The air in the "Garbage Heap" didn't just vibrate; it shattered.
Before the Brigadier could finish his sentence, the toxic green "Rust Energy" lanterns in the alleyway flickered and died. A blindingly white light—sterile, cold, and absolute—descended from the murky sky. High above, three silhouettes hovered, suspended by wings of pure blue spiritual energy.
"The Erasers," the Brigadier spat, slamming his gas mask back onto his face. The heart in the jar on his back began to pulse with a violent, jagged purple light. "Get the girl inside the bunker! Now!"
Raiden didn't wait. He grabbed Mia, but as he turned, the ground in front of them erupted. A spear of pure white light impaled the concrete, missing Mia's feet by inches. One of the Erasers descended, landing with a grace that felt like an insult to the filth around them. He wore a silver mask and a high-collared white uniform that didn't have a single speck of dust.
"Vessel Zero," the Eraser said, his voice amplified and distorted by his mask. "And the Core. By order of the Academy Board, you are both to be 'Formatted.' Resistance will only ensure your suffering is... archived."
Raiden felt the tattoo on his palm—the closed eye—begin to burn. It wasn't the heat of fire; it was the cold of a deep-sea trench. The Archive on his wrist groaned, the metallic teeth sinking deeper into his flesh, drinking hungrily.
"Mia, run to the Brigadier," Raiden whispered, his voice sounding like grinding gears.
"But Raiden—"
"RUN!"
As Mia scrambled toward the heavy metal door, Raiden turned to face the Eraser. He didn't summon the massive sword this time. He felt something different. The "Closed Eye" on his palm was trying to open.
"You speak of archiving suffering," Raiden said, his eyes turning a dull, matte black. "But you have no idea how much of it is stored in this hand."
The Eraser scoffed and raised a hand. A swarm of white energy needles materialized in the air. "Die, slum-trash."
The needles launched. But they never hit.
Raiden raised his hand with the tattoo. The space in front of him didn't just block the needles; it swallowed them. A small, vertical slit of purple fire opened in the center of his palm—the eye was half-open.
The Archive whispered in his mind, a thousand voices screaming at once: « Analysis complete... Energy Type: Purity... Status: Delicious... »
"What... what is that?" the Eraser stammered, his sterile composure breaking. "That's not spiritual energy! That's—"
"That's the abyss you ignored," Raiden growled.
He lunged. He didn't need a sword. The black smoke from the Archive coiled around his arm like a whip of liquid obsidian. With a single strike, he tore through the Eraser's "Purity Shield" as if it were wet paper. The Archive didn't just cut the Eraser; it began to drain the blue light from his body, turning the silver-clad soldier into a gray, withered husk in seconds.
The other two Erasers in the sky hesitated, their blue wings flickering.
"Raiden! Inside!" the Brigadier yelled, his mechanical heart glowing so bright it was blinding. "They're calling in the Heavy Artillery! The White Organization is warping in!"
Raiden looked at his palm. The eye was still there, flickering with a hunger that scared even him. He looked at the withered Eraser on the ground. He had just killed an elite Academy soldier without even trying.
The cost, however, was high. Raiden's vision began to tunnel. The "rust" was spreading past his wrist, turning the skin of his forearm into a hard, metallic gray. He staggered into the bunker as the Brigadier slammed the lead-lined door shut.
Outside, the sound of a massive explosion rocked the earth. The hunt had truly begun.