The portal swallowed Sora and Yuki so quickly that neither of them had time to brace for the landing.

For one disorienting moment, there was nothing beneath their feet and nothing above them. Violet light twisted around their bodies, pulling them through a space that felt too narrow and too cold to be real. Then the world snapped back into place.

They landed standing in the middle of a market street.

Sora stumbled forward immediately, one hand going to the cuts across his side as his balance threatened to give out. His body had not recovered from the Blood Sickles, and the sudden shift through Tsubasa’s portal made every wound ache at once. Yuki caught herself more cleanly a few steps away, but her eyes narrowed as she looked around.

This part of the Coastal Kingdom had not been destroyed.

The market had clearly been abandoned in a hurry, but most of the buildings remained standing. Wooden stalls lined both sides of the street beneath faded cloth awnings, and baskets of fruit, jars, folded fabrics, and small trinkets had been left scattered where merchants had dropped them. Several shop windows had been shuttered from the inside. A few civilians watched from behind cracked doors or upper windows, their faces pale as they tried to understand why two bloodied teenagers had appeared from nowhere in the middle of their street.

Sunlight spilled over the rooftops in long orange bands, turning the quiet market almost peaceful.

That was what made the figure waiting for them feel wrong.

A man sat casually on the ledge of a broken market stall several yards ahead. One of the stall’s supports had snapped, leaving the roof hanging at an angle above him, but he did not seem bothered by it. He leaned back on one hand with one leg dangling over the side, as though he had been waiting for a friend rather than standing in the middle of an evacuated city.

A long weapon wrapped in dark cloth was strapped across his back.

His cloak was black, marked with purple designs similar to Tsubasa’s, though the patterns across this one were different. Thin crescent moons curved along the sleeves and collar, disappearing beneath folds of fabric before reappearing along the hem. His black hair had been slicked back neatly, revealing a sharp face and violet eyes that watched them with open amusement. Crescent-shaped moon earrings hung from both ears, shifting faintly when he tilted his head.

He smiled when he saw them.

“Well,” he said, his voice smooth and unhurried. “Tsubasa did not exaggerate. He said he might send me something interesting before breakfast.”

Sora’s shoulders tensed.

Yuki raised one hand, frost beginning to gather weakly around her fingers. “Who are you?”

The man’s smile widened at the question. He slipped down from the ledge of the broken stall and landed lightly in the street. His boots touched the stone without a sound. Then he reached over one shoulder and unfastened the cloth-wrapped weapon from his back.

He unfolded the cloth slowly, letting it fall away piece by piece while he continued speaking. The first thing Sora saw was the black shaft of the weapon. Then came the blade.

It curved outward in a long, vicious crescent, its edge glowing a deep crimson red. The light did not flicker like fire or pulse like ordinary spiritual energy. It bled across the metal in a slow, steady rhythm, as though something inside the weapon was awake.

The man held the scythe loosely at his side and looked between them with a pleased expression.

“Dawn is a disappointing thing,” he said. “It spills light across the world and pretends that makes it clean again. Fortunately, I have spent years correcting that mistake.”

He lifted the weapon slightly.

“This is the Hell Scythe. It does not simply end a life. It gives a soul the chance to become something more honest.”

The red glow along the blade deepened.

“Come closer,” he said with a smile. “I would like to see what your corruption looks like in the morning.”

Sora gave a short, tired laugh.

“That was cute.”

The man blinked once.

Sora shifted his weight despite the pain shooting through his body and looked at the scythe as though he were judging it rather than fearing it. “The cloak, the speech, the dramatic weapon reveal. You practiced that, didn’t you?”

The stranger stared at him.

Then he laughed.

It was not an angry laugh. It was not forced or insulted. He threw his head back slightly, violet eyes narrowing with genuine amusement as the sound echoed through the abandoned market.

“You are bleeding from half a dozen places,” he said, still smiling, “and you chose to review my introduction.”

“Someone had to.”

“I like you already.”

Yuki’s gaze remained fixed on the scythe. Something about it felt familiar in the worst possible way. She had heard stories, warnings told in low voices in the guild halls. A murderer from the Cosmic Continent. A black-cloaked killer carrying a scythe that did more than cut.

Her expression hardened.

“Renjiro,” she said.

The man’s eyes shifted toward her.

Sora glanced at Yuki, then back at the stranger as the name settled in his mind.

“No way,” he muttered.

Renjiro gave them a shallow bow, one hand pressed lightly against his chest while the other kept the Hell Scythe angled toward the street.

“You recognize me. How flattering.”

“The most wanted man in the Light Continent,” Yuki said quietly.

Renjiro’s smile faded a fraction.

“I do not care what the Light Continent calls me.”

Sora’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the killer from the Cosmic Continent.”

“That description is much closer.”

“They say you started killing when you were nine.”

For the first time, something colder entered Renjiro’s expression. It did not erase the amusement in his face, but it changed the shape of it. He looked less like a man enjoying a conversation and more like someone studying how a painting might look with one more line carved into it.

“People like stories,” he said. “They simplify things. They turn a life into a rumor because the truth is too ugly for them to repeat in full.”

Yuki did not lower her hand. “Is it true?”

Renjiro looked at her again, and the coldness in his face softened into interest.

“You are the Ice Princess,” he said.

Yuki paused.

The title caught her off guard, not because it frightened her, but because a small part of her liked the sound of it. She straightened slightly, frost thickening around her fingers.

“It suits me,” she said.

Renjiro smiled again.

“Yes,” he said. “It does.”

Sora took a step forward, placing himself slightly between Yuki and the man with the scythe. “Do not talk to her like you know her.”

“I do not know her,” Renjiro replied. “That is what makes it interesting.”

“You keep talking like we are here for your entertainment.”

Renjiro rested the Hell Scythe across one shoulder. “You are.”

The answer came so easily that Sora’s expression tightened.

Renjiro glanced past them toward the empty streets and shuttered buildings. Several civilians had disappeared from the windows. A market vendor who had been hiding behind a half-open door slowly pulled it closed, trying not to make a sound.

“Tsubasa told me he might send people through,” Renjiro continued. “He did not tell me who. He only said they would probably be angry.”

“You work for him?” Yuki asked.

Renjiro gave a dismissive laugh. “No one works for Tsubasa. We simply tolerate each other when our interests happen to align.”

“So he sent us here because he wanted us out of the way,” Sora said.

“Most likely.”

“And you are supposed to keep us busy.”

Renjiro’s smile returned. “That is one way to describe it.”

Sora looked around the market street, then toward the distant buildings beyond it. “Where are we?”

“Still in the kingdom,” Renjiro said. “Not that it matters. You will not be leaving before Tsubasa is finished.”

Yuki’s eyes narrowed. “You are confident.”

“I have earned the right to be.”

Sora clenched his fists.

He was tired. His body hurt. Every instinct told him that this was wrong. Renjiro’s spiritual energy sat beneath the surface of the street like a hidden blade, not flaring outward but impossible to ignore. Even injured, Sora could tell the man was on an entirely different level from most opponents they had faced.

But Sora had never been good at backing down from things that scared him.

“You should have picked someone else,” he said.

Renjiro looked genuinely curious. “Why?”

“Because I do not care who you are supposed to be. If you are blocking our way back, then I am knocking you down.”

The smile Renjiro gave him was almost affectionate.

“Such confidence,” he said. “And with so little left in your body.”

His eyes moved over Sora’s bloodied clothes, lingering on the cuts across his arms, chest, and side.

“You have been fighting all night. Your spiritual energy is thin. Your breathing is uneven. Your left leg favors every third step, and your body is still reacting to wounds that should have put you down hours ago.” He tilted his head. “You are impressive, little stray. But you are also broken.”

