The city of Kyoto slept under a curtain of rain. Neon signs flickered dimly through the fog, casting fractured reflections on the wet asphalt. In the midst of the downpour, Martin walked in silence, his coat weighed down by both water and fatigue. The aftershock of his last mission lingered within his veins — a resonance he couldn't shake. Each pulse of his hybrid energy came with a whisper, a faint echo of Mahito's distorted laughter and Hanami's primal wail.
Lyra's voice crackled in his earpiece. "Martin, stay sharp. Our next targets aren't curses. They're human — but far from ordinary."
He stopped beneath a flickering streetlight, scanning the empty boulevard. "Names?"
"Tōji Fushiguro and Katana Man," she replied. "Both contractors. Different origins, same reputation — untraceable, unstoppable, unmerciful. The council suspects they've been hired to test your limits."
A humorless smile tugged at Martin's lips. "So I'm the experiment again."
"Not this time," Lyra said firmly. "This time, we fight to prove them wrong."
Static cut her voice short. The connection faltered — interference, deliberate or otherwise. Martin's gaze shifted upward. Across the street, a figure emerged from the fog. Barefoot, lean, and expressionless, his presence was both quiet and suffocating. Tōji Fushiguro. The Sorcerer Killer. His aura carried no cursed energy, yet Martin's instincts screamed louder than ever.
"I've heard about you," Tōji said calmly, spinning his blade once. "The hybrid. Half devil, half sorcerer. Must be exhausting living in contradiction."
Martin adjusted his stance. "You're not here for conversation."
"No," Tōji smirked. "I'm here for curiosity."
He moved faster than Martin's eyes could track — a blur of muscle and precision. The first strike came diagonal, blade gleaming under rainlight. Martin barely managed to parry, his hybrid chains manifesting mid-motion, absorbing the impact with a flash of crimson light. Sparks scattered.
The second strike followed instantly — horizontal, low, aiming to cripple. Martin spun aside, his chain lashing outward like a living serpent, forcing Tōji to retreat half a step. The air between them thrummed with tension.
"You adapt fast," Tōji noted, eyes narrowing. "But you rely too much on reaction. That'll get you killed."
Martin didn't respond. His mind was already analyzing. No cursed energy… but his movements distort the air. He's reading me like an open book.
Tōji lunged again, slicing through Martin's guard, cutting across his arm. Pain flared — sharp, real, grounding. Martin countered instinctively, his energy erupting in a shockwave that shattered the nearby windows.
For a moment, Tōji's expression shifted — mild surprise, then satisfaction. "Ah. There it is. The raw pulse. You're fighting like a devil now."
Before Martin could press, a sound sliced through the rain — metal scraping metal. Another figure landed behind him, the ground cracking under the weight. A humanoid presence, half-machine, half-flesh — Katana Man. His yellow eyes burned with hatred and cold amusement.
"Guess I'm late," Katana Man said, drawing his twin blades from his forearms. "Don't mind me, I'll just take his head once you're done."
Tōji chuckled lightly. "You'll have to earn that."
Martin's chains coiled outward, encircling both opponents. "Two against one," he murmured. "How efficient."
Katana Man grinned. "Efficient? No. Entertaining, maybe."
They moved in tandem — predator and executioner, steel and silence. Martin's energy erupted in controlled bursts, forming defensive arcs to deflect simultaneous attacks. Each impact sent tremors through his body. The rhythm of battle became dissonant — Tōji's precision, Katana Man's brutality. Two different philosophies of violence converging on one hybrid form.
Martin redirected one blade with a flick of his wrist, chaining into a counter that wrapped around Katana Man's arm. The chain dug deep, sparks flying as metal met hybrid energy. He pulled hard, dragging Katana Man forward into a roundhouse kick that cracked the devil's jaw. But before he could follow up, Tōji appeared at his flank, blade poised for the kill.
Martin twisted, releasing a pulse of hybrid energy so violent it sent both adversaries back. The ground fissured. Rain hissed into steam.
His breathing came ragged. The whispers inside his mind intensified — Mahito's voice, taunting, chaotic. "You can't suppress it forever, Martin. You're not one of them."
He clenched his teeth. Not now.
Katana Man wiped blood from his mouth. "He's losing control. Look at him."
Tōji tilted his head, amused. "Then let's see what happens when he stops holding back."
The hybrid surge came like a storm. Martin's aura flared silver and crimson, splitting the rain into mist. The chains around him moved autonomously, responding to raw instinct rather than will. Each motion carried destructive precision. The human restraint had broken; the hybrid had awakened.
He moved — faster, stronger, unpredictable. A chain pierced through Katana Man's shoulder, dragging him down as Martin's other hand struck with concussive force, sending him crashing through a building facade. Tōji intercepted, his blade cutting through two chains, barely dodging the third. The hybrid energy singed his arm.
"You've got the hunger now," Tōji muttered, smirking even as blood dripped from his fingers. "Don't lose it."
Martin's gaze flicked toward him, eyes burning like molten iron. "You wanted to test me. You got your result."
Tōji's smirk widened. "Perfect."
He vanished, retreating into the fog — not out of fear, but satisfaction. The experiment was over. Katana Man, half-destroyed, regenerated slowly, metallic sinew snapping into place. "You're strong, hybrid… but you bleed." He stood, smirking through broken teeth. "Next time, I'll finish it."
Then he, too, disappeared into the storm.
Martin stood alone in the rain, chains retracting into his body, energy dimming. His reflection in the puddle trembled — neither man nor monster, something in between. The silence after battle was heavier than the clash itself.
Lyra's voice finally returned in the comms, faint but urgent. "Martin! Report! What happened?"
He hesitated, then replied softly, "They were human. But they fought like devils."
A long pause followed. Then Lyra's tone hardened. "You've drawn too much attention. Makima and Kenjaku will move soon. Prepare yourself — we're past observation now. They'll make their play."
Martin looked to the horizon, where thunder rolled across the mountains. He could feel it — the convergence of worlds, the pull of two universes tightening around him like a closing fist.
He whispered, more to himself than to anyone,
"Then let them come."