The city block was dead quiet. No sirens. No foot traffic. Just the hum of a broken streetlamp above and the gentle hiss of wind pushing through half-collapsed fencing.
Kamo paused at the alley's edge, fire escape shadow slicing across his coat. On the other side of the street, the snowmoss had gone still, patchy and unkept. The building behind it—brick welded to rusting steel—had let the greenery rot. Rarely did anything surrounding the institution focus on upkeep. Kamo hated looking at this one just as much as the last.
More like a prison than any excuse for a school.
Nagitsu was beside him, crouched low behind a broken wall. Seven others formed a wide arc across the street, each draped in black, weapons muted. Not one of them spoke.
They'd been running silent since Sector Four. No traces. No interference. This wasn't a raid—it was an extraction.
Inexperienced as they were, they moved as one. The sound of boots pressing into concrete as they crossed the open street and reached the west wall was muffled, nearly silenced. Nagitsu found the service panel hidden behind a rusted drain pipe. Just as explained by Fūre. Nagitsu took the crowbar he'd been handling and drove it directly in the center.
Silence, then click.
The side door eased open as Kamo pried at it.
They passed through what resembled a classroom. Desks stacked, chairs overturned. Thick books filled the walls, ripped and worn as they were.
Footsteps echoed ahead. Quick and light. Someone turned the corner, mid-conversation. Instructors.
Just the same as the last time, they must all run on similar schedules.
Kamo had fully expected to see the security before the merchandise.
Basically Sector 4 again. With a few layout tweaks—but it still feels like a game on easy mode.
He stepped forward, grabbed the collar, drove the man back against the wall with a solid crack.
The instructor gurgled something, choking on a broken breath.
"We're not here for you," he said.
He let the instructor drop. The man crumpled sideways, blood pooling slow and dark beneath his temple.
With that, there were more footsteps that followed. Just as quick, but plentiful and scattered. Three kynenns rounded the far end of the corridor, too fast to have met this audience intentionally. They stopped cold when they saw the body. Then Kamo. Then the rest.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
"...Shittt," one of them huffed lightly, dragged along from genuine surprise.
Kamo didn't flinch.
Behind him, seven figures stood like shadows cast in flesh—silent, motionless, their eyes locked forward.
The boy who'd spoken stepped forward anyway, like his feet didn't get the message his gut sent. He looked barely seventeen. He was thin, pale, and his left eye was bruised a yellow-green. The child looked like he'd caught a terrible disease, like he was rotting alive. He tried to smirk.
"You're them," he said.
The girl next to him didn't say anything. Her eyes kept moving—door, floor, shadows. She edged a little behind a third, taller male, who stood dead still. Jaw locked and his eyes fixed on Kamo, like fear had stiffened him into a scarecrow.
Nobody moved.
Then the sickly kid laughed once, dry. "He was a prick anyway."
Kamo didn't even blink.
Do they think we'll be friends? No, they can't be that stupid.
The girl's voice came next—quiet, not steady. "You're really here. Thought Sector Four was just rumor."
No one replied.
One of the Ketsuen shifted slightly—just a half-step adjustment of weight—but it was enough. The kynenns flinched, as if a wolf had yawned mid-hunt.
The scarecrow finally spoke. "So what—what now? You kidnap us or something? We supposed to just let that happen?"
Still no answer.
Kamo walked past them. Tread lightly. Though he hadn't said it outloud, his expression made those words apparent.
The moment his shoulder cleared theirs, the scarecrow muttered, "Tch. Fuck th—"
He didn't finish.
Kamo turned and drove the back of his elbow into the boy's throat—clean, sharp. The sound he made wasn't a scream, just a wet rasp.
The girl yelped. The other boy flinched back.
The scarecrow slammed against the wall, hitting a shelf on the way down. A heavy metal canister clattered off the edge, bounced once, and exploded with a concussive hiss.
Not fire—just pressure. But loud.
The kind of loud that echoes through an entire building.
Kamo looked down at the fallen boy for one quiet second.
"Stay in your place."
The hiss still echoed.
Kamo's gaze hadn't moved from the girl.
He raised his hand again. Shadows around them curled like they knew what came next.
