The man with the kusarigama tilted his head, his unreadable expression reflecting only disappointment. His voice was calm, yet heavy, as if it carried the will of gods themselves.
"Now you understand… what was going on. Surrender your life to the new world we are making. A world where no one cries, where no one loses anyone ever again."
His words echoed like a hymn, yet it wasn't salvation he promised—it was dominance.
Ryuu's chest heaved. His fists trembled, not from fear but from rage clawing its way out of him. His body radiated sparks, a crackling storm of power manifesting. His lips curved into a twisted grin.
"The fight has just started."
A surge erupted—Rage Mode.
Blue lightning wrapped around him like a second skin. Electricity tore through the frozen ground, scorching lines of molten glass beneath his feet. His muscles bulged, veins glowing faintly with the overload of mana coursing through him. The sheer pressure shook the shattered ruins around them.
Ryuu roared, the sound thunderous, a defiance against destiny itself.
Rage Mode. The forbidden state. His body accelerated beyond human limits—strength, speed, stamina all multiplied several fold. But the cost was devastating. His mana drained at a terrifying pace, his organs burning from the strain. Yet Ryuu didn't care.
Not when his pride was on the line. Not when the whole world stood watching.
He clenched his fists tighter, electricity dancing madly around him. "This is Ryuu's secret power. This is what will crush you."
But then—
The air grew cold. Not the natural cold of frozen winds but the suffocating frost of death itself.
A presence appeared behind him. Silent, overwhelming, like the shadow of a god.
Ryuu's pupils dilated as his instincts screamed. Slowly, he turned his head—
And there he was.
A figure cloaked in darkness. His aura was not blue like Ryuu's nor crimson like the kusarigama wielder's. It was dark purple, a suffocating storm that devoured even the moonlight. His sword gleamed with an ancient presence, a name whispered among those who still remembered legends: Emperor Blade—Arvion's Sword.
Rayyan.
The ghost hunter. The man who appeared only in whispers and bloodstains.
Ryuu's grin widened, his arrogance refusing to waver. "So… you're the mysterious ghost hunter everyone fears. But don't interfere. This is my fight."
Rayyan's eyes were like frozen steel, his voice colder than death itself.
"You fool… don't speak when you don't understand. You can't defeat him. He isn't a normal hunter. He isn't even on the scale you measure yourself against."
The kusarigama wielder remained silent, his crimson aura swaying gently like a sea of blood.
Rayyan stepped forward, his blade humming, aura tearing the ground beneath.
"If I'm right… then his aura tells me everything. He is not a man. He is not a hunter. He is—
one of the Warlords."
The words fell like thunder, shaking the souls of every hunter watching from afar.
Ryuu's rage-fueled heart skipped. He had thought it… deep inside, he had felt it. But hearing it confirmed twisted his stomach with dread.
The Warlords.
The ancient rulers of destruction. The ones sealed away in the forgotten war.
His mind raced. The seal wasn't supposed to break for ten years. The world was supposed to have time. How… how is one of them standing here now?
The kusarigama warlord finally raised his weapon. Slowly, gracefully, spinning it in the air until the sound of chains whistled like the cries of the damned.
His crimson gaze met theirs.
"I've wasted too much time here." His voice was steady, divine in its finality. "Now I must go. But before I leave… I offer your soul to the God of Darkness."
The kusarigama glowed, chains trembling as though alive, hungering for blood.
But before the clash could ignite—
---
Scene Shift
Elsewhere, in the dark veins of the city…
Arzen stalked silently through the alleys, his aura hidden. His eyes burned as he followed the trail of shadows. Before him stood an abandoned building, windows shattered, walls carved with symbols of forgotten cults.
Inside, he saw them.
Five children, tied and unconscious, their breaths shallow. Around them, men wearing wolf masks. Their voices were muffled, distorted by their masks, but their words carried chilling intent.
"These seeds are perfect. Yes… the price for them will be great."
Another one nodded, his voice a growl. "Load them into the truck. The buyer is waiting. We must leave quickly."
Arzen's hands curled into fists. His blood boiled. He stepped out from the shadows, his voice cutting like a blade.
"You call these children seeds? What madness is this? Are you twisted scientists? Or slaves to some cult? What do you plan to do with them?"
The wolf-masked men froze for a moment. Then, one chuckled darkly.
"Well, well… if it isn't Rank 2 Hunter, Arzen." His tone was mocking, unshaken. He spread his arms wide, as if welcoming him. "So kind of you to come. But tell me, Arzen, do you think your rank means anything here?"
The others joined, laughter echoing through the hollow building.
"Hunter… forgive us?" one said, pretending to tremble, before bursting into manic cackles. "No. Tonight, you will learn fear."
Arzen's eyes narrowed, his aura flaring like a storm barely contained.
The laughter of the wolves cut short. The children whimpered in their sleep, unaware of the hell awaiting them.