A full month had slipped by in King Malachi’s ruined dominion, a month of predawn drills, late-night lectures, and more bruises than Shunjiro cared to count. Where once he had struggled to coax a handful of grains from his palm, he could now whirl pillars of sand tall enough to scrape the ceiling of the training hall. The Devil’s-Luck dagger never left his belt, and his reflexes, once reckless, had sharpened under Malachi’s relentless sparring. This morning, if any hour could be called “morning” in the sunless Shadow Realm, Malachi had declared their lessons complete for now and offered to escort Shunjiro back to the Light Continent. The news felt like a sunrise inside Shunjiro’s chest: he would finally see Yoshinori, Itsuki, Tetsuo, Aiko, and Ryuji again and let them know he hadn’t vanished for good. Pack slung over his shoulder, Shunjiro followed the giant king down the ivy-choked steps of the black-stone balcony. Behind them the castle’s broken turrets disappeared into a perpetual mist; ahead stretched the forest of skeletal trees that guarded the Realm’s southern boundary, a narrow gap Malachi had promised would lead to a crossing gate. Halfway down the weed-cracked causeway, the air changed. Clouds the color of dried blood boiled overhead, muffling every sound. The usual muffled twilight of the Shadow Realm dimmed further, until even Malachi’s towering silhouette blurred against the gloom. Shunjiro opened his mouth to comment, but Malachi spoke first, voice low and even: “You’ve come a long way, Shunjiro. But don’t let your guard down. No matter how strong you become, true mastery is a lifelong pursuit.” Shunjiro nodded, knuckles whitening around his pack strap as he scanned the shifting treeline. The warning wasn’t a lecture, Malachi’s tone carried the weight of genuine concern, as if the Realm itself had chosen this moment to test their resolve. I’m not the clueless kid who stumbled in here, he reminded himself, clenching his fists until the grains hummed with latent power. “Understood,” he answered, steady but alert. “Whatever’s waiting out there, I’m ready.” They continued down the path, the castle’s last torchlight fading behind them, each step carrying Shunjiro closer to home, and toward whatever shadows dared bar the way. A dull thrum pulsed through the clearing, low at first, then rising until the ground itself seemed to vibrate. Shunjiro’s skin prickled with recognition. High above, a black-purple vortex unfurled like a malignant flower, the very same spatial rent that had whisked him away a month earlier. “That portal…” he breathed, pulse hammering. Malachi’s hand tightened around the hilt of his great-sword. “Stay alert, little one.” The vortex split, and two shapes stepped through the whorling gloom. First came Tsubasa, cloak snapping in the stale wind, silver hair ruffled but that maddeningly calm smirk perfectly in place. Beside him strode a broad-shouldered beast-person with brindled fur, a serrated katana resting against one muscled shoulder. Amber eyes glowed with feral amusement. Tsubasa spread his arms in a mock welcome. “Shunjiro! Warping you to King Malachi truly paid off. You’ve grown magnificently. So, are you ready to accept my invitation? Join the Eclipsed Abyss and see what real freedom feels like.” Before Shunjiro could swallow the surge of anger in his throat, Malachi took one deliberate step forward. The air bowed around his ten-foot frame. “We are not interested,” the Shadow King rumbled. “Turn around, portal-walker, before I decide your journey ends here.” Tsubasa sighed, looking for all the world like a teacher disappointed in an unruly child. “King Malachi, I addressed Shunjiro, not you. I have no desire to cross blades with an EX today, yet I will not leave without the boy.” The clearing crackled with tension. Then the beast-person moved, so fast he blurred. Claws flashed toward Shunjiro. Training instincts ignited. Sand roared up Shunjiro’s arm, swirling into a gauntlet as he met the charge head-on. His Devil’s-Luck dagger rang against the stranger’s katana, sparks hissing in the twilight. The warrior grinned, fangs glinting. “Long time no see, Shunjiro.” “Jayiden…” Shunjiro’s jaw clenched. Memories of past sparring matches with the beast swordsman flashed behind his eyes. “I don’t know how they convinced you to join the Abyss, but you’re not taking me anywhere.” Sand burst outward in rippling arcs, clashing against Jayiden’s sweeping blade-work. Each strike sent shock-waves across the ruined cobbles, grit stinging the night air. Behind them, Malachi’s aura darkened, ready to intervene if Tsubasa so much as twitched, the standoff between king and portal-prince hanging by a single fraying thread. Steel