The rooftop was a stage set for a world-ending drama. The sky churned above them, a vortex of unnatural, magical energy. The crystalline cube at the center of the ritual pulsed with an unstable, flickering light, threatening to either implode or explode at any moment. The two mindless puppets, their faces beautiful and blank, continued to channel their raw power into the artifact, their movements graceful and robotic. And in the middle of it all stood the man with the broken wing, his mismatched eyes gleaming with a manic, predatory light.
Kenjiro, his mind still reeling from 03's abrupt departure and the bombshell of responsibility that had been dropped on his slender shoulders, prepared himself for a fight. He could feel the familiar, angry thrum of his muscular shadow just beneath the surface, eager to be unleashed. He could feel the cold, amused presence of his second, blue-haired shadow, watching the scene unfold with a detached, chilling curiosity. He was ready.
