Step. Step. Step.
Hushed breaths.
Hair whipped by the wind.
Running.
Never-ending running.
Itoshi bolted through the hospital's back door, weaving between halls and flickering emergency lights. His eyes darted from room to room. Looking for a place where the people he most cared about are.
His bangs cast a dark veil over his eyes, sweat mingling with soot and tension. His jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Hands curled into fists—tight enough to crush bone. Like he was hanging off a cliff, slipping, fingers refusing to let go.
His footsteps were the only sound that echoed through the cold, white, empty halls of the hospital...
But even those echoes couldn't reach his ears.
"Kara... Jayu... please be safe..."
He muttered under his breath.
And then he ran faster.
~~~The Room That Observes All~~~
In a dark room—
Lit only by the pale, digital blue of oversized screens.
Six of the Seven Skulls sat in silence, arranged in a cold, linear row. Their hands hovered over sleek black keyboards, tapping methodically beneath their thrones. The faint glow from below flickered across their legs like ripples of static.
The wall of screens displayed chaos across the world:
—Squads battling Seele in Japan.
—Counter-offensives in China.
—The United Korean Federation clashing on frozen ground.
—Bharat's defense lines cracking.
—And the mass invasion in South Africa, turning into a full-scale collapse.
But amidst all of this—Only one event had them speaking.
Ryo's encounter... With Squad Segment 663.
"What the hell is Ryo doing in Fukuoka?"
One figure hissed beneath their breath.
It was Make'e—the Head of the Australian Continent in the United World Defense Society.
Another silhouette let out a small giggle, teasing.
"He came to see the person next to him, of course."
That was Ynev—Head of the Antarctic Continent. A playful tone always dancing in his voice.
"Tsk! Ynev, this is quite serious!"
Make'e snapped back, clearly annoyed.
"This is indeed quite something we can't ignore. Three of our golden boys might end up killing each other if things escalate... but we have bigger problems than just those three."
Tlayomixtli—the Head of the South American Continent—spoke with a calm gravity.
"We still have the South African front in our grasp... barely. But many of our men are dying."
One of the Skulls suddenly stood up from his seat.
"That's right! Things are getting bad in my area!"
Ubuvila—Head of the African Continent—raised his voice.
"Things aren't just bad, they're falling apart!"
"Ubuvila, sit down for now."
A calm voice answered.
It was Lakmia—Head of the European Continent.
"The backups are already on the way. We've sent a couple of Necks, remember?"
"You have to calm down. We'll be sending Ryo too—he'll prevent a useless conflict from igniting within our walls."
There was a pause.
"So... where is Bao-Shi now?"
A staff member working below them swiftly answered.
"Sir! His Highness, Mr. Bao-Shi, is already in Fukuoka!"
Bao-Shi—the Head of the Asian Continent.
"How long until he arrives at the hospital?"
This time, the voice came from another silhouette. Pride—the Head of the North American Continent.
"Ten minutes, sir,"
The staff replied.
All of the Skulls suddenly leaned back in unison, relaxing into their thrones. Their identities remained shrouded, their faces hidden beneath the dark veil of the room.
Silent. Watching. Waiting.
The glow of the global war flickered across their screens. A long pause stretched out.
Until one voice broke it.
"So? Update on the Japanese front?"
Lakmia asked calmly, directing his gaze toward the lower floor.
A staff member stood up at once, papers clutched in hand, and rushed up the stairs until he stood before the six Skulls present.
"Sir! Conclusive or detailed?"
He asked with a firm, respectful tone.
"Conclusive,"
Lakmia replied.
The staff nodded, cleared his throat, and began flipping through the folder.
"The success rate of the Japan Cleansing steadily increases as the days go on."
He paused.
"We've gone from a 21% success rate last month to 94% just yesterday. The success of each squad has truly contributed to how far we've reached."
"Squad Segment 663 under Hachi, and Squad Segment 97 under Nali, are the most notable among the teams."
"Other squads are also performing remarkably—only a few points behind the top segments."
"How long until the operation is complete?"
Ubuvila asked, arms crossed tightly.
"At this current rate of cleansing... about two months is all we need to succeed, sir."
Silence.
Pride exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping once on his armrest.
"Thank you for that report. You may sit down."
The staff bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Your Highness!"
He said, before rushing back down to his station below.
"By the time the Cleansing ends... we'll send all of the squads in Japan to the front line,"
Pride suggested, voice steady but heavy with implication.
Two figures rose immediately from their seats in stark opposition.
"What?!"
"Even 663?!"
Ynev and Tlayomixtli stood, their silhouettes tense in the blue-lit dark.
Pride gave no reply.
Instead, Ubuvila's voice broke the silence.
"Things are tough down south."
"But! One flame is already ridiculous—and now you want to send two?!"
Tlayomixtli snapped.
"That's right!"
Ynev chimed in, glancing at Tlayomixtli in solidarity.
"Think about our image, Pride!"
She added sharply.
"We've already been spoiling 663... and now we're going to throw them out into the open?! What the hell do you think the people will think? Their trust!"
Tlayomixtli pressed further.
