Arriving at the venue, they slipped through the narrow, crowded alleys of Kabukichō. The neon lights burst into a thousand colors, painting the facades of the bars and clubs in an almost surreal atmosphere. The drunken chants, the booming laughter, and the flirtatious calls of the hostesses perfectly masked their presence. The city, in its nocturnal carefreeness, was completely unaware that something much darker was brewing within its bowels.
Miya, her gaze piercing beneath her hood, led the way, discreetly avoiding overly curious passersby. Daru, meanwhile, kept his hand close to his coat where his weapon rested, ready for any eventuality. Maki, who perfectly played the role of an elegant woman leaving the clubs, attracted less suspicion than the others, her worldly appearance blending into the background. Suka moved forward with cold determination, his eyes scanning the signs as if he were already looking for a loophole, a hidden entrance leading to the hangar. Yamero, further back, observed every detail: the security patrols, the regulars, and even the faces that recurred too often in the crowd.
The group slipped between the passersby, occasionally crossing sidewalks, taking advantage of the shadows no longer illuminated by the tired streetlights. The closer they got to the hangar, the more subtly the atmosphere changed: the joyful shouts of the bars faded, replaced by a heavy silence and a few suspicious silhouettes that seemed to be watching over the place. Kabukichō, behind his festive mask, revealed his true face: that of a neighborhood where darkness and crime dictated their laws.
Arriving not far from the hangar, they slowed their pace, each one seriously resuming their role. The party was behind them. Now there was only the mission.
Suddenly, they were surrounded by several local mafia men. Their heavy footsteps echoed on the wet asphalt, their weapons aimed with icy confidence. Suka and his team immediately felt the pressure rise, as if the air itself had thickened around them.
One of the men, with a predatory grin, stepped forward. He wore a long dark coat and a lit cigarette dangled casually between his lips.
Fuzuki (calm, almost mocking): Good evening, humble citizens... What are you doing in these areas so late at night?
Miya frowned, looking proud. Yet she could feel the coldness of death in the mafia's gaze.
Miya (defiantly): ...What's that to you?
A heavy silence followed, broken by the sharp click of a magazine being loaded. One of Fuzuki's subordinates raised his weapon, ready to fire.
But Fuzuki, raising his hand with icy nonchalance, intervened.
Fuzuki (amused, his eyes shining with an unhealthy gleam): Such a pretty girl... with so much nerve? Hmmm... You'd be a perfect choice for our boss. I'm sure he'd love to tame a little tigress like you.
Suka, on the other hand, clenched his fists, his jaw set. Every word Fuzuki said sounded like a direct provocation. His eyes flashed, but he knew that too sudden a move would mean the end of his team.
Fuzuki whirled around, his coat fluttering in the air. He didn't need to say more for his men to understand.
Fuzuki (in a loud, authoritative, almost sing-song voice): Kill them all... And bring me the two girls.
A cruel smile stretched his lips as he slowly walked away, as if the coming massacre were merely entertainment.
The mobsters took a step forward, the smell of gunpowder and danger lingering in the air.
The roar of bullets echoed throughout the alleyway, sparks flew from the walls, and the air was filled with the smell of gunpowder. Screams mingled with the detonations, utter chaos.
Yamero, unperturbed in the midst of the storm, took a step that resounded like a clap of thunder. His body propelled forward with inhuman speed, and in a single breath, he snatched the weapon from a mobster's hands, immediately turning it on himself. The cold barrel pierced his torso, and a gasp of agony escaped the man, who collapsed without understanding.
Without missing a beat, Yamero spun around, his eyes shining with an icy glow. Shots crackled from side to side, but his body danced with an almost unreal precision. Each bullet aimed at him seemed to brush against his shadow without ever touching him. Two more blasts flew, but instead of dodging them, Yamero simply held out his hands. Snap. His fingers closed around the whistling bullets, halting their deadly course.
A thin smile played on his face.
"Too slow..."
With his fingertips, he released the projectiles with a simple flick, sending them slicing through the air like razor blades. The two bullets flew back at lightning speed and lodged in the flesh of their owners. One collapsed, his chest pierced, the other didn't even have time to cry out: the bullet pierced his skull, and he collapsed like a puppet cut from its strings.
Suka, his gaze impassive and cold, stretched out his hand toward the ground. A dark fissure appeared beneath his feet, and from this breach sprang a black wolf, as tall as a man, its mouth foaming and its eyes gleaming with scarlet. The beast, driven by pure rage, pounced on the mafiosi without delay. Its sharp fangs tore through flesh and bone, ripping off limbs with heart-rending howls. Each victim sank into abominable agony, before being swallowed by the creature's hungry maw, which feasted on their bodies like a cursed feast.
With a fluid movement, Suka summoned a bow with strangely elegant lines, forged of shadow and flickering light. He released an arrow whose tip radiated a soporific mist. When he fired the first shot, the arrow sliced through the air with a high-pitched whine, piercing enemy bullets as if they were nothing more than fragile glass. In an instant, he summoned dozens of these projectiles, each following an inevitable trajectory, dodging obstacles as if guided by a will of its own.
The arrows lodged in the mafia members' flesh, and with each impact, their bodies grew heavier. Screams choked in their throats, their weapons slipped from their grasp, and they abruptly fell into a deep sleep, falling one after the other like puppets with severed strings.
