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"Who!?"
The voice sliced through the air like a blade. Wade's entire body went rigid, his heart slamming against his ribs as adrenaline flooded his system.
A figure materialized from the shadows—tall, imposing, wrapped in writhing masses of black and red that seemed to pulse with their own heartbeat. It sat on an ornate chair that had appeared from nowhere, regarding him with what could only be described as amusement. The creature's presence filled the street like smoke, making the air thick and hard to breathe.
Wade's face twisted with rage and fear in equal measure. Without thinking, without hesitating, he thrust his hand forward. "Meng Po!"
The blood-yellow water of the River of Oblivion erupted from the ground, surging toward the figure in a wave that reeked of decay and forgotten memories. The liquid hissed and bubbled as it moved, dissolving bits of pavement and debris in its path. This was the attack that had melted demons into puddles of bone and screaming flesh. This would end whatever the hell this thing was.
But the water hit something invisible and exploded outward.
SPLASH!
Yellow droplets scattered in all directions, sizzling against walls and windows. Where the River of Oblivion should have consumed flesh and bone, it had struck an unseen barrier and been thrown back like a child's tantrum against reinforced glass.
"What the—" Wade's eyes went wide, pupils dilating as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing. His mouth hung open for a fraction of a second before he snapped it shut, jaw clenching so hard his teeth ached.
The figure—Russell, though Wade didn't know it yet—felt his own temper flare hot in his chest. This bastard attacks first and asks questions later? He'd been about to summon Artoria, let her golden presence illuminate this grimy street and calm the terrified civilians. But now? Now he wanted to make Wade squirm a little first.
Russell's eyes flicked to the surveillance cameras mounted on nearby buildings, their red lights blinking steadily. The Federation court would have records of his support mission to Guanlan District. Every second of this encounter was being recorded. If they were out in the wilderness, away from prying electronic eyes, Wade would already be choking on his own blood.
Everyone has their breaking point, Russell thought darkly, and this asshole just found mine. A sneer twisted beneath the writhing mass that obscured his face.
The River of Oblivion surged again, more desperate this time. Wade poured more magical energy into the attack, his face flushing red with exertion. The yellow water rose like a tidal wave, twenty feet high, ready to crash down and dissolve everything in its path.
Fubuki's telekinesis met it head-on.
The invisible force slammed into the corrosive tide with a sound like thunder. The air itself seemed to ripple and distort where the two forces met. Windows rattled in their frames. Car alarms began blaring up and down the street. The yellow water twisted and churned, trying to find a way through, but Fubuki's defense held firm. Her power might not pack the biggest punch, but when it came to shields and barriers? Russell had never seen better.
Beside Russell, Retsu Unohana stepped forward, her wooden sandals clicking against the pavement. Her hands moved in precise, practiced gestures as she began to chant, her voice rising and falling in an ancient rhythm that made the hair on Wade's neck stand on end.
The shadow of the Seireitei bloomed behind her—a massive fortress-city that seemed to exist in another dimension, visible yet untouchable. The chanting grew faster, more urgent. Wade felt it then, that primal sensation of a blade hovering just behind his neck, ready to drop.
"Bakudō #90," Unohana's voice rang out clear and sharp. "Kurohitsugi!"
A pitch-black coffin materialized around Wade and Meng Po, its walls solid darkness given form. For a heartbeat, everything went silent. Then came the sound—like a thousand swords being drawn at once. Sharp blades of magical energy began materializing within the coffin's confines, ready to pierce, to shred, to destroy.
Wade's stomach dropped. His hands moved on instinct, flooding Meng Po with every ounce of power he could muster. The coffin shattered like black glass, exploding outward as the River of Oblivion erupted in all directions. The yellow water formed a protective dome around him, hissing and spitting as it fought off the residual energy from the spell.
His chest heaved as he gasped for air. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, stinging his eyes. I could die here. The thought hit him like ice water. I could actually fucking die here.
The humiliation burned worse than the fear. Him, Wade, son of one of the most powerful families in the city, reduced to fighting for his life on some grimy street? Having to negotiate with whatever this creature was? His pride screamed in protest even as his survival instincts took over.
"...Russell?"
The name escaped his lips before he could stop it. As the adrenaline ebbed slightly, as his mind stopped screaming danger danger danger, the pieces began falling into place. That defensive power, so absolute and overwhelming. The woman with the pigtails, her presence both calming and terrifying. The way the figure sat, casual yet ready for violence.
"It's me."
The voice that emerged was hoarse and low, like gravel being ground underfoot. The writhing black and red mass that formed the creature's "face" peeled back like a hood, revealing Russell's expression underneath—cold, flat, utterly devoid of warmth.
Russell watched Wade's face cycle through emotions like a slot machine—shock, recognition, rage, humiliation, and finally settling on a mask of forced calm that fooled no one.
If I were a Master Cardmaker already, Russell thought bitterly, this wouldn't even be a question. I'd end him here and deal with the consequences.
Wade's hands trembled slightly before he clenched them into fists, forcing them still. "It's you." The words came out steady, controlled, but inside his mind was screaming. How? HOW!? We fought just weeks ago and he only had that one silver card! Now he has what, three? Four? How is that even possible!?
