Meanwhile, Rin finds herself in a similar disadvantage, just as the eyes of her new enemy flare with a strange, turquoise light.
Rin answers with a hard stare, holding it for seconds across the battlefield—until the opponent slides her right foot back and leans forward.
"Hi… Hijahaha! You're so, so DEAD!" the feminine voice screams, turquoise fins sprouting along her forearms like those of a shark, before she launches herself forward in a sudden leap.
She covers the distance fast—blindingly fast—and yet still not fast enough, as Rin's own eyes ignite with the same turquoise light. A barrier forms, spreading outward for several meters before vanishing again. In its place, the air itself freezes into a solid wall of ice. A wall, that's shaken by the impact of her opponent's fin, shattering it's icy top just a little bit, but stopping her nonetheless.
Still, Rin has no time to feel safe, as once again, black spikes burst out of the misty ground, aimed straight at her. She dodges quickly, dancing away from the chaotic assault—away from the water's edge, across the grassy stage, and finally in safety, planting her feet on the paved street.
At least, that's what Rin thinks, until she spots the fin-armed enemy already waiting there before her.
Now spikes and blades erupt all at once. Dodging seems impossible. And a hit inevitable.
But Rin's eyes just blaze again. Instantly, her barrier collapses inward, wrapping tight around her silhouette just as the spikes slam into it and shatter.
And yet it's not enough for her. Even brighter her eyes flare up, even faster the barrier surges back outward, leaving her completely exposed.
An opening, neither the wolfsmask, nor Ryuu, intend to waste.
Again the spikes erupt, again the fin-armed girl closes the final arm's length.
Both aiming at her, both less then a blink from striking.
Shortly before that, leaving Rin with nowhere to escape.
But it stops at that.
She breathes in. Her eyes flash. The spikes draw closer. The laughter of her foe rings in her ears. And then—she exhales.
Visible in the air, as if the temperature had suddenly plummeted.
Her breath turns to mist. The air to ice.
And suddenly—everything freezes.
Rin. The spikes. The turquoise fins.
Locked in place, suspended in the air. Stuck within her stretched out barrier. But only for a single second.
Until a red light shoots through the glittering ice.
The light of Rin's eyes.
And with it, the ice melts in an instant—releasing everything again.
Momentum lost, her enemy stumbles out of the frost. But Rin gives no pause—her fist drives into the girl's gut, then she grabs the hood of her cloak and slams the girl's masked face against her rising knee.
Blood spatters with the shards of the mask and Rin aims for an encore—but the freed spikes are already surging back at her, interrupting the planned act.
She lets go of the girl, dodges once, dodges twice and follows the spikes hissing past her, missing by inches. Yet, she doesn't get to breathe even for a second, as they grow in number with every passing second.
They erupt out of the ground, out of the air, out of everywhere, without the taste of a pattern, just faster, just sharper, just hungrier.
Just striking.
Tearing Rin's cloak, in tact with the spilling blood, dripping to the ground.
Still she doesn't falter. Still she dodges—narrower and narrower each time—until she's surrounded.
And somehow, in that deadly circle, Rin lets out a short laugh. A laugh in the face of fear, in the press of survival. A laugh—and a red glow, blazing with strength and will.
The spikes drive in, but a crimson shield unfurls around her.
Once more, they shatter on impact.
Just this time, Rin flinches with each and every hit, as if they were hitting her flesh, instead of the shield. But that wasn't the case, even once her breath hitches and her focus shifts.
Even as the wolfsmask seizes the moment of surprise.
Without fins, without glow—just as herself—she dives straight through the shield. Through the barrier, while the spikes still strike. Just like that, as if it were made out of pure air all of a sudden.
But there is no time to analyze, as she slams into Rin, driving her down to the ground and pinning her beneath both legs.
"HAHAHA!" the voice howls as fists rain down—onto Rin's mask, onto her face. Once, twice, relentless.
"I never thought this would be so much fun!" she cackles, as shards of white mask and droplets of red blood scatter through the air.
Rin jolts beneath the blows, straining to move—but her legs are pinned, her arms locked, her body trapped under the weight of her foe.
"WHAT—" the girl shouts, punching.
"IS—" another blow, words timed to her fists.
"WRONG?!" she finishes, striking harder, harder still.
But slower.
Slowed by the blazing red before her.
Even the black spikes seem to stop, as if unable to pierce this crimson barrier. A barrier manifesting Rin's pure willpower .
Because no matter how many times her opponent strikes, it doesn't waver. Not an inch.
Even as the wolfsmask draws back again, even as she punches much slower again, even as a bead of sweat suddenly falls from her chin, just to evaporate in an instant, midair, right between them.
Her breath grows more heavy. Rin is silent. Her fist hangs above her mask, looking hesitant all of a sudden. But that doesn't make sense. They both know that, as more drops of sweat fall down, hissing into steam sooner and sooner.
As her breath tightens like she is drawing in the dry air of an endless dessert.
And as she realizes—at last.
"D-dam… damn it…", she exhales, exhausted.
It's not a fever, making her breathe more heavy, nor is it the drought of an endless dessert, evaporating all of these drops of sweat of hers.
But that realization came way too late and her reaction couldn't be more wrong, as she is forcing herself up on trembling legs.
The moment Rin regains her freedom, she draws in her legs and kicks—hard, merciless, without the slightest hesitation. She doesn't hold back. The girl is launched, crashing through the crimson barrier, skidding across the shadowed concrete, tumbling meters away before finally slamming down.
Rin's right eye glows turquoise. The barrier shifts color, and the air itself begins to steam—cooling, as if pulled back to normal.
No—not as if. That's exactly what's happening.
The mist of heat fades. The air cools. And Rin rises, her gaze fixed forward into the fog.
"She really got you good, huh?" Ryuu's voice rings out from the distance, answered only by a muffled groan—half an echo, half a curse.
"You'll have to be louder than that," he adds, turning his attention back toward Rin.
Or at least, trying to.
Because she's gone. Swallowed by the earth—or maybe he's losing it—as his eyes dart in confusion. Right, left… maybe above? No. Wait—yes. There.
Just behind him.
"What the—" he starts, as Rin strides on, focused, determined.
Focused—and yet aimless. Because ahead, there's nothing but fog. Fog, maybe a strip of road, a carpet of grass, and all the things that have been lost upon it.
Like a weapon.
Rin's weapon.
"You're not getting that!" Ryuu shouts, realization hitting, before vanishing into the ground.
He races forward, bursting past Rin, tearing at the earth with frantic claws.
"Here… or here? Hah… Haaah? Where… it's gotta be here somewhere…" His eyes flick up over his shoulder. Because Rin has veered aside, already crouching low, hand closing on something in the mist.
The golden hilt of a weapon.
"You really are adorable, Ryuu," she says, her voice calm, smug, as she turns with the sword in hand.
"But surprises… you've always been good at those, haven't you?" Her tone carries arrogance, her stance utter composure. As though the blood, the shards, the wounds—none of it existed.
"The birthday cake hiding my present. The Halloween costume—you as an APH soldier. That brilliant April Fool's, when you set my clock ahead before my meeting," Rin recalls almost dreamily.
"And still you cling! I'm not going to—"
"RYUU!" she snaps, sharp, furious. