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Hoshiro's boots barely made a sound as he landed atop the crumbling rooftop overlooking District 9. Smoke curled in thick spirals from a burning warehouse below, the faint screams of trapped workers slicing through the chaos.
Blue flames flickered beneath his mask, eyes glowing like twin beacons in the darkness. The air buzzed with tension.
From the shadows, a group of heavily armed mercenaries emerged, their weapons humming with eerie energy. They moved with deadly precision—Syndicate Zero's elite.
Hoshiro's heart didn't skip. Instead, it beat faster—focused, ready.
With a sudden burst, he leapt into the fray, his fists crackling with electric power. Every strike sent shockwaves, scattering enemies like leaves in a storm.
But this was no ordinary fight. The mercenaries adapted quickly, weaving technology and sorcery in terrifying harmony.
As one lunged, a dark tendril shot out from his opponent's arm, wrapping around Hoshiro's leg.
He tumbled, caught off guard. Before he could react, a blade swung down—sharp, cold, and destined to end him.
But a flash of blue energy erupted from his eyes, igniting the air with blinding light.
"Not today," Hoshiro growled, breaking free, and charging again.
Above, Kazuki watched with wide eyes.
"This kid's got fire."
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