Sora’s jaw tightened.

Renjiro’s gaze shifted toward Yuki.

“And you have spent too much energy protecting everyone else.”

Yuki did not answer.

“Your ice is weaker than it should be,” he continued. “Your hands are shaking, even though you are trying to hide it. You have enough left for a few good attacks, perhaps, but not enough to keep that boy alive if I decide he should stop breathing.”

“Do not call him that,” Yuki said.

Renjiro’s expression brightened again. “Then tell me what I should call him.”

Sora did not respond.

Yuki glanced toward him, then back toward Renjiro. “His name is none of your business.”

Renjiro laughed softly. “Fair.”

The sun continued to rise over the market rooftops. Somewhere farther down the street, a loose sign swung gently in the morning wind. The quiet felt unnatural, as though the entire district was holding its breath.

Renjiro spun the Hell Scythe once through the air.

The red blade left a curved trail of light behind it before he caught the shaft again.

“You should understand something before we begin,” he said. “I do not need to kill either of you today. Tsubasa only asked me to delay you.”

Sora stared at him. “Then why bring that thing?”

Renjiro’s violet eyes gleamed.

“Because I dislike wasting an opportunity.”

Yuki’s frost spread farther across the ground.

Sora’s fists tightened.

They both remembered the stories at the same time.

Sora’s eyes narrowed. “That scythe corrupts people.”

Renjiro’s smile grew.

“Yes.”

Yuki’s voice became colder. “Anyone it touches.”

“Yes.”

Sora looked at the glowing blade, then at Renjiro. “You are proud of that?”

Renjiro’s expression did not change.

“I am proud of my art.”

The word made Yuki’s stomach twist.

“You call ruining people art?”

“I call revealing them art,” Renjiro said. “Everyone carries something ugly inside. Fear. Anger. Hunger. Grief. The Hell Scythe only removes the part of them that lies about it.”

“You are sick,” Sora said.

Renjiro’s smile faded just enough to show his teeth.

“Perhaps.”

Then he looked at Yuki again.

“But you,” he said softly, “might be different.”

Yuki’s face hardened.

Renjiro continued as though Sora had not stepped closer to block his view. “Ice does not decay. It preserves. It keeps things beautiful long after they should have fallen apart. I have always admired that.”

“You do not know anything about me,” Yuki replied.

“I know enough.”

“You know nothing.”

Renjiro’s gaze remained on her for another second before returning to Sora.

“That is fine,” he said. “I have time.”

The Hell Scythe glowed brighter in his hand.

Sora moved into a fighting stance despite the pain in his side. Yuki stepped back half a pace and raised both hands, frost gathering around her wrists as cold spread through the market street.

Renjiro watched them prepare with the same relaxed smile he had worn since they arrived.

“Good,” he said. “The prince told me you might be interesting.”

He lowered the scythe from his shoulder.

“Let us find out whether he was right.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Aiko hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs.

The purple portal vanished above her before she could roll onto her feet, leaving her alone in the middle of a wide stone street on the opposite side of the Coastal Kingdom. Unlike the district beneath Suzu’s barrier, this part of the city was almost untouched. The buildings stood intact beneath the rising sun, their pale walls still reflecting the soft gold of morning. Shop signs swayed gently above empty entrances. Decorative lanterns hung from awnings. A fountain sat at the center of a small plaza ahead of her, its water flowing peacefully as though the kingdom had not spent the entire night on the edge of destruction.

Aiko pushed herself upright, one hand tightening around her dagger as pain shot through her legs. The cuts Suzu had left across her thighs and arms had not stopped hurting simply because the battlefield had changed. Her spiritual energy was running low enough that she could feel it with every breath. She had used too much during the fight against Suzu. Too many swaps. Too many desperate saves. Her body had reached the point where even standing straight took effort.

She turned in a slow circle, searching the quiet streets.

“Show yourself,” she said.

A soft laugh answered her.

It came from the fountain.

A woman stood at its edge with one hand resting against the stone. She had dark purple hair that fell around her shoulders in loose waves, and her red eyes were fixed on Aiko with open amusement. A black cloak hung around her body, marked with purple designs that curled along the sleeves and hem like rising flames. The pattern seemed almost alive in the morning light, climbing upward from the edge of the cloak toward her collar.

Aiko’s eyes narrowed.

The woman dragged one finger across the fountain’s stone rim.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the pale surface beneath her touch darkened.

The stone cracked.

A gray-black stain spread outward from her fingertip, eating through the edge of the fountain in thin, branching lines. The smooth marble became brittle and uneven. Pieces of it crumbled away and fell into the water below, where the rot spread through the surface in slow black ripples before fading.

The woman watched it with a pleased expression.

“Such a beautiful city,” she said. Her voice was smooth, almost gentle, but there was something deeply wrong beneath the calmness of it. “People build and build and build. They polish their stone, paint their walls, fill their homes with pretty things, and convince themselves it will all last.”

Her red eyes lifted toward Aiko.

“It never does.”

Aiko raised her dagger. “You are with the man who took my friend.”

The woman smiled.

“I am with myself.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only answer that matters.”

Aiko did not wait for more. Her energy was too low to waste time trying to understand someone who had been waiting for her. She stepped forward and threw her dagger toward the woman’s chest.

The woman did not move.

Aiko’s hand lifted.

The air twisted.

She vanished from where she stood and reappeared beside the dagger as it crossed the space between them, her fingers closing around the handle in the same motion. She came out of the swap low and fast, aiming a slash toward the woman’s throat.

The woman leaned backward.

Aiko’s blade missed by inches.

She followed immediately with another strike, then a third, forcing the woman away from the fountain. Her movements were quick despite the injuries dragging at her body. She did not have the strength for a prolonged fight, but she still had enough left to make the first few attacks dangerous.

The woman’s expression did not change.

She only kept moving.

Aiko cut toward her shoulder. The woman slipped to the side. Aiko spun and drove the dagger toward her ribs. The woman caught Aiko’s wrist.

Aiko felt something cold touch her skin.

Then pain flashed through her arm.

She tore herself free instantly, stumbling backward as a dark stain spread across the fabric around her wrist. The sleeve blackened, cracked, and began to crumble away in dry flakes. Aiko stared at it for half a second before she tore the damaged cloth free and threw it aside.

The woman watched with open interest.

“You move well,” she said. “You are quick, and you are afraid to let me touch you. That makes this more enjoyable.”

Aiko clenched her jaw. “Who are you?”

The woman stepped away from the fountain and let her hand drift along the side of a nearby market stall. The wood blackened under her fingertips. Its surface softened, warped, and collapsed inward as though years of decay had passed through it in seconds.

“Reina Kusare,” she said. “And you are very far from anyone who can help you.”

Aiko’s eyes flicked across the street.

The buildings were intact. The alleyways were empty. No one was close enough to hear her if she screamed, and even if someone was hiding behind a door or shuttered window, she did not want them dragged into this.

Reina tilted her head.

“You are wondering whether you can win.”

Aiko said nothing.

“You cannot.”

The words were not shouted. Reina said them with the same casual certainty someone might use to comment on the weather.

Aiko’s grip around her dagger tightened.

Reina’s smile widened slightly. “You know it too. You have almost nothing left. Your energy stutters every time you use that little trick of yours. Your legs are injured. Your hands are shaking. And still you are standing there pretending you are deciding how to fight me.”

“I am deciding how to beat you.”

Reina gave a soft laugh.

“That is adorable.”

Aiko disappeared.

