The world was silent.
Not peaceful — hollow.
Ash drifted across the shattered street where Akira stood, surrounded by the faint hum of collapsing space. The city around him had forgotten its own heartbeat. The cracks in the sky still shimmered faintly, like unhealed scars between worlds.
He stood unmoving, Yamitsurugi resting loosely in his hand — its once-silver veins now swallowed by black. The blade looked alive — breathing, pulsing in rhythm with his heart. Each pulse sent a faint tremor through the ground.
Akira lowered his gaze. His reflection stared back from a puddle of oil and blood — but it wasn't his face anymore. Half of his left eye had turned pure black, glowing faintly at the edges. His mark burned on his neck, veins of shadow spreading like ink beneath the skin.
He whispered, barely audible.
> "…Ryozen…"
No one answered. Only the echo of wind through hollow buildings.
Then something broke inside him — quietly, cleanly. Guilt burned into silence. He remembered the screams in the Void, Ryozen's last words, the Sovereign's voice whispering through the dark:
> You cannot seal what was born from the end.
His hand trembled. Yamitsurugi responded — the dark veins across its surface shimmered to life, feeding off his emotion.
Akira's breath turned cold. His pupils thinned into narrow rings. The world slowed around him — the sound of existence dimmed.
And then, inside his mind, something opened.
A black void. Endless. Whispering.
> "So… you finally listen."
His head jerked slightly. His fingers dug into the hilt of the blade. The pain behind his eyes spiked — like chains snapping deep inside his skull. He staggered, clutching his head. A flood of memories that weren't his — battles, screams, the same mark burning through different lives.
The mark on his neck glowed violently, pure obsidian light spreading across his veins. His aura shifted — no longer the gentle burn of resolve, but a storm of cold, soundless pressure. Every drop of air around him bent toward him, as if gravity itself feared his presence.
He exhaled once — calm, controlled, inhumanly still.
Yamitsurugi turned completely black.
Its silver veins melted into voidlight, its edge warping like it was cutting through reality itself. The mark pulsed in sync with the sword.
Akira lifted his gaze — eyes half black, half red.
Silent. Empty. Unbreakable.
---
Far away, deep in the fading fragments of the Void, Ryozen stood alone amidst carnage.
Around him, the remains of three titanic beasts twisted and screamed — shadows with mass, voices that tore the fabric of the plane. Their bodies were no longer flesh, but the memory of destruction given form. Each movement sent shockwaves through the dying world.
Ryozen's coat was torn, blood and light dripping from his hands. His breathing was sharp but measured, his expression calm — too calm.
The Wheel of Samsara hovered faintly behind him, but now it was no longer gold.
Half of it gleamed with divine radiance.
The other half burned black.
He looked up as one of the creatures — an obsidian serpent with wings made of dust — roared and dived toward him, its body distorting into streams of black fire.
Ryozen's tone was quiet.
> "…You think this will stop me?"
He extended his hand, and from the air materialized his weapon — a long glaive forged from folded gold and night. Its shaft carried runes that flickered between light and shadow, its edge shaped like a crescent moon divided in two.
He whispered the weapon's name:
> "Kensei no Yoru — The Saint of Night."
The glaive hummed — a sound like two realities colliding.
The serpent reached him first. He didn't move. Then, in a single breath, Ryozen vanished.
A golden arc tore through the creature's body — splitting it perfectly down the center. The air cracked. Time lagged behind the strike.
The serpent fell in two silent halves.
The second monster — a colossal humanoid shadow with molten runes for veins — raised its arms, chanting a guttural curse.
A pulse of energy burst outward: "Abyss Howl."
Reality itself screamed. The air ruptured into rippling waves of distortion.
Ryozen braced. His aura flared into a perfect sphere. The first wave hit — silence.
Then, his eyes opened — and for the first time, they weren't the same color.
One burned pure gold.
The other, pure black.
He clenched his fist.
The Wheel of Samsara fused with his weapon. His body erupted with divine fury.
> "Enough."
He swung.
A single vertical cut tore through the dimension — a line of light and dark that erased everything it touched. The humanoid shadow didn't even have time to scream before it disintegrated into dust. The remaining creatures howled, trembling.
One remained — but it wasn't there.
Ryozen stopped. His head turned sharply. The air where the monster should've been was empty.
> "…No," he whispered. "Akira."
The realization hit like thunder. He looked down — and fury flooded his veins.
The remaining beasts lunged. Ryozen didn't hesitate. His aura exploded, the Wheel spinning into overdrive — space fracturing around him. He stabbed Kensei no Yoru into the ground. Golden runes burst outward in a storm of annihilation.
His voice shook the Void.
> "Cycle of Wrath — Samsara Eclipse!"
Everything vanished in white and black fire.
The void was erased.
When the light cleared, there was nothing left — only a rip in reality, and Ryozen standing at its edge, eyes burning like suns.
He turned, his cloak shredded, his aura fading but his will sharp.
> "Hold on, Akira."
In one motion, he vanished — his body dissolving into streaks of light as he tore through dimensions.
---
Earth.
The silence shattered.
Akira stood alone beneath a bleeding sunset.
Then, the ground quaked.
A shadow moved behind him — a monstrous shape crawling out of the broken sky. A creature of pure void — its skin glistening like liquid obsidian, its tail long enough to split streets apart.
It hissed, voice like metal grinding bone.
The tail lashed — faster than sight.
It tore through buildings, through the air — straight at Akira.
He didn't flinch.
Yamitsurugi moved once — so fast that only the echo of the cut remained.
The monster froze mid-strike.
Then its massive tail fell in two halves, black smoke pouring from the wound.
Akira's eyes lifted — no emotion, only a stare cold enough to silence reality.
The beast roared in agony and lunged again.
Akira's grip tightened. He vanished — Viel Step — reappearing above the creature's head, his blade trailing arcs of voidlight. He swung in a perfect horizontal cut, black and silver tearing across the sky.
The impact split the beast down the spine. Its body convulsed. Akira landed lightly, blade humming.
But he wasn't done.
His mark glowed darker, and the ground around him cracked. He whispered his attack's name — a voice deep, hollow, final.
> "Obsidian Cut."
The air itself fractured.
A wave of darkness erupted, slicing through the monster's chest. Its form shattered into thousands of shards — each one screaming before being drawn back toward the blade.
Yamitsurugi absorbed the entire essence — the creature's energy, its soul, its shadow — all devoured.
When it ended, Akira stood still, his blade buried in the ground. The world around him fell silent once again.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Ryozen emerged from the haze — breathing hard, eyes wide with shock.
He saw Akira.
No — he saw Masahiro.
The same stance. The same aura. The same void burning within light.
It was him — reborn, complete.
Ryozen froze, realization crashing into him like thunder.
> "This can't be…," he whispered. "You really are…"
Akira turned slightly, his half-black eye glinting. For a moment, their gazes met — light and dark, master and successor, two halves of one truth.
Ryozen saw not just Akira — but the echo of destiny itself.
And then, before he could speak, the world flickered.
---
Somewhere far beyond.
Inside the deepest black — a void untouched even by time — a figure lay still.
Ren.
His body floated in silence, wrapped in faint tendrils of shadow. For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then his eyes opened.
Red. Glowing. Terrifyingly calm.
> "It's… time."
The shadows pulsed around him like a heartbeat.
And the Void answered.