In one second he'd kill all three.
"Yo," Nagitsu said quietly, stepping forward. "That's not what we're here for."
Kamo didn't look at him. Didn't move.
"I know," Nagitsu added, nodding once. "They're annoying. But Fūre said bring bodies back. Not leave corpses."
A beat.
Then Kamo lowered his hand. Shadows receded like they'd been leashed.
He turned away—not in agreement, just in delay.
The girl exhaled sharply, eyes still locked on him. Then turned to the sickly boy like he was supposed to have an answer for the tension now.
He didn't. But he moved.
"Don't—" the girl hissed.
Too late.
The boy lunged at Nagitsu, obviously trained, low and composed.
Nagitsu sidestepped, caught the swing with one hand, and drove his knee into the kid's ribs. The impact cracked through the hallway.
Sickly gasped, staggered, swung again.
This one Nagitsu caught midair. Twisted. Drove him to the floor hard enough to rattle teeth.
He stayed down.
"Was that your plan?" Nagitsu muttered, brushing his sleeve. "Genius."
Everyone around knew Nagitsu could have done it right there. Nagitsu was a bit older and stronger than everyone else, and it showed.
Sickly looked between them, pale. "What do you mean 'recruitment'? We know what you did to those other guys. You think we're gonna go without a fight?"
"Does that feel like a win to you?" Nagitsu gave him a look.
Kamo turned his head slightly. "You're alive. That's more than you earned."
Kamo had considered taking back charge. His fist was balled, clenching hard enough it likely hurt him.
The girl flinched at him even opening his mouth. It had been obvious her mental limit had been reached. She was young—short, lean and toned, with clear tan skin and loose curls that didn't suit the setting. Nothing about her looked like she belonged here.
"Why are you doing this? We didn't choose to be here," she said quickly. "We don't follow them because we want to. We're just here."
"We didn't ask," Nagitsu said.
Scarecrow was back standing, he stepped back, shaking his head. "You can't just show up and—"
Kamo stepped toward him. That was all it took. The kid shut up. But that alone was enough for the little girl, maybe 15 years old, to take off running in between the 7 kynenn that Kamo had fought so hard to exclude from this mission.
Kamo looked at them—brimming with irritation. Had it not been clouded by fear, all spectating would have been puzzled on how a man could be so annoyed. Yet so devoid of individual anger.
You won't continue to disrespect me. Once again, a thought so loud everyone could feel it.
She bolted.
No scream. Just the slap of bare feet against tile. Fast and desperate.
She slid through their perimeter like they weren't even there—like she'd expected there to be a path already.
Kamo didn't shout. Just one blink, and then he was gone, shadows snapping to his heels as he tore after her.
The others didn't follow.
They knew better.
Behind him, Nagitsu exhaled like he'd seen this before.
The hallway narrowed—too many turns, too much debris—but she ran like something would save her if she just made it far enough.
Shit, shit, shit—
Her breath caught in her throat. The whole corridor blurred. She didn't care where she was going, only that she had to get there before he reached her.
Why is he so fast?—
A corner. She skidded. Pushed through a half-hinged door into some kind of storage room.
Shelves. Bins. Cold concrete walls.
Why.. why did it have to be me to see him first, i didnt even wanna hang with them. Its not like we were friends.
She ducked around the nearest corner, heart pounding so hard she thought it might give out.
Damnit, none of us are friends. Everyones so scared of the Eclipse, 'friendship's a weakness', right? Well not when you're the weak one. I can't even look for help, if anyone saw me they would stay out of the way. But I don't wanna die.
And then it hit her. Relief had almost brought a smirk to her
There was only one.
That idiot.
If she could find him first—if she could get to him before this freak got to her—maybe…
Maybe she could survive this.
He wouldn't let her die. He wouldn't let her be taken.
She just had to play it right.
Just had to look scared enough. Helpless enough. Get him angry. Get him involved.
Make him fight in her place.
Kamo's pace never broke.
He didn't rush. Didn't hesitate.
He moved like water flowing downhill. Like gravity itself was helping him track her.
You think I won't follow because you're a child?
He turned the corner that she'd taken
No hiding. She wasn't stupid. She knew she didn't have time to disappear.