Earlier, during her opening rush, Aiko had brushed her fingertips against a broken wooden crate near the side of the street, leaving a trace of her energy behind. Now she swapped herself with it, reappearing behind Reina with her dagger already raised. Reina turned faster than Aiko expected. Aiko slashed for her back, but Reina’s hand caught the edge of the blade.

The metal darkened beneath her fingers.

Aiko released it before the rot reached her hand.

The dagger fell into the street.

Its blade blackened, cracked, and collapsed into flakes of rust before it struck the ground.

Aiko’s chest tightened.

Reina looked down at the remains with interest.

“Normal steel,” she said. “How disappointing.”

Aiko backed away.

Her only weapon was gone.

Reina took a step toward her.

“Do you know what Rot is?” she asked.

Aiko did not answer.

“It is honesty.” Reina’s red eyes shone in the morning light. “Everything ends. Stone breaks. Wood softens. Flowers wilt. Bodies fail. The world is always trying to return to what it truly is.”

“And what is that?”

“Nothing.”

The answer came too quickly.

Reina’s smile sharpened.

“Everything should rot eventually. The cities. The kingdoms. The people who believe they are important. I only help them reach the ending they were already moving toward.”

Aiko’s stomach turned.

She had faced monsters before. Corrupted creatures that killed without thought. Suzu had become something empty and terrible because corruption had taken everything human from her.

But Reina was different.

She understood what she was doing.

She enjoyed it.

Aiko looked toward a small pile of broken stone near the side of the street. Her hand lifted slightly as she gathered what little energy remained.

Reina noticed.

“You are going to swap again.”

Aiko did not respond.

“You should,” Reina continued. “Run around. Wear yourself down. Let me watch you become more desperate.”

Aiko vanished anyway.

The swap pulled at her body like something had torn through her chest. She reappeared beside the broken stones and immediately reached for a fallen signpost. Her fingers closed around the metal pole, and she used it to swing herself upward as she swapped again, appearing above Reina with the signpost raised like a weapon.

Reina stepped back.

The pole slammed into the ground where she had been standing, cracking the stone street.

Aiko landed badly. Pain shot up through her injured leg, and her knee nearly gave out beneath her. She forced herself upright before Reina could reach her, then swapped again, placing herself farther down the street beside a shuttered storefront.

Each movement cost more.

Her breathing became uneven.

Her vision blurred around the edges.

Reina did not rush.

She followed Aiko through the street at a slow walk, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. Wherever her fingers brushed a wall, a railing, a wooden stall, or a discarded cart, rot spread across it. The marketplace changed behind her. Bright painted signs darkened and peeled apart. Wooden frames sagged. Stone steps cracked and crumbled. The street itself seemed to decay wherever Reina passed.

Aiko felt trapped inside a world that was dying around her.

“You are wasting your strength,” Reina said.

Aiko swapped again.

This time she appeared near the fountain, reaching for a broken piece of marble from the damaged rim. She threw it toward Reina’s face, then swapped herself with the stone as it crossed the street.

Reina’s eyes widened slightly.

Aiko appeared directly in front of her.

Aiko drove her shoulder into Reina’s chest.

The impact pushed Reina back one step.

Aiko swung her fist toward Reina’s jaw.

Reina caught her hand.

Aiko tried to pull away.

Reina’s other hand moved faster.

Her fingers closed around the left side of Aiko’s face.

The touch was light.

Almost gentle.

Then the pain began.

Aiko screamed.

It felt like fire beneath her skin. Not heat. Something worse. A dry, terrible burning that spread from the place near her ear and clawed upward toward her hairline. Her skin darkened beneath Reina’s hand. Fine cracks appeared across the side of her face, ash-colored lines splitting through the flesh as blackened patches spread outward.

Aiko shoved at Reina’s arm with both hands.

Reina held on.

The rot continued.

It crept dangerously close to Aiko’s left eye, stopping only a breath away from it as the skin near her temple and cheek blackened and cracked. Aiko’s entire body shook with panic. She could smell something burnt. She could feel the side of her face tightening and splitting as if it no longer belonged to her.

“No,” she gasped. “Get off me.”

Reina watched her with fascination.

“There it is,” she whispered. “That is the truth. Not the dagger. Not the little jumps through space. Fear.”

Aiko pushed again.

This time, spiritual energy burst from her body in one uncontrolled pulse.

Reina’s grip slipped.

Aiko threw herself backward, stumbling away so quickly that she nearly fell into the fountain. Her hands flew to the left side of her face. The skin beneath her fingertips felt wrong. Rough. Cracked. Tender and dead at the same time.

Reina did not chase her.

She stood several yards away with a faint smile, studying the result as though she had finished a painting.

Aiko’s breathing became ragged.

The world around her seemed distant.

She could still see out of her left eye. She could still hear the water running behind her. She could still feel the cold morning air against the uninjured side of her face.

But all she could think about was the rot.

It had almost reached her eye.

If Reina had held on longer, it could have spread farther.

It could have reached deeper.

It could have taken her face.

Her body.

Her life.

Aiko’s hand shook against the ruined skin near her ear.

I could die here.

The thought cut through her harder than the pain.

Rotting away in an empty part of the kingdom while someone watched her fall apart.

Fear pressed down against her chest.

It told her to run.

It told her to use the last of her energy to swap herself as far away as she could and pray Reina did not follow.

Then she remembered Shunjiro being taken.

She remembered Itsuki reaching for him and finding nothing.

She remembered Tetsuo lying motionless in the floodwater.

She remembered how helpless everyone had looked when the portals opened beneath them.

Aiko lowered her hand from her face.

The fear did not leave.

It stayed inside her, heavy and sharp.

But it stopped controlling her.

Reina watched the change with quiet interest.

“You are still standing,” she said.

Aiko looked around the ruined marketplace. Her dagger was gone. Her energy was almost gone. Her legs hurt. The left side of her face burned with every breath.

She had no reason to think she could defeat an SS-ranked enemy who could rot anything with a touch.

And yet she stepped forward.

Reina’s smile shifted.

Aiko’s eyes hardened.

“I am going to beat you,” she said.

The words came out quiet, but they did not shake.

Reina’s red eyes narrowed with delighted surprise.

“Good,” she said. “Show me how long that resolve survives.”

Aiko lifted her hand toward a broken signpost lying in the street.

The air around her began to twist once more.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The ruined district fell quiet after Tsubasa’s last words.

The sun had risen far enough above the horizon to cast gold across the flooded streets, but the warmth of morning could not reach the people scattered through the wreckage. Itsuki stood several yards from where Shunjiro had vanished, staring at the empty space the portal had left behind. Yoshinori remained upright only because he had braced one hand against a broken wall. Daichi stood near the wounded group with blood soaking through his clothes, while Rei, Aira, Ryuji, Akima, and Lars watched in exhausted silence.

No one could follow Aiko, Sora, or Yuki.

No one could reach Shunjiro.

All they could do was watch as Kaito Ishiro faced the runaway prince.

Tsubasa stood near the place where he had first stepped through the portal, two kunai held loosely in his hands. The purple markings on his cloak shifted faintly as the morning wind passed through the ruined district. He looked relaxed, but his mismatched eyes never left Kaito for more than a second.

Kaito’s katana remained raised in front of him.

At first, he looked the same as he had when he arrived: quiet, controlled, almost impossible to read. Then the sunlight reached him fully.

The spiritual energy around Kaito began to rise.

It did not explode outward like Yoshinori’s lightning or spread through the battlefield like Suzu’s blood. It gathered close to him, dense and bright, threading through his body in slow waves. The air around his blade shimmered. Heat curled off the metal, faint at first, then stronger, until a thin line of gold-orange flame appeared along the katana’s edge.