Then, from the shadows, a calm voice spoke.
"Squad Segment 663 and its flame are already exposed to the public."
All heads turned.
Lakmia leaned forward ever so slightly in his seat.
"They did their job in the Kyushu region. Itoshi kept his identity hidden as best he could... It's just a shame he was attacked."
A pause.
"His flame spread like wildfire back in Nagasaki. And when the Crow's identity was revealed... it spread faster."
He exhaled slowly, then continued.
"What's your point in all this?"
Ynev asked, her voice sharper now.
"My point is—the Japanese are starting to like our flame boy. And not just there. Bao-Shi reported that even other parts of East Asia are reacting positively."
"At this rate,"
Pride added,
"the public's eye is turning toward Itoshi... more than toward our Crimson Calamity—Ryo."
Make'e let out a quiet chuckle and leaned back.
"Huh... no wonder Ryo was so pissed."
He smirked in the dark.
"I agree with Pride's suggestion. Besides—their success in Japan is bound to shake the world."
Lakmia muttered.
"Yeah, sure! But what will the soldiers think about serving two Flames?!"
Tlayomixtli pressed again, her voice laced with frustration.
"Itoshi is not a head—just a member. Ryujin is the head."
Ubuvila cut in firmly, shutting down the objection.
Tlayomixtli went silent.
Make'e leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but sharp.
"Their arrival in South Africa is definitely a gamble... but it's a game that's going to tilt in our favor."
And just like that—The dark room fell silent again. And in that silence, all six present knew—this game wasn't about cleansing anymore.
It was about who would survive the end of it.
Ryo chuckled.
"Don't worry, Ryujin! I just came here to talk... and you know... possibly catch up with your old friend?"
Ryujin squinted, his gaze sharp and heavy. His fist clenched tightly at his side, knuckles whitening as he let out a low grunt.
"Tsk... 'Just to talk' my ass. Look at what you've done to this place!"
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea, right?"
Ryo added casually, the corners of his lips curled into a smirk.
In the ruined hospital room, the face-off continued.
Ryo stood calmly—straight and relaxed—as sunlight from the broken wall behind him spilled across the room. His cyan eyes glowed faintly in the light, cold and unreadable.
Opposite him stood three men, all in stance. Ryujin. Ayro. Kirashi.
But only one of them wasn't tense.
Ryo took a slow, deliberate step forward.
Ryujin immediately flinched. A spear of water surged into form in his grip, drawn instinctively by his gift.
Ryo raised both palms lazily, grinning.
"Hop, hop, hop, hop... calm down, Ryujin."
Ryujin clicked his tongue.
"You don't wanna catch up with things?... Ryujin?"
Ryo asked, voice casual, almost friendly.
Ryujin didn't reply. His sharp eyes stayed locked on Ryo's figure, unblinking and fierce. Kirashi stood behind him, silent and watchful. Ayro stood just ahead of him, equally alert.
A breath.
From above, a few loose chunks of ceiling crumbled and fell to the floor, the aftermath of the blaze still echoing around them.
Ryujin's grip slowly loosened. The spear dissolved with a ripple as he straightened his posture, no longer braced for battle.
Ryo's eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"Hoh?..."
he thought to himself.
But the shock vanished just as quickly as it came, replaced with a smug grin.
"That's right, Ryujin."
He stepped forward again.
Ryujin exhaled, then finally gave the order.
"Stand down, both of you."
Kirashi and Ayro slowly lowered their guard.
Ryo relaxed his hands and casually slipped them into his pockets, strolling closer to Ryujin with a lazy grin.
Then, as if they were old friends reunited, he slung his left arm around Ryujin's shoulder.
"It's been a while, man!"
He said with a bright smile.
Ryujin didn't return it. His face stayed cold—unfazed, unconvinced.
"Tsk... So? What did you come here for?"
He muttered, eyes locking onto Ryo's.
Ryo blinked, eyebrows raised in exaggerated shock—then smirked.
"Heh?... You know how to talk now, huh?"
He chuckled softly, the same arm still resting around Ryujin's shoulder like a friend who never knew they'd grown apart.
"That's quite the change you've got! I'd love to hear more about it!"
Ryujin's eyes narrowed slightly. Then he turned his head toward the two behind him—Kirashi and Ayro—and gave them a subtle nod.
Ayro immediately caught the signal. Kirashi, however, stood still, confused.
"Oi... let's leave them,"
Ayro muttered under his breath, nudging Kirashi lightly.
"Wh–what?"
Kirashi whispered, but Ayro had already pulled the door behind them.
Now, only Ryujin and Ryo remained in the half-ruined room.
Ryo's smile faded. His voice dropped.
"I'll head straight to the point."
His hand slowly slipped off Ryujin's shoulder as his expression turned serious.
"What the hell are you gonna do with that blue flame?"
Somewhere in the hospital—Footsteps echoed through the halls. Fast. Repetitive. Desperate.
Itoshi was still running.
Hushed breaths. An anxious mind spiraling.
He skid to a stop at the reception area, eyes darting around wildly. Then, without hesitation, he rushed toward the front entrance, boots clapping against the tile floor.
