The air around Akira felt thin.
The world was dim, silent, trembling—almost afraid of him. The ruins of the alley flickered under dying streetlamps as Rina stood beside him, frozen in shock. Akira wasn't moving, but the shadows around him twisted unnaturally… bending inward toward his body.
His hands shook. His breath was shallow. Yamitsurugi's pendant glowed in uneven pulses, struggling to keep his aura stable.
Rina whispered, voice trembling,
"A-Akira…?"
She took a step closer—
But a firm hand caught her wrist.
Ryozen.
His expression was calm, but his voice cut the air like a blade.
"Go home, Rina. Now."
"But—!"
"Now."
Rina saw the look in his eyes. This wasn't a request. This was life and death. She swallowed hard and ran—every step uneven, panic twisting her breath.
The moment she was gone, Ryozen exhaled slowly.
Akira's fingers dragged across the ground like claws as he fought for control of his own mind.
Ryozen muttered,
"…It's happening faster than I thought."
Akira suddenly screamed—
Not a human scream.
Something else.
A voice layered inside his—centuries old, full of wrath and sorrow.
The shadows around him spiraled upward, forming a black fog. Fragments of memories that were not his—Masahiro's battles, old comrades, betrayals, blood—burst inside his mind, tearing his consciousness apart.
Then his eyes rolled back.
Ryozen moved instantly.
He grabbed Akira by the collar and threw him—hard.
Akira crashed into a mirror behind him. The glass exploded, and light burst outward like a portal tearing open. Space bent, swallowing him whole.
He fell into—
A place of absolute peace.
No wind.
No sky.
Just a vast empty white plain.
Akira stood shakily, breath uneven. Then Ryozen stepped out of the light, his coat drifting around him.
Akira clenched his head, panting,
"Why… why did you bring me here…?"
Ryozen answered,
"So I can fix the damage before you turn into something you can't come back from."
Akira's aura exploded suddenly—the perfect mix of shadow rage and broken stability. His eyes went half-black again. The pendant cracked with strain.
Ryozen whispered,
"…Alright, kid."
Akira vanished with Veil Step, appearing behind Ryozen with Yamitsurugi unsheathed—
a clean, vicious strike.
Ryozen stopped it with two fingers.
"You're not fighting me," he said quietly.
"You're fighting your own mind."
Akira screamed and struck again—and again—and again.
Every attack was unstable, drowning in raw emotion:
• Veil Step
• Obsidian Cut (unstable form)
• Astral Obliteration sparks
• uncontrolled shadow bursts from his mark
Ryozen parried effortlessly.
He wasn't fighting back—he was syncing.
He matched Akira's movements like a mirror, redirecting the rage instead of blocking it.
"Your anger is trying to rewrite your identity," Ryozen said, voice calm.
"And your guilt is feeding the shadows inside you."
Akira's blade trembled violently.
"What am I supposed to do?!" he roared.
Ryozen slammed his palm into Akira's chest—light and shadow rippling on impact.
"Balance it," Ryozen said.
"You don't erase your rage. You don't erase your grief. You master them."
Akira collapsed to his knees, breathing hard.
Ryozen knelt in front of him, placing a hand over the mark.
"Masahiro carried this power and never broke. You can too. But you must choose your light."
The fog slowly receded. Akira's breathing slowed. His eyes returned to normal—red, focused, burning with resolve instead of madness.
Ryozen stepped back, hands in pockets.
"Welcome back, kid."
Akira looked up at him, steady for the first time.
"…Thank you."
Ryozen smirked. "Don't thank me yet."
Before Akira could ask, the air behind Ryozen rippled—
like a small vortex forming.
Ryozen stared at it and chuckled darkly.
"So, you've finally started moving?"
The vortex snapped shut.
The training plain shattered—
and Akira found himself back in the real world…
Perfectly stable.
Perfectly balanced.
Ready.
Far away, in a chamber of swirling black—
A voice whispered:
"Brother… he's ready. You should move."
Varek laughed softly.
The echoes of his amusement traveled through the void like a blade.