Yoshinori stared.

“That wasn’t there before,” he said quietly.

Daichi did not answer. He could only watch as the quiet man who had entered the battlefield like a shadow began to feel completely different beneath the rising sun.

Kaito no longer seemed hidden.

The presence that had been nearly impossible to sense at night now pressed against the ruined district with a force that made the water around his boots tremble. It was not wild. It was not uncontrolled. Every bit of power remained restrained beneath his skin, contained so tightly that it somehow felt more dangerous.

Tsubasa’s smile faded.

For the first time since he had appeared, genuine surprise entered his expression.

“So that is it,” he said. “Four years ago, I thought you fought like a ghost because you enjoyed disappearing from people’s sight. I did not realize you were hiding this much from me.”

Kaito did not lower his blade.

“You saw what I allowed you to see.”

Tsubasa gave a quiet laugh, though his eyes remained sharp. “That is a dangerous answer.”

“It was meant to be.”

The heat around Kaito’s katana deepened.

Tsubasa moved first.

A portal opened directly in front of him, no larger than a door, its violet surface twisting as he stepped backward into it. He vanished before Kaito’s blade could reach him.

Another portal opened above Kaito’s shoulder.

Tsubasa emerged from it upside down for only a fraction of a second, both kunai already moving toward Kaito’s neck. Kaito twisted aside and swung upward. His katana cut through the space where Tsubasa had been, but the prince disappeared through another portal before the blade could connect.

The flame trailing behind Kaito’s sword did not scatter wildly.

It followed the strike in a narrow arc, burning through the air before fading harmlessly over the flooded street.

Tsubasa reappeared several yards away, now standing beside the remains of a collapsed building.

“You learned restraint,” he said. “That is new.”

“I learned what happens when people like you are allowed to run free.”

Tsubasa’s expression darkened slightly.

“I did not come here to discuss morality.”

“No,” Kaito said. “You came here to take children.”

The prince spun one kunai between his fingers.

“I came here to take potential before someone weaker wastes it.”

Kaito crossed the distance before Tsubasa finished speaking.

The street cracked beneath his first step.

He moved faster than anyone watching could properly follow. One moment he stood several yards away with sunlight flickering across his blade, and the next he was directly in front of Tsubasa, katana cutting toward the prince’s chest.

Tsubasa’s eyes widened.

A portal opened between them.

Kaito’s sword entered the violet surface and disappeared.

Tsubasa reappeared behind him, driving a kunai toward the back of Kaito’s shoulder.

Kaito turned just enough to avoid the deeper strike. The blade cut across his upper arm, opening a narrow line through his cloak. Before Tsubasa could pull away, Kaito spun and brought his katana across the prince’s side.

Tsubasa escaped through another portal at the last possible moment.

The edge of Kaito’s flaming blade still caught the hem of his cloak.

Purple fabric blackened and burned away.

Tsubasa landed several steps back, looking down at the damaged edge of his cloak before raising his eyes again.

The amusement had returned to his face.

“That was close.”

“You are slower than you were four years ago,” Kaito said.

Tsubasa smiled. “No. You are faster.”

The two of them moved again.

Tsubasa began opening portals around the battlefield in rapid succession, never standing in the same place for more than a moment. He appeared above Kaito, beside him, behind him, and sometimes only long enough to send a kunai through a portal before vanishing again. The weapons came from impossible angles, flashing across the air from doorways of violet light that opened beside broken walls, beneath the surface of the water, and high above the ruined street.

Kaito met them all.

His katana moved with sharp, controlled precision. Each swing carried a brighter trace of flame than the last, not enough to tear through the district around them, but enough to melt the kunai that came too close. Some blades were deflected into the water. Others struck the edge of his katana and broke apart in bursts of sparks. A few made it through.

One cut his thigh.

Another tore across his side.

A third buried itself shallowly in his forearm before Kaito ripped it free and threw it aside.

The people watching could barely follow the fight.

Yoshinori had seen Kaito spar before. He had seen him move quickly, seen him handle a sword with a level of skill that made experienced adventurers look untrained. This was different. Kaito was not simply moving faster. Every time Tsubasa appeared, Kaito seemed to already know where he would be. Every defensive step became an attack. Every attack forced Tsubasa to open another portal.

Daichi watched the two SSS-ranked fighters vanish and reappear across the broken district. He understood why Kaito Ishiro had the reputation he did.

“He is holding back,” Daichi said quietly.

Yoshinori looked at him.

Daichi’s eyes stayed on the battle. “Look at the buildings around them. Look at us. If he wanted to destroy this place, there would be nothing left.”

The realization settled heavily over the wounded group.

Kaito’s flames were growing stronger as the sun climbed higher, but he kept every strike narrow. He angled his attacks away from the injured. He cut only where Tsubasa stood. Even when portals opened near the wounded fighters, Kaito shifted position before striking, forcing Tsubasa away from them rather than risking a single careless attack.

Tsubasa noticed it too.

“You are still protecting them,” he called as another portal opened above Kaito. “Even now.”

Kaito raised his blade and sent a line of flame upward.

The fire struck the portal just as Tsubasa stepped through it, forcing the prince to close the opening before the flames could reach the survivors behind him.

“I am not like you,” Kaito said.

Tsubasa landed on the roof of a half-collapsed structure and looked down at him.

“No,” he said. “That is why you are predictable.”

The prince spread one hand outward.

Portals opened across the district.

At first, there were only five.

Then ten.

Then more.

Violet circles appeared in the air above the flooded streets, along the sides of broken walls, beneath hanging beams, and high over the empty ruins. The portals formed a loose ring around Kaito, each one rotating slowly as though waiting for a command.

Kaito’s eyes narrowed.

“Tsubasa.”

The prince’s smile widened.

“I was wondering when you would recognize it.”

The first kunai came through.

Then another.

Then dozens.

The portals fired them in waves, sending black blades toward Kaito from every direction at once. Some came high. Some skimmed across the water. Others shot from behind him, forcing him to turn constantly as the barrage closed in.

Kaito moved.

His katana became a streak of gold and orange through the ruined district. Flame flashed around each strike as he cut through the first wave, knocking kunai aside before they could reach him. He ducked beneath a blade aimed at his throat, stepped over another that skimmed past his ankle, and turned sharply as three weapons came from opposite sides.

The flames around his sword grew brighter.

Each deflection sent sparks across the flooded street.

Each step carried him through a narrowing storm of metal.

Tsubasa watched from above with a look of open interest.

“I did not know this was your power,” he said. “You are not a ghost at all.”

Kaito cut through another wave.

“I told you,” he replied, breath steady despite the wounds beginning to gather across his body. “You only saw what I allowed.”

The next barrage came faster.

Kaito deflected six kunai in a single motion, then pivoted as another seven came through portals behind him. One cut across his ribs. Another struck his shoulder but failed to sink deeply enough to slow him. He pulled the blade free without looking at it and kept moving.

The wounds were beginning to add up.

Blood ran down his arm.

Blood darkened the side of his cloak.

Still, he did not stop.

His blade flashed toward the largest portal in the air above him, and a crescent of flame tore upward. Tsubasa’s eyes widened as the attack struck the portal’s edge. Violet light cracked across its surface, and the opening collapsed before another wave could fire through.

For a second, the barrage weakened.

Kaito used the opening.

He vanished beneath the remaining kunai and appeared directly below Tsubasa.

His katana came up in a blazing arc.

Tsubasa opened a portal beneath his feet.

The prince fell backward through it just before Kaito’s blade reached him, but the flaming edge still cut across his shoulder. Tsubasa emerged from another portal near the far end of the district, landing in the shallow water with blood running down one side of his cloak.

