The corridor trembled faintly with the hum of distant machinery. Billish, Alia, and 56 stood frozen, eyes fixed ahead.
Six silhouettes had emerged from the other end of the damp tunnel — motionless, yet suffocatingly real. The dripping sound of water echoed between them, and the tension in the air felt like thin glass, ready to shatter.
56's skull mask dimly reflected the pale emergency lights, its faint glow breaking through the dark haze. His heartbeat pounded — not from fear, but calculation. His mind raced through possibilities, faces, and known enemies.
Who are they? he thought. They don't move like guards. Their stance… their presence… too controlled.
He squinted, catching the outline of a man standing ahead of the group — the only one not hiding his form.
A black suit, immaculate despite the filth of the canal. A faint aura of confidence, cruel and polished.
And then he saw the face.
Recognition struck like lightning.
That jawline. That smirk. That gaze that had once graced every underground wanted broadcast.
56's breath caught. It can't be… him.
A voice inside him whispered what his logic already knew —
Alane.
The world's number one mafia leader.
A man whose bounty exceeded one billion yen.
A ghost that lived in the underworld — and ruled it.
Why was he here? Why in this place?
56's mind reeled through possibilities. Is he working with Kuro? No… if he were, Kuro would've told me. Then—
His thoughts crashed into a single possibility that chilled him. He's here for the Eclipse Boy.
Before he could speak, his skull mask flared a brighter blue. The faint neon veins along his neck pulsed with energy as he took a careful step forward.
His voice echoed through the dripping silence.
"Alane. Why are you here?"
The man in the suit tilted his head slightly, the smirk deepening. "You know me?"
56's tone sharpened, almost scoffing, though his body screamed caution. "Who in the world doesn't know you… world's number one mafia boss."
Billish blinked, disbelieving. Alia's hand instinctively went to her belt, where her blade rested, but her fingers trembled slightly. She could feel it — the man's presence was like standing before a pit with no bottom.
Alane chuckled, his voice warm and cruel. "You flatter me."
He took one lazy step forward, the faint sound of his shoe against the wet concrete somehow louder than anything else. "So, if you know me, you should already know… I don't come to places like this for sightseeing."
56's chest tightened. His thoughts spiraled fast. Then it's true. He's here for Kaito.
He tightened his grip. His mask flickered again, a faint blue pulse tracing the cracks on its surface.
"What do you want?"
Alane's smile didn't waver. His answer was simple — too simple.
"I'm here for that Eclipse boy."
For a moment, no one moved. Even the air felt heavier.
56 could feel Billish's tension beside him. Alia's breathing grew shallow.
He thought quickly. We can't fight them. Six of them. They're too composed — too balanced. Every one of them looks trained to kill.
He swallowed hard. His mind reached for an escape plan. If I can misdirect them... maybe buy time.
He took a step back, his tone shifting into feigned nonchalance.
"I'm not here for that boy. I'm here for Regan No. 2 — Alexander."
Alane's grin widened, eyes darkening like shadows swirling over still water.
"Do you really think you can fool me?"
The corridor went dead silent. The air cracked under invisible pressure. 56's instincts screamed. He knows. He's not bluffing.
The only way… is to make them run.
He turned slightly, speaking without turning his head. "Billish. Alia."
They both looked at him, confusion flashing in their eyes — until they saw his trembling hands.
"Run."
"What—"
"Run!"
The word came out like a command from his very core. And then, in an instant, the air shifted.
The dim blue glow in his mask spread through his arm — his hand, once empty, now held a blade that wasn't entirely there.
A sword , edges flickering like fragmented glass. The weapon hummed with impossible geometry, its surface bending light and perspective.
"Formless Edge: Tesseract."
The moment the words left his mouth, the world split.
A tremor tore through the canal. Every wall, every pipe, every inch of the damp tunnel seemed to fold in upon itself — then expand again in a violent burst of pressure.
The light from the sword cut across space in geometric patterns, slicing air and steel alike, forming a three-dimensional square cut that rippled through the environment.
Water erupted from the broken walls. Concrete screamed.
Billish grabbed Alia's arm, and they both bolted through the collapsing tunnel as 56 blurred past them — his movements too fast to follow, his energy already fading from the cost of the technique.
Behind them, Alane's group barely flinched. The girl with the knives took a small step forward, a glimmer of excitement in her crimson eyes.
"Boss," she said softly, "should we go after them?"
Her voice had an almost childlike sweetness, though her hand toyed with one of the blood-stained blades.
Alane brushed some dust from his shoulder, his smirk unfazed by the quake around them.
"No," he said. "Let them run. They're not the only ones we'll fight tonight."