He spun in place, scanning the surroundings with wide, panicked eyes.
"Where the hell is that room?!"
Before he could move again—He froze.
A flash of silver-white hair flickered across his mind. Miz.
Her voice echoed like a whisper in the hollow of his skull.
"Don't go..."
He took a step forward.
"Don't!"
Her voice rang louder this time—pleading.
Itoshi gritted his teeth. His breath caught in his throat.
Another step.
"Please... don't..."
Her voice softened again. Almost breaking.
But this time, Itoshi didn't listen.
He ran.
Down the empty, ruined halls of the hospital. Eyes wild. Heart racing. Mind locked on one thing: Kara. Jayu.
Meanwhile, across the road—Inside the dim hotel room, drawn curtains muffling the chaos outside—Kara, Jayu, and Hoshi remained together. And silence still lingered between them.
The air was still. Too still.
Hoshi lay on the carpeted floor, curled slightly on her side, still in her thin hospital garments. Her breathing was steady but faint, like she hadn't truly rested in days—just drifted.
Kara's head was patched up with whatever fabric she could find, the makeshift bandages wrapped unevenly around her skull. Jayu sat beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. Their hands hovered just above Tomori's chest.
A soft, pulsating glow of green light bloomed from their open palms—healing magic, working in quiet rhythm.
It was warm. Steady.
But heavy.
Their expressions were tight. Lips curled, brows furrowed. Not from the spell itself—but from what they weren't saying.
Eyes occasionally flicked to Kara, to each other, and back to Tomori.
They hadn't spoken in minutes. They didn't need to. The silence said enough.
Their faces were stained with uncertainty. With guilt. With the sharp edge of helplessness.
How many times had they sat like this now?
How many people had collapsed in front of them?
How many more would?
Kara's hands trembled slightly as the glow of her magic flickered for just a moment. She gritted her teeth and steadied her breathing.
Then, slowly... her thoughts crept in.
"Another one, huh?... Is this really the right way?.."
Her eyes drifted toward Hoshi again—so quiet, so still. She didn't even know the whole story yet.
Jayu gently shifted beside her, and Kara realized her sister's hand was shaking too.
But neither of them said a word.
Because what could they say?
Outside the burned room—Kirashi sat on the floor, back leaned against the wall. Arms rested loosely over his knees, eyes blankly staring at the soft light bleeding from the gap beneath the door.
Ayro stood nearby, leaned casually against the wall beside the door. Too relaxed. Like he wasn't tense, but waiting for something. Expecting it.
Silence lingered between the two.
They waited.
For a sign.
A signal.
The next course of action.
Or maybe something far worse—something that wouldn't go their way.
Kirashi finally broke the silence, voice low and even.
"Who the hell is that guy?... He... seems strong."
Ayro glanced at him, then replied casually,
"Ryo?"
"I guess."
Kirashi murmured.
"He's no good."
Ayro said bluntly.
Kirashi turned toward him, eyes now locked.
"Why is that?"
Ayro closed his eyes. Crossed his arms. Head tilted down, still resting against the wall.
He took a slow, deep breath.
"Ryo is the strongest Flame Gifted in the entire organization... Used to be part of the original Squad Segment 1. With Ryujin."
A pause.
"He was in the same squad as Ryujin and Roger. The 'Triple R' of Segment One."
Kirashi blinked.
"So... he's not dangerous?"
Ayro stayed quiet for a moment. Then, he answered.
"I don't know."
"But based on what he's done to us so far... he doesn't sound safe either. For now, we trust our leader. He knows him better than anyone."
Kirashi only replied with a short:
"Is that so..."
Silence returned.
But not for long.
A sudden click.
The door creaked open.
Ryo stepped out first—eyes closed, chin tilted upward, a wide smirk on his face. His hands rested behind his head, walking like a man without a care in the world.
Ryujin followed shortly after, calm and unreadable.
Ayro studied Ryujin's expression carefully.
"Hmm... Ryujin's face... it seems normal."
He thought to himself.
Ryujin turned to both of them as Kirashi rose to his feet.
"Follow."
No hesitation.
They obeyed—falling in behind him, Ryo leading the way ahead of them.
Their footsteps echoed softly through the hall. Slow. Measured.
But then—A new sound.
Another set of footsteps.
Different rhythm.
Rushed.
Fast.
Heavy.
Ryujin's eyes widened.
"Shit!"
He thought.
Ryo paused, eyes still ahead.
"Hoh?... Who could that be?"
He muttered as he slowly turned his head back.
Then he saw him.
Cyan eyes widened, but not in surprise.
They darkened.
His face twisted—not with curiosity, but with a cold, venomous hatred.
No friendliness. No smugness. Only murderous intent.
Light from a single window glinted off his sharp eyes as the sound of running grew louder.
"Ryujin-san!"
It was Itoshi.
Time seemed to slow.
Too slow.
Two clicks of flame rang out—short and sharp—like the pulling of a trigger.
And Ryo smiled.
A cruel, knowing, sinister smile.
"Crow..."
~~~To be Continued~~