Daru, for his part, contented himself with a simple snap of his fingers. Several soldiers immediately collapsed, decapitated, their heads rolling to the ground before blood could flow. His power, called "Head Out," was terrifying in its precision. It amplified the vibrations contained in his palms, sharpening them until they were thinner and sharper than any blade forged by man.
But the true horror of this ability lay elsewhere: Daru abolished distance. By eliminating the space between himself and his target, the attack didn't need to travel a single path—it arrived directly where he wanted it, without warning or escape. Thus, even an opponent protected behind armor, a wall, or an entire battalion could not hope to escape him.
Each snap resounded like a death knell. Soldiers saw their flesh slashed, their armor split, their organs lacerated without understanding how. Their screams mingled with a heavy silence, for Daru didn't need to lift another finger: he could tear apart an entire battlefield with the same ease as shattering a piece of fragile glass.
And when he closed his palms as if crushing invisible prey, the bodies of the remaining mafiosi were sheared from the inside out, as if the very air had turned into a blade.
Miya summoned her sword in a fluid motion. The blade shot out like a natural extension of her arm. Her movements were so swift that even standing still, she managed to slice the mobsters into a thousand pieces, their bodies falling to the ground in an almost unreal silence before blood gushed forth.
Without taking a breath, Miya raised her right hand in a pistol-like gesture. Her gaze became sharp, an icy glint in her eyes. A bolt of lightning shot from her fingers, ripping through the mobsters one after the other like a blazing trail. The flashes of lightning followed one another, echoing in the air, and each enemy collapsed, paralyzed or badly burned, permanently incapacitated.
In a few moments, it was all over. Silence fell again, heavy, oppressive. But when they turned around, Fuzuki had disappeared. Taking advantage of the chaos, he had fled.
"Shit..." Suka fumed.
They wasted no time and got back on the road. After about thirty minutes of brisk walking, the group finally arrived at the hangar. Despite the late hour—it was already 12:51—there was unusual military activity. Armed soldiers stood guard, positioned in a circle like an impenetrable barrier, while searchlights cut through the darkness. Their footsteps echoed on the metal floor, reminding us that this place was not just a hiding place, but a fortress.
Suka frowned.
"Where's Rea? She's late; we were supposed to launch the assault together."
Daru gripped his weapon and replied curtly, "Obviously, she's not here. And we're not going to wait for her either."
Yamero gave a dark, almost predatory smile.
"Indeed. Let's launch the assault right away." She'll come and admire our carnage later, when it's all over.
They advanced without hesitation, revealing themselves in the harsh glare of the searchlights. Immediately, several soldiers raised their weapons, shouting orders, their barrels trained on them. The air vibrated with tension, every second ready to explode in violence.
But suddenly, a clear voice cut through the air:
"No need to shoot, at least not yet."
The soldiers guarding the hangar immediately lowered their weapons, as if an invisible force had ordered them to stop. The atmosphere changed abruptly. Suka's team exchanged a look of suspicion.
Rea stepped forward, surrounded by what appeared to be her entire team, each perfectly aligned, their eyes strangely blank.
Miya, frowning, asked in a tense voice, "Uh... can you explain what's going on, Rea?"
Yamero, more distant, looked around, his senses on alert.
"It seems we've just walked into a trap..."
Suddenly, an elegant figure emerged from the shadows. The spotlight made her cruel face shine. It was Griselda. She stood proudly, her haughty smile piercing the tension.
"Of course," she said in an icy voice, "I concocted this trap especially for you. Well done, Momoshi."
At that, Rea abruptly changed appearance. Her body deformed, her skin turned a darker brown, her features reshaped, revealing another person dressed in a military uniform. A mocking laugh accompanied the metamorphosis.
Suka took a step forward, her face twisted with rage.
"What have you done with Rea and her team, Griselda?"
The woman crossed her arms, savoring the pain she was inflicting.
"I put Rea out of her misery. As for her team… all I had to do was plunge their minds into darkness. From now on, they belong to me. They obey every word of my command. Momoshi, on the other hand, is one of our most successful prototypes." When I killed Rea, he transformed into her and led you here like common puppets.
Yamero's fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His eyes flashed with hatred, but he contained his rage, waiting for the right moment.
Griselda continued, her tone even more venomous:
"Certainly, I did bring you to one of our production centers. But a strategy never advances without sacrifice. A few missing pawns are just a detail..."
A mad laugh erupted from her lips, echoing throughout the hangar like a macabre symphony.
At that precise moment, the heavy hangar doors creaked open with a metallic crash. A sea of figures emerged. But very quickly, they lost all human appearance. Their bodies distorted, cracking and screaming in an inhuman cacophony. Some spread membranous wings, others twisted into giant, scaly serpents. Screams and growls filled the air, announcing the horror of Griselda's plan.
"As you can see," she said with treacherous relish, "our plan is beginning to bear fruit. And your pathetic plan to thwart it... ends today."
She moved slightly closer, her eyes shining with a dark glow.
"A little secret, since you'll take it to your graves: I hold the relic of the Heart of Shadow."
Her lips stretched into a cruel smile.
"With that... kill them all."
And in a dark gust of wind, Griselda disappeared, leaving behind the howls of the hideous creatures already rushing towards Suka and his companions.