Tadashi knelt down and gripped Ichiro's shoulder. His hand was rough, but the touch was steady, grounding.
Tadashi: "You're alive. Thank the ancestors."
Ichiro coughed again, trying to sit up. His body ached, but adrenaline forced him to move. He looked at Yuna and Rina—his sisters—alive, trembling, but safe behind Tadashi. Relief hit him so hard it hurt.
Ichiro: "They're safe… Thank the heavens… Mother?"
Tadashi's expression darkened. The reflection of the flames glimmered in his eyes.
Tadashi: "Safe for now. But the city…"
He looked past Ichiro, toward the horizon. The palace burned brighter than anything else, columns of white and gold light twisting into the clouds—two monsters, their power distorting the very air.
Tadashi's voice dropped low.
Tadashi: "Two of them came from the sky. Soul Reapers. They struck down the Guard like children. Your father went to meet them head-on."
Ichiro froze. His heart stopped for a moment.
Ichiro (whispering): "…Father?"
Tadashi's silence said everything.
The old warrior's hand rested on Ichiro's shoulder again, heavy with truth.
Tadashi: "He fought with honor. He bought us time. The Taketa name stands because of him."
Ichiro's jaw clenched. His breath hitched. The tears he'd held back for hours finally broke free, hot and relentless.
He bowed his head, his hair falling over his face.
Ichiro (hoarse): "…He died… protecting us?"
Tadashi nodded once.
Tadashi: "And the Shogun still fights. The city isn't lost yet, but if he falls… Kagetsu itself will burn."
Ichiro's hands trembled. He looked at his father's broken sword—the steel still warm, half melted from battle. He held it close to his chest.
Ichiro: "…He was everything I wanted to be. I wasn't even here to fight beside him."
Tadashi's voice grew stern, the way it had when Ichiro was a child training under him.
Tadashi: "Then make it count now."
Ichiro looked up, his eyes wide through the tears.
Tadashi: "Your father's death doesn't end the Taketa line—it passes it on. As of this moment, Ichiro Taketa, you are the new head of the Taketa Clan."
The words struck him like lightning.
Ichiro (stammering): "…Me? No, I—I'm not ready—"
Tadashi: "No one ever is. Not until the fire touches their skin."
He turned toward the burning palace, the firelight dancing on his armor.
Tadashi: "You carry your father's blood, Ichiro. You carry his pride. The sword you hold isn't broken—it's only waiting for your will to reshape it."
Ichiro looked down at the weapon. The reflection of the flames danced along the edge of the fractured steel. He saw himself—not as a boy, but as a warrior born of tragedy.
He wiped the tears from his face and stood. His legs shook, but his spirit didn't.
Ichiro: "Where are the Soul Reapers now?"
Tadashi: "At the Shogun's palace. They've leveled the northern quarter. They're monsters, not men. The Shogun still stands, but for how long, I can't say."
Ichiro's eyes hardened. His sorrow burned into resolve.
Ichiro: "Then I'll fight them."
Yuna's voice trembled.
Yuna: "Brother, no! You can't!"
Rina clutched her sister's hand, crying.
Rina: "You'll die too…"
Ichiro turned to them and smiled softly—a tired, broken smile, but one full of warmth.
Ichiro: "I have to. Father died protecting this city. I can't let his sacrifice mean nothing."
Tadashi gave a small nod of approval.
Tadashi: "Then go. But remember—vengeance without honor is just another kind of death."
Ichiro sheathed the broken sword at his side. The symbol of the Taketa flared faintly on his back—a dying ember reigniting.
Ichiro (firmly): "I will fight in his name. And for Kagetsu. For our clan."
Tadashi placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly.
Tadashi: "Then fight, young master. And make the heavens watch."
Ichiro turned toward the palace, the flames reflecting in his eyes. Each step he took left a trail of burning resolve.
As he disappeared into the smoke, Yuna and Rina clung to Tadashi. The old warrior looked after Ichiro, pride and fear warring in his heart.
Tadashi (quietly, to himself): "Don't die, boy. Not before you make them remember what a Taketa stands for."
The wind shifted. The fires roared higher.
And in the distance, the earth trembled beneath the clash of monsters—the storm of ruin tearing through the capital.
Ichiro marched straight toward it.
The screams were gone now—only the wind spoke.
It howled through the ruins like a mourning ghost, carrying whispers that almost sounded like names.
Ichiro ran. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his lungs burning. His hands still clutched the half-broken sword—his father's sword. The smell of smoke and blood clung to him like a second skin.
And yet… as he sprinted toward the Shogun's Palace, he began to hear something else.
Faint. Soft. Familiar.
A voice.
???: "Ichiro…"
He slowed. The flames flickered strangely, almost bending toward him.
Then—another voice.
???: "Train harder, my son."
He froze. That voice.
It was his father's.
Ichiro turned sharply, scanning the burning street—but no one was there. Only a shadow cast against the walls.
He took a step forward—and the shadow moved on its own.
