---
The sound of footsteps on rubble broke the silence left in the wake of spilled blood.
From the edge of the chaos, Lex stepped into the center, golden mask in hand, and a smirk curved on his lips like a scythe waiting to fall.
"Welcome, honored guests," he said, his voice smooth, condescending—yet laced with something raw beneath.
Bruce's breath caught in his throat. His fists clenched.
Lex tilted his head as if savoring the moment. "Now that everyone's finally arrived…" He tossed the mask into the air and crushed it under his heel. "Let the madness begin."
As if on cue, the ground trembled underfoot. Sparks flared in the distance. Smoke curled upward like a veil rising for a performance long overdue.
Then came the call—low, deliberate.
"Shackled Dawn," Lex intoned, his voice sharp enough to split the air. "Assemble."
From the depths of the ruined hall emerged six figures, silhouettes taking shape one by one.
Ajax. Sinclair. Sato. Naoya. Hana. Kana.
They didn't need introductions—their presence said enough. They were killers, remnants of a legend that refused to die.
Lex clicked his tongue, amused. "You're all that remains? Tch… what a shame."
From the crowd of defenders, Takahashi stepped forward, eyes fierce.
"And what do you expect to achieve with those numbers?" he asked coldly.
Lex grinned, eyes twinkling with cruel excitement. "You speak as if numbers were the key. But you've forgotten—there are traitors among you."
The tension thickened like a noose tightening. Faces shifted. Unease spread.
Takahashi's voice cut through it.
"All units—grab your children. Move the heirs to safety. The patriarch and his right hand will remain with me."
Bruce blinked, caught off guard. "The patriarch is…?"
A gentle pat on his back snapped him from his daze. Narberal stood beside him, voice soft.
"He means you, Bruce."
The moment the words landed, a hundred eyes turned toward him. Not with suspicion—but with trust.
Expectation.
Faith.
Takahashi took a step back, nodding once.
"We of the Takahashi clan do not follow bloodlines. We follow strength. So show us, Bruce—are you the man who'll lead us forward?"
Bruce froze.
He could feel the weight of it—all of it—on his shoulders.
And then, without warning, another voice rose—stronger, deeper, without room for hesitation.
"Enough," Yamashiro said.
The field fell into silence again.
Yamashiro didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
His words were law.
"Okamoto. Hoshikawa. Takahashi. Kozuki—form the vanguard. We divide now."
He turned his eyes to each without pause.
"Takahashi. Take the tall one acting clever.
Kozuki. The two exchanged butlers are yours.
I'll handle Tokima myself.
Narberal—take care of the girls.
Okamoto. Secure the white-haired anomaly.
Hoshikawa. The children are under your protection."
He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice dropping like the hammer of judgment.
"And as for the traitor… leave them to me."
Not a second passed before they all moved.
Blurs of motion. Blades drawn. Shields raised.
Orders carried like thunder and met with a storm of action.
Bruce stood there, heart pounding, as warriors surrounded him—men and women who had seen a hundred battles and still looked to him for direction.
He stared at his hands.
"I… couldn't do anything…"
But the time for hesitation had long passed.
The stage was set.
The true battle had just begun.
---
"Everyone, make sure to keep the heir alive!" Lex's voice boomed like a curse over the battlefield, reverberating with such weight that even the trembling walls seemed to still in obedience.
"YES, SIR!"
The remaining members of Shackled Dawn roared in unison, their voices fueled by fervor and fanaticism.
Lex adjusted his gloves with a calm smirk. "We already possess the Bleeding Keys. All that remains is finding the secret chamber where the Judgement Chain rests."
But then, heat — actual molten heat — swept the floor as Takahashi stepped forward.
"Drip... hiss... crackle..."
Each step melted the ground beneath him into bubbling magma. The veins across his neck glowed an ominous red, spreading like cracks in volcanic rock. His skin shimmered with liquid fire, muscles pulsating as his molten form fully awakened.
Kaede's voice cracked, desperate.
"Dad! Let me fight with you!"
Takahashi turned, half his face aflame, eyes glowing like twin suns.
"You're still far too weak," he said, his voice layered with heat. "But watch closely... as your father leads us to complete victory."
Lex's eyes gleamed as he gave a dry chuckle. "You're cocky."