His expression had gone still.

Kaito stood several yards away, blade lowered but burning brighter than before.

The sun had climbed higher.

The fire around the katana now curled along its edge in steady waves, casting gold light across the water.

Tsubasa touched the wound on his shoulder and looked at the blood on his fingers.

Then he smiled again.

“You are exhausting yourself.”

Kaito said nothing.

Tsubasa’s gaze sharpened.

“You have not slept.”

The words made Yoshinori look toward Kaito.

Tsubasa continued, his voice almost thoughtful. “Your movements are clean, but your recovery is slower than it should be. Your right shoulder is lagging behind your left. Your breathing changed after the third barrage. You have been awake for too long.”

Kaito’s grip around his sword tightened.

“Fifty hours?” Tsubasa asked. “More?”

Kaito did not answer.

The truth was written across him anyway. His body had been pushed far beyond what anyone else on the battlefield understood. He had traveled through the night, hidden his presence, struck the barrier, forced his way through its rhythm, then entered a battlefield filled with injured allies and enemies before facing another SSS-ranked fighter.

Tsubasa looked almost sympathetic.

“You should have rested before hunting me again.”

Kaito’s eyes hardened.

“You should have stayed hidden.”

Tsubasa laughed.

Then he raised both hands.

The portals around the district expanded.

One enormous portal opened above Kaito.

It was wider than the ruined street beneath it, its violet edge stretching across the morning sky. The air around it twisted violently as darkness gathered within the opening.

Yoshinori’s face went pale.

“Move,” he said under his breath.

Kaito looked up.

The giant portal fired.

Hundreds of kunai fell from the opening at once.

They came down like black rain.

Kaito moved through the first wave, deflecting blades with bursts of flame as they struck from above. He cut through one cluster, then another, but there were too many. The weapons covered the sky, falling in overlapping patterns that made escape nearly impossible.

A kunai cut his cheek.

Another buried itself in his side.

Two struck his leg, one shallow and one deep enough to force his step to falter.

Kaito kept moving.

He swung his katana in a wide arc, and a wall of flame rose around him for only a moment, burning through dozens of kunai before collapsing. The attack cleared enough space for him to move again, but the barrage did not stop.

Tsubasa had hidden blades among the ordinary kunai.

Kaito did not notice the difference until one struck his shoulder.

The weapon drove deep beneath his collarbone.

His body locked.

The katana slipped slightly in his hand.

For one second, he remained standing through force of will alone.

Then numbness spread through his shoulder.

It ran down his arm, across his chest, and into his legs with horrifying speed. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his katana, but the strength in them was already fading.

Poison.

Kaito’s eyes narrowed.

Tsubasa saw the realization and smiled from the edge of the massive portal.

“There it is.”

Kaito tried to move.

His body did not answer.

The remaining kunai stopped falling.

The giant portal above him closed, leaving the ruined district silent except for the sound of water dripping from broken stone.

Kaito took one step.

His leg gave out.

He dropped to one knee in the flooded street, one hand pressed against the poisoned kunai buried in his shoulder. His other hand kept hold of the katana, but the blade’s flames weakened as paralysis spread further through his body.

Daichi took a step forward.

“Kaito!”

Yoshinori tried to move as well, but his injuries stopped him before he could take more than one uneven step. Itsuki looked toward Kaito with wide, exhausted eyes, then toward Suzu’s unconscious body.

Tsubasa landed several yards away.

He did not look triumphant.

He looked satisfied.

“You were always difficult to catch,” he said. “That is why I stopped trying to beat you directly.”

Kaito forced his head up.

“You poisoned the kunai.”

Tsubasa gave a faint shrug. “You noticed.”

Kaito’s voice was low. “Coward.”

“No,” Tsubasa said. “Practical.”

A portal opened beneath Suzu’s unconscious body.

The violet light spread outward beneath her, swallowing the shallow water around her first. Kaito’s eyes widened as he tried to rise.

His body barely moved.

The paralysis had reached too far.

Kaito pushed against the ground with one hand, forcing himself upward by inches. His fingers shook. His legs refused to support him. He managed to lift the katana, but the movement was slow enough that Tsubasa did not even need to react.

Suzu’s body began to sink.

The portal swallowed her feet first.

Then her legs.

Then the torn black cloak around her body disappeared into the violet light.

Itsuki stared at her sister.

“No,” she whispered.

Kaito tried to move again.

His arm trembled.

The poison held him in place.

Suzu disappeared beneath the portal.

The violet light folded shut.

The Blood Witch was gone.

Tsubasa stood in the middle of the ruined district, looking down at Kaito with an expression that had lost most of its humor.

“You should remember something,” he said.

Kaito’s eyes remained fixed on him.

Tsubasa stepped backward toward a new portal opening behind him.

“Eclipsed Abyss.”

Kaito’s expression did not change, but confusion flickered through his eyes.

Tsubasa saw it.

“You do not know the name yet,” he said. “That is fine. You will.”

The portal behind him widened.

Purple light reflected across the broken streets and the wounded fighters watching from the edge of the battlefield.

Tsubasa gave Kaito one final look.

“Rest while you can.”

Then he stepped backward into the portal.

The violet light closed behind him.

Kaito remained on one knee in the flooded street, blood running from the poisoned kunai in his shoulder while the last traces of flame faded from his katana.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Renjiro lowered the Hell Scythe from his shoulder, and the red glow running along its curved edge reflected across the frozen frost gathering at Yuki’s feet.

“You are both trying very hard to convince yourselves that I am not as dangerous as the stories say,” he said.

Sora’s jaw tightened. “I do not care about stories.”

“No,” Renjiro replied. “You care about proving you are stronger than them.”

Sora took a step forward.

Yuki’s frost spread across the stone street in a thin sheet, racing toward Renjiro’s boots. At the same time, three ice spears rose from the ground around him, their sharpened points angling toward his chest, throat, and side. The attack was not as large as the ice Yuki had used against Suzu, but her aim was still precise. She had placed each spear where it would force him to move in a specific direction.

Renjiro smiled as though he had been offered a game.

He stepped backward just as the ice rose.

The first spear sliced through the edge of his cloak. The second passed close enough to brush his cheek with frost. The third should have caught him in the ribs, but he twisted his body aside with unnatural speed and let it slide past him by inches.

Sora used the opening.

He rushed forward through the icy street, lowering his shoulder as he closed the distance. Renjiro lifted the Hell Scythe, but Sora ducked beneath the first swing and drove a fist toward his stomach.

The punch never landed.

Renjiro stepped to the side so easily that it looked like Sora had swung at empty air. The Hell Scythe’s red blade passed close to Sora’s back as Renjiro turned with him, and Yuki sent another line of ice across the street to force the man away before the weapon could finish its path.

A wall of ice rose between them.

Renjiro’s scythe cut through it.

The red blade passed through the frozen wall without resistance, splitting the ice into two clean halves. The pieces collapsed outward, scattering white fragments across the street as Renjiro stepped through the opening with the same calm expression he had worn before the fight began.

“You protect each other well,” he said. “That is rare.”

Sora answered by throwing another punch.

Renjiro leaned away from it, then twisted around the strike and brought the shaft of the Hell Scythe toward Sora’s ribs. Sora raised his arm to block, but Renjiro stopped the swing just short of impact and stepped backward again before Sora could grab him.

He was not trying to defeat them yet.

He was measuring them.

Yuki understood that immediately.

Her eyes narrowed as she sent ice spreading beneath Renjiro’s feet again. This time, the ground did not simply freeze. Thick layers of ice rose in uneven ridges, turning the market street into a jagged field that made every step unstable. She formed more spears behind him, then created a sharp wall near the side of the road to limit where he could retreat.