The girl hesitated. "Then what—"
"Save your energy, Stamina." His gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the collapsed section of the canal.
"It's going to take everything we have to deal with Regan No. 2."
He turned his back as the debris settled and smoke rose in the flickering emergency light.
For a brief moment, his silhouette looked almost demonic — a figure carved in shadow, calm in chaos.
And somewhere in the distant dark, the faint sound of running water and echoing footsteps faded — the sound of 56, Billish, and Alia escaping into the deeper levels of the Fern's underbelly.
But Alane's final words lingered, soft and cold:
"Run all you want. The game's already begun."
---
The air was heavy with dust and heat.
The walls still groaned from the collapse 56's Tesseract had caused.
In that suffocating darkness, Alia, Billish, and 56 ran.
The floor beneath them was slick, every step echoing like a scream in the silence. Dim emergency lights flickered faintly — pale orange flashes that turned the wet pipes into veins of rust.
Billish's voice finally cut through the sound of their breathing.
"Looks like we're not the only ones here for the boy," she muttered, irritation mixing with tension.
Her jaw clenched as she ran — her tone sharp, but her eyes darting, calculating every turn.
56 didn't respond immediately. His breath was uneven. The strain from using Formless Edge was catching up to him. Each step felt heavier than the last.
He spoke finally, low but steady.
"Stay quiet. Every step… carefully. If we slip up, this whole mission fails."
His glowing mask dimmed slightly — the bright veins now reduced to dull flickers. Alia glanced at him and saw how pale he'd become under the blue light. Sweat and canal water dripped from his hair and cloak.
They reached the base of a staircase — metallic, narrow, rising upward into the dark like a ribcage.
"Up," 56 said simply.
He placed a hand on the rusted railing and began to ascend, step by step, each creak of metal echoing through the void.
Billish followed close behind, muttering under her breath. "Feels like we're climbing into a beast's mouth…"
Alia didn't speak. She only looked up into the dark above them, her thoughts hollow and cold. If Kaito's really up there… then this madness is just beginning.
The sound of their boots against steel faded as the camera of focus — shifted.
---
Scene Shift — Hunting Grounds
The smell of metal and ozone filled the air.
Two men stood opposite a figure wreathed in crimson aura.
Andreo, grinning, his sickle spinning lazily in his right hand.
Michael, calm and composed, staff planted firmly on the cracked ground.
And across from them — Mark, the self-proclaimed God of Death.
His white scythe shimmered faintly with a red aura, its blade curving like a crescent moon soaked in blood. His black hair framed eyes burning with obsession. Despite his childlike frame — about 162 cm, youthful and lean — his killing intent filled the entire hunting ground.
Andreo cracked his neck, a smile cutting through the tension.
Michael smirked lightly. "So, friend," he said dryly, "let's teach this eighth grader that he's not a god of death… just another chūnibyō."
Mark's expression twisted instantly.
His voice cracked with anger — sharp, trembling, almost childish. "Bastard! I'm not an eighth grader! I'm the God of Death! I'll take your lives myself!"
He lunged forward, white scythe flashing like lightning.
The first clash split the air.
Michael intercepted the downward swing with his staff — the shockwave sending sparks across the ground.
Andreo dashed sideways, aiming for Mark's flank.
But Mark was fast — unnaturally fast.
He spun mid-air, kicking out with brutal precision, his foot slamming into Andreo's arm before the sickle could connect.
Andreo stumbled back, landing hard, his grin turning grim.
Michael retaliated instantly — thrusting his staff forward, but Mark ducked and countered, slicing past his chest armor with a shallow cut.
The sound of their weapons filled the room like a storm — steel against steel, breath against rage.
For a brief second, Mark smirked, confident.
But Michael's eyes had already moved past him — scanning the environment.
Broken mirrors. Dozens of them. Scattered along the walls of the hunting ground — remnants of the experiments that once took place here.
Michael's mind clicked. Light. Reflection. Focus.
He turned his head slightly.
"Andreo, hold him off. One minute."
Andreo didn't question. "You got it."
He rushed forward again, his movements more erratic, more desperate. Each swing of his sickle was heavy, reckless, meant not to kill but to stall.
Mark countered easily, his movements fluid, mocking.
"Is that all you've got? You think you can kill Death?"
"Not trying to kill," Andreo said between breaths, "just trying to piss you off."
Mark roared and swung horizontally — the scythe's edge slicing a clean line across the ground, sending debris flying. Andreo barely dodged, sliding under the swing, sweat flying from his hair.
Every muscle in his body screamed. His lungs burned.
Still, he smiled — that same reckless grin that had carried him through a thousand near-deaths.
Then he heard it — a faint hum.