With a snap, seven executioners appeared in the air like reapers of death, their scythes materializing with shrill screeches of iron against bone.
"Seven?" Takahashi grinned. "You're quite impressive... summoning seven at your age."
Lex chuckled. "I am a genius."
A second snap — and suddenly, the executioners vanished, only to reappear, their death scythes poised precisely around Takahashi's neck.
But Takahashi didn't flinch.
In a fluid spin-kick, he opened the air itself. Time lagged behind him. Lava trailed from his legs like whips of fire. With a fiery leap, he landed squarely on the shoulders of one executioner, then launched himself — one after another — fists blazing with hellfire.
Crack! Boom! Burn!
Each punch reduced an executioner to ash, their scythes melting mid-air like sugar under acid rain.
"Quantity," he growled, fists smoldering, "doesn't exactly mean quality."
Lex clicked his tongue in frustration, expression twisted with rage. With a furious swipe, he whisked off his long coat, casting it into the wind like discarded honor.
"You'll regret that."
He launched himself like a missile, cutting through the air, fist cocked and aimed straight for Takahashi's face — a meteor fueled by vengeance.
Meanwhile—
Narberal walked calmly through the battlefield, the storm and smoke parting around her as if unwilling to touch her presence. Her hair fluttered, untouched by the chaos, eyes fixated on two young figures standing in her path.
Kana and Hana.
"So," Narberal asked softly, eyes unreadable, "who's coming at me first?"
Kana lowered her head, fists trembling.
"I'm sorry for making you do this, sis..."
Hana smiled gently. "It's okay. Don't worry."
They turned toward each other, and in one synchronized movement, held hands.
"Merge."
Light burst outward. Their forms folded into one another like threads being rewoven into a new, singular tapestry.
From the blinding aura stepped Kanae — taller, leaner, and charged with elegant, compressed power. Her eyes burned with both sisters' wills as one.
Narberal tilted her head.
"Before we begin," she said, unsheathing her blade with a whispering shing, "I'll have you know... I've never lost a battle."
Kanae clenched her fists, knuckles cracking like ice breaking. "Then you're about to have your first."
---
Yamashiro's gaze drifted across the battlefield, eyes narrowing as power flickered at his fingertips like static waiting to burst.
"Looks like things are getting started over there…" he muttered, his coat fluttering in the breeze. "So then—shouldn't we, too, begin... young Tokima?"
Naoya didn't flinch. His voice came low, dry, and hollow.
"I've long forgotten that name."
Yamashiro's lips curled faintly—not quite a smile, more like amusement soaked in condescension.
"Have you?"
"How convenient. Forgotten the name... but not the power. You draw from it every single day. Or have you deluded yourself into thinking you've become someone new?"
A faint tremor ran along Naoya's knuckles. He didn't respond.
"There was once a bastard child," Yamashiro continued, his tone like a needle slipping into skin, "born into a house so vast, its shadow stretched across nations. A child promised glory—only to be denied the right to even exist."
Naoya scoffed, eyes narrowing.
"And what would you know about it?"
Yamashiro took a step forward. The ground beneath his heel cracked with the weight of intent.
"I know enough."
"I know that bastard child was supposed to inherit everything. But instead, he was discarded like defective merchandise. Banished by the very man who gave him life."
Naoya's heartbeat spiked—but only for a second.
"Tch… you talk like you were there."
Yamashiro's grin sharpened.
"Whether I was or wasn't doesn't matter.
What matters is this—"
"You can lie to everyone else. But you can't lie to your blood."
Yamashiro strolled in slow, circling steps, arms tucked into the oversized sleeves of his traditional dark kimono. His voice echoed with calm disdain.
"The Tokima," he began, "a noble family wielding the hereditary gift of teleportation—proud, powerful, prestigious. Their current head, Tokima Masanori, has eight wives… yet only his first—and most beautiful—gave him a child: Hinata Tokima. Your elder sister."
Naoya said nothing. His gaze sharpened.
Yamashiro gave a brief smirk, pacing behind him like a shadow.
"But Masanori was never satisfied. Power and pride breed greed. He continued sleeping with countless women outside the estate. Eventually… a child was dropped at his gate. A nameless boy. Silent. Frail. But he could teleport."
He paused, deliberately.
