana was radiating a furious, chaotic red energy as it slammed directly into Kaguya’s face. The impact was nothing short of cataclysmic. A massive crater ruptured in the sand beneath them before the kinetic force launched Kaguya backward like a fired cannonball. He went crashing violently through the air, breaking the sound barrier, and deep into the residential buildings of Kokohama. The structures splintered and collapsed in a massive plume of dust and debris upon his entry. 

"Tatsuchi!" Zhenyu yelled. He sprinted up the massive sand dune to where she stood, his boots sinking heavily into the shifting terrain. She had her back turned to them, staring coldly down at the dust settling over the ruined town. "You need to think about the townsfolk! Someone is going to get hurt down there!"

Ryuzuki stepped back, desperately catching his breath as Asumi rushed to Zhenyu's side. He rubbed his bruised throat, coughing violently as oxygen finally flooded back into his deprived lungs. "It doesn't matter," Tatsuchi said. Her voice was terrifyingly hollow. It lacked any trace of the fiery, protective spirit that had always defined her leadership.

Asumi’s eyes widened. Her anger instantly flared up, completely superseding the exhaustion of the battle. "Explain yourself! It is our job to protect the people of Averthryn, no matter the district! How are we going to deal with the Skinwalkers and protect the innocent people living down there?!” Tatsuchi barely turned her head. She turned just enough for them to see the dead, empty look in her eyes. The vibrancy had been entirely drained from her irises, leaving behind two vacant, abyssal pools. "It’s simple. We have to kill everybody, right Ryu?"

Zhenyu whipped his head around. Ryuzuki’s face had completely darkened. The boy's analytical mind seemed to have completely shut down. He kept his gaze cast down at the sand, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. His shoulders were slumped in a posture of profound, suffocating defeat. The second of the three suns began to crest over the horizon. Its golden light chased away the dying crimson glow of the blood moons, casting long, dramatic shadows across the scarred desert landscape. Asumi’s hand collided heavily with Tatsuchi’s cheek. The sharp slap echoed loudly over the whistling wind. For a brief second, Asumi looked shocked at her own action, but the righteous anger quickly consumed her fear. "Are you insane?!" she screamed. Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of her eyes. "You’ve completely lost your mind! 

You aren't thinking at all!"

As the morning light fully illuminated Tatsuchi’s face, they finally saw it. She was covered in a thick, putrid black substance. It clung to her skin and armor like a disease. It was Skinwalker blood.

Asumi slowly backed away. Genuine terror began creeping onto her face as she looked at the vile ichor staining her captain. Zhenyu stepped forward and gripped his sword tightly, placing himself protectively between the two women. "You need to get a grip on yourself, Tatsuchi. Look at your surroundings. Look at the entire situation we are in right now!" The yelling faded into static white noise in Tatsuchi’s ears. The world around her blurred into insignificance. She spun around, moving with a sudden, violent speed, and grabbed Zhenyu fiercely by the collar of his trench coat.

"I am the Captain!" she roared. Her voice echoed violently over the quiet desert, dripping with a terrifying, primal authority. "And you will listen to me, no matter what! This isn't a game!" She shoved Zhenyu backward. Her eyes were burning with a dark, ruthless conviction that entirely replaced her previous emptiness. "We will kill anyone left inside that town. And if you have to disregard your humanity, even if just for a moment, then do it." Zhenyu’s face twisted in pure, conflicted fury. His knuckles turned white around the hilt of his katana. "On whose order?!" Tatsuchi was already turning away. She began her descent down the steep sand dune toward the ruined town without looking back, her boots kicking up small avalanches of golden sand with every heavy step. "On mine."

"Why?!" Zhenyu yelled after her. The sheer desperation in his voice cracked under the immense emotional strain. "Why do you want us to throw away our morals? Our duties? Everything?!"

