Night fell over the Serium Realm like a heavy curtain, blotting out the crystalline glow of the Academy spires. The usual hum of the city was gone, replaced by a tension so thick it pressed against the very bones of the students and instructors alike.
Shinjiru walked along the quiet corridors, the weight of the Judgment Trials still heavy in his chest. Success had elevated him to a place of prominence among the trainees, yet unease gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. Something was shifting. Something dangerous.
He reached the training yard just in time to see smoke curling from the Research and Intelligence Quarter. Crimson and violet light flickered through the haze, casting eerie shadows across the walls. His pulse spiked.
"Not again…" Shinjiru muttered, instincts kicking in. He sprinted toward the disturbance, violet aura flaring, chains coiling around his kusarigama like living extensions of his will.
The scene that met him was chaos incarnate. Students and minor Himen scrambled as alarms blared. The once-orderly research halls were under siege, and from the depths of the shadows emerged forms twisted and unnatural: Stage 3 Krawlers, their corrupted auras burning in red-black veins. Their eyes glowed like embers as they tore through barriers and defenses alike.
Shinjiru's training surged forward, every lesson, every tactical maneuver rehearsed during hours of drills now a lifeline. He didn't hesitate. Chains lashed, creating barriers, disarming traps, and catching Krawlers mid-leap. Yet for every enemy he subdued, two more appeared. The horde was growing, intelligent, coordinated—far beyond any Stage 3 encounter he had trained for.
"Shinjiru!" Aoi Hasegawa's voice cut through the chaos. She emerged from the smoke, carrying a tray of Essence fruit vials. Her lavender aura flickered weakly under the strain of maintaining field healing. "These are unstable! Use them sparingly!"
He nodded, grabbing a vial and tossing it to a wounded trainee before weaving between collapsing pillars, chains snapping in deadly precision.
Then he saw it—a figure moving above the fray with a calculated grace that set him apart from the other Krawlers. Its aura pulsed black and crimson, familiar yet terrifying. Shinjiru's heart clenched.
"Orochi no Kyōfu…" he whispered. The Stage 4 hybrid Krawler responsible for his father's death had arrived.
Time seemed to slow. Memories of his father, Haruto, flooded back: the warnings never spoken, the experiments never revealed, the rules he had broken to protect his family, and ultimately, the fatal encounter that had left him dead and Shinjiru fatherless. Rage, sorrow, and determination ignited within him.
He charged, violet aura blazing. Chains collided with the Krawler's armored scales, sparks flying as essence clashed against corruption. The air itself quivered under the force of their strikes. Every blow brought echoes of his father's final battle. He could almost see Haruto's ghost, fighting, failing, dying—but Shinjiru refused to repeat history.
The chaos spread, and amid the battle, Ranko Hoshi emerged, standing atop a collapsed bridge. Her dark amethyst aura burned like a warning.
"Shinjiru," she called, voice sharp and controlled. "You think you can save everyone? The rules are meaningless, the Academy is blind, and the Elite 8 are corrupt. Humanity's balance will only shift through upheaval, through chaos."
Shinjiru's grip tightened on his kusarigama. He knew her words carried the sting of truth, yet he could not let her sway him. Not now.
"You're wrong," he shouted. "Balance isn't about destruction. It's about protecting what matters without losing ourselves. I won't let your chaos destroy this world—or anyone else."
With that, the Chaos Arc truly began. The Stage 3 Krawlers multiplied, striking like living storms. Ranko's rebellion pushed Himen trainees and lower-ranked protectors into dangerous skirmishes, testing loyalties and morality. The Academy's once-impenetrable order fractured, forcing Shinjiru to act not as a student, but as a leader, protector, and strategist.
He moved through the battlefield with precision, chains weaving, aura flaring, each decision a calculated gamble. Rescue here, strike there, a diversion for the wounded—every choice carried consequences. And all the while, the shadow of Orochi loomed, a relentless reminder of the final enemy waiting beyond the Boneyard.
By the end of the night, the Academy lay in partial ruin. Smoke and debris hung in the air, wounded trainees cried out for aid, and the remaining Krawlers had been pushed back—temporarily. But Shinjiru felt it deep in his bones: this was only the beginning. The Chaos Arc had begun, and every choice, every battle, every secret unearthed would bring him closer to the truth about his father, his heritage, and the price of becoming the ninth Elite Himen.
And above it all, the Maw stirred, echoing through the Boneyard, a silent harbinger of the devastation yet to come.