KUSHIDA
It felt like time froze...or maybe it actually did
The headlights of the truck weren't just bright; they were blinding, spilling across the wet asphalt like liquid fire. My pupils shrank in defense, my breath caught halfway between a gasp and a scream. I could hear my heart slamming against my ribs—loud, fast, too alive for a world that had suddenly gone still.
The truck loomed inches away. Its grill glinted, droplets of rain hanging midair around it—not falling. My fingers trembled as I reached out, brushing cold metal that should've been vibrating with the hum of the engine. It wasn't. The air was thick and unmoving, almost suffocating.
For a moment, all I could do was listen—to the deafening silence pressing in on me.
I closed my eyes. One… two… three.
When I opened them again, my chest tightened.
Everything had stopped.
The man with an umbrella halfway open, the woman running across the street with a paper bag suspended midair, the steam rising from a nearby food stall—each frozen in an unfinished story. Even the flickering neon sign that once buzzed over the convenience store had frozen mid-glow, light trapped halfway between color shifts.
Not even the wind dared to move.
A chill crawled down my spine. I should've run, screamed, something—but my legs felt rooted. My brain screamed move, but my body refused to obey.
"H–Hello?" My voice came out small, fragile, swallowed by the weight of silence.
No one blinked. No one breathed.
The sound of my own breathing grew too loud, uneven and desperate. I stepped back, the soft scrape of my sneakers against the road echoing unnaturally sharp, like it didn't belong here.
I turned—searching for any sign of life, anything that proved I hadn't slipped into some nightmare—but before I could take another step, I collided with something solid.
My shoulder hit first—firm, unyielding, and warm.
I stumbled back, eyes darting upward. My heart, already unsteady, lurched painfully in my chest.
It wasn't a wall.
He was tall, unnervingly still, his presence bending the silence around us. His long coat whispered faintly though the air itself wasn't moving, dark fabric shifting like it belonged to another reality. The faint light painted his skin an ivory shade, sharp against the void of his clothes.
Then there were his eyes..Red. Not bright or monstrous, but deep and glowing softly, like embers buried beneath ash. They looked through me, not at me, seeing something I didn't even know existed.
My lips parted, but no sound came out. I couldn't move, couldn't think. I could only feel—the burn of fear and the strange pull of something else.
Then he smiled.
A quiet, deliberate curve of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. There was no warmth in it—only knowledge. The kind that made my stomach twist.
The world held its breath as he spoke, voice smooth as silk but laced with something that scraped at my bones.
"Kushida Rikuya."
The way he said my name—slow, precise, like he'd known it long before I was born—made the air feel even heavier.
My voice barely rose above a whisper as I stepped back, my heart hammering in my chest.
"Who… who are you?" I asked, eyes darting around, desperate for anything familiar. I looked a mess—hair tangled, breath uneven—but he didn't seem to notice. Instead, a faint, unnerving smile played on his lips, like he found the chaos amusing.
"Kushida," he said, his voice smooth, almost soothing, yet every word sent a shiver down my spine. "I am Kurose. But… most people know me as Death."
It was said so plainly, so casually, as if he were telling me the time of day rather than the fate of all living things. And for a terrifying moment, the world felt smaller, quieter… like it had been holding its breath.
A small, nervous chuckle escaped my lips as I ran my hand through my hair.
"I'm dreaming… I must be dreaming," I whispered to myself, trying to grasp at some semblance of reality, my heart hammering in my chest.
"Laughing in the face of Death," he said, his voice calm, almost amused, "this is a new one."
With a snap of his fingers, a flicker of fire leapt from his palm. It twisted and curled like a living thing before solidifying into the shape of a scroll. The scroll hovered above his hand, slowly unrolling on its own, edges glowing with a faint, otherworldly light.
Symbols appeared along the parchment as if being written by an invisible hand—ancient, intricate, shifting like liquid fire. Tiny sparks floated off the scroll, drifting lazily in the air before vanishing, and a faint whispering echoed softly around me, like voices carried on the wind, unintelligible yet hauntingly familiar.