Right before Tatsuchi crossed the threshold into the town's perimeter, passing beneath the shattered wooden archway, she paused her walking. She looked back up at Zhenyu. Her face was entirely devoid of the warmth she once possessed. It was a mask of cold, unyielding stone. "That depends," she asked calmly, her voice carrying easily over the morning breeze. "What do you consider everything?"

Zhenyu stood completely frozen. A maelstrom of confusion and conflict rooted him to the spot, entirely paralyzing his will to follow her. Asumi walked up slowly behind him and sat down heavily in the sand. She basked in the cold morning sunlight, her body trembling uncontrollably. "Zhenyu," Asumi whispered, her voice trembling. "What do you think she saw in Prometheus?" Zhenyu didn’t have an answer. He just looked back at Ryuzuki, who remained standing silently in the long shadows of the mountains, completely lost in his own nightmarish revelations. 

                             …

Tatsuchi methodically hunted through the thick dust and rubble. The air inside the ruined town was thick with the suffocating scent of pulverized plaster and ancient rot. Her blade was dripping constantly with black blood, leaving a dark, toxic trail upon the shattered cobblestones. She knew she had little time before the Skinwalkers crept out of the shadows, and she desperately needed to confirm Kaguya's death. Zhenyu and Asumi were sprinting into town behind her, entirely unable to abandon their Captain despite their profound horror at her sudden descent into ruthlessness.

                           …

The structural beams had entirely caved in, creating a chaotic mound of splintered wood and broken roof tiles. He lay completely unconscious beneath the wooden wreckage. His silver Zyn had completely dissipated. He was bleeding heavily from his head and nose from using his technique without meeting the right conditions, and the cauterized stump of his arm looked grotesque in the dim morning light. 

Tatsuchi had effectively won.

From the dark corners of the ruins, five Skinwalkers began to emerge. They slid out from the alleyways like liquid shadows, their forms glitching in and out of the morning light. They were towering, ten foot tall nightmares of matted black fur. Their elongated arms dragged massive, nine inch claws across the wooden floorboards, carving deep, splintering gouges into the architecture. Their static filled eyes locked onto Kaguya's prone form with a ravenous, horrifying hunger. This was it. This was exactly where Kaguya was supposed to die. Suddenly, two figures cloaked in absolute shadow stepped into the ruins from behind him. They seemed to step directly out of the very fabric of the darkness itself. In a swift, elegant motion, a katana flashed in the dark. It was a singular, impossibly fast stroke of silver light. The five Skinwalkers were cut to pieces in a single heartbeat. Their massive bodies collapsed into a sickening pile of severed limbs and putrid black blood before they could even let out a screech.

The swordsman had long, grey and black hair that fell perfectly down his back. He sheathed his blade with a slow, deliberate click. He kept both of his eyes completely shut. He silently gestured to the man beside him to finish the job.

The second man was imposing. He radiated a cold, flawless elegance that felt entirely alien amidst the wreckage of the building. He wore a black kimono draped asymmetrically over only half his body, revealing a sleek, ash grey long sleeve tunic with subtle violet accents beneath it. His right arm was bound tightly in white combat wraps, while his left hand was encased in a long leather archery glove. Jet black hair framed his remarkably sharp face.

The archer drew an incredibly large Yumi bow crafted from white looking wood. The weapon easily matched his six foot three frame, carved with intricate runic engravings. The Skinwalkers, desperately trying to put themselves back together in a chaotic mass of writhing flesh and bone, looked up in pure terror as the man fired a single arrow.

                         …

Outside, Tatsuchi suddenly froze in her tracks. The air pressure dropped violently. A massive pillar of fire, burning as brightly as a sun, erupted from the exact building she was heading toward. The heat was so intense it instantly superheated the ground into a sheet of walking glass, melting the cobblestone and sand into a reflective, liquid mirror.

Only one person had that kind of firepower, Tatsuchi thought to herself. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a caged bird. 

“Father?”