Michael's voice echoed softly through the dust.
"Mark…"
The staff in his hand began to glow — faintly at first, then bright enough to fill the entire room.
"Lightning Staff, Form One: Glow."
A surge of light erupted from the staff's head, blinding and pure.
But Michael wasn't aiming at Mark directly. He was aiming at the mirrors.
One by one, the scattered fragments caught the light, bouncing it, bending it. The reflections merged — intersecting across the chamber in intricate geometry.
A concave mirror, unnoticed before, reflected it all toward a single point.
Right where Mark stood.
The focused light seared into his vision.
He screamed — clutching his face, stumbling backward. "Aagh—what—what have you done—"
Michael lowered his staff slightly, a smirk cutting across his face. "You talk too much for a god."
Andreo saw the opening.
He tightened his grip on the sickle.
"Now you'll see death, kid."
He dashed forward. His weapon carved a half-circle through the air — a clean, fast, merciless swing.
The blade met flesh.
A wet, hollow sound.
Mark's head flew, eyes still wide in disbelief, landing beside his body as the rest of him collapsed.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Andreo exhaled heavily, shoulders dropping.
Michael leaned against his staff, his own breathing rough.
"Finally," Andreo muttered, falling to his knees. "That brat… nearly drained me."
Michael nodded. "Yeah… he fought like a cornered animal."
He smiled faintly, exhausted but relieved. "Good teamwork, huh?"
Andreo chuckled weakly. "Heh… you and your science tricks."
But then —
A voice.
Soft. Distant. Wrong.
"You haven't… killed me."
Both men froze.
Andreo's smile vanished. Michael's eyes darted toward the far corner of the room.
There — standing calmly, head tilted slightly — was Mark.
Whole. Unharmed. His white scythe still in his hands, aura flickering brighter than before.
The decapitated body they'd slain lay motionless beside them — but the thing in front of them grinned.
"What… the hell," Andreo whispered.
Mark chuckled lowly, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.
"You killed my double."
Michael's eyes widened. "Double…?"
Mark raised his scythe again, its red aura now pulsing violently. "My move. Doubling. I can create a body — a perfect replica of myself — and exchange places with it in the instant of death."
He smirked wider, eyes burning with childlike madness.
"Pretty neat, huh? It saved my ass again."
Andreo clenched his jaw, dragging himself to his feet. "So… we have to kill two of you."
Mark tilted his head, smiling like a teacher amused by a naïve student. "Two? You think that's my limit?"
Michael exhaled sharply, gripping his staff tighter. His calm façade was starting to crack.
He looked at Andreo, their gazes locking — the same unspoken thought passing between them.
How the hell are we supposed to kill a monster that won't die?
Andreo let out a slow breath, smirk returning despite the terror.
"Well, friend," he said, spinning his sickle once, "guess this 'chūnibyō' still has a few lessons to give."
The camera lingered on their three silhouettes — two battle-worn figures facing one laughing ghost in red light.
And somewhere far above, the sound of footsteps echoed through the steel stairwell — Alia, Billish, and 56 still climbing toward a fate they didn't yet understand.
The darkness of the Fern trembled again.
The gods and ghosts of this place were only beginning to wake.
---
The metallic corridors groaned under every step.
The air reeked of rust, damp smoke, and something faintly chemical — the scent of a place that was never meant to be touched by sunlight.
Five figures moved through it like shadows.
Arthur, Kuro, Samuel, Sinon, and Kaito's father — all wrapped in the dim, blue emergency lights that barely lit the Fern's endless hallways.
Their footsteps were careful.
Their breathing, measured.
Only the faint mechanical hum of distant turbines filled the silence.
Sinon, dragging her suitcase lightly behind her, finally broke it.
Her tone was calm but edged with doubt.
"Boss," she said, "was it really a good idea to leave 56, Billish, and Alia behind?"
Her voice echoed faintly down the corridor, vanishing into the metal.
Kuro didn't stop walking. His black coat fluttered faintly with each step, hands buried in his pockets.
He tilted his head slightly, the red light from a side vent reflecting off his sharp eyes.
"I think so," he said simply. "Alexander hasn't shown up near the hunting grounds. That means he's either holding his position…"
He paused, turning a corner, scanning the intersection.
"…or he's close to Kaito's room already."
Sinon frowned, the corner of her mouth twitching.
"Then isn't that a bad idea? We're heading toward Kaito's room, right, boss?"
Kuro smirked faintly, a soundless chuckle escaping his throat.
"No. The path 56 took leads to Kaito's chamber."
He glanced back briefly at her. "We're heading to the control room. If we can't disable the security protocols, we won't even be able to open that door — let alone free him."
