"They called me a shadow. But even shadows have weight. Mine bleeds." -Kamui
It had been a month since Kamui's assault on the Shinjuro Government Bureau. Twelve dead. One executed beyond recognition. Half the city whispered his name now, some in fear, some in awe.
The Yaksha symbol had become a mark of blasphemy on the walls of government buildings. Spray-painted in red, always with a smear of blood.
Kamui had started something.
But he was still alone.
His small hideout on Mount Kaigara was nothing more than a shed carved into the cliffside, but its insides were filled with maps, documents, surveillance photos — and names.
Many names.
Names of those who signed Ishido's execution order. Names of those who built the propaganda machine.
Names of those who watched the dojo burn, then claimed it was "necessary for peace."
And one name, written in blood ink on his wall:
General Riku Seido.
The man who led the midnight raid on the dojo.
Kamui found out everything about him, and he knew the value of this assassination. Using his political powers, he ran riot and forced people to starve and used them to his will, yet he never justified it.
He remains free, and that's what Kamui will take away from him.
Kamui had studied every movement of the General since then. He was a warhound in the city of Oujin, running a re-education facility.
The place where young "troublemakers" were moulded into government dogs.
Kamui cracked his fists. He always preferred hand-to-hand.
Under the light of the single bulb in the shed. Outside, rain fell — red-tinted from the iron dust in the skies.
"Red rain," he muttered. "Fitting."
He wrapped his arms and knuckles in black tape, snapped his belt tight, and pulled on his famous red kimono.... He tied the Yaksha insignia around his arm like a declaration.
Then he vanished into the storm.
Oujin - Re-education Facility #090
1:47 A.M.
The guards patrolled lazily — the rain made them tired, careless. The tower lights flickered with static. Kamui crouched by the gate's blind spot, tracing every step.
One guard leaned to light a cigarette. That's when Kamui struck — silent, brutal.
Kamui's fist targeted under the jawline and into the soft of the neck, breaking it in an instant. Kamui dragged the body down.
One by one, they fell. Necks broken, knees shattered, arms twisted in ways arms weren't meant to bend.
Kamui was fast — too fast. Each kill is more vicious, more desperate. Not for pleasure. Not even vengeance.
Rage sharpened into focus.
He slipped into the west wing, where they kept the young rebels — the ones who wouldn't speak, who wouldn't bow.
He found them asleep, bruised, chained to walls, eyes hollowed.
Kamui's voice dropped like a whisper into their ears.
"You will all be fit to one day lead this nation against the corruption, with me. "
A few stirred, blinking at the shadow in front of them.
"I won't free you tonight. You'd be killed before you reached the mountains. But I'll leave the gate open.
And I'll kill the man who made you this way."
And with that, he moved again — toward the General's quarters.
Inside, General Seido was asleep.
He sat up in his bed to the sound of glass shattering.
Too late.
Kamui burst through the window like a storm, grabbing Seido by the throat, pinning him to the wall with one arm.
"You remember me?"
Seido gurgled, reaching for his pistol. Kamui sliced the hand clean off.
"You took him from me," Kamui hissed. "You put a blade to my master's back. You called it 'necessary.'"
"He... was a threat... to order!" Seido screamed.
"So am I."
The fight that followed wasn't elegant.
It was raw, brutal, personal.
Seido managed to shove Kamui back, draw a secondary blade, and swing wide. Kamui ducked under it, slammed a knee into the general's ribs, then spun into a brutal elbow that cracked Seido's jaw sideways.
They collided into a weapons rack. Seido grabbed a short sword, and Kamui took a chained kama. Blades flashed. Sparks flew. Flesh tore.
Seido stabbed Kamui in the shoulder.
Kamui roared, yanked the blade deeper in himself to get closer, and smashed his forehead into Seido's nose, sending him crashing back.
"This is what you taught us, isn't it?" Kamui spat, yanking the blade free from his own body. "This is the new world?"
He jumped on top of the General, swinging fists until Seido's skull dented the floor.
"You killed the ones who believed!"
Punch.
"You burned the truth and called it order!"
Punch.
"You raised us to be dogs and feared us when we howled!"
Crack.
He stopped when there was nothing left of the General's face but bone and ruin.
His hands trembled. Not from fear — from the fire still inside him.
The door burst open — guards screaming.
Kamui stood slowly, face and chest soaked in blood. He stared at them all.
"He's dead. You can try to avenge him. Or you can run."
They ran.
Kamui disappeared after that, his goal achieved once again.
Hours after Kamui vanished into the mountains…
The storm had not stopped. The red rain fell heavier now, soaking the city of Oujin in the iron scent of blood and smoke.
Government forces scrambled like frightened insects, cordoning off the re-education facility. The fire still burned, stubbornly resisting every effort to douse it.
In the centre of the chaos, the corpse of General Riku Seido lay on a ceremonial sheet, face covered with a white cloth — though everyone knew there was nothing left beneath it to recognise.
The soldiers stepped back as a figure walked past them without a word.
His black boots sliced through puddles like blades. His kimono, deep crimson with sharp grey edges, fluttered beneath reinforced black armour plating across his shoulders and chest.
His hair was tied into a high, disciplined ponytail, but strands still clung to his face, sharper now, defined — no longer the soft boy from the dojo.
Argon stood over the body, hands behind his back, the light of the fire glinting off the silver buckle of his belt, which bore the insignia of Kuzan's Military Division, the elite wing of military operatives.
He was only 15, but you wouldn't believe it by looking at him.
"So this is what you've become..."
His voice was low. Smooth. Laced with control, but hollow in a way that whispered of things broken.
"Not subtle, Kamui. Not quiet. Just rage. Flame and screams and guts on the floor."
He crouched slowly, looking at the body of his fallen comrade.
"You still cling to his ideals... as if ideals save anyone. They didn't save us that day, they didn't save him that day."
He closed his eyes and took a breath.
"Everyone knows it was you."
He stood back up, his katana resting on his waist, sheathed.
"But only I know where you'll be next."
Lightning cracked behind him.
"The day of Ishido's execution. It's in two weeks. I know you'll be there. You'll try to stop it. Because you're still you. Still chasing ghosts. Still pretending we're the same boys from that dojo."
He walked slowly through the scorched hallways, his footsteps echoing beneath the collapsing beams.
"You always thought fire was freedom. I was foolish enough to believe you. But fire only consumes. It doesn't choose who it saves."
Argon paused, glancing toward the eastern mountains.
"I told myself I'd never face you again... but I guess the past has a sick way of calling back."
A black government assistant came with his horse and descended. The rain hissed, trying to stop him.
He called out to Argon:
"Commander Argon, orders from President Kuzan — your next mission is clear: eliminate Kamui. Kill on sight."
Argon didn't flinch. He walked into the hovercraft, but his voice trailed behind him like smoke:
"I know where he'll be."
He sat down across from the soldier, his dark eyes cold, lips twitching in a near-smile.
"And I won't miss."
But the smile faded.
He looked at his gloved hand, and for a moment — just a moment — his fingers trembled.
Then he clenched them tight.
"Kamui… don't make me kill you."