Kaito didn't hesitate. He grabbed Aiko, yanking her back behind the only cover in the room—the large, now-inert obsidian pedestal that had held the heart-stone. He shoved her behind him, placing his body between her and the groaning hatch in the ceiling. He still held the plasma cutter, its tip smoking, a meager weapon against the true master of this fortress.
They were trapped. Utterly. Behind them was the square hole they had cut, revealing the black, raging torrent of the underground river. In front of them was a sealed vault, and the only other exit was now opening, revealing the architect of their doom.
The hatch finished its slow rotation and slid open with a pneumatic hiss. A platform descended, lowering itself into the vault with a smooth, silent motion.
Kuroda Masamune stood on the platform as it lowered, looking completely unbothered. He was no longer in his tuxedo but in a simple, expensive-looking black turtleneck and trousers. He wasn't armed. He wasn't even flanked by guards. He was holding a glass of what looked like red wine, swirling it gently as he descended.
The platform touched the floor with a soft thud. Kuroda stepped off, his expensive leather shoes clicking on the metal grate. His cold, dead eyes surveyed the scene: the empty robes of his puppet, the shattered porcelain mask, and the two halves of the broken, blackened heart-stone.
"What a mess," he said, his voice a calm, disappointed drawl. "My favorite puppet. And my best filter. Do you have any idea how much work it will be to rebuild this node?"
Kaito stepped out from behind the pedestal, shielding Aiko. "It's over, Kuroda. We've destroyed your plague-engine. We know who you are. We know what you are. Every clan in Tokyo will be hunting you by sunrise."
Kuroda laughed. It wasn't the dry rustle of the puppet; it was a genuine, warm, and utterly terrifying sound. "Oh, Kaito-san. You truly don't understand the game, do you? You, the little king, playing with his shadows... and you," he said, his gaze sliding past Kaito to where Aiko was hiding, "you are the real prize."
His eyes seemed to glow with a faint, greedy light. "I felt it, you know. The moment the Kirin's blessing settled in you. A pure, blinding light. I've only read of such things. I came down here to collect a broken toy, and instead, I find a miracle."
"You won't touch her," Kaito snarled, igniting the plasma cutter again.
Kuroda just smiled, that same cold, corporate smile from the auction. "You think that stone was the source of my power?" he asked, as if speaking to a child. "It was a relay. A filter. A convenience. A way to do my work without getting my hands dirty."
He raised his empty hand.
Instantly, the black, oily, corrosive energy of the blight didn't just appear... it bled from the walls. It seeped up from the floor grates. The dark tendrils, far more numerous and powerful than any the puppet had wielded, rose around Kuroda, swirling like a storm of living shadows, all obeying his silent command. The dead vault was suddenly alive with his power. He was the source.
He looked at Aiko, his eyes alight with a cold, terrifying hunger.
"You didn't cut out the rot, little miracle," Kuroda whispered, as his shadow-tendrils began to creep across the floor towards them. "You just rang the dinner bell."