Renjiro looked around at the ice closing around him.

“That is better,” he said. “You have a good eye for space.”

“Stop talking,” Yuki said.

He laughed softly.

“I do not think I will.”

Sora charged in again.

Renjiro raised the shaft of the Hell Scythe to block.

Sora’s punch struck the weapon with enough force to make the red blade shudder.

For the first time, Renjiro’s feet slid backward across the ice.

The movement was small.

But Yuki noticed.

So did Sora.

Renjiro’s smile changed.

It was no longer the casual smile of someone enjoying a harmless show. It held more attention now. More interest.

“There you are,” he said.

Sora moved before he could say anything else.

He threw another punch, then another, forcing Renjiro backward through the broken ice. Renjiro avoided the opening strike, blocked the next with the scythe’s shaft, and ducked the one that followed. His movements remained graceful, but he had stopped standing still. Sora was beginning to force him to react.

Yuki saw the opportunity and raised both hands.

A wave of ice burst across the street.

It did not rise high enough to crush the buildings around them, but it surged forward like a frozen river, forcing Renjiro to leap onto the roof of a nearby stall. He landed lightly on the broken wood, his cloak shifting around his legs as the entire structure creaked beneath him.

“You are both more entertaining than I expected,” he said.

Sora looked up at him. “Get down here.”

Renjiro rested one hand against the scythe.

“You want me closer?”

Sora did not answer.

The Hell Scythe glowed brighter.

Renjiro stepped off the stall.

He crossed the distance between them before either Sora or Yuki could react.

The speed was not like Kaito’s. Kaito moved with silence, precision, and control, as though the world had simply failed to notice him leave one place and arrive somewhere else. Renjiro moved differently. He moved like a blade being pulled free from its sheath, sudden and sharp enough to make the air itself feel cut apart.

Sora raised his arms.

The scythe came down.

Yuki reacted first.

An ice wall erupted between them, thick enough to block the entire street. The Hell Scythe cut through it in one motion, but the brief delay gave Sora time to shift away from the red blade.

Renjiro’s attack passed through the wall.

Then he adjusted.

The scythe’s edge changed direction mid-swing.

Sora tried to pull back, but Renjiro was faster.

The blade sliced across the outside of Sora’s upper arm.

It was not a deep cut.

It barely seemed like enough to matter.

Sora jumped backward, one hand moving toward the wound as blood ran down his arm. Yuki immediately sent ice toward Renjiro, forcing him to retreat before he could follow through.

Renjiro did not chase.

He stood at the edge of the broken ice with the Hell Scythe resting loosely in his hand, watching Sora with quiet satisfaction.

Sora stared at the cut.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the blood around the wound darkened.

A thin black line appeared beneath his skin.

Yuki’s expression changed.

“Sora,” she said.

He did not look at her.

The black line spread from his arm.

It moved like veins filling with ink, crawling upward toward his shoulder and downward across his forearm. His breath caught sharply as the darkness continued spreading beneath his skin. His fingers curled into a fist, then opened again. Black energy flickered around the wound in faint, unstable waves.

Renjiro sat down on the ledge of the market stall behind him.

He crossed one leg over the other and rested the Hell Scythe across his lap.

“Do not worry,” he said. “The first few moments are always confusing.”

Sora’s body stiffened.

He understood.

His eyes widened as he looked at Renjiro, then toward Yuki.

The black veins reached his neck.

“Run, Yuki.”

Her face went pale.

“No.”

“Run.”

His voice broke halfway through the word.

Sora took one step backward as though trying to force distance between himself and her. His hands shook violently at his sides. The black energy around him thickened, curling around his arms and shoulders in thin strands before sinking back into his skin.

Yuki raised both hands.

Ice formed around her fingers, but she did not attack.

“Sora,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “You can fight it.”

He clenched his jaw.

For a moment, it looked like he might answer.

Then his head snapped upward.

The expression on his face was gone.

His eyes had changed first. The familiar anger and stubbornness disappeared beneath something darker and emptier. His shoulders lowered. His body became still in a way that frightened Yuki more than anything he had done during the battle against Suzu.

Renjiro leaned back on the stall ledge.

“Now this,” he said softly, “is where the real performance begins.”

Sora moved.

He did not hesitate.

He rushed directly toward Yuki.

Yuki threw up an ice wall between them, but Sora hit it with both hands and shattered through the center before the frozen surface had fully hardened. Ice exploded outward across the street. He came through the fragments with his fist already raised, forcing Yuki to twist aside as the strike broke the stone where she had been standing.

“Sora!” she shouted.

He did not respond.

Yuki created another wall, then another, using the ice to build distance between them. Sora broke through each one. He was not using any strategy. He was not trying to read her movements or force her toward an opening. He attacked with direct, brutal force, throwing himself forward with every punch as though his body no longer understood restraint.

The ice slowed him.

It did not stop him.

Yuki leapt backward and sent a line of frozen spikes upward from the ground in front of him. She aimed them wide, creating barriers instead of weapons. Sora crashed through the first two, then stepped over the third as it rose. His clothes tore against the ice, but he did not react.

Renjiro watched from the stall with open delight.

“You are being too gentle,” he called to Yuki. “That is why he is still reaching you.”

“Shut up,” she said.

Renjiro’s smile widened.

“You could stop him.”

“I am not hurting him.”

“You are hurting him already. You are only choosing a slower way.”

Yuki ignored him and moved again.

She sent frost across the ground beneath Sora’s feet, freezing the stone so quickly that he lost his balance for half a second. She used that moment to create a thick layer of ice around his ankle. Sora tore his leg free, breaking the frozen restraint apart before Yuki could form the second one around his other foot.

He came at her again.

Yuki ducked beneath his punch and slid backward over the ice, forming a curved shield around herself as she moved. Sora slammed his fist into the shield. The force sent fractures racing across its surface. He hit it again, and the wall burst apart.

Yuki’s breathing became uneven.

She was still exhausted from the battle against Suzu. She could feel the remaining energy in her body shrinking with every wall she made, every spike she formed, every escape she forced herself through. Normal ice was not enough to hold him, but she could not use more power without risking his life.

Sora drove her farther down the street.

He hit walls.

He broke frozen restraints.

He stepped through clouds of frost as though they did not exist.

Yuki did everything she could to avoid him without striking back.

Renjiro studied her from his seat.

“You truly care about him,” he said.

Yuki did not answer.

Renjiro’s violet eyes followed her movements.

“You are frightened of him now, but you still will not hurt him. That is beautiful.”

“Do not say that.”

“I mean it.”

“Do not talk about him.”

Renjiro tilted his head.

“You think I am talking about him?”

Yuki’s eyes hardened.

Another ice wall burst upward between them.

Renjiro’s smile remained.

“You make mercy look almost sacred, Ice Princess.”

Sora shattered the wall.

Yuki jumped back again, but her foot slipped on the uneven ice beneath her. It was only a small mistake. A fraction of a second.

Sora reached her before she could recover.

He grabbed the front of her clothes and pulled her forward.

Yuki tried to freeze his wrist, but he slammed his forehead toward her face.

She turned just enough that the blow struck near the side of her head instead of directly between her eyes.

Pain exploded through her skull.

The world tilted.

Sora released her only to drive a fist into her side.

Yuki’s breath disappeared.

She was thrown backward through the front wall of a nearby shop.

Wood shattered around her.

Glass exploded across the floor.

Her body struck the far side of the building hard enough to crack the stone beneath the painted interior wall. For several seconds, she could not move. Her ears rang. Blood ran slowly from the side of her head, slipping down past her temple.