Jealousy coiled in his gut like a living thing, poisonous and burning. This nobody from nowhere, this street rat who'd somehow caught Professor attention, had grown this strong this fast? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
The hood of writhing darkness closed again, completely obscuring Russell's face. "Seems you haven't forgotten me."
Wade's fists clenched tighter, his nails digging crescents into his palms. How could he forget? That duel had been his first real loss, his first taste of true defeat. Not some sparring match where the outcome didn't matter, but a real fight where he'd given everything and still came up short. Against Russell of all people.
The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire. Finally, Wade forced out, "Who sent you?"
Russell pulled out his phone, waving it casually. The gesture was almost insulting in its nonchalance. "Support mission."
"Tsk." Wade's lip curled in disdain, the expression ugly on his aristocratic features. "What a waste of time." So the pathetic civilians had called for help and they'd sent Russell. Typical Federation inefficiency, sending valuable cardmakers to babysit the masses.
Russell's voice cut through the night air like a whip. "If I hadn't come, everyone here would've died, right?"
The words hung in the air like an accusation. Several of the civilians behind Russell gasped, the truth of it hitting them like a physical blow. They'd known, deep down, that Wade had left them to die. But hearing it said out loud, confirmed by another cardmaker...
Wade's face darkened to the color of old blood. Water seemed ready to drip from his expression, so intense was his fury and shame. The young man beside him—his assistant, his lackey, whatever—actually took a step back, terrified of being too close when his master exploded.
"Never mind," Wade finally ground out through clenched teeth.
Russell stared at him for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but carried the weight of a guillotine blade. "No wonder my teacher didn't accept you as his disciple."
Lies aren't the sharpest weapons—the truth cuts deeper. The information he'd gotten from Misty about Wade's rejection had been gossip at the time. Now it was a dagger between the ribs.
The effect was instantaneous and devastating.
Wade's eyes bulged, the whites showing all around. His face flushed from red to purple. His whole body shook with rage so intense it seemed like he might literally explode. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but no words came. What could he say? It was true. Professor Blake Whitemore had rejected him, had chosen this nobody instead.
The truth cut deeper than any lie ever could.
"Hmph." Russell's sneer echoed off the buildings, cold and dismissive.
Throughout this entire exchange, Wade's assistant had been doing his best impression of a statue. Jin—that was his name, though it hardly mattered—kept his head down and his mouth shut. He'd learned long ago that when powerful people argued, smart servants became invisible. One wrong word, one badly timed breath, and he could end up as collateral damage. His legs trembled slightly, but he locked his knees to keep standing.
Behind Russell, the crowd of civilians watched with a mixture of awe and vindication. The fear that had gripped them moments ago was transforming into something else—hope, relief, and a savage satisfaction at seeing Wade put in his place.
An older woman, her gray hair still dusty from the demolished buildings, found her courage first. "Sir? Can we leave now?"
Russell turned to face them, and the temperature seemed to rise a few degrees. He nodded, and though they couldn't see his face through the writhing darkness, something in his posture softened slightly. "Let's go. I'll take you to the shelter."
The relief was palpable. People's shoulders sagged, some wiping tears from their eyes. Children who'd been clinging to their parents' legs began to peek out again. They formed a ragged line behind Russell, exhausted and traumatized but alive.
As they passed Wade, the crowd went silent. No one dared to look at him directly. Mothers pulled their children closer. Men who might normally have strutted past with heads high now hunched their shoulders and quickened their pace. Even their breathing seemed to quiet, as if too much noise might draw his attention and his wrath.
Wade stood there like a statue carved from rage and humiliation, watching them go. His magical energy still churned around him, making the air shimmer with heat. Meng Po hovered nearby, the River of Oblivion pooling at her feet, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
Only after the last civilian had passed did Jin dare to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Wade, where are we going next?"
Wade's chest rose and fell as he forced himself to take deep breaths. His father's words echoed in his mind—never make an enemy you don't have to—but they felt hollow now, meaningless. After tonight, after this humiliation, there was no going back. The bridge between him and Russell wasn't just burned; it had been blown to pieces and the pieces set on fire.
"Go home!" The words came out as a snarl.
Jin nodded rapidly, not trusting himself to speak again. He fell into step behind his master, careful to maintain the proper distance—close enough to be available, far enough to avoid Wade's immediate reach if his temper exploded again.
Meanwhile, Russell led the civilians through the ruined streets, his mind already working through the implications of tonight's confrontation. The black and red tendrils around him shifted and writhed with his thoughts.
I need to find a way to kill him.
The thought was cold, practical. Wade wouldn't forgive tonight's humiliation. He'd come for Russell eventually, when the opportunity was right, when there were no cameras and no witnesses. Better to strike first.
The Spirit Begging Society? Russell mulled over the possibility as they walked. They were assassins for hire, expensive but effective. They asked no questions as long as the payment was good. But could he trust them with something this sensitive? And did he have the resources they'd demand?
The civilians behind him whispered among themselves, their voices a low murmur of relief and lingering fear. They didn't know that their savior was already planning murder. They only knew that they were alive when they should have been dead, and for now, that was enough.
The shelter lights appeared in the distance, bright and welcoming after the darkness of the ruined district. Russell would get them to safety, file his report, and then... then he would plan. Wade had shown his true colors tonight, and Russell wouldn't forget.
Neither of them would.
(End of this chapter)
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