She rushed blindly into the building, ignoring the searing temperature. Her shoes crunched loudly over the glass. As her purple eyes adjusted to the thick smoke and dark shadows, she saw a pair of matching purple eyes staring right back at her through the haze. But it wasn't her father. It was the archer. The coldness in his gaze was absolute, entirely devoid of the familial warmth she had so desperately hoped for.

Beside him, the swordsman with the grey and black hair had effortlessly hoisted the unconscious Kaguya over his shoulders, preparing to carry him away from the wreckage.

Tatsuchi dropped into a combat stance, ready to lunge forward and strike them down. Her blade hummed with chaotic red energy. But a heavy hand grabbed her shoulder. Zhenyu, breathing heavily alongside Asumi and Ryuzuki, pulled her back and told her to hold on. The sheer, overwhelming pressure exuding from the two strangers was astronomical.

The purple eyed archer raised his massive white bow, aiming directly at the squad, but the swordsman held up a hand. He gestured for him to wait. The grey haired man stepped forward into a sliver of sunlight, the dust swirling around his serene figure. His eyes were still closed.

"I… am Lucifer," he said. His voice was calm but carried an unfathomable weight, vibrating deep within the chests of everyone present. "I'm the leader of the Revolutionaries. I'll get to you in a moment.”

Before anyone in the squad could even draw a breath or react, they hit the floor. The overwhelming wave of oppressive energy simply shut down their nervous systems. One by one, they fell into a deep, forced sleep, collapsing onto the glass-covered ground like broken dolls.

It felt as though only a single minute had passed when Tatsuchi’s eyes fluttered open.

They were no longer in the burning ruins. The squad was lying on the large gravel hill just outside of Kokohama, perfectly lined up alongside one another. Tatsuchi desperately tried to reach for her blade, to push herself off the rough terrain, but her body was entirely asleep. The absolute paralysis was terrifying. They were awake, but their muscles refused to obey a single command, completely locked down by Lucifer's lingering technique. The purple eyed archer stepped up beside them on the sand. He calmly drew back the string of his massive Yumi bow. The tension in the wood groaned like a dying beast. The arrow instantly ignited with the same terrifying, sun bright fire that had scorched the building moments prior. The localized heat singed the very tips of Tatsuchi's hair.

"Despair," the archer whispered into the wind. It was a single word, spoken like a final, absolute judgment. He released the string. The arrow tore through the air with such unimaginable speed that Tatsuchi and the others could not even track its flight path. It was simply a blinding streak of divine wrath that painted the sky in brilliant hues of orange and gold.

They could not look away. And for exactly twelve straight minutes, the group was forced to watch as Kokohama was completely erased from the map. The entire town went up in a cataclysmic explosion of hellfire. The flames consumed the buildings, the streets, and the hidden monsters within. The wooden structures instantly vaporized, leaving absolutely nothing but ash in their wake. The symphony of destruction was horrifying. The agonizing, echoing shrieks of Skinwalkers desperately tearing off their own burning flesh to try and regenerate, only to be instantly incinerated once more, filled the air. The high-pitched wails of the burning monsters blended together into a sickening chorus of endless suffering.

"NO!" Ryuzuki cried out. His voice cracked with a raw, uncharacteristic agony. The tears streamed freely down his paralyzed face. He was completely unable to say anything else, trapped in his own helpless nightmare as the flames roared higher into the dawn.

Lucifer appeared silently behind him. His presence was completely undetectable until he spoke. He looked down at the broken man. "Enough," Lucifer said softly. The serene calmness of his tone was a jarring contrast to the apocalyptic hellscape burning just a mile away. "Your grief is wasted." Ryuzuki forced his eyes upward, glaring at the Revolutionary leader through his tears. "There has been no one left to mourn here," Lucifer continued, his voice devoid of malice, "for a very long time."