"Masanori was ecstatic. He took the boy in immediately. Named him his heir. Yes... you, Young Tokima."
Naoya's fists clenched slightly at his sides.
"It went well… until it didn't." Yamashiro's tone grew cold. "A new heir was born. This one looked exactly like Masanori. His son in both blood and bone. You… well, you didn't. And just like that, the tension began."
He stopped in front of Naoya, his voice a whisper now.
"Your only ally was your grandfather. The man who swore nothing would happen to you. But as they say—"
Yamashiro paused, then corrected himself with a sardonic smile.
"No, not 'nothing good lasts forever'... More like: The strong inherit, the weak vanish."
"He died two years later. You were seven. The real son was four."
Tsubaki flinched slightly.
"The youngest didn't have teleportation, no… he had something better." Yamashiro's eyes narrowed. "He could create and manipulate gold. While you? You could barely keep a portal open for ten minutes without bleeding from the nose."
His voice dripped with mock sympathy.
"There couldn't be two heirs. So Masanori arranged a duel. A family tradition."
A breath passed. Cold.
"You lost, of course. And with that, you lost your name, your rights, your entire future."
"That's horrible…" Tsubaki whispered.
Yamashiro just chuckled.
"Oh well. We don't all get what we want."
"I didn't ask for any of it!" Naoya snapped. "The money. The name. The damn legacy. They gave me a life… then took twice as much in return."
"And I'm going to take it all back. Just you watch."
"How?" Yamashiro scoffed. "Stealing a single mythic-grade item? One that may not even be here? Please."
He turned to face them both fully, sleeves falling back to reveal tense shoulders, his eyes sharp as razors.
"Let's say the artifact is here. And you do have the Bleeding Keys—though even that's doubtful. What makes you think the item will accept you?"
"It's mythic grade for God's sake. It won't even respond unless the blood used to unseal it is the same as the one it was meant for. You think it'll just kneel for whoever stabs it with fancy keys?"
Before his next word, a blur of silver light darted across the room.
Ajax, already transformed, lunged in wolf form and sank his glistening fangs into Yamashiro's shoulder with full force.
"Ghh—!"
In the same breath, Yamashiro's arms exploded in size and texture—stone-hard, titan-formed—his right elbow twisting into motion.
With a brutal crack, he drove it straight into Ajax's ribs with unnatural force.
BOOM!
The impact sent the silver wolf flying across the room, smashing through a pillar and rolling into a bloodied heap. A few ribs cracked audibly, steam rising from the wound.
"Damned deviants…" Yamashiro hissed.
His shoulder, bitten and bloodied, began to crust over—the flesh slowly turning earthen in hue, veins like molten clay crawling through it as it started to heal.
The roar of battle thundered through the tunnel as Bruce turned back, blood trailing from his brow.
"Dad—!"
Belita's voice cut through the chaos, steady, proud. "let's Go, Bruce."
Narberal stepped beside him, sword gleaming with quiet fury. "We'll hold them."
Tsubaki hesitated, trembling. "But—"
Yamashiro stepped forward, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. "You live, Tsubaki. You carry us."
Kaede's flames dimmed with tears. "Dad—"
"No time!" Takahashi shouted, wind cracking like thunder. "Run. Become stronger than us."
The children stood frozen for one final heartbeat… before turning and fleeing into the tunnel.
Behind them, the corridor blazed with fire, wind, and steel—
—and the love of parents who chose to stand, so their children could rise.
---
Lex's voice rang sharp through the room, slicing through the noise of chaos above.
"Ajax, Sato—go after the children," he ordered, his tone as calm as it was lethal. "Hana, Kana, Naoya… stay here and hold the line."
He turned, locking eyes with Sinclair. "You're with me."
In the blink of an eye, they vanished—each streaking into motion like blades drawn from scabbards.
Lex and Sinclair walked down a narrow, dim corridor carved from old stone. Lantern light jittered across Lex's coat like a warning. He spoke casually, almost conversationally, as if naming trivia in a tavern.
"Sinclair, do you know that the Hanma mansion is over five hundred years old?"
Sinclair flinched. Her voice came out small, breathless. "S…so is that why… you rescued… me?" she stammered, eyes wide and terrified.