Outside, she could hear Sora walking toward the broken storefront.

She tried to push herself up.

Her arms trembled.

The market street spun around her.

Sora stepped through the destroyed entrance.

Black veins spread across his arm and neck. His breathing was heavy, but his face remained empty. He lifted one hand as he approached her, ready to strike again.

Yuki looked up at him.

Fear rose inside her.

Not fear of Renjiro.

Not fear of the pain in her head.

Fear of Sora.

Fear that he would keep coming until she could not stand anymore.

Fear that the black corruption would take him completely.

Fear that she would have to choose between hurting him and letting him destroy her.

Something inside her answered.

The air turned cold.

At first, Yuki thought it was only the frost gathering around her fingers. Then the temperature dropped so suddenly that the broken glass scattered across the shop floor froze in place. White ice spread beneath her palm, racing across the cracked wall behind her and branching through the ruined storefront.

Sora stopped.

The frost reached his boots.

Then the entire building shook.

A wave of ice exploded outward from Yuki’s body.

It tore through the shop front, surged across the market street, and froze everything in its path. Stalls vanished beneath thick layers of crystal. Signs became white with frost. The stone road disappeared under frozen sheets that spread farther than Yuki could see. The nearby buildings groaned as ice climbed their walls and covered their windows.

Sora was thrown backward by the force of it.

Renjiro moved.

For the first time since the fight began, he was no longer sitting on the stall ledge.

A massive spear of ice burst from the ground beneath him, wider than the entire market stall he had been using as a seat. Renjiro twisted away just before it reached him, launching himself over the spear as it tore upward and shattered the roof above him.

He landed on a frozen awning.

Another attack came immediately.

A wall of ice erupted behind him, forcing him forward. A second spear shot toward his chest. Renjiro swung the Hell Scythe, cutting through the tip of the attack as he turned aside, but the shattered ice exploded outward and forced him to shield his face.

Yuki stepped out of the broken shop.

Her head still hurt.

Blood still ran from the side of her face.

But something had changed around her.

Frost curled through the air in long white trails. Ice formed around her feet without her touching the ground. Her spiritual energy surged outward with such force that the market street seemed too small to hold it.

She did not understand what was happening.

She only knew that Sora had hurt her.

She only knew that Renjiro was still watching.

And she only knew that she could not let either of them reach her again.

Renjiro landed several yards away, his cloak torn along one side from the frozen debris. He looked at Yuki with the same expression he had worn before, but now there was strain beneath it. His smile had become sharper. His breathing was no longer perfectly calm.

“Well,” he said. “That is unexpected.”

Yuki lifted one hand.

The ground beneath Renjiro froze.

A massive block of ice rose around him from every direction, forming a jagged prison that would have crushed an ordinary fighter instantly. Renjiro leapt upward as the ice closed, his body twisting through the narrow gap before it sealed. He barely cleared the top before Yuki sent another wave toward him.

This one was not a spear.

It was an entire frozen wall.

It swept through the street like a moving glacier, swallowing everything in its path as it rushed toward him. Renjiro sprinted along the edge of a frozen building, then jumped over the wall at the last second. The ice passed beneath him and crashed into the far side of the market, burying half the street in a towering ridge of white crystal.

Renjiro landed on a nearby roof.

He looked down at Yuki.

“You are making a mess,” he called.

More ice rose around her.

The attacks came faster.

A chain of glacial pillars erupted across the market, each one forcing Renjiro to change direction. He jumped from stall roof to balcony, from balcony to frozen street, from street to the side of a building where he caught himself against a window frame before another spear tore through the place he had been standing.

Renjiro had treated Sora and her like toys only moments earlier. He had sat back and watched Sora attack her because he believed there was nothing she could do to threaten him.

Now he could not stay still.

He had to keep moving.

He had to use every bit of speed and skill he possessed to avoid the ice tearing through the market around him.

“You are beautiful when you are angry,” he called, though his voice had lost some of its earlier ease.

Yuki’s eyes narrowed.

A cluster of frozen spears launched toward him.

Renjiro ducked beneath one, cut through another with the Hell Scythe, and twisted around the third as it skimmed past his shoulder. The attack struck the building behind him and froze the entire wall in a flash, sending cracks across the stone.

“Do not call me that,” Yuki said.

Renjiro smiled despite the danger.

“I am beginning to understand the title.”

Yuki raised both hands.

The air above the market darkened with frost.

A massive sheet of ice formed high overhead, wide enough to cover the entire street. It began descending toward Renjiro, not quickly, but with enough weight that there was no safe place beneath it. He looked up, then back toward Yuki.

The smile slipped from his face.

The ice crashed down behind him.

The impact shook the district.

Frozen debris burst outward across the streets, swallowing the market stall where Renjiro had first been waiting for them. He cleared the edge of the attack by only a few feet, landing hard on the roof of a nearby building before immediately moving again as another spear tore upward through the tiles.

Yuki’s power was not controlled.

Every attack was too large.

Every wave of ice threatened to destroy more than she intended.

But the market had emptied by then. The civilians who had watched from behind shutters and doorways had fled deeper into the kingdom when the first attacks began. The streets were empty except for Yuki, Sora, and Renjiro.

Yuki looked toward Sora.

He was still moving.

The frozen wave had thrown him farther down the street, but the corruption had not released him. Black energy clung to his body as he pushed himself upright through the ice. He looked toward her, then began walking forward again.

The sight cut through the anger filling her.

“Sora,” she whispered.

He did not stop.

Yuki took one step toward him.

Renjiro watched from the far side of the street, standing on the broken edge of a frozen roof. His eyes moved between them with open fascination.

“You still want to save him,” he said.

Yuki ignored him.

Sora came closer.

Ice rose around his feet.

He broke through it.

Yuki formed another restraint around his legs, this one thicker and stronger. Sora tore free again, but the effort slowed him long enough for Yuki to gather the cold around her hands.

The frost she created this time was different.

It did not rise as a weapon.

It spread low across the ground in a pale blue mist.

Sora stepped into it.

The cold wrapped around his legs first, then climbed his body in soft layers. He tried to punch through the ice forming around him, but the frost did not harden like the barriers Yuki had made before. It seeped into the gaps between his muscles and joints, numbing his body as it traveled.

Sora’s movements slowed.

His fists shook.

The black energy around him flickered.

Yuki’s eyes filled with tears.

“I am sorry,” she said.

Sora took another step.

Yuki raised both hands.

The ice closed around him.

A thick frozen shell formed from the ground upward, locking his legs, arms, and chest in place without crushing him. Only his face remained uncovered. He struggled against the ice for several seconds, black veins pulsing beneath his skin as the anesthetic frost continued spreading through him.

Then his strength failed.

His eyes closed.

His body went still.

Yuki caught him before he could fall.

The ice softened beneath him, lowering him carefully onto the frozen street. His breathing remained slow and steady. The black veins were still visible beneath his skin, though they no longer pulsed with the same violent darkness as before.

Yuki dropped to her knees beside him.

“Sora,” she whispered.

She placed one trembling hand against his chest.

His heart was beating.

He was alive.

But the black veins remained.

She did not know whether the corruption had only been put to sleep.

She did not know whether he would wake up as himself.

She did not know if she had saved him or only delayed something worse.

Behind her, Renjiro stepped down from the broken roof.

Yuki turned immediately.

Ice erupted between them.

A wall rose so quickly that it tore through the frozen street and forced Renjiro to leap backward. He landed several yards away, the Hell Scythe held in both hands now.

“You are very protective,” he said.

“Stay away from him.”

Renjiro’s smile returned.

