—
From the heart of the Crimson Rift, silence poured first—an eerie, unnatural calm that pressed on the lungs and stilled the wind. Then came the tremor. A slow, bone-deep vibration that made Tokyo itself shudder.
Kazuki backed up instinctively. "I've got a *very* bad feeling—"
The rift tore open.
Out came a hand.
Massive. Veined with molten light. Covered in ancient runes, each one pulsing with power older than the Earth.
Ayame froze. "That's not a Syndicate weapon…"
"No," Hoshiro whispered, stepping forward as the full figure emerged. "It's a godkiller."
The being stood stories tall, faceless but unmistakably aware. Its form was made of obsidian armor fused with flesh. Its core, a burning eye, stared straight at Hoshiro.
From deep within its chest, it *spoke*—but not in words.
Visions.
Worlds consumed. Heroes torn apart. Time rewritten.
Ayame dropped to one knee. Blood trickled from her nose. "It's projecting *memory*… across realities."
Hoshiro gritted his teeth. "This… thing. It's not just from another world. It's from the *void between* them."
The being lifted a hand. Shadows bent toward it like worshippers.
Kazuki muttered, "Please tell me you've got a plan."
"I don't," Hoshiro said. "Not yet."
"But I know this much—if that thing stays here, there *won't* be a Tokyo left to protect."
—
As the sky cracked and sirens wailed, Hoshiro raised his blade and mask one more time.
A storm was coming.
And he was going to meet it head-on.
—