Lex kept walking, babbling now in that way people do when they want to disguise intent with noise. He spoke of Kion Hanma — of how the second patriarch had been obsessively organized, of missing records and omissions. "No one knows who built it," he said. "No record of the first patriarch. No explanation for the Judgement Chains. All Kion left was a note — something about the chains being formed from the bone of five evil progenitor vampires." He shrugged as if offering curiosity instead of a threat. "If he had said a hundred, I'd call it grudge. But five… five makes it darker, more chosen. Evil used to make evil."
Sinclair didn't know when or where she had been born. For a long time she had been a ghost drifting through Arden, until Lex found her and brought her into the net he had spun. Now, as his words sank in, she trembled. Lex's smile hardened.
He grabbed her by the hair and pinned her to the wall. Cold metal gleamed under the lanterns where his fingers clamped.
"I own you," he said low. "So you have no right ask me questions. I only told you to call me 'father' so you wouldn't kill us all while I tried to grasp your power." He flung her away like a rag. Sinclair skidded across the stone and hit her knees, blood at the corner of her mouth.
"You can't even bring yourself to drink the blood of a rabbit," he continued, voice flat as a slab. "You're useless." He stepped forward, almost kindly. "But here's the deal, Sinclair. You're gonna die here tonight. I spent a total of twelve thousand denar ( the currency in Arden, Approximately $120000 usd ) on this information, so I'm sure it's correct. If the Hanma family cannot provide the Judgement Chains by midnight, everyone dies. You'll help locate it — and you'll die in the process. Worry not; it's nothing but a noble sacrifice." His face didn't move. The casual cruelty of it made Sinclair's breath stop.
"You're insane," she managed. The word was a thread.
Lex's hand tightened like a vise. He smashed her head into the wall; blood ran, bright and hot. Up close his eyes were small, dark pits lit with something better left unnamed. "I am the Executioner who's going to decide your fate," he said, voice low and dangerous. "If I catch you trying anything funny, your death will be anything but painless." (He said the last line with a shadow at the edge of his smile ) He added, soft as a lecture, "If the Judgement Chains sleeping in this arena don't wake up for the Hanma family, they'll wake up for a vampire. Still would have been better if you were a progenitor vampire, though." He turned and walked away. "Meet me in the arena once you've accepted your fate."
Far beneath the stage, in the arena's winding underground tunnels, Bruce and the others ran like hunted things. The scent of dust and old iron filled their lungs. Ajax and Sato were still on their heels; the sound of pursuit pounded along the walls.
Aika's legs gave out first. She stumbled and fell, clutching at her side, breath ragged. "I'm sorry but I can't run anymore. You guys can go on ahead without me," she panted.
Bruce didn't waste a second. He slung Aika onto his back without hesitation. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Thank you," as he carried her toward the tunnel mouth.
They hit a dead end.
"It's a dead end. What do we do?" Tsubaki asked; her voice was flat with exhaustion.
Bruce put Aika down gently. She tried to stand. "Thank you," she said again, forcing a smile. Bruce didn't answer. The five clustered together, breaths shallow.
"Everyone gather around. I think we should do a head count first," Haruto said, chest heaving. Tsubaki nodded.
There was no time to argue. Kaede cut in, breath hot with anger: "We are stuck at the end of a tunnel and with those people hot on our tails. They've even got our parents."
"kaede, I think that's enough," Aika said, weak but fierce. "We understand that about your father but—"
"No you don't understand," Kaede snapped. "We wouldn't be here running if your damned mother and that irritable old man hadn't betrayed us. Both you and Renji — and now you want us to continue as if nothing ever happened? What proof do we even have that you aren't in cohorts with them—"
"Kaede, that's enough!" Bruce cut in, sharp.
"Who do you think you are to barge orders at me?" Kaede exploded, eyes blazing. "Last I checked you're just a coward who's only good at running away."
"Don't say something you're gonna regret," Bruce warned.
Aika stepped up—wounded, but not meek. "Or what, coward? I'm going to save my father, so I don't care what you do. Just stay out of my way. I can't believe the one who so many people put their lives on the line to protect turned out to be such a pathetic loser."
Belita moved soundlessly behind them, blade flashing in the lantern light; the steel tip hovered at Kaede's throat. "If you utter another word I'll end your life this instant," she said. Her voice had no tremor. "And trust me when I say this isn't a threat."
"Belita, let her go," Bruce said.
