The air between them tightened, heavy enough to press against the lungs.
A sound broke from Kazuo—low at first, then rising into a jagged laugh that didn't belong to him. It wasn't madness so much as something cracking open, a sound that scraped against the edges of the world. His shoulders trembled as he lifted his right hand in front of him, palm facing upward, as if offering something to the void.
Water gathered there—thin coils at first, twisting over his palm like living threads. They writhed, tightening and layering over one another until small serpent-shaped currents formed in his hand, their bodies whipping restlessly, impatient for release.
The response came instantly.
The serpents burst from his palm, erupting into full force as they left his hand—snapping outward in violent coils, expanding into larger streams shaped like fanged water serpents. They launched with feral speed, splitting the air as they lashed toward Akame.
Akame's katana, Kotetsu, moved once. Then twice. Each motion clean, effortless—steel carving invisible arcs. The first serpent split down its length and burst apart in a spray. The second dissolved mid-lunge, its force scattering across the floor.
The third streaked past as Akame leaned aside, letting it whip by harmlessly. But the current curved mid-air, turning back like a predator denied its prey, snapping toward his spine.
Akame shifted only his wrist. Kotetsu flashed once.
The serpent shredded into droplets, falling like shards of broken glass.
Through it all, Akame's composure never shifted. His eyes tracked the chaos with a calm that bordered on curiosity.
This isn't Water Magic, He noted. The current wasn't flowing — it was fighting itself, pulling apart instead of forming a shape.
Every living being, regardless of race or birth, carried one element — a single truth etched into the soul from the moment of birth. Having a second magic affinity was impossible.
It was a contradiction given form.
He turned his gaze briefly toward Rei's fallen form, half-expecting the storm to consume everything near it. But the wild currents curved away—never touching, never harming.
Even in its frenzy, the storm seemed to know whom it must not strike.
Kazuo laughed again — a dry, keening sound that didn't belong to him. He lifted his blade; magic crawled over the steel like oil catching light, a wild sheen that made the edge look hungry. Then he swung.
The attack was broad, a scything arc that carried the storm with it. Currents surged outward like coiling blades; the warehouse air filled with a howling, watery scythe that sliced through the warehouse.
"While observing him I am sure, that he never learned resonance on that level." Akame slipped through the first arc with ease, kotetsu tracing a quiet line that shivered the air. The blade met Kazuo's with a clean, denying sound; steel struck steel and shoved Kazuo back. Akame's motion was effortless.
One swing cut the outer wall. Timber split with a groan; a long, raw crack opened and the noise spilled outward — a sound that would, in time, draw ears. Kazuo rebounded like a pinball, launching himself again and again; each lunge was met and redirected, Akame throwing him off angles with surgical palms and the flat of his blade.
"Your senses are heightened. You are driven by emotion, not reason." He let the observation hang, neutral as a scalpel.
They clashed once more, blades locked. Kazuo pushed with everything the storm could feed him—muscles straining, teeth bared, the air around them twisting with raw force.
Akame did not move.
His stance held as if rooted into the earth itself, Kazuo's full power grinding against an unshakable wall. The effort belonged to only one of them.
Akame drew in a slow breath, almost bored.
"So this is your limit. This is as far as you reach in this condition… a pitiful state."
With that exhale, he shifted—just enough to slip free of the lock—and in the same fluid motion his blade cut through the air.
"Wind Magic: Phantom Gale."
A razor arc of wind exploded from his swing, silent and precise, carving across Kazuo's torso in a single shallow but flawless strike. Blood welled instantly, then ran in a thin ribbon. The wind struck with force, throwing Kazuo backward; he crashed onto the floor and rolled, but not even a flicker of pain crossed his face.
He rose and llaughed, as if nothing had happened.
Akame was ready to strike again, when suddenly a thin light flashed at Kazuo's throat. The medallion responded, igniting with a soft but commanding radiance. Threads of pale light unraveled from it, winding around Kazuo—gentle in touch, absolute in restraint.
Kazuo struggled against it, fingers clawing weakly at the air, chest heaving with a sound that barely reached breath. The light tightened.
Akame halted mid-step. Because the event before him startled even him. The storm had been extinguished in an instant.
The light hadn't behaved like magic. It had overridden the phenomenon entirely, with the finality of a command.
What was that? The thought cut in, sharp and unwelcome. Akame's eyes fixed on the fading light.