shrieked against sand-hardened air as Jayiden’s katana snapped forward again and again, thrust, feint, rising cut, all delivered with the crisp economy of a veteran duelist. Shunjiro met each angle by flooding grit into the blade-line, dulling edges long enough to pivot aside. He still felt every shock run through his shoulder. Heavy…. “You’re pretty good for someone who’s ‘got no powers,’” Shunjiro managed between breaths, batting away a lightning-quick slash. Jayiden’s smirk widened. “Spiritual energy’s plenty.” A faint silver aura shimmered around his furred forearms; every swing carved a hiss through the air. “But you, you’re interesting, Shunjiro. Sand suits you.” Memories flashed: four months ago, the Radiance entrance-exams arena. Shunjiro punching target dummies while a younger Jayiden calmly dismantled wooden constructs with surgical strikes. They hadn’t been friends, just two rookies sharing nods of respect in the hallway while waiting for rankings to post. Back then he placed in the top five, Shunjiro recalled, circling to keep distance. Even talked about joining a Cosmic guild. He admired Jayiden’s discipline, unlike his own windmill punches. Now that discipline was hunting him. Jayiden’s eyes tracked each grain-spiral Shunjiro summoned, mapping patterns, looking for tells. He’s studying everything. Sweat slid down Shunjiro’s cheek. Can’t let him catalogue me. He snapped his wrist; sand whipped into a blinding cone. Jayiden leapt over it, twisting mid-air into a corkscrew cut aimed at Shunjiro’s collarbone. Instinct roared, Shunjiro yanked Devil’s-Luck dagger up, parrying just enough. The impact skated past, shearing fabric instead of flesh. Both landed apart, boots skidding on shadow-realm cobbles. Jayiden rolled his neck, amused. “Adaptable. I like that.” Shunjiro forced a grin despite the burn in his lungs. “You liked examining me too huh.” “Notes make victory.” Jayiden’s stance deepened. “Show me the page you’re hiding, Sandman.” Sand swirled at Shunjiro’s feet, answering the challenge. He inhaled, feeling the latent SS surge Malachi had taught him to beckon, steady, not spike. Time to test whether a month’s worth of training could outpace a swordmaster’s arithmetic. Shunjiro widened his stance, circling his right hand in a tight spiral. Sand followed the motion like liquid gold, ­splitting into dozens of erratic ribbons that danced in mid-air. No patterns, keep it messy, he reminded himself. Jayiden’s eyes flicked from ribbon to ribbon, trying to plot trajectories. “Changing tactics?” the beast-man asked, voice half laugh, half growl. “More like… improvising!” Shunjiro snapped his fingers. Every ribbon fractured, scattering into fist-sized bullets. They whirled in unpredictable orbits, ricocheting off one another before converging on Jayiden from skewed angles. The swordsman darted sideways, blade flashing to parry the first two projectiles, but a third clipped his shoulder; grains tore fabric and raised a shallow welt. He hissed, first real hit. The momentary hitch in his rhythm was all Shunjiro needed. He lunged, Devil’s-Luck dagger low. Jayiden recovered fast, steel sweeping down to intercept, only for Shunjiro to feint, sand geysering beneath the katana to jerk it off-line. The dagger’s pommel cracked against Jayiden’s ribs; Devil’s Luck flared, amplifying the blow. Jayiden stumbled, breath leaving him in a sharp grunt. Still, his counter strike came on instinct. A savage elbow crashed toward Shunjiro’s jaw. Sand hardened to glassy armor just in time, sparing the bone but hurling him back a dozen paces. Both fighters steadied, chests heaving, eyes locked. Jayiden wiped grit from a bleeding lip, expression shifting from playful to focused. “You’re forcing errors. Smart.” Shunjiro rolled his aching shoulder and managed a cocky grin. “Gotta ruin that perfect sword-form of yours somehow.” Jayiden chuckled, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He drew a second, shorter blade from his sash, dual-wield stance. “Then let’s see how long improvisation lasts against calculated chaos.” Sand coiled at Shunjiro’s heels like a living tide. Keep him guessing… one mistake at a time. The duel resumed with renewed ferocity, each clash sending ripples through the shadowed clearing as dawnless skies rumbled overhead. A hush fell across the clearing. Jayiden and Shunjiro’s clashing steel rang in the distance, but for Malachi and Tsubasa the world had narrowed to a single, breath-held moment. Malachi hoisted the seven-foot greatsword onto one shoulder, violet fire peeling away from his skin and racing the length of the blade. “Whatever games the Eclipsed Abyss is playing, leave the boy out of them,” he rumbled. Each