The firelight danced across his face, casting shadows that made his calm, red-tinged eyes seem infinitely deep. I couldn't look away. Every instinct screamed that this was impossible… and yet, there it was, tangible and undeniable, a fragment of something far beyond the world I knew.
He caught the floating scroll effortlessly, his fingers curling around it as if it weighed nothing at all. Slowly, deliberately, he held it up before my eyes.
His voice was calm, measured, carrying a weight that pressed against my chest as he began to read:
"Today… Kushida Rikuya, the day drawn in the ink of fate has come. The hourglass spills its last sands, and the threads of your life, woven by hands unseen, unravel with every heartbeat. No shield, no prayer, no fleeting hope can turn the tide. The sky shall witness, the earth shall tremble, and all that has been shall bow before what is inevitable. Your name echoes in the halls of eternity, whispered by the void itself… today, the balance is claimed, and you shall stand before the end, whether you will it or not."
I couldn't move. It was as if invisible hands had pinned me to the spot, forcing me to watch.
He lifted the black ring from his finger and tossed it into the air. It hovered, perfectly still, as though caught in a time loop. Slowly, deliberately, he traced intricate patterns with his fingers in midair—index, middle, and thumb weaving arcs and sigils that pulsed faintly with dark light. The ring responded, stretching outward, expanding into a wide, flawless black halo, like a miniature eclipse suspended before him.
He murmured under his breath, chanting words that vibrated in the very air, and with each syllable, glowing symbols appeared, floating and spinning in complex patterns, circling around the halo. The lines and glyphs interlocked, folding over each other, twisting into shapes that made no sense to my eyes but felt alive.
The air shimmered, bending like heat over a flame. For a fleeting heartbeat, I thought the symbols were forming a doorway—a gateway to the afterlife itself. Light and shadow twisted together inside it, whispering in tones I could almost understand, calling me by name.
He moved his hands in precise, flowing motions, guiding the halo and the symbols like a conductor leading an orchestra, and the gate responded instantly, stretching wider, its pull almost tangible. It wasn't just magic—it was authority, inevitability, like he was reshaping reality itself around me.
The scroll's flames flickered and twisted, casting shadows that seemed alive, writhing along the walls like restless spirits. My stomach churned, a cold dread curling around my spine, yet I couldn't look away. Every syllable felt like a verdict, a sacred pronouncement that existed beyond reason, beyond mercy, beyond escape.
I felt it before I saw it—my body being yanked forward, as if invisible hands had grabbed hold of me, dragging me toward the swirling darkness of the gate. My heart leapt into my throat.
"No… no!" I screamed, my voice cracking. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself to be swallowed by the shadowy void.
Death's voice cut through the roaring pull, calm yet filled with icy malice:
"Do not fight it, Kushida. Your time has come… and no one, can save you now."
The words sank into me like stones. Every instinct screamed to run, but my body kept moving forward, drawn closer to the black abyss.
Then—a sharp tug at my sweater jerked me backward. Someone—something—had pulled me out of the gate's pull. My chest heaved, and I opened my eyes to see a figure stepping forward.
He was impossibly bright, a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding Death. White robes flowed around him, and his hair shimmered like freshly fallen snow. In his hands, he held a halo of pure, radiant light, glowing so fiercely it hurt to look directly at it.
With a graceful motion, he brought the halo down, slicing cleanly through the black gate Death had so carefully formed. The swirling portal of shadows hissed and disintegrated into nothing, like smoke blown apart by the wind.
Death's black halo snapped back into his hand midair, spinning into position. His red-tinged eyes narrowed, muscles tensed, and he seemed ready, coiled like a predator.
"Ren," he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous.
"Kurose," the man in white replied, his tone calm, unwavering, yet carrying the weight of authority, like the universe itself was listening.
The air between them crackled, charged with an energy I could almost taste—a battle of inevitability versus defiance, darkness against light. I could feel it in my bones: this was no ordinary fight. The ground trembled beneath the force of their power, and I clutched my sweater tightly, my fingers digging into the fabric, powerless to intervene but utterly captivated by the spectacle unfolding before me.