She was heading somewhere. And Kamo knew exactly where. Where the rest of them were holed up. Kamo didn't speed up, he didn't need to. She'd do the work for him. Lead him straight toward where he's planned to go next. That was fine.
Let her.
Ahead, the girl burst through the side hall, shoulder-checking the door open with a choked breath. Her chest burned. Her legs ached. But she didn't stop.
She didn't dare look back.
If she saw how close he was—how little effort it took for him to keep up—she might stop running altogether.
The lights flickered overhead. Bare, sputtering bulbs on rusted hooks.
She turned the final corner, ignoring the shouts behind her.
There.
She saw him.
She could've cried with relief. She screamed, breath ragged. "He's coming, I didn't know where else to go—please!"
She ran straight to him. No hesitation. No dignity either. Grabbed at his sleeve like she'd drown if she let go.
Hikari turned fast, blinking once as he caught her weight. His eyes were wide—but not with confusion. He'd heard the footsteps too. Heavy. Measured. Not rushing.
Not like hers.
"Who's coming?" he asked, even though he already knew.
He could feel it. The dread rising in his spine. The shift in air pressure.
A presence. Not loud, but undeniable.
The girl didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
Hikari looked past her, down the hall she came from.
And then he saw the man she'd been running from. Walking in, kamo flinched. Not out of fear, but nearly confusion.
The man before him, shielding what would be a future enemy was confusing as is. But his white hair caught his eye second—bright and streaked with violet. Oldly styled for someone who lived in a warzone. It hung just over one eye, not by accident. One of those boys who wanted to look like a problem before proving he was one.
Kamo's gaze moved lower.
Heart-shaped face. Youthful. Almost pretty.
His skin was too smooth. Untouched. Not a single scar. Like he'd never taken a hit that mattered—or never let it show. And his wide greenish eyes further backed that theory, lazy and lowset as they'd been.
Why do I recognize him? Faintly, but he does look familiar. No matter.
Kamo set high on the face.
Hikari blinked slowly. Tracked fast. Kamo had presumed he was the kind that could pass for innocence if you weren't paying attention.
Kamo always paid attention.
Foxlike.
That was the word.
Not a predator. But also not prey.
Hikari blinked again. Slower this time. Calculating.
Kamo didn't move.
The girl clung tighter.
"She ran from you," Hikari said, more a question than a statement.
Kamo nodded once. "I watched her."
A beat.
"She gave you up the second it bought her a chance to breathe."
Hikari looked down at her, then back at him.
The muscles in his forearm flexed, then contracted slightly. Not yet a full fist
"You plan to protect her?" Kamo asked.
He didn't sound curious. He sounded disappointed.
Then: "Don't."
He stepped forward.
His voice stayed calm.
"I'm technically not here to fight. If you stay out of the way, I have no reason to touch you."
Kamo was technically lying, that statement would've only been true for that specific moment.
Another step.
"But if you plan to stop me…"
He gestured to the girl with a flick of his chin.
"You'll die with her. I don't care how strong you think you are."
No threat in his voice.
Hikari's jaw clenched. His hand had almost instantly caught fire. Both his and Kamo's shadows had shifted in response to the new light source.
"I'm not letting you take her."
Kamo's expression didn't shift.
So that's your answer.
Hikari moved first.
If I start fast enough, he'll have to adjust. Force him to react, not choose. That's the only way I'll get a clean read—if I'm the one pressing the pace.
The flame lit in Hikari's palm—just enough light to bend his shadow off the floor.
Look alive.
He snapped the cross forward, not to hit, just to frame it—followed with a backhand that had real bite.
Let's see if you take the bait or take the space.
Kamo caught it.
Didn't even budge.
He just absorbed the angle, like Hikari had given him the momentum for free.
Kamo didn't play defense. It was ownership. He treated each and every move like it belonged to him.
Then the knee came in.
Ah—he's stepping inside. He's collapsing range. He's not giving any ground, damn.
Crack.
Ribs folded. Air gone.
No time to guard. Just react.
He shoved off and his hands hit the tile. One after the other—back handspring.
Hikari landed low, breath clipped, guard up.
