— I can see it now... the flow of energy, the signature behind every strike. Let's end this, Aisha.
Akira's eyes ignited with a cold violet glow — the most feared ocular ability of his clan. Veins of living energy pulsed across his irises like threads of lightning. Beside him, Aisha exhaled slowly, her body enveloped in waves of radiance and heat, her eyes burning with resolve.
— Akira... — she said, her voice steady even amid the chaos. — Listen... Mei is alive.
He turned sharply, startled.
— The woman with the red eyes and the markings on her face sealed her. She's using something ancient... cruel. But if we can break through their defenses — if we can strike directly — we might be able to free her.
Silence.
Aisha clenched her fist.
— She trusted us. She's waiting.
Akira nodded. A flicker of fire ignited in his gaze — not strategy, not duty... faith.
— Then we'll bring her back.
And in that instant, something long dormant reignited within him. The flame that had nearly died under poison, exhaustion, and burden — burned again.
And then, hell resumed its symphony.
Jouki roared. Black flames surged outward like serpents from the underworld, devouring the earth and tearing open the soil. Kaze spun his arms, summoning a spiral of wind sharp enough to slice through sound itself. At the center, Dr. Isha swung his scythe in an arc that warped the air — as if gravity itself were rewritten.
The battlefield became a hurricane of destruction.
But Akira saw beyond it.
His ocular ability — "The Eye of Celestial Reflection" — was active. A gift from his lineage, rare and terrifying, allowing him to perceive the moving structure of reality. He didn't just predict attacks; he saw them — the micro-twitch of muscles before a strike, the flow of energy before a spell, the precise fracture point of every element around him.
To Akira, it was like watching the future — one second ahead. One second... worth an eternity.
The world around him fractured into streaks of light and shadow, each enemy leaving trails of prediction, the very matter vibrating in rhythm with his instincts. He was the eye of the storm.
— Left, now! — he shouted.
Aisha obeyed instantly. She leapt, unleashing a crescent burst of condensed energy from her spear that redirected Jouki's black flames skyward — they exploded into dark shards midair. Akira's kusarigama spun like a serpent, the blade slicing through wind and bone alike. He struck Kaze's flank before the Reaper could harden the gusts into lances.
— That eye technique... — muttered Isha, barely dodging a blow. — I don't recall it in our last encounter.
Akira smirked, his breath shallow and sharp.
— That's because you drained me last time. You deployed a suppression field — cut off my energy before I could fight at full power.
— Ah, yes... — Isha observed him like a scientist inspecting prey. — And this vision of yours... must consume a monstrous amount of energy. I imagine you only use it when you're ready to die.
— And today... — Akira's boots dug into the fractured earth. Two glowing runes ignited along his arms — Kembranvas. Sacred etchings of Strength and Speed, capable of amplifying power to divine levels, yet poisoning the user as the price. — ...is exactly that kind of day.
The world pounded like a war drum.
The venom Isha had injected still burned through his veins, gnawing at his nerves. His breath faltered; his muscles screamed. Three minutes — that's all his eyes had left. Aisha, too, was fading. Her strikes grew slower, smaller; blood streamed down her leg, leaving red trails of defiance on the cracked ground.
And then, the memories came.
The dark corridors. The scent of metal. The sterile light of the clan's prison halls. The muffled screams of those not strong enough to survive. His master's voice echoed like a curse:
"You are a weapon, not a son. Emotion is poison. Only perfection matters."
He remembered his first execution mission. The night he fled. The faces of his brothers dragged away into oblivion. He had carried the curse of talent — the chosen one, the perfect eye.
And he hated every second of it.
Until that day — the great mission years ago.
After the war with the dimensional demon, Tenklyn had found him. Mei believed in him. And Aisha... she made him laugh for the first time in years.
"I'm not a weapon. I'm human."
— Thank you... for finding me. — he said, his eyes steady on Aisha.
She didn't answer — only smiled through the blood on her face.
Akira unleashed everything.
The runes roared to life. His movements blurred beyond sight, his kusarigama spinning like an extension of his soul, tearing through air, matter, and flesh with merciless precision. He fought the three simultaneously — anticipating, dodging, striking with lightning rhythm.
He slashed Kaze's shoulder, shattering his focus.
He pierced Isha's ribs, burying the blade deep.
He turned Jouki's own black spike against her, slamming her into the ground.
— Now! — he shouted.
Aisha leapt, tossing twin tactical charges. The explosions collided with Akira's final strike, merging into a seismic wave that tore the ground apart. The villains were hurled through the air, crashing hard — injured, but not dead.
Then silence.
Akira staggered. His vision trembled. Blood ran from his eyes; the runes flickered. He dropped to his knees, gasping.
Aisha caught him before he fell.
— That's enough, Akira... you've already done the impossible.
She steadied her breath, her gaze fixed ahead.
— Now let's free Mei.
But then—
Something crashed from above.
A deafening impact. The ground split open in a crater.
Tenklyn.
His body lay at the center — missing an arm, drenched in blood, his breathing shallow.
— TENKLYN!! — Aisha screamed.
Footsteps followed — light, deliberate, elegant.
From the shadows, he emerged.
Dante.
— I must admit... you Sifs still try your best. — His voice was silk and blade. — But compared to the ancients... you've regressed.
He walked through the carnage, exuding an aura that bent the air. Then he stopped — and turned toward Akira.
— But you... you carry something rare. A spark... of what we once were.
Silence.
— Perhaps... — he smiled faintly — ...there's still something worthwhile in this generation.
He raised his hand.
The energy around him imploded. The air shredded like soaked paper. The very atmosphere trembled beneath his presence.
And the new battle began.
Dante vs Akira, Aisha... and what remained of Tenklyn.
To be continued...