word rolled like distant thunder. Tsubasa’s reply was a languid shrug, dark cloak fluttering in the wind. “Orders are orders. Bring Shunjiro back, dead or alive.” He flicked a hand; a coin-sized portal popped open and shut again, casual as a yawn. “I’d rather avoid carving up a legend, big guy, but business is business.” Malachi’s eyes hardened. My friend. Purple flames flared brighter, wreathing him in an eerie corona. “You will not take what is mine to protect.” Tsubasa’s lips curved. “Then let’s finish this in a single exchange.” From a portal at his hip he drew the obsidian kunai, the blade drinking in the gloomy light. They moved in the same heartbeat. Tsubasa flicked his wrist and a single portal, wide as a city gate, opened between them, its darkness churning as if something monstrous were coiled just beyond. A faint, predatory smile touched his lips … and then Malachi moved. The king’s greatsword ignited in violet fire, and he lunged forward with impossible speed. Tsubasa’s smug expression faltered; for the first time a flicker of genuine alarm crossed his eyes. Too fast-! He jerked his arm back, instinctively trying to collapse the portal, but Malachi was already upon it. Steel met swirling void; the gateway splintered like glass. A hollow boom rolled across the field as the portal imploded, whatever horror it contained swallowed in an instant. The same sweeping stroke kept going, arcing down toward Tsubasa’s chest. Fear flashed across the portal-master’s face. He tried to pivot away, but Malachi’s blade was faster. A blazing diagonal cut ripped across Tsubasa’s torso, spraying a ribbon of blood. The kunai slipped from his fingers; pain and shock stole the air from his lungs. I misread his reach-! Panic punched through his composure. Before the back-handed follow-through could sever his head, he snapped his fingers. A portal yawned open beneath his boots and swallowed him just as the second slash whistled through empty air, violet fire trailing like a comet. Ten yards away another gate flared, and Tsubasa stumbled out, clutching the bleeding gash. His breath hitched; wide eyes tracked Malachi with a respect bordering on terror. “N-next round, perhaps,” he rasped, voice losing its earlier arrogance. One last portal shimmered behind him. With a stiff, shallow bow, more a survival reflex than courtesy, Tsubasa stepped through and vanished. All remaining gates winked shut, leaving only the whine of dying wind and the iron tang of spattered blood. Malachi exhaled, flames guttering but his stance still ready. He glanced at the dark droplets dotting the grass. “Run while you can, prince of voids,” he rumbled, voice like distant thunder. “You will not have that boy while I draw breath.” Turning, he fixed his gaze on the clash between Shunjiro and Jayiden, prepared, if necessary, to end that battle with a single swing as well. A fresh tear of violet energy still crackled across Malachi’s great-sword when the ground beneath the duelists rippled like water. “Malachi!” Shunjiro’s shout was swallowed as a gaping portal snapped open beneath his and Jayiden’s boots. Dark petals of void folded inward, dragging them down. Malachi hurled himself forward, purple aura roaring back to life. With one titanic swing he loosed a crescent of condensed spirit-flame, bright enough to paint the black trees lavender. The arc struck the portal’s rim a heartbeat too late; the gateway cinched shut with a hollow thump, the crackling edge of Malachi’s attack shearing harmlessly through empty air. Silence rushed in after the sound. The king’s blade hissed as the last tongues of violet fire guttered out. He stood alone in the clearing, only the churned earth and Shunjiro’s fading echo left to mark what had happened. Malachi drove the weapon point-first into the soil, shoulders heaving once. “Damn it,” he growled, low and taut. He pressed a massive palm to the cooling steel, steadying the tremor of anger that tried to claw up his throat. A moment later he lifted the blade free, slid it across the broad sheath on his back, and drew his midnight cloak around his shoulders. The deep hood shadowed eyes that now blazed with purpose. “Prince of voids, you can run every horizon crooked,” he muttered to the empty forest, “but you will not keep that boy.” Malachi turned toward the distant pulse of portal residue, boots crunching over dead leaves. Each step sent faint ripples of amethyst flame licking across the ground. “I’m coming for you, kid,” he promised, voice a rumble that rolled through the shadowed trees. Then, with a surge of violet light, the King of the Shadow Realm vanished into the gloom, following the thinning trail of distorted space left in Tsubasa’s wake.