The dust from the ceiling fell like grey snow, coating the shattered hallway in a ghostly shroud. Gale stood amidst the wreckage, his dark blade humming with a sinister, abyssal energy. He stared at the pile of boulders where Kojo Ren had been buried, a smug, cold smile playing on his lips.
"A pity," Gale whispered, sheath-clicking his blade halfway. "You had talent, swordsman. But talent without the abyss is just a flickering candle in a storm."
Suddenly, the pile of rocks shifted. A low, guttural growl emerged from the rubble—a sound that didn't seem human. A hand, slick with crimson and dust, punched through a slab of marble. Slowly, agonizingly, Kojo Ren stood up. His blue hair was matted with blood, and his clothes were little more than rags, but his eyes were burning with a terrifying intensity.
Gale froze, his smile vanishing. "Wha... I never thought you were this strong. To survive a direct hit from the abyss... you should be a corpse."
Kojo didn't offer a witty comeback. The time for talk had passed. He felt the weight of his two swords, Shin'en Meikō-ken and Tenko, but his soul felt incomplete. He reached for the third hilt—the blade he had sworn never to draw, the one that represented the blood-soaked legacy of his ancestors. He unsheathed it with a slow, metallic ring that seemed to vibrate through the very walls of the palace.
Then, he placed the cold steel between his teeth.
Gale's eyes widened. "Huh? You think you can defeat me with a circus trick? Adding a third blade won't save you from—"
"I hated them," Kojo's voice was muffled by the sword, yet it carried a weight that shook Gale's confidence. "I hated everyone. My ancestors who built this style on mountains of bodies. My parents who died for it. My grandpa who saw me as a disgrace. But standing here... looking at you... I think the Three-Sword Style is the only type that is suitable for ME!"
The air around Kojo began to swirl. A dark, predatory aura began to take the shape of a demon behind him.
"What are you talking about?!" Gale shrieked, his composure breaking. "I'm going to kill you right here! Abyssal Aura: Abyssal Hollow Strike!"
Gale charged, his sword trailing a wake of pure darkness that threatened to consume the hallway. It was an attack powerful enough to cleave a mountain in two. Gale's blade struck Kojo's crossed swords with the sound of a mountain shattering. The shockwave blew out every window in the corridor, but Kojo didn't move. He held the darkness back with sheer, raw willpower, his teeth gritting against the blade in his mouth. With a guttural roar, he repelled the attack, sending Gale stumbling back.
"How?!" Gale gasped, his lungs burning.
"Ashura: Dark Strike!"
In an instant, Kojo was gone. He reappeared as a blur of three silver lines. Gale barely managed to tilt his head; the blades missed his throat by an inch, leaving three deep gashes on the wall behind him that bled dark energy.
"That was close..." Gale hissed, sweat pouring down his face. "Now, my final move. I will finish you with this! Abyssal Aura: Abyssal Rush!"
Gale turned himself into a living projectile of shadow. Kojo dropped into a low crouch, his three blades forming a triangular silhouette against the flickering torchlight.
"Three-Sword Style: ONI GASHI!"
The two warriors collided in the center of the hall. The resulting explosion was so violent it felt like the heart of the Gilded Paradise had burst. Dust, smoke, and spiritual energy flooded the area, obscuring everything.
When the dust finally settled, the two men were standing twenty feet apart, facing away from each other. Silence reigned for five long seconds. Then, Gale let out a ragged cough. A fountain of blood erupted from his chest, three diagonal slashes appearing across his torso.
"How...?" Gale whispered, falling to one knee. "The abyss... was supposed to be... absolute."
"One more... Oni Gashi..." Kojo started to say, but he suddenly doubled over, coughing up a thick glob of blood. The cost of the style was tearing his body apart from the inside.
Suddenly, a new presence entered the hall. Kojo's instincts screamed. He spun around, his blades up, as a blur of obsidian light descended upon him. CLANG!
Vlad stood there, his hands still shaped like lethal blades. He looked bored, his eyes scanning the wounded Kojo.
"I was fighting with the Prince," Vlad said, flicking Lemon's blood off his fingers. "But he was too weak. He broke before the fun even started. So I came here... I suppose I need to defeat you too. Obsidian: Strike!"
Vlad's hand whipped forward like a guillotine. Kojo threw himself backward, the blade grazing his chest. He backed up, his breath coming in shallow gasps, facing both Gale and the fresh, deadly Vlad.
Kojo spit blood and readjusted the sword in his mouth. "Bring it on... both of you. A tiger doesn't care how many wolves are in the pack."
The Predator's Wrath
The scene shifts back to the throne room, where the air was thick with Zyrrex's mocking laughter.
"You thought you could defeat me?" Zyrrex taunted, standing over the wreckage. "Look at you, Ato. Crawling like a worm."
Ato was on his hands and knees, dragging his broken body toward the unmoving Faramis. Every inch was a struggle. His fingernails tore against the stone as he whispered his friend's name.
"F...a...r...a...m...is..."
"No, no," Zyrrex said, a sick delight in his eyes. "I'm going to kill him right in front of you. I want the last thing you see to be the failure of your dream. Abyssal: Needle!"
Zyrrex's central tentacle sharpened into a black harpoon, aimed directly at Faramis's heart. It launched with the speed of a bullet.
ZWOOP!
In a flash of golden and red light, Ato was no longer crawling. He appeared in front of Faramis, his hand outstretched. The sound of meat tearing echoed through the room—but it wasn't Ato's meat. Ato had caught the Abyssal Needle with his bare hand.
Zyrrex's eyes went wide. "What?!"
With a roar of pure, animalistic rage, Ato gripped the tentacle and yanked. He didn't use a technique. He used raw, terrifying strength. He ripped the massive limb straight out of Zyrrex's back.
Zyrrex screamed, a high-pitched, inhuman sound as black ichor sprayed the floor. He stumbled back, clutching his wound. "How did you get up?! Your bones were shattered! You took a hundred strikes!"
Ato stood tall, his shadow stretching across the room like a towering monster. His eyes were no longer gold; they were a dark, burning crimson, and his teeth had sharpened into fangs.
"Again..." Ato's voice was a low vibration that made the rubble on the floor dance. "Again, you tried to attack Faramis. You didn't learn the first time. So now... you are going to pay in blood."
The "Beast" had fully awakened, and for the first time in his life, Zyrrex realized he wasn't the hunter—he was the prey.