"Hmm…" Sinon nodded slowly, though the unease didn't fade from her expression.
She tightened her grip on her suitcase handle. "Then let me take care of the guards."
Kuro stopped at the next junction. He crouched, flipping open a small metal case from his coat. Inside were a set of compact orbs — each one pulsing faintly with blue smoke.
He tossed one into the corridor ahead.
"Make it fast."
The orb burst open silently — a flood of thick, gray smoke expanding outward like fog under moonlight.
Before the soldiers ahead could react, Sinon's suitcase clicked.
From its edge, a silver rope shot forward — smooth and serpentine, weaving through the haze.
The movement was almost hypnotic, like something alive. The rope coiled around the nearest soldier's neck, tightening just enough to choke consciousness out — not death, just silence.
Then another. And another.
In less than ten seconds, the hall was quiet again. Only the rhythmic sound of Sinon's suitcase retracting the rope broke the stillness.
She looked back at Kuro with a smug smile. "All done. No noise."
Kuro smirked faintly, eyes flicking to the unconscious guards.
"Good. Keep that pace."
Then his tone hardened, almost instinctively commanding. "No killing. We don't need to attract the system's biometric alarms."
Sinon rolled her eyes but nodded. "Yeah, yeah. No fun allowed."
Behind them, Arthur walked with his usual calm expression — but inside, his thoughts were a storm.
---
Arthur's POV
Just let me get to Kaito.
Every step felt heavier. Every turn felt like a countdown.
He glanced at Kuro ahead — that calculating smile, that measured silence — and something twisted inside him.
If I can reach Kaito before him… if I can talk to him alone, persuade him… we might actually stop this insanity.
His fingers clenched around the strap of his bag.
The thought of betraying Kuro lingered, but it didn't feel wrong. It felt necessary.
Kaito's not a weapon. He's our friend.
A faint memory surfaced — Kaito's faint smirk when they first met, his awkward replies, that quiet sense of calm even in chaos.
Arthur exhaled quietly.
"Just hold on, Kaito," he whispered under his breath.
Kuro didn't turn, but Samuel's eyes flicked briefly toward him, unreadable.
---
Kaito's Father POV
Every corner they passed felt like another ghost he'd failed to bury.
Pipes dripping water, lights flickering — all of it felt too much like the old facility he once worked in.
He said nothing. But his hands were trembling slightly as they walked.
Please… my son, be safe.
The words repeated in his mind endlessly, like a curse.
He had seen too much blood, too much suffering — all in the name of "progress."
He had lost his colleagues, his trust, his wife's laughter.
If he lost Kaito too…
He stopped for half a breath, looking down the long metal hallway.
The faint hum of machines ahead reminded him of the night everything changed — the night he realized his son was no longer just his son.
He swallowed hard, whispered again:
Please… be safe.
---
Kaito — In the Vision
Darkness.
That's all there was.
No walls. No sound. No air.
Just darkness — thick, endless, heavy.
Kaito sat on a simple chair — the same sterile white one he'd sat on during countless tests. His hands hung loosely at his sides, eyes blank, fixed on the ground.
He didn't speak. Didn't move. Didn't even blink.
It was as though he'd already given up the act of existing.
Then a voice echoed softly from behind him — smooth, almost playful.
"Hey…"
A figure approached.
A girl with long purple hair — strands falling unevenly over one of her eyes. Her gaze glimmered faintly in the void, neither kind nor cruel.
She smiled as she stepped closer, her bare feet making no sound.
"Still not talking, huh?" she said, tilting her head. "You've been sitting here for… what, days? Maybe weeks?"
Kaito didn't answer.
She crouched in front of him, resting her chin on her hand.
"Your eyes look dull. I liked them better when they had a little hate in them."
Still nothing.
She sighed softly, then whispered — her voice almost affectionate, but twisted.
"Hey, Kaito…"
Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw.
"…why don't you let me take over your body for a while?"
She smiled — not gently, but like someone offering a poisoned cure.
"You'll feel good. No pain. No guilt. Just peace."
The words lingered like perfume in the dark.
But Kaito didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't even look up.
He just stared down at his own hands — trembling faintly, pale and still.
For a moment, she looked almost disappointed.
Then she stood again, her shadow stretching over him like a blanket.
"Suit yourself," she whispered. "But when you break… when your mind finally collapses… I'll be waiting."
She turned, walking back into the void — her form fading with every step until only her voice remained.
"You can't run from me, Kaito."
The sound faded.
And Kaito remained — silent, motionless, and utterly alone.
The chair creaked faintly beneath him.
No tears. No screams. Just despair.
The darkness seemed to swallow him whole.