"No," Belita replied, steady as a blade.
"Bruce — let her go," he repeated; he sat down on the floor as if to anchor himself. Kaede scoffed and stepped back, wounded pride flaring as she retreated.
Silence smothered them. Tsubaki approached Bruce, softer now. "About what Kaede said…"
"I know she didn't really mean it," Bruce replied. "But it doesn't make it untrue. We can't just sit around waiting for them to get to us first." Haruto's voice cut in, urgent: "So what do we do?"
"That's the tough part," Bruce said. "Defeating our pursuers isn't that difficult. But what do we do once we have? Our parents would want us to escape to safety—"
"We'll worry about all that later. For now we rescue them," Haruto said, and as if to punctuate it, boots sounded in the tunnel entrance.
Sato and Ajax stepped into the dead end together. Sato carried Kaede's bleeding body over his shoulder and dumped her onto the stone with a thud that snapped the lamps. "Come on, damn brats. We can't stay here all day," he snarled.
Bruce, Aika and I would take Sato; Belita and Haruto take Ajax while Tsubaki looks after Kaede, Bruce ordered. "Roger!" they answered in unison and launched.
Aika's eyes flared pink; a heart-shaped gleam rose in them to charm Sato—but he didn't hesitate. He crushed the attempt with a single, brutal punch that sent her flying like a rag. (Emphasize that this punch took her full and left her winded and bleeding.) She hit the wall and slid down, dazed, unable to rise immediately.
"It's all you and me now," Sato said with a grin. "I, Sato of the Tetsuken-ryū (Iron Fist Style), officially announced here in the name of the Tetsuken ryu martial art school, that I'll pulverize you here." He leapt, fists raised, a mountain of raw force.
"Perfect," Bruce replied, cool as steel.
Bruce dodged and jumped above him, but Sato reacted like a predator — quick and brutal. He grabbed Bruce's lower abdomen and slammed him into the ground. The impact shattered the rock-solid floor; the sound was a crack like old stone breaking. Bruce lay still for a heartbeat, breath leaving him.
"Guess you're nothing but a big talker, huh," Sato laughed as he seized Bruce's leg and dragged him along like a sack. "Come on, Brucey. I've still got a lot of fun things I haven't tried on you yet."
Kaede struggled to stand, bleeding heavily. "Hey blockhead, where do you think you're going? We're not finished yet," she yelled.
Sato paused, glancing back with a slow, cruel smile. "Interesting. Seems like seeing your friend like this jumpstarted your spirit, huh?" he taunted.
Kaede tore a strip from her torn clothes and tied it around both fists, fingers tightening. Tsubaki grabbed her in a quick restraint. "You're still bleeding heavily— when did you even wake up? At this rate you'll die before the fight even begins."
"You should listen to your friend," Sato said smugly.
"Shut up, blockhead," Kaede spat. "I wouldn't die for a piece of shit like you, so don't flatter yourself. This all happened because I was too weak. If I am going to fix this, I will do it my way. You should help the others; I've got this place covered." With that she strode forward, heat blooming along her skin; molten veins laced across her arms and legs as she entered her molten form. Each step she took melted the stone into glassy slag.
"hey, are you dead yet?" she called, voice fierce.
Bruce spun, kicking Sato in the face, using the momentum to spring to his feet. "Depends on who's asking," he said without breaking his focus.
Kaede pointed at Aika. "What about her?"
"Leave her alone for now," Bruce replied. They took their positions side by side.
"About what I said earlier," Kaede muttered.
"Don't sweat it. We were tense. Besides, you were right. I've been complacent." Bruce stretched, voice calm. "It's time to show you what I am capable of so you won't doubt me next time."
"Is that why he wiped the floor with you earlier?" Kaede asked, sarcasm heavy.
"Don't worry. I know what I was doing," Bruce said.
"Right," Kaede said, skeptical. "On the count of three."
"Three," Bruce answered.
They moved as one.
Bruce jabbed at Sato's balance, grabbing his lower abdomen and pushing him just enough to disrupt center. Kaede spun for a high, blazing spin kick — a molten arc meant to cleave bone. Sato bent backward to evade the blade of lava, and in that opening he threw a sideways punch at Bruce. The fist met bone — and with a sickening crunch, the strike shattered the bones in his arm.