Then, another voice joined it.
???: "Master Ichiro, look! I finally nailed the technique!"
He turned.
That was one of the Taketa clan students—one of the young men he had trained with.
Except his body was gone. The voice came from nowhere.
More voices followed, echoing like a chorus.
Everywhere around him, phantom figures appeared within the smoke faces he knew—warriors, servants, mentors—people who had once filled the halls of the Taketa manor.
Now, they were all dead.
Ichiro's breath quickened. His vision blurred as tears and smoke mixed.
Ichiro (whispering): "…Stop… please, stop."
The flames pulsed.
The air thickened.
And suddenly—all the shadows turned toward him.
Their mouths opened as one, releasing a hollow wail.
And from the blade in his hand—something began to move.
A dark aura seeped from the broken steel, like black mist crawling through his fingers. It twisted up his arm, coiling around his skin like chains.
Ichiro dropped the sword in panic, but the aura clung tighter, forcing itself into his veins.
He gasped, stumbling backward. His body trembled, vision shaking.
Ichiro: "What is this!?"
The world darkened.
The city, the fire, the ash—all vanished in a heartbeat.
Ichiro stood in darkness.
No sky. No ground.
Only the faint reflection of himself standing on endless black water.
Ichiro looked around—but nothing was there.
Only his father's broken sword—which floated before him, glowing faintly. Its reflection rippled beneath it like blood.
Ichiro (echoes): "Hello?"
The sound of his voice echoed through the seemingly infinitely large darkness, but nothing answered back.
And then—something moved within the reflection.
A shape.
A shadow.
It rose slowly, emerging from the water like ink poured into the air—forming into a tall, formless silhouette. Its edges bled smoke, its voice a thousand whispers at once.
???: "The… blade… remembers…"
Ichiro stumbled backward, his heart pounding.
Ichiro: "Who are you?"
The shadow tilted its head. Its eyes—if they were eyes—glowed faintly red.
???: "…I am the weight… of every strike… every vow… every sin your bloodline has buried."
Ichiro: "The curse of the Taketa blade…"
It didn't answer—only stepped closer. Its shape flickered, and for a moment, Ichiro saw his father's outline within it. Then Tadashi's. Then countless Taketa warriors through time.
All consumed. All part of it.
Ichiro's voice trembled.
Ichiro: "You're… what binds us to our pride. To our deaths."
The curse's hand reached out, brushing across his chest. His heart stung as black veins spread beneath his skin.
???: "Your father's will… forged me… Your grief… sharpened me… Will you wield me… Or let me devour you?"
Ichiro clenched his fists. His fear burned away, replaced by defiance.
Ichiro: "If this curse is part of my clan, then it's part of me too. I won't let you control me."
The shadow tilted its head again. For a brief second, it almost smiled.
???: "Then bleed, Ichiro Taketa… and become whole."
The shadow plunged into his chest.
Ichiro gasped as black fire burst across his body. Symbols—ancient markings—flared along his skin, searing with pain and power. His body convulsed as the curse fused into his soul.
The darkness shattered.
Ichiro's eyes snapped open.
He was kneeling in the middle of a burning street.
The air shimmered with heat, the fires trembling in rhythm with his pulse.
He looked down—and gasped.
The sword.
It was no longer broken.
The once-dulled steel now glowed with a faint, blood-red edge, pulsing like a heartbeat. The handle was wrapped in charred black cloth, the blade whispering faintly as if alive.
When Ichiro gripped it, the aura of the curse hummed through him—heavy and powerful.
Ichiro (quietly): "…Father…"
The world around him blurred into clarity. He could feel everything—the faintest tremor in the air, the weight of footsteps miles away, and the pull of blood and flame.
And one presence stood above all others.
Immense and unshakable.
The aura of a Soul Reaper.
He walked forward. The streets grew quieter as he approached the Shogun's Palace. The closer he got, the more bodies he saw—guards, Taketa warriors, monks—all fallen, their armor melted, their faces pale.
When he finally reached the courtyard, the fires dimmed as if bowing to the figure sitting at its center.
Goliath.
The massive Soul Reaper sat casually on a mound of corpses; his monstrous frame wrapped in shadows. His arms rested on his knees, his eyes like cold suns. Blood and soot streaked his clothes.
He was humming softly, as though amused by his own destruction.
Ichiro froze, rage flaring in his chest like a second heartbeat.
Goliath turned his head slightly, noticing the boy.
A grin spread across his face.
Goliath: "Huh. Another survivor. And a little samurai at that."
Ichiro raised his blade. The aura flared to life, wind whipping around him.
Ichiro (quietly, shaking): "You killed my father."
Goliath stood, towering like a mountain.
Goliath: "Then you'll have the honor of dying next to him."
Ichiro's eyes burned crimson. The curse whispered in his ear, ancient and hungry.
He stepped forward.
Ichiro: "Then let this be the day the Taketa name carves itself into your soul."
The wind screamed.
Their auras collided.
And the ground split beneath their feet.