The midday sun cast shifting shadows beneath the forest canopy. A warm wind stirred faintly as two fast-moving bodies tore through the trees.
They collided again and again, each impact sending shockwaves that uprooted entire trunks. Birds shrieked as their nests were torn apart, eggs shattering as they fell—but even still, the clash did not stop.
Then came a particularly violent exchange.
A wave of force burst outward, a gust so vicious it ripped smaller creatures from the branches they clung to for dear life.
And then—
it stopped.
As suddenly as it had begun, the chaos vanished, leaving behind a silence so complete it felt as though it had never existed.
The two stood facing each other on the grass, their breathing unsteady, sweat lining their brows.
He raised his claws to strike—
then stopped.
His expression shifted. His body stilled. His heart tightened as he felt it—the final ember of his brother's presence fading somewhere far away.
Gone.
What had he felt in those final moments? What had he been thinking? Were there regrets… words left unspoken?
These questions flooded Ryuji's mind, and with them came a wave of self-loathing.
He hated himself—for not asking those questions when he had the chance, for letting his younger brother's life slip through his fingers.
It felt unreal.
A group of brothers once seven strong, now reduced to two survivors in the span of mere months.
Was it worth it?
To throw their lives away on the whims of a father who despised them… all to hunt down a girl who shared their blood?
A series of flashes ran through his mind. With them, a tear rolled down his cheek—but instead of wiping it away, he bit his lip until a stream of blood flowed freely from it.
"They managed to take him down," Ichiro thought. "And here I was stressing over whether they were okay or not?"
With a smirk, he added, "Nice work."
He looked at Ryuji, who stood completely still, dead silent. Then he noticed something faintly glowing on his neck—at the same spot where he had been marked.
"I didn't think you had any reason to use your own technique on yourself," he said. "Or are you one of those suicidal types?"
His comment sparked a look of confusion in Ryuji—then it all clicked.
He reached up and felt the mark, pulsing beneath his fingers.
"Crown of Thorns," he said. "Did you think I was the only user of this technique?"
Ichiro didn't reply.
"Well, you're mistaken," he continued, "though there are not many users to speak of."
He paused, a vein bulging on his forehead.
"One of those users," he said, "is the King of Wolves himself—and he's the one who marked us."
Ichiro's eyebrow raised slightly.
"Surprising, I know," Ryuji said, his gaze lowering, "that a technique so minuscule in its application is also used by a monarch of the djinn."
"Of the seven djinn clans, the wolf clan is not outstanding in any particular way. Power belongs to the dragon, strength to the monkey, versatility to the fox and snake, superior senses to the white tiger, and brute force to the bull."
"The only thing we excel at is instinct. The rest is borrowed from the other clans. The same applies to the technique I use."
He stared at the glowing spikes that had replaced the claws on his fingers.
"The Crown of Thorns has many diverse uses, but I have only been able to barely master its combat application—proving my lack of skill and talent," he continued. "But even still, I will use the strength at my disposal to bring you down, no matter the cost."
He took a stance.
"So brace yourself!"
"I hope you didn't think I was going to go easy on you just because of what you said," Ichiro replied as he too eased into a stance. "I won't fall here because I made a promise to a broken girl whose home you trampled on and whose future you crippled."
"In memory of the lives you stole," he continued, "I will strike you down, here and now."
"How noble of you to claim the moral high ground," Ryuji replied, "but weren't you ever taught to never claim a higher virtue than your enemy—"
"—especially when it will result in a broken promise!"
They both charged, their intent clear in their expressions.
They struck at the same time, unbothered by defense—but as Ichiro swung his sword, he suddenly came to a stop.
Driven by instinct, Ryuji pulled back just in time, feeling the wind rise toward his chin, carried by the weight of the blade.
Ichiro reappeared, separate from his afterimage. He approached Ryuji, stopped again, then reappeared behind him.
He swung his sword, but Ryuji turned and parried just before impact. He pushed Ichiro back slightly and aimed for his wounded shoulder.
But when he struck, instead of feeling flesh tear, he felt nothing—only a strange sensation as his claws phased through.
He stepped back, but his footing gave way as he stepped into a small hole, throwing him off balance.
Ichiro appeared above him and swung for his neck, but Ryuji caught the incoming blade with his hands, now covered in a thick clot.
Even so, the sword pierced his palms, blood trickling down his sleeves.
"Where did this hole come from?" he thought, but quickly dismissed it as he broke free and put distance between them.
Ichiro walked toward him in a slow zigzag, leaving afterimages with every step—then suddenly hurled his sword at him.
The unexpected move caught Ryuji off guard, but he still managed to dodge, taking only a shallow cut across his cheek.
He turned just in time to see Ichiro charging straight at him.
The irrationality of the move threw him off.
"Why charge head-on if he already threw his sword?" he thought—
—which made his shock even greater when he saw Ichiro rushing him with the sword still in his hand.
Ryuji snapped his head back to where the blade should have landed—
but all he saw was a sharp stone, wedged into the grass.
He had no time to question what was happening as Ichiro struck him while he was caught off guard, slashing his shoulder.
The two jumped back, breathing heavily.
"What's going on with you?" Ichiro asked. "After so many strikes to your body, you're still standing. This goes beyond ordinary resilience."
Ryuji passed his hand over the tear and slowly moved to the mark on his neck that had now fully formed.
"Maintaining and continuously forming blood clots is not as easy as it looks," he said. "That's where this mark comes in."
"Like I told you, the Crown of Thorns goes beyond just paralysis," he continued. "With more precise use, it can numb pain and shock—one of the few advantages that comes with being a branded slave."
With a glare, he said, "So you can tear at me all you want—as long as I'm breathing, I won't stop."
"But can the same be said for you?"