The moon hung low over a silent mountain range, the night sky dotted with stars that blinked like distant memories.
Wind howled across the edge of a high cliff, carrying the scent of blood and sand. Crimson stains marked the jagged rocks, drying in the chill air—evidence of a storm that had not yet ended.
At the center of this ruin stood a lone man, his breath ragged, his body trembling with exhaustion. Dust clung to his torn coat, and in his right hand he gripped a weapon—a kusarigama. The chain swayed like a serpent, its scythe glinting faintly in the dark. It wasn't just a tool—it was part of him, forged in pain, tempered by time.
Yet his eyes didn't flinch.
Before him, partially hidden by the curve of the cliff's shadow, stood a figure—broad, unmoving, and radiating quiet dread. In his hands, the crimson-radiating axe pulsed like a heartbeat gone mad.
The man with the kusarigama spoke first—his voice tight, bitter, laced with fury.
"Do you have any regrets?"
The figure with the axe stepped forward, just enough for the moonlight to brush against the edge of his weapon.
"No more regrets," he replied calmly. Then, with the faintest tilt of his head, he returned the question.
"What about you?"
There was no answer.
Only movement.
A sudden swing—the kusarigama slicing forward, its purple aura trailing like ghostfire. The axe met it head-on, its edge flaring bright red.
The clash of metal sent sparks into the air, lighting the night like fireworks of fury and fate.
One strike.
Then another.
And as the second hit landed—
---
Sunlight poured down a quiet alleyway.
A new scene, a new battlefield.
But the weapon remained the same.
A young man stood under the morning sun, his sword drawn, glowing faintly with golden embers. His stance was unwavering, his gaze locked on the figure standing in the shadows ahead.
Only one of them was illuminated.
The other—once again—held the crimson-radiating axe.
That young man echoed through the alley, firm, defiant:
"Let's see who will win—Surya or you."
----
The edges of their weapons collided—blade and axe, light and shadow.
The sound of metal rang sharp and clear, echoing through the alley like a war cry from another world. Sparks danced in the air, each one a flash of fury and pride.
Surya's sword pressed hard against the crimson axe, eyes narrowed, grin sharp.
"Just like your appearance..." he scoffed.
"You're always hiding in the shadows. But today—I'll show you the light... by killing you."
The figure said nothing.
Only the axe moved—faster.
Surya grunted as the force behind the axe grew heavier, sharper. He responded by increasing the speed of his own strikes, blade slicing through the air in arcs of defiant gold.
"So this is why they assigned me " Surya smirked through the clash.
"But I didn't expect a Top 5 target. Honestly? I still don't get why they call you 'Nightmare.'"
His eyes flared with boldness.
"You feel more like a coward to me."
Still, the Nightmare didn't flinch.
But this time—he pressed harder.
Surya stumbled back a step as the axe came down like a falling guillotine. In that breath of imbalance, the Nightmare lunged—his weapon slicing toward Surya's exposed neck.
Reacting on instinct, Surya twisted his body and dropped low, the edge of the crimson axe missing him by mere inches.
Then, for the first time, the Nightmare spoke.
His voice dripped with malice—calm, deep, and chilling.
"You'll never understand why they call me the Nightmare..."
He stepped forward, grin spreading beneath the shadows.
"...but just like your grandfather—you're still a rookie."
Surya's grip on his sword tightened—but he didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
Instead, his body moved—steel against crimson, each clash louder, faster, heavier.
Then, suddenly—
CLANG.
A sharp metallic ping rang out as the Nightmare tapped his axe rhythmically.
Surya's eyes widened.
The sound—it matched his heartbeat. It echoed not like magic—but something deeper, something primal. And it was different from the Hollow Pact's attacks. More personal. More... ancient.
Before he could react, the Nightmare struck—his axe arcing toward Surya's neck.
But this time—Surya anticipated it.
He slid his blade into a defensive spin and, with a flick of his wrist, struck the side of his sword—mirroring the Nightmare's metallic ping.
A shockwave pulsed outward.
Then—Surya raised his sword to the sky.
