The point of the dark blade was a cold promise against his throat. The Corrupted Kenta's words were a symphony of his deepest fears, each note resonating with the pain of abandonment, the ashes of his village, the ghost of Hikari's retreating back. The seductive poison of its offer—an end to loneliness, a permanent union with the one entity that would never leave him—threatened to overwhelm his will.
Yes, the double purred, seeing the surrender in his eyes. Let it end. Stop fighting. We can be one. We can be strong. We will never be left behind again.
Kenta's hand, which had been feebly gripping the Corrupted Kenta's wrist, went slack. His eyes closed. For a moment, it seemed to be over.
Then, his other hand shot up.
But not to parry the blade. Not to push it away.
His fingers wrapped around the sharpened edge of Yami no Hikari itself. The dark metal bit deep into his palm, and blood, shockingly red, welled up and dripped onto his chest. The pain was excruciating, a bright, clarifying agony that cut through the psychic fog of despair.
His eyes snapped open. They were not filled with tears anymore. They were clear, focused, and held a terrifying, preternatural calm. He was not looking at the blade, but through it, into the crimson eyes of his corruption.
"You are wrong," Kenta said, his voice low, steady, and devoid of all hysteria. It was the voice of a man who had finally found solid ground at the very bottom of his abyss.
The Corrupted Kenta's smirk faltered. What?
"You say the light always abandons me," Kenta continued, his grip tightening on the blade, more blood flowing. "You say Hikari left me. But you see her departure as an ending. I see it as a final lesson."
Another memory, long suppressed out of sheer pain, surfaced. After Hikari had left him with her blade, he hadn't stayed. A desperate, childish hope had driven him. He had run after her, following the rumors of the Demon of Battle's path, a small, insignificant figure chasing a legend.
He had found them on a shattered plateau. And he had seen it. The battle between Kanji and Hikari. It was not the cataclysmic, world-ending clash of a Beyonder against a mortal. Kanji had not used his Authorities, his gravity manipulation, his stolen god-powers. He had fought her with pure, unadulterated skill. Sword against sword. And everyone who knew anything knew what that meant from Kanji Naein. When he did not instantly obliterate an opponent, it was the highest form of acknowledgement he could offer.
Hikari had fought with everything she had. She had been magnificent, a whirlwind of light and grace, pushing her body and spirit far beyond their limits. But the corrosion she spoke of, the dissonance with the dark blade's legacy she carried, had been her undoing. In her final moments, as her body failed, the whispers of Yami no Hikari had found a crack in her resolve. A flicker of that same corrupting darkness had touched her spirit.
And Kanji had stopped. He hadn't struck the final blow. He had looked at her, kneeling and broken but unyielding, and he had spoken a few, quiet words that Kenta, from his hiding place, could not hear. Then, the Demon of Battle had simply turned and walked away, leaving her alive.
Kenta had rushed to her side, sobbing. Hikari was pale, her life force ebbing, a taint of shadow in her once-pure eyes. But she had smiled when she saw him. She had reached up a trembling hand and patted his head, her touch as gentle as it had been the day she found him in the ashes.
"Do not… make my mistake, Kenta," she had whispered, each word a struggle. "Do not try to… reject the darkness… as I did. It will fester… and break you from within." She coughed, a speck of black blood on her lips. "And do not… try to fully accept it… and become its master… like the first Yami. That path… leads to a different… kind of solitude."
She had gripped his hand, her strength fading. "You must find… a third path. Do not see it as a curse… or a tool. Acknowledge it… as a partner. A partner born… from your pain, from your loss… from your will to survive. A partner… you did not choose… but who is… undeniably a part of you now. Make it… your own."
Those were her last words. The light in her summer-sky eyes had faded, leaving behind the peace she had so desperately sought, granted to her by the one she acknowledged.
Back in the present, on the shore of the River of Echoed Selves, Kenta held the gaze of his corrupted self. "She didn't abandon me," he said, his voice ringing with conviction. "She entrusted me with her legacy and her final truth. She died having received the acknowledgement she sought, and in her last moments, she gave me the key to my own survival."
He shoved, not with physical strength, but with a surge of pure, defiant will. The Corrupted Kenta, caught off guard by this newfound resolve, was thrown back, the dark blade tearing from Kenta's grip and his own hand.
"You are not my master," Kenta declared, rising to his feet, his bleeding hand clenched into a fist. "And you are not my curse. You are the partner I never wanted. The partner born from the fire that killed my family, from the loneliness that followed, from the grief of losing Hikari."
He looked at the double, and for the first time, he did not see a monster. He saw a reflection of his own pain, given form. "And I acknowledge you."
The Corrupted Kenta stared, its crimson eyes wide with shock and confusion. The script had been flipped. The prey was no longer running.
"And because I acknowledge you," Kenta said, a faint, weary smile touching his lips, "I will not let you win. I will rise. I will continue. For the family I lost, for the master who believed in me, and for the friend…" His mind flashed to Sarah, to her fiery spirit, to the freedom she embodied that Hikari had always longed for. "…for the friend who carries a light that is entirely her own. I will fight you, my partner, for as long as it takes."
The form of the Corrupted Kenta began to flicker, its solidity wavering. It was a manifestation of his self-hatred and rejection. Now that it was being faced, acknowledged, and even… accepted as a part of his whole, its power to terrorize was dissolving. It wasn't a victory of light over dark. It was the beginning of a tumultuous, painful, but necessary truce. The war within was not over, but the first and most important battle had just been won.