Arc 3: The Veil of War
The night over Kurogane District was no longer silent.
Thunder rolled across the skyline, not from the heavens—but from the guns that had begun to whisper rebellion. Smoke rose like the breath of the dying, crawling over the fractured rooftops as the city's neon veins flickered and dimmed. The air itself felt like it was holding its breath before the storm truly began.
Reiji walked alone through the drenched street. His coat clung to his back, soaked in rain and the residue of ash. The shadows of soldiers moved in the distance, faceless behind masks bearing the sigil of the new regime—the same sigil he once swore to protect. His boots splashed through puddles painted red by the reflection of burning banners.
He muttered, almost to himself, "So this is how war begins… not with courage, but with fear."
Lightning struck behind him, illuminating the fractured emblem on the wall—a mark of the old world. He paused, watching the paint drip down like tears. For a moment, the sound of marching boots drowned out his thoughts. Rows of armored enforcers advanced from the southern square. Behind them, the banners of the Court fluttered in the wind, stained and torn.
Reiji drew his blade. Its edge caught the lightning for a heartbeat before fading back into shadow.
The war had been inevitable, but no one expected it to start tonight.
The first shot came from the rooftops—a sniper round slicing through the storm. A soldier fell before he even heard it. Panic rippled through the line; orders turned into shouts, shouts into chaos. The street erupted in fire and smoke.
Reiji moved through it—not like a ghost, but like a man bound by too many memories to die easily. Every step felt heavy, every movement deliberate. His blade carved through the storm as if cutting through his own hesitation.
One soldier lunged; Reiji pivoted, caught the man's wrist, and drove his knife under the visor. Another raised his rifle, but the lightning betrayed his position. Reiji's sword swept horizontally, the motion sharp, efficient, final. Blood mingled with rainwater and oil as the sound of thunder merged with the screams of men who didn't understand why they were fighting.
He took cover behind a half-collapsed tram, his breath visible in the cold.
The radio at his belt crackled—a familiar voice whispered through the static.
"Reiji… it's Kaede. You need to fall back. They're moving faster than we predicted."
He closed his eyes, letting her voice ground him for a second. "If I fall back now, they'll reach the archives. Everything will burn."
"Then let it burn," she said softly. "You're not ready to face him yet."
The storm howled between their silence. "Maybe I'm not," he replied, "but the world won't wait for me to be."
He turned off the radio. No more hesitation.
Reiji emerged from the cover just as the enforcers regrouped. The street's red lights flickered, casting long silhouettes across the debris. He charged through them like a streak of black steel. Bullets tore through the rain around him, sparks leaping from the walls. He weaved between shots, blade flashing in arcs that left trails of silver in the downpour.
Each strike carried the weight of ghosts—every face he remembered, every voice that had begged him to stop.
This wasn't just war. It was consequence.
By the time the shooting stopped, only the storm was alive. The bodies lay where they had fallen, the blood flowing toward the gutter like silent rivers. Reiji dropped to one knee, exhausted, rain washing the red from his hands. His reflection stared back from the puddle beneath him—eyes hollow, face marked by guilt, not triumph.
He whispered, "The first spark… has already burned too much."
A faint hum broke the silence. From the edge of the plaza, a massive mech—sleek, black, and crowned with crimson sigils—descended with a hiss of steam. Its pilot's voice echoed through the amplifier, distorted yet unmistakable.
"Shinomiya Reiji… The Court has declared you an enemy of the state. Lay down your weapon."
Reiji's grip tightened on his sword. The machine's glowing eyes painted the rain crimson. He could feel the tremor of its engine through the ground—each step a reminder of how small he'd become against the machinery of power he once served.
"I laid down my weapon once," he said quietly. "And it only made the world darker."
The mech raised its cannon. The air ignited in light. Reiji ran forward—straight into the storm, into the blinding flash. Metal screamed against steel as he dove beneath the cannon's blast, his blade driving into the mech's joint. Sparks erupted; heat scorched his face. He leapt backward as the explosion tore open the plaza, flames licking the rain.
The blast threw him across the street. He hit the ground hard, vision spinning, ears ringing. Through the haze of fire, he saw the mech collapse onto its knees—crippled but still alive. Its pilot crawled out, bloodied but breathing, face hidden behind a cracked visor.
Reiji staggered to his feet, sword dragging against the asphalt. The pilot raised a trembling gun, but Reiji didn't strike. He simply looked at the man—another pawn, another reflection of what he once was.
"Go," Reiji said. "Tell them I'm coming."
The soldier hesitated, eyes wide with something close to fear—or recognition. Then he fled into the smoke.
Reiji sheathed his sword, breath uneven. The rain began to fall harder, washing the blood and ash away. In the distance, the towers of the city burned like candles in a cathedral made of steel. The storm above them pulsed with light as airships crossed the horizon—symbols of war spreading across the night.
Kaede's voice returned faintly through the damaged radio.
"Reiji… what did you do?"
He answered without emotion, eyes fixed on the burning skyline.
"I lit the match."
The signal died again.
And above him, the thunder rolled—not from the sky, but from the world tearing itself apart.
The war had begun.