The flame in his hand wavered, then surged again. Enough to shift the light—and darkness—off its axis. Unbenounced to Hikari, that was enough to move the map—not for him, but for Kamo.
Across the room, Kamo paused.
Didn't follow.
He stepped sideways instead—let his heel slide across the tether drawn from the bench's leg to the cracked floor.
Gone.
Wait—where the hell did he—
A blink and he was behind him.
That wasn't speed,or movement. He disappeared. Like space itself opened up and let him skip the middle.
Hikari spun—fire already lashing out to catch whatever came—
He made contact.
But it shattered on impact. A burst of.. emptiness flickered in the dark.
Did he just... He can disintegrate too? It looked—
A clone.
Kamo came from the side.
Real this time. Close enough to smell the bits of blood in his breath.
Kamo's elbow met Hikari's jaw.
Sharp. Clean.
A bit of blood painted the ground.
That's not even positioning. It's full blown teleportation. He's playing the floor like it's a weapon. Like it's a part of him.
Hikari dropped to one knee, steadying. Struggling not to panic.
Hikari turned with the punch.
Not away—through. Pivoting from the ground, onto his hand. He punched, allowing fire to release from his hands. A feint, Kamo dodged accordingly.
His back leg rotated hard, hips following—spin-kick arcing for Kamo's ribs.
Kamo weaved low, letting it pass. The flame licked over his shoulder.
A sweep of the legs followed immediately.
But Kamo wasn't there.
He moved back—heel catching the edge of a crate's outline, ready to vanish again—
But nothing took.
His body jolted in place, flickered, then snapped back like it'd hit an invisible wall.
He rebounded. Barely caught balance. It was a small movement, Hikari more felt it than he'd seen it.
He tried it again. That movement—whatever it is—he needs something. A shape. A path. Did it fail because of the light? How the hell—
Nonetheless, Hikari saw the stutter.
He jumped over Kamo's sweep—airborne, legs tight—Kamo had simply returned Hikari's previous attempt. Like he'd been paying back debt.
Hikari came down with a knee, hard across the little space that'd separated the two.
Kamo brought his arms up—caught it mid-air.
Blocked the kick with his forearm.
But Hikari didn't stop.
Mid-block, the knee extended— Hikari pushed off his arm, slightly creating space. And erected a full kick.
Kamo's guard broke. He slid back, boots shrieking against stone.
If I keep forcing light into his decisions, I can bend the board. I just have to stay ahead of where he thinks I'll be.
Kamo steadied—one foot back, the other wide.
His guard had cracked, but not collapsed. Not yet.
Hikari didn't give him a breath.
He stepped in hard, rear leg sweeping out—roundhouse leveled at the ribs again.
Kamo leaned back, barely—just enough. Let it pass across his chest like a missed train.
"Your not weak, like the many ahead of you" Kamo let out in simple pride.
Hikari didn't break stride. Rechambered mid-step. Launched the same kick again, tighter.
You dodged once. No way you expect another.
Wrong.
Kamo's hand snapped up mid-arc.
He caught the ankle.
Full stop.
For half a second, everything in the room held still.
Then he turned.
The grip on Hikari's leg twisted—not violently, but completely. Kamo rotated his torso like a hinge—dragged Hikari off-center—then slammed him down with a sharp, downward spiral.
Tile cracked and air scattered.
The sound was closer to thunder than impact.
"Don't get ahead of yourself though, I'm sure our goals align" Kamo was now standing over Hikari. "I would prefer you actually survive this fight"
Hikari hit hard, rolled through—but not clean. His arm buckled on the way out.
Kamo didn't rush him.
He just stepped back—half a pace—and raised one hand.
The light in the room shifted. Not brighter. Just… thinner.
From the stretch of shadow cast beneath a broken shelf, something moved.
Fingers.
Pitch black, almost hollow. Erected from the ground where nobody should've been able to reach.
They clawed at the tile, dragging themselves forward—two, three, then more.
If I had to guess, his powers are like shadows. But none of the Tenshi had powers like that. I guess I can focus on that later.
Hikari rose, chest heaving. His left arm hung loose, but the flame in his right hand burned hotter now. Clearer.
He stepped forward—slow at first. One motion. Then another.