The blade blazed with orange light, glowing like sunrise, radiating energy that crackled in the air.
Across from him, the Nightmare dragged the edge of his axe across his own arm, drawing a shallow cut.
The moment blood touched the weapon, it glowed even deeper crimson—as if feeding off his hatred.
The two warriors locked eyes.
----
Clang.
Clash.
Slice.
Strike.
The street valley echoed with relentless impact, sword and axe colliding again and again. Sparks spun like stars caught in the gravitational pull of two clashing titans.
Surya's breathing grew heavier.
The rhythm of the battle, the weight behind every swing—he could feel it in his bones. This wasn't just a powerful opponent. This was someone perfectly matched to him.
For the first time, a doubt flickered behind his eyes.
He parried another swing, sliding back slightly from the axe's pressure, and growled through his teeth:
"Are you… underestimating me? Are you just playing around with me?"
The Nightmare laughed—low, mocking, cutting.
"Ah. So now you realize it."
His voice dripped with condescension.
"I already told you—just like your grandfather, you're nothing but a rookie. And just like your father…"
He leaned in, crimson aura flaring around him.
"You're a toy. A puppet for people stronger than you."
Surya's eyes flared with fury.
"You don't have the right to speak about them. Just die!"
He lunged forward, ready to strike—
But something shifted.
The glow of the Nightmare's axe dimmed slightly.
At first, it seemed like weakness—
Until Surya noticed the sand.
Tiny grains swirled unnaturally around the Nightmare's body and weapon, clinging like magnetic dust.
When their weapons clashed again, Surya was pushed back sharply—even further than before.
"Tch…" He skid to a stop, planting his foot into the dirt.
But before he could recover, the Nightmare advanced—each attack now heavier, more aggressive.
Surya tried to parry, to counter, but the axe moved faster.
He was being overwhelmed.
With a final swing, the Nightmare's axe arced downward—aimed for Surya's neck.
The edge stopped—a hair's width from slicing flesh.
Surya froze.
A crack of energy formed between the axe and his neck—then shattered like glass.
"What… was that?" Surya whispered, confused by the brief, unexplainable phenomenon.
The Nightmare stepped back, his eyes glowing with an unnatural hue—not red, not gold. Something older. Unreadable.
And then, he whispered.
"…Not yet."
Suddenly—the space around him began to fracture.
Tiny black cracks formed in the air itself, reality splintering around the Nightmare as if rejecting his presence.
Before Surya could react, the blunt side of the axe slammed into his neck, knocking him to the ground.
The Nightmare loomed above, a wicked grin stretched beneath his hood.
"You're lucky this time…" he murmured.
"…but when we meet again, I'll give you a gift—one you'll never forget. Or recover from."
CRACK.
With a final spatial break, the Nightmare vanished—sucked into the void, the space he tore apart sealing behind him with a low hum.
---
Surya lay on the ground for a moment, staring at the sky, his breath catching.
Then he slowly sat up, adjusting his shirt
His voice was calm—but sharp, laced with heat and promise.
"Let's see..."
He rose fully to his feet, glaring at the spot where the Nightmare disappeared.
"Next time… I'll kill you."
----
Inside his office, Aditya Rajan, the president, sat at his desk, sunlight pouring gently across the polished wood. Stacks of files lay open, marked with coded red stamps and signatures of clearance few in the world could authorize.
He closed one file and leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin.
"…sha ,they'll take care of Anaya," he muttered to himself, tapping the table rhythmically.
"Rathore will lead the team. And Surya…"
He smirked slightly.
"…our hidden trump card."
Just then, his phone vibrated.
Unknown secure line.
Encrypted signature: S-R1-9.
He answered without hesitation.
"Hello, Surya. So, you're at the location?"
The voice that responded was calm—controlled—but it carried something underneath. Not fear. Not pride.
Weight.
"Just now," Surya replied.
"I witnessed."
Aditya leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed.
"…What?"
Surya's voice didn't shift—but the words landed like thunder.
"I witnessed the guts… and the strength of the Nightmare."
A pause.
"The 3rd commander in the Council of Six."