Gradually, the screaming stopped entirely. The monstrous shrieks gave way to the deafening roar of the fire, and then, slowly, even that began to fade. The land went dead quiet. The town of Kokohama simply ceased to exist. It had been reduced to a smoldering, blackened crater. The glass and stone had melted into a smooth, dark lake of cooling obsidian. Lucifer looked down at Tatsuchi's paralyzed form. His eyes still shut. "Tread lightly, for the path you walk is far from an ideal one."

Through the fading edges of her consciousness, Tatsuchi forced herself to turn her head. She watched as Lucifer and the archer stepped into a swirling portal of flames that tore open the very fabric of space. Kaguya was still slung over the archer's back, still missing his arm. As the third sun finally peeked fully over the horizon, casting a blinding, triumphant light over the devastated landscape, the Revolutionaries vanished.

Tatsuchi and the rest of the squad passed back out, swallowed once more by the dark, welcoming void of sleep.

                          …

Saltmere was a gritty, salt stained town located on the southern coast of Garudon. The crashing waves of the ocean endlessly battered the stone docks, filling the frigid air with the dense, metallic smell of brine and drying seaweed. Tonight, a small but fancy looking bar sat quietly off the beaten road. It was completely secluded, an oasis of warmth amidst the dreary coastal gloom. It was entirely surrounded by a dense forest of woodland trees, their thick branches swaying rhythmically in the ocean breeze.

Half drunken men and women spilled out of the front doors into the night, their raucous laughter shattering the peaceful serenity of the woods. Many of them were missing their shirts or wearing their pants on their heads, victims of the establishment's notoriously potent homebrewed spirits. Behind the mahogany counter stood Lytle Mori. He wiped down the polished wood with a pristine white rag, completely ignoring the chaos unfolding just beyond the threshold. He wore a worn black button up shirt with a thick collar. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to expose massive, muscular arms covered in the faded scars of countless brawls. Loose suspenders hung over his dark trousers, and fingerless gloves wrapped his heavy hands, hinting at a violent past completely at odds with his quiet demeanor as he served another round of drinks.

The stale, heavy scent of Saltmere’s coastal air clung tightly to Lytle’s clothes, thick with the lingering stench of spilled liquor, aged bourbon, and cheap tobacco deeply soaked into the fibers of his worn black button-up shirt. His dark brown skin contrasted sharply with the long black dreadlocks laced with silver streaks that fell heavily behind his shoulders, while his dark brown eyes almost seemed black in the dim, amber-tinted lighting of the tavern.

Behind the mahogany counter, his assistant, a quiet, skinny young man wearing a stained brown apron and thick glasses, paused from drying a glass, wiping his hands slowly on a damp rag as he looked up with a furrowed brow.

"Why are you deciding to close the bar so early tonight, Lytle?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the sudden stillness, glancing toward the empty, booze-soaked tables and the chairs stacked neatly against the wall.

Lytle kept his dark brown eyes fixed on the glass in his hand, his voice carrying a slow, heavy southern drawl that rumbled deep in his broad chest. "It's more of a family matter."

Before the assistant could try to pry any further into the situation or ask another question, Lytle raised his gaze and waved a large hand dismissively. "Matter of fact, you oughta get on home for the night, too. I'll clean things up tonight."

His assistant locked eyes with him for a moment, and a sudden, sharp look of dread flashed across the young man's eyes, catching the faint amber light. But he didn't say anything, sensing the immovable weight in the air and the quiet, absolute finality resting in Lytle's tone. He simply nodded, swallowing hard, before walking into the back, grabbing his stuff, and heading out the front door while telling him good night.

"Night, kid," Lytle muttered, watching the heavy oak door swing shut behind him and listening as the metal latch clicked securely into place.

Lytle stood there with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring at the closed door. He walked around the building for a moment, wiping down tables and pushing in the chairs to ensure everything was immaculate before he left. He went one by one turning off all the overhead lamps until only a single dim bulb remained glowing softly near the front entrance.

He paused for a long moment as he reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a worn photograph. It was a picture of him with a beautiful woman with striking white hair and beautifully pale skin. She had small horns that almost looked like pointed bumps on her forehead. In her arms was their son, Zhenyu. Before the Sun God Incident. 