“Of course.”

Yuki lifted both hands again.

The frozen battlefield responded.

Ice pillars rose around Renjiro in a wide circle. A storm of sharpened shards formed in the air above him. He moved before they fell, sprinting across the edge of a frozen wall as the shards came down in waves. They struck the ground behind him, exploding into jagged crystal and sending white dust across the market.

Yuki pushed harder.

The attacks grew larger.

A glacial hand rose from the street and reached for Renjiro. He cut through two fingers with the Hell Scythe, but the remaining ice closed around the space he had been standing in. He jumped through the opening just before it sealed, landed on a roof, and immediately had to leap again as an ice spear tore up through the building beneath him.

His cloak was beginning to freeze along the edges.

His hair had come loose from the force of his movement.

He still smiled.

But he was working for it now.

“I was wrong about you,” he called as he avoided another wave of ice. “You are much more interesting when you stop being careful.”

Yuki’s voice shook with anger. “I am not doing this for you.”

“I know.”

Renjiro landed on a narrow frozen beam.

He looked at her with an expression that made Yuki’s skin crawl.

“That is why I like it.”

Yuki sent a massive sheet of ice toward him.

Renjiro jumped backward.

A purple portal opened behind him.

He saw it immediately.

The change in his expression was small, but Yuki noticed it. The amusement remained, yet something more controlled settled beneath it. He looked toward the twisting violet light, then back to Yuki.

His time was over.

Renjiro lowered the Hell Scythe.

“You should be proud,” he said. “You forced me to move.”

Yuki did not lower her hands.

Ice continued gathering around her palms.

Renjiro’s gaze drifted briefly toward Sora’s unconscious body.

“Keep him close,” he said. “I would hate for you to be alone when he wakes up.”

Yuki’s breath caught.

The black veins beneath Sora’s skin seemed darker suddenly.

Renjiro smiled.

Then he looked back at her.

“Goodbye, Ice Princess.”

The purple portal widened behind him.

Yuki sent one final spear of ice toward his chest.

Renjiro stepped backward through the portal before it could reach him. The attack passed through the place he had been standing and froze the street beyond it.

The portal closed.

Renjiro was gone.

For several seconds, Yuki remained standing in the middle of the frozen market street with both hands raised.

Ice still curled around her wrists.

The enormous structures she had created filled the district around her. Frozen walls covered the buildings. Spears stood taller than the market roofs. The street had become a white landscape of shattered crystal and glacial ruin.

Then the power began to fade.

The cold around her hands weakened first.

The pressure inside her body, the endless reserve that had seemed impossible only moments earlier, began draining away as quickly as it had appeared. Her knees trembled. Her breathing turned uneven. The ice around her boots softened and cracked.

Yuki looked toward Sora.

She forced herself across the frozen street and dropped beside him.

He lay still beneath the pale morning light, his chest rising slowly while thin black veins remained visible along his arm and neck. His face looked peaceful now, almost normal, but Yuki could not trust that.

Not after what she had seen.

Not after he had looked at her without recognizing her.

She sat beside him and placed one hand against his shoulder, careful not to disturb the frost keeping him unconscious. The last traces of strange power faded from her body, leaving only exhaustion and fear behind.

“Sora,” she whispered.

He did not wake.

Yuki lowered her head beside him as the frozen market creaked quietly around them, terrified of what would happen when his eyes finally opened.

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By the time the violet portal opened, the market no longer looked like the place Aiko had arrived in.

The fountain at the center of the plaza had lost half its outer rim to Reina’s Rot. Several nearby stalls had collapsed into dark, brittle piles, their painted wood turned black and flaky where Reina’s hands had passed over them. Even the stone street between them was marked by thin cracks and discolored patches, as though the city itself had begun to age beneath her feet.

Aiko stood near the remains of a broken signpost, breathing hard with one hand pressed against the left side of her face. Her clothes were torn and stained with blood from the battle with Suzu, and the strain of using her ability again and again had left her body trembling. The burn on her face still pulsed with a deep, dry pain that seemed to reach beneath her skin.

She had not looked at it.

She knew enough already. The skin near her ear and temple had darkened. Ash-like fractures ran across her cheek toward her hairline, stopping just short of her left eye. It felt tight whenever she breathed and worse whenever she moved her face.

Reina stood several yards away, seemingly untouched by the exhaustion that had taken hold of Aiko. Her dark purple hair shifted softly in the morning wind, and the flame-like patterns on her black cloak seemed darker against the golden sunlight. She looked over the decayed street with quiet satisfaction, as though the damaged market had become a gift placed there solely for her.

Then violet light appeared behind her.

A portal opened without warning beside the remains of a market stall. Its surface twisted slowly, casting purple reflections across the rotted wood and broken stone. Reina’s red eyes shifted toward it, and something close to annoyance flickered across her expression.

“So soon,” she murmured.

Aiko’s hand tightened against her face.

She knew what the portal meant.

Tsubasa was calling his people back.

Reina looked toward Aiko one last time. Her gaze settled on the burn mark with open interest, and a small smile touched her lips.

“You should be grateful,” she said. “Most people spend their lives pretending nothing can touch them. You learned better before you were old enough to become boring.”

Aiko did not answer.

Her fingers curled into a fist at her side.

Reina’s smile widened slightly when she saw it.

“That anger will fade eventually,” she continued. “Everything does. Beauty fades. Strength fades. Memories fade. Even hatred rots when enough time passes.”

Aiko slowly lowered her hand from her face.

The morning air touched the damaged skin, and pain immediately flared through her temple. For a moment, fear tried to rise again. She could still feel Reina’s fingers against her cheek. She could still remember the terrible dryness spreading beneath her skin and the certainty that, if Reina had held on any longer, the Rot might have reached her eye.

It had almost taken part of her.

It had almost made her helpless.

But when Aiko looked at Reina, the fear did not control her the way it had before.

“You are wrong,” she said.

Reina’s red eyes narrowed with interest.

Aiko took one unsteady step forward.

“You think I am going to forget this?” Her voice was quiet, but there was nothing weak in it. “You think I am going to look at what you did to me and decide it is something I should accept?”

Reina tilted her head.

Aiko’s gaze did not leave her.

“This face came from my mom,” she said. “It was mine before you touched it. You do not get to stand there and act like ruining it makes you important.”

Reina’s smile faded.

She took another step forward despite the pain in her legs and the exhaustion pulling at every part of her body.

“I will remember you for the rest of my life,” Aiko said. “I will remember your name. I will remember your face. And someday, Reina Kusare, I am going to make you regret touching me.”

The words settled between them.

Reina studied her for several seconds, then gave a quiet laugh.

It was softer than before, but no less cruel.

“Revenge,” she said. “How lovely.”

She stepped backward toward the portal.

“I hope you survive long enough to try.”

The violet light swallowed her cloak first. Then the darkness beneath it took the rest of her, leaving only her red eyes visible for the briefest moment before the portal folded inward and disappeared.

Aiko stood alone in the ruined market.

The plaza was quiet again.

The fountain water continued to run through its damaged stone basin. A weak breeze moved through the empty streets, carrying the smell of ash, old wood, and morning salt from the coast. The city around her was still standing, but pieces of it had been changed forever.

Just like her.

Aiko reached up and touched the edge of the scar again.

Pain spread through the left side of her face.

She let herself feel it.

She let herself remember exactly what Reina had done.

Then she lowered her hand, turned toward the distant streets of the Coastal Kingdom, and forced her exhausted body forward.

She did not know where Shunjiro had been taken.

She did not know whether Tetsuo was alive.

But she knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Reina Kusare had made an enemy she would never be allowed to forget.