Kazuo's body gave out.
He dropped to his knees, the last of his strength leaking away—then pitched forward, collapsing onto his stomach, face against the wet floor. Within a heartbeat, he was motionless, his hair returned to the usual messy black.
Was this a binding Seal? The theory formed, but held no weight.
There was nothing in his experience that matched what had just occurred.
Then rain began to fall. Heavy drops at first, striking the broken timbers and scattering across the floor. Akame looked up. The night sky above — moments ago, it had been clear. The full moon had shone without interruption, the stars sharp and countless across the dark.
Now, clouds churned where there had been none.
They gathered unnaturally fast, swallowing the moonlight as if pulled into existence rather than blown in by wind. Did he summon these clouds?
The thought was absurd — and yet, after what Akame had witnessed tonight, absurdity no longer held meaning.
"How strange," he said quietly. "After all… desolation comes upon the sky."
He stared at the two bodies: the still form of Rei, the sleeping shape of Kazuo. The day had yielded more contradictions than answers. Akame's composure reassembled itself slowly, deliberately.
A beat of silence.
"I apologize, my leader," He said. "I see now what you saw in him — perhaps you understand more of what he is than I do. For the moment, I cannot claim to grasp its meaning. Even so, I judge him a threat. Forgive me but I must cut this individual down."
Rain hammered relentlessly, cold and heavy. Akame stepped forward, blade angled to strike—when a jagged wall of ice erupted from the floor in a sharp, crystalline arc. Akame leaned back a fraction, letting the ice pass him without so much as brushing his hair. His stance remained unshaken, eyes shifting to the figure behind it.
Setsuna stood there, the downpour chilling to mist around him. No playful grin. No teasing glint. His expression was serious. His eyes fixed on Akame with a focus that stripped away his usual carefree veneer.
Akame's gaze narrowed. "Setsuna. The Blade of Winter."
Setsuna's hand rested lightly on the hilt at his hip—the stance of someone who could draw and cut before breath could form. "So you have heard of me."
Akame inclined his head a fraction. "It would have been strange if I hadn't."
Setsuna's blade whispered an inch from its sheath, not fully drawn, but enough for intent to sharpen the air. "Perhaps. But I haven't heard of you. Red eyes… your presence alone tells me you're not from here." His stare sharpened. "How did you enter the capital without alerting a single ward?"
Akame closed his eyes briefly—as if the question was beneath answering. To Setsuna's surprise, he slid Kotetsu back into its sheath. When his eyes opened, they carried no hostility.
"There is no reason to fight you now," Akame said. "But remember this: our paths will cross again."
Setsuna shifted his footing, ready to intercept. "You believe you can simply leave?"
Before the wind of Setsuna's movement reached him, Akame vanished—leaving only a twisting gust where he once stood. Rain whipped sideways, carried by the sudden displacement.
Setsuna's eyes widened. Wind…? Does he command one of the four original elements?His thoughts stumbled over a second detail. Red eyes. I've never seen that color before… Who is he? And what does he want from Kazuo?
He stepped toward the bodies—the rain still pounding, mixing with the blood on the floor. Setsuna knelt beside Rei. The young man's eyes were half-open… still curved with the faintest smile.
A muscle in Setsuna's jaw tightened. He struck the floor with his fist—a cold, controlled blow, not loud, but heavy with meaning.
"…Damn it."
He drew a slow breath, rain and grief mingling in his voice. "Had I been a moment earlier… I could have stopped this." He brushed a hand over Rei's hair, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, young man. A warm heart like yours shouldn't have met an end in a place like this."
He gently closed Rei's eyes.
Setsuna turned to Kazuo—unconscious, drenched, his hair once streaked with black and white now returned to its usual black. "Kazuo… what the hell happened here?" he murmured.
For a man like the Red-Eyed Samurai to enter the capital unnoticed is impossible. Dr. Veyra's barrier is flawless.
He paused. Unless… someone allowed him through. What is the meaning for all of this mess?
He straightened. "No...This is not the right time to speculate."
Ice gathered behind him, shaping into a crystalline coffin for Rei—preserving him from the rain. Setsuna lifted Kazuo carefully onto his back and retrieved Kazuo's sword, securing it.
With Rei's ice bier gliding behind him, Setsuna stepped into the rain-soaked night—and vanished into the shadows of the capital.