The two figures moved like lightning one from the left, one from the right. Their swords met in the middle with a loud CLANG that echoed through the empty courtyard.
"Look around you" the older man shouted, his voice shaking. His gray hair was messy, and sweat dripped down his face. "You're killing your own flesh and blood,All for what?"
The younger figure's hands trembled as he pushed back against the blade. Their eyes met separated by steel and something darker. Something that couldn't be taken back.
"I'm sorry, Father," the younger man whispered. His voice cracked. "But this is my duty."
And then He let go and moved backwards ,His sword clattered to the ground, bouncing twice before going still in a puddle of rainwater. He stretched out his right hand, palm facing forward. The air around his fingers turned cold and dark, like someone had opened a door to nowhere.
Black smoke poured from his hand, twisting and hardening into a long, wicked blade that seemed to drink in the light around it.
"Geninhom Blade," he muttered.
The older man's eyes went wide. "No… you didn't"
The younger figure vanished.One second he was standing ten feet away. The next second, the black blade was buried deep in the older man's stomach.
The old man gasped. His own sword fell from his hand. He looked down at the blade sticking through him, then up at his son's face searching for something, anything that looked like the boy he'd raised.
The face staring back was blank.
"I'm sorry," the voice said again, and pulled the blade free.
The father crumpled to the ground.
BANG
A door slammed open at the far end of the courtyard. Footsteps running, desperate.
"Father?!" He called out
A young boy burst through the doorway. He couldn't have been more than eight years old. His eyes went from his father's body to the corpses scattered across the ground aunts, uncles, cousins. All of them dead.
"FATHERRRRRRR!"
The boy's scream tore through the night. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, sliding to his knees beside his father's body. He grabbed the old man's hand, shaking it.
"Stay with me! Dad, please! Stay with me!"
His father's chest rose once. Twice. Then stopped.
The boy looked up, tears streaming down his face. The figure with the black blade was gone. Vanished into the darkness like he'd never been there at all.
All that remained was blood and bodies and a little boy who'd just lost everything.
Fifteen years later.
Draven stood at the gate of his family's old compound. The place was abandoned now just ruins and ghosts. Weeds had grown through the cracks in the stone walkway. The wooden doors hung crooked on broken hinges. Nobody had lived here in years.
He closed his eyes.The memories never left. They played in his head every single day like a movie he couldn't turn off. His father's face. The blood. That empty stare.
Draven opened his eyes. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He was older now. Tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair that fell over his eyes. A little scar that wasn't very visible ran down his left cheek a reminder of the years he'd spent training, preparing, waiting for this moment.
"I'm finally old enough," he said to no one. His voice was low and hard. "The Hunter Tournament starts today. I'll climb the ranks. I'll get stronger."
He turned away from the gate, his black coat flowing behind him in the morning breeze.
"And when I'm ready, I'll find you, brother."
His boots crunched against the gravel as he walked down the path, away from the ruins of his past.
"And when I do, you'll die by my own hands."
Meanwhile, across the city of Tokyo.
"Grandma! Breakfast is ready"
Sebi carried a bowl of hot miso soup across the tiny kitchen, being extra careful not to spill a single drop. The morning sun poured through the window, making the steam from the soup shine like gold.
His grandmother sat at the small table, her wrinkled hands folded in her lap. She wore her favorite purple cardigan the one with the missing button that she refused to let Sebi fix. She smiled when she saw him coming. That warm smile that made everything feel okay, even when it wasn't.
"You didn't have to make this, sweetheart," she said softly.
"I wanted to." Sebi set the bowl down in front of her with both hands, like it was something precious. "It's your favorite, right? Tofu, seaweed, and extra green onions. Just the way you like it."
She picked up the spoon with shaky fingers and took a sip. Her eyes closed. "Perfect."
Sebi grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. He'd been practicing that recipe for weeks, and every time he got it wrong, she'd smile anyway and eat the whole bowl. But today today it was actually good.
Today was the biggest day of his life the Hunter Tournament.
Every year, people from all over Tokyo gathered at the Giant Stadium to compete for a chance to become official Hunters. The strongest fighters, the bravest warriors, the ones with special abilities that could summon fire or bend metal or move faster than the eye could see… they all showed up.
And this year, Sebi was finally old enough to enter.
He wasn't the strongest. He definitely wasn't the fastest. He didn't have a powerful family name or a legendary sword passed down through generations. He didn't even have parents they'd died when he was three, and he barely remembered their faces.
But he had heart. He had his grandmother. And he had a promise to keep.
"Grandma," Sebi said, watching her finish the last spoonful. She set the bowl down gently and looked at him with those eyes that always seemed to see right through him. "I need to head out soon."
"I know, sweetheart." She reached across the table and took his hand. Her skin was paper-thin and covered in age spots, but her grip was still firm. "You've been talking about this tournament for months."
Sebi swallowed hard. "If I can become a Hunter, everything changes. We won't have to worry about money anymore. You can finally get that surgery you need. We can move out of this tiny apartment. We can"
"Sebi." Her voice was gentle but it stopped him cold. "I don't need any of that. I just need you to come home safe."
He felt his throat tighten. "I will. I promise."
She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "The tournament isn't a game. People get hurt. Some don't come back."
"I know." He squeezed her hand. "But I have to try. For us. For our future."
She pulled him close and kissed his forehead, the way she'd done since he was little. "Then go. Show them what you're made of."
Sebi grabbed his worn out backpack from the chair. The zipper was broken, and one of the straps was held together with duct tape, but it still worked. Inside was a water bottle, some bandages, and a photo of his parents that he always carried for good luck.
"Wish me luck?" he asked.
"I wish you strength," she said, her voice firm. "Luck runs out. Strength doesn't."
Those words hit him right in the chest. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, then rushed to grab his rusty old bicycle from the hallway.
Sebi pedaled as fast as he could, weaving between cars and jumping over curbs. His legs pumped up and down like pistons. His heart pounded not from fear, but from pure excitement mixed with terror.
A delivery truck honked loud as it swerved around him. Sebi jerked the handlebars hard to the right, nearly crashing into a lamppost.
"Sorry!" he yelled over his shoulder, laughing despite almost dying.
Up ahead, the Giant Stadium rose into the sky like a mountain. Thousands of people were flooding toward the entrance.
Sebi skidded to a stop outside the gates. He locked his bike and stared up at the massive building.
This was it.He took a deep breath and stepped into the crowd.Somewhere nearby, Draven was walking too silent, focused, Two boys. Two paths. One tournament.And neither knew their lives were about to collide forever.