The world had gone red and gray.
Every breath Shojiro took sounded like a knife dragging against glass. His body was cold, but somewhere deep inside, beneath all that ruin and pain, a small, flickering warmth remained — the last echo of his life point.
As his vision began to blur, the world around him melted away. The floor, the blood, the monster — all dissolved into a gentle, pale light.
And standing in that light, smiling like he always had, was Tetsuro Momo.
The old man's frame was as broad as Shojiro remembered — still wearing that faded gi, his hair tied back, his face lined but kind. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, just like when he used to watch Shojiro spar back home.
Tetsuro: "Heh… you look like hell, kid."
(He lets out a short laugh, the kind that used to follow Shojiro's every scraped knee.)
"How's it going, son?"
Shojiro: (shaky chuckle, blood on his teeth) "You… you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Tetsuro: "Try me. I've been dead, you know — seen stranger things from up here."
Shojiro: (breathes deeply, his one eye trembling) "I died too, once. Got dragged into some world called Cradle. Met beings older than time itself… one of them, Kaiser — said I was born from his blood. Said I was a Chosen. That I had a mission."
Tetsuro: (raises an eyebrow, amused) "So you're tellin' me my boy's half god now?"
Shojiro: (smirks faintly) "Guess so. Didn't make me any smarter though… I'm stuck bleeding out in a tower, talking to my dead old man."
Tetsuro: "You always were stubborn. Even when you broke your arm and tried to keep fighting in the finals… I told you, sometimes strength ain't just muscles. It's knowing when to let yourself rest."
Shojiro: (low voice) "Can't rest now, Pops. There's too much left to do… people counting on me… if I stop here—"
Tetsuro: (walks closer, crouching before his son, resting a hand on his shoulder — it feels warm, impossibly warm) "You're still trying to carry the world, huh?"
(smiles softly) "You got that from me. But you've gone further than I ever could. And right now…"
(His tone deepens, a strange resonance in his voice, like thunder beneath a calm sky.)
"…it's my turn to carry you."
Shojiro looked up — the world pulsed faintly around his father, a soft golden light radiating from his chest. It was beating, steady and sure, like a drum that had never stopped.
Shojiro: "Pops, what are you doing—"
Tetsuro: "Giving you back what you lost. You don't belong here yet, Shojiro."
Shojiro: "But… this'll—"
Tetsuro: "—end me for good? Maybe. But that's fine. A father's job isn't to live forever. It's to make sure his kid can."
(He presses his palm against Shojiro's torn chest. Golden light seeps into the wound — bright, then searing, then transcendent. The pain fades. The heartbeat that had stopped begins again, slow and heavy, echoing through the void.)
Tetsuro: "Listen to me. The next time you stand up, don't fight to prove you're strong. Fight because you still remember what it feels like to love. That's what makes strength real."
Shojiro's tears slipped down his cheek, mixing with the blood. His voice cracked.
Shojiro: "I… I'll make you proud, Pops."
Tetsuro: (grins, standing up, his form already fading into light) "You already did, kid."
(He turns, walking toward the horizon of white. Before he vanishes, he glances over his shoulder.)
"Now get up… and finish the damn fight."
---
Shojiro gasped. The world snapped back — the fifth floor, the blood, the sound of distant growls.
But his chest was whole.
A new heartbeat thundered inside him — deep, human, and unyielding.
His father's.
His new life point.
And with it came something else — a quiet, burning rage tempered by love.
He rose slowly, crimson energy rekindling around him, glowing brighter than before.
Shojiro (low, steady): "Thanks, Pops… now it's my turn."
Shojiro's body jolted upright — breath ragged, chest heaving as if he'd just clawed his way back from the grave. The crimson glow of his Vythra reignited, wild and chaotic at first, before syncing to a deeper, steadier rhythm — thump... thump... thump — the beat of another heart. His father's.
The floor trembled beneath him as blood continued to leak from his ruined eye, streaking down his cheek like war paint. But the agony that had once threatened to drown him was gone — replaced by something older, fiercer. Every pulse in his veins carried memory — of the man who'd taught him to stand tall, to never yield, to fight until the very end.
He slowly raised his head. The world seemed sharper, even with one eye gone. The colors of the dungeon twisted and bent under his rising aura. Crimson mist danced around his arms, spiraling upward like smoke from a divine forge.
Shojiro cracked his neck, his voice a calm rumble beneath the echoing chamber.
Shojiro (low, calm): "That heart you took from me… wasn't mine anymore."
Erekrath froze mid-crawl, its bone plates grinding against each other with an ear-splitting shriek. Its eyeless skull tilted, the exposed orb in its chest flickering in confusion — as if some primal instinct warned it what was coming.
Shojiro: (his tone sharpening like a blade) "This one's my old man's…"
(he takes a single step forward — the ground splinters underfoot, crimson lightning crackling across the walls)
"…and it only beats for one thing—"
(The air goes still. The Vythra surges from his core, flooding the room with light. His muscles expand, tendons stretching, veins glowing red-hot. The entire floor begins to shake as if the dungeon itself was holding its breath.)
Shojiro: "—to end you."
Then he moved.
The moment his foot left the ground, the world erupted. Crimson shockwaves detonated from the point of takeoff, spiderwebbing cracks through the bone floor and up the walls. The force alone shattered nearby pillars as he launched himself like a bullet forged from fury.
Erekrath barely had time to react before Shojiro was on it — his fist crashing into the creature's ribcage with the impact of a cannon, the bones bending inward before snapping like glass. The resulting blast tore through the chamber, scattering bone fragments in a fiery crimson storm.
The creature howled, but Shojiro didn't stop. He was faster, heavier, unrestrained — every motion carrying the weight of that new heartbeat thundering within him. His father's legacy and his own rage fused into one devastating rhythm, shaking the entire floor like a war drum announcing the end of an era.