( the impact was instant and complete — the sound of breaking echoed like a bell. Pain flared white-hot. Bones splintered under the force.) Bruce didn't cry out. He tasted copper and iron, but his face controlled itself into a line. He had been hit hard — the arm was ruined — but he did not collapse.
Sato felt the rigidity in Bruce's body. (I didn't notice earlier, but this kid's body is damned sturdy. It's like hitting a huge boulder.) The thought was a snarl in his mind.
Kaede didn't hesitate. She used Bruce's move to vault forward and landed a brutal drop kick on Sato's face that smashed him into the flooring and wedged him half-buried in the cracked stone. For a heartbeat it looked like the brute would stay down.
But Sato, the rising dead, came back up. He cracked his neck — battered, bruised, blood streaking his face — and grinned through the pain. He flexed his arms and then, with a small hiss, touched his left forearm.
"Sigh… it's broken," he muttered, as if noting a curiosity rather than a liability. (Maybe Kaede's molten kick had torqued his arm when it smashed him down.) He shook it off. "Interesting. But let's skip the preamble and get started for real."
"Tsk — damned monster," Kaede scoffed.
Across the scattering light and falling dust, Belita, Haruto and Tsubaki were handling Ajax.
"It's a shame it has to be this way, huh, Belita?" Ajax said with that easy, oily grin. "Two pawns — you and I — sitting at opposite sides of the chessboard."
"Of course," Belita shot back, voice flat. "I am but a pawn for the young master to use however he pleases."
"Then the young master is also but a pawn in his dangerous game, for now at least," Ajax replied. "If you know that, then you know which side victory belongs to."
Belita planted her feet. "Then it's really unfortunate, isn't it?"
"Everyone get back!" someone shouted. "He's a deviant — he'll take your form if he can come in contact with your blood. Or he'll take your form and use your powers." That warning snapped them outward in a defensive circle.
Back with Bruce and Kaede, Sato charged. "Where are you running to?" he barked, and unleashed Tetsu Rendan — an iron barrage, fists and elbows hammering in ceaseless rhythm.
Bruce grabbed Sato's second hand and drove him into a suplex that sent Sato flying into the broken wall. He sprang clear as Kaede dove in with a molten barrage — Yōgan Nagare — a searing curtain of lava. The first molten strikes bored holes in Sato's body: one, two, then dozens; the stream seared and punched through the brute like a hail of slow, molten bullets. The heat warped the air; sixty-two molten burns bloomed and steamed on his skin, each one smoking and angry.
— every hit had weight:
Sato's opening Tetsu Rendan was raw power: shoulders driving, hips committed. Hammers that didn't stop. Each strike meant to break a rhythm, to crush a bone.
Bruce countered not by matching, but by redirecting: hand grabs on joints, a lower center of gravity, turning the angle of attack into leverage. His suplex used Sato's momentum to fling him across the stone.
Kaede's molten barrage was methodical: she didn't spray aimlessly. She layered molten slivers to clog Sato's movement, each blast aimed at a tendon, a rib gap, the soft spot beneath the clavicle. The heat soaked flesh; when the lava hit, it didn't merely burn—it ripped through tissue and fused with muscle, leaving smoking holes that dripped bright runoff.
The floor cracked; sparks and glass fragments littered the air. The smell of boiled blood and singed flesh stung the eyes.
Sato recovered like a machine; he rolled, came up and lunged with whole-body strikes, reverting to brutal close power after being nicked by Kaede's heat.
Sato staggered under the molten holes; his breath came ragged, steam erupting each time he opened his mouth. Yet he smirked, savage and unbroken.
Kaede floored him with a final collapse of magma that pinned him down, but not without cost: her own limbs smoked and stung from using so much heat on such a small body. Bruce, ribs ruined and raw, felt the world tilt then steady. Pain screamed in his broken ribs, each heartbeat a hammer, but he forced his legs to move.
Sato finally sagged, the molten scars smoking, chest heaving; the iron barrage that had once been his entire vocabulary of violence was now patchwork, interrupted. He coughed and tasted the salt of his own blood; his grin thinned.
The fight spent itself into ragged silence. Panting and burning, the both of them pushed through the last shards of ruin toward the upward stair. The arena above waited — and the echoes of Lex's voice in the dark still crawled in their ears.