Before he abandoned him like a coward. Before his wife was taken from him. 

He swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat, taking out a pen and writing something on the back, before walking back to the bar and hiding it beneath the table next to all the fine wine and whiskey. From another pocket he grabbed a cigarette and lit it as he shut off the final light and walked outside, locking up the bar behind him.

He stayed at the entrance for a moment, taking in the night air. This was an extremely rare occasion, for there were three blood moons out tonight, hanging heavy and warped in the sky above and casting long, eerie crimson shadows across the porch. As he basked in the crimson glow, he closed his eyes and took a puff of the cigarette, savoring the burning heat against the back of his throat. 

The entire bar was surrounded by a forest of dense woodland trees and only one dirt road to get to it. The rest of the town was only about a brisk ten-minute walk. But standing there in the dark, surrounded by the whispering branches, he felt like he was alone. Without looking, he said: “If you want to talk, then don't hide from me.” In almost an instant, a familiar man appeared about twenty meters in front of him, stepping effortlessly out of the deep shadows of the tree line.

Kyosuke Mori. 

He wore a dark red haori draped over his bare chest, but the garment was left wide open to show off his impeccably toned abs, exposing a muscular torso covered in countless scars. His slightly baggy black hakama pants featured a subtle white trim pattern and were held together by a thick white knotted rope belt. His shoulder-length silver hair flowed almost majestically in the wind past his face. Over his shoulders rested a heavy black fur coat, the dark fibers rippling wildly in the ocean breeze. His pale face was framed by silver hair, with small horns slightly protruding from his forehead and blank white eyes staring forward. Multiple rings decorated his fingers, glinting balefully in the crimson moonlight. On his back rested a massive naginata with a white wooden handle, its surface carved with cult-like markings. From just beneath the blade hung a red ribbon that lightly billowed in the wind.

While Lytle himself was a huge man, standing roughly at about six-foot-two himself, Kyosuke was a staggering height of six-foot-four, and his weapon of choice was almost as tall as he was. For a moment they both stared at each other silently, almost as if sizing the other one up amidst the whispering pines and the lingering smell of stale liquor and smoke clinging to Lytle's shirt. Before long, Kyosuke spoke. "Well," he began, "where is everyone?" Lytle looked up at the moons, "I decided to send everybody on their way and close early. A man like you id assume wouldn't like an audience while we're on stage."

Kyosuke chuckled a little bit under his breath, a dark, low sound, "You were always a cautious man.' Kyosuke closes his eyes, before slowly giving in to a look of dread. "I assumes that you already know why I'm here?" Lytle ignores the question, standing up and taking in another puff of his cigarette while leaning casually against the wooden post of the porch. "I won't be the kind of man that goes down easily. I've already informed the Church about your presence, so you only have a limited time to do what you need to do."

Kyosuke’s white eyes look up at the blood moons, masking them in crimson and casting the night in an even deeper, suffocating red. Lytle looked up as well for a moment, “I suppose this is your work?” Kyosuke looked back down at the dirt and sighed, "It might as well be."

Lytle laughs “ I won't go down without a fight. Both luck and strength are on my side. I might actually be near on par with you.” Lytle blew out one last puff of smoke in the form of a four-leaf clover.

Kyosuke started walking closer as Lytle also started to close the gap between them as he chuckled a little bit, his bare, scarred chest catching the dim light. Kyosuke closed his eyes for a moment again, a rigid grin spanning across his face. “You're strong, but I am beyond strength.” Kyosuke took out his weapon.

As the massive naginata slid into his grasp, Lytle swallowed the sudden knot in his throat. “...I wish the Fates never gave me these eyes.”

Flashes of shifting events bloomed in his mind before they even happened. Overlapping trajectories, words that haven't been said, and possibilities spelled out every incoming strike with certainty. 

The heavy silence snapped.

And the fight began.

They will never meet again.