Scene: "Echoes of Familiar Threats"
The morning sun barely broke through the forest canopy.
Shojiro and the others stood at the edge of a ravine, preparing to move forward. No fanfare. No words. Just instinct guiding their steps.
Then… a cold shiver traced through the air.
CRACK.
A fracture in space tore open just meters ahead — a VYTHRA rupture, jagged and pulsing. It didn't roar. It breathed. Whispered.
And from it stepped nine demons — not the ones they'd fought before, but unmistakably of the same types. New bodies. Same nightmare blueprints.
Demon 1: Brute Class
Its footfalls cracked roots as it emerged — a walking landslide of muscle and bone-plated hide. Its arms dragged along the ground, too thick to bend, knuckles glowing with residual flame from a recent kill.
A being of force. No tricks. Just pressure.
Demon 2: Aetherial Class
It hovered without wings, eyes like fractured glass. Its form pulsed in and out of phase with reality, emitting no sound, yet causing ripples in the air with every movement. Magic bent near it, warping like heat haze.
A ghost of energy and intent.
Demon 3: Forger Class
Steam hissed from its wrists as molten metal dripped off its exposed forearms. It slammed its fists together, forging dual axes mid-step from its own bones, which instantly cooled into jagged obsidian.
A walking factory of pain.
Demon 4: Creator Class
Taller than the rest — but hunched. Pustules lined its back, each birthing twitching, malformed spawn. One of them slipped off its shoulder and hit the ground with a squelch, already snarling.
It made mistakes… and called them children.
Demon 5: Stalker Class
It didn't emerge from the crack. It was already behind them. Black skin. No glow. No smell. Just hunger. Its head tilted, not like a hunter — but like a surgeon measuring the first incision.
A shadow that thought.
Demon 6: Puppeteer Class
Limbs far too long. Fingers curled like hooks. Red threads hung from its knuckles and dug into the ground, twitching with marionette motion. Every movement caused the wind itself to shudder.
It didn't control corpses. It made them dance.
Demon 7: Shifter Class
It bled constantly — not from wounds, but from change. One moment it was hunched and wide, the next, a slender humanoid with a split-open jaw. Its form twisted with emotion, not biology.
Built to become whatever kills you best.
Demon 8 & 9: Catalyst Class Twins
They stepped out together — one shrouded in acidic vapor, the other crackling with unstable electricity. They never spoke. Never blinked. One blinked ash into the air, the other blinked sparks. Wherever they walked, the grass turned to soot.
Chaos made flesh. Doubled.
The Chosen stood still.
Not from fear… but from recognition of type.
They had seen these classes before — had nearly died fighting their kind. These weren't the same demons — but their auras were forged from similar hatred.
Shojiro exhaled once, lips curling into a smirk.
"…Déjà vu, huh?"
Enme tilted her head. "One of each. Someone's trying to test us."
Alex narrowed her gaze at the Aetherial. "Or provoke us."
Max cracked his neck. "Not the worst warmup."
Karl stepped forward, eyes scanning every movement with cold precision. "No weapons. Just fists, blood, and genius."
Leone said nothing — her phantom energy already beginning to hum beneath her breath.
Morgz flexed one hand, water misting from his pores.
Zans blinked toward the Stalker. "Kuro's already hungry."
Zixy just smiled — a quiet, unsettling curl of her lips. "Let's make sure they remember their mistake."
Nine Chosen.
Nine Demons.
A battlefield shaped by types, history, and tension.
And this time?
No mercy. No hesitation.
Just proof that power isn't a memory — it's momentum.
Shojiro vs. Brute Class Demon
The moment the rupture fully closed, Shojiro blurred forward — a crimson shimmer trailing in his wake.
Red Shift: Active.
A single blink.
He was gone.
In less than a nanosecond, he reappeared behind the Brute with a raised hand — muscle threads coiled like steel cables across his forearm.
Shojiro (thinking):
One shot. No buildup. Straight through the spine.
He launched his palm forward like a drill — aiming to skewer the demon's torso from behind.
But—
There was no impact.
His hand didn't pierce flesh.
It struck something... soft, yet unyielding.
Shojiro's eyes widened.
His fingers were embedded not in the demon's chest — but within its raw muscle fibers, which had suddenly unraveled from beneath the skin like a whipcord net.
The demon had detached its muscles preemptively — using them as an external buffer.
The Brute's head twisted slowly — vertebrae grinding — and its eyes locked onto Shojiro behind it, even as its main body remained still.
Then—
BOOM.
The muscle cords snapped back like elastic bands, slamming Shojiro with thousands of pounds of kinetic recoil, sending him flying back through a chunk of bedrock.
Shojiro twisted mid-air, stabilizing.
Dust exploded outward on impact, but he landed on his feet, skidding back with scorched boot soles and a gouged trail behind him.
Shojiro (grinning):
"He unwrapped his own damn muscles to block me?"
The demon turned fully now, thick veins pulsing over its skeletal bulk — its hide seemed to ripple with intent.
It let out a low growl that sounded more like a generator heating up.
Shojiro's body trembled—not from fear, but anticipation.
"Alright, meat tower..."
His back cracked, his muscle density rising, red glow blooming along his skin.
"Let's talk hypertrophy."
The ground beneath Shojiro vibrated. Not from the Brute's power… but from the tension building inside his legs.
Shojiro (thinking):
Forget fast. Let's go incomprehensible.
Muscles along his thighs and calves reconfigured, bundling tighter and tighter until they looked like industrial cables. Veins glowed red-hot as energy surged into place.
He activated Red Drift — slipping forward in gravitational defiance. Then came Ligament Drift — every tendon in his body twisted, coiling like a spring.
His entire form rotated slightly — like a bowstring pulled beyond its limit.
Shojiro (grinning, whispering):
"Snap."
Then—
SNAP
He vanished.
No warning.
No sound.
No blur.
He'd broken the light barrier and the concept of motion itself. The air where he stood didn't even ripple until after he was gone.
The Brute's eyes scanned the field — confused.
From its perspective, Shojiro hadn't moved.
He was still standing there, relaxed, arms down.
So the Brute paused, confused for only a second.
That was all it took.
SPLURCH.
Its entire chest caved inward.
The Brute staggered forward as a massive hole opened in its torso, its heart already gone — Shojiro stood behind it again, one hand dripping red, the other clenched.
In his palm: a pulsing black organ.
He crushed it.
The Brute dropped to one knee, gasping.
Shojiro (calmly):
"You're not even worth Oblivion Drive."
Then—
The demon twitched.
Shojiro's pupils narrowed.
From the cavity in its chest, a second heart regrew in seconds, sinew pulling like rebar into place.
The Brute rose again — slower this time, snarling. Its skin began to blacken, muscles growing even thicker, bones shifting audibly under its mass.
Shojiro (clicking his neck):
"Oh. Multi-life type."
His smirk returned.
"Guess I'll just kill you again."