Fire slung from his knuckles. Similar to a dragon's breath—it took space, a lot of space.
The shadows on the floor started pulling back—like fabric hit by a sudden wind.
The hands began to lose shape.
Edges fuzzed. Fingers flickered.
Then, one by one, they began to unravel—no scream, no drama. Just the slow decay of dark as the firelight expanded.
He's not creating them from scratch, at least. He's manipulating the ones here. Built from what's available. If I move the light… they die like any shadow.
Kamo's expression didn't change.
But he stopped walking.
"You learn quick," he said, voice level. "Good."
Hikari didn't answer. He moved—fast.
Through the scatter. Through the remnants of smoke.
Fire in both hands now.
Hikari's fist caught the chin—not flush, but enough to shift Kamo's footing.
He slid off the line, toward the wall. No retort. No readjustment. Just distance.
I can't let him reset. Don't let him find a shadow to use.
Hikari dropped his stance—both hands flared wide.
No more control. Just volume.
He launched the first fireball with a flick—small, fast, loud.
The second came before the first had landed.
The third, larger, curved sharp and low—meant to box him in.
Kamo ducked behind a collapsed shelf. The first blast tore through it. Wood cracked. Splinters flew.
The fourth hit the wall, hard enough to shake loose the dust above it.
Fireballs in pairs struck high and low—exploded across the tile, kicking up heat and smoke.
For a few seconds, nothing moved other than Hikari's volley of fire.
Hikari stood with his breath torn open. Hands still raised, vision burning white at the edges.
The smoke curled. Shadows twisted and broke. No hands. No clones. No teleportation, Hikari had completely nullified Kamo's moveset. Nothing was left.
Just—
Silence.
Then, behind it all, the softest shift.
Not from Kamo. From the girl he'd been chasing. The girl who created this scene. She was moving.
One foot at a time. One step. Then another. Edging toward the far hall.
She never looked at him.
Never said thank you.
Of course. You were her shield.
Hikari didn't call out. Didn't chase.
Kamo stepped back into view. No real damage to anything more than environment.
"Is this what protection looks like?" he asked, voice dry. "That much fire. That little awareness."
Hikari didn't answer right away.
He lowered one hand. Flame still curled at the fingertips.
"She ran."
Kamo nodded once. "She was likely safest here."
They stood across from each other.
Breathing hard. Shoulders low. Firelight and what it left behind, still twitching across the walls.
Neither moved.
Their clothes were torn. Blood at the lip. Smoke in the lungs.
Kamo examined himself. Looking at the dark red hoodie in between the tears and burns in his cloak. Only then did he remember why Hikari had looked familiar.
Kamo took one step forward.
Fast, urgent, and clear.
Hikari raised his fists again.
I can win this. He's lost the map. He's fighting barehanded at this point.
Kamo launched forward—sharp, clean, nothing left in reserve.
Hikari blocked. Just barely.
A jab slipped through. Caught the cheek.
He fired back. A hook. Flame trailing from his elbow. It clipped Kamo's shoulder, but not enough to slow him.
Another strike came. Hikari ducked. Pivoted. Slid around Kamo's back and swept his leg low.
Kamo staggered. Fell—hard.
Dust kicked up around him. His hand braced against the floor.
Hikari stood over him—both hands lit now. Chest rising too fast.
Kamo looked up.
No fear. No anger.
Just silence.
I have to kill him.
Hikari's hand shook.
But if I do… I'll become what I swore I wouldn't. What they want me to be.
He stared down at Kamo. Flame roaring in his palm.
But if I don't—he'll get back up. He'll take her. He'll take the others. I'm sure he has his reasons, but I can't put his desires above the lives of everyone else here. I apologize for what I'm about to do.
Kamo didn't move. He watched. Not that he had much of a choice.
Hikari raised his arm.
The fire coiled higher.
I'm not a monster.
The flame flickered.
But everything isn't all about me.
He struck down.
The blast hit—loud, bright, final.
For a second, nothing existed but light and sound.
Then silence.
Hikari collapsed—his legs giving out, his body falling forward over Kamo's.
Less than unconscious.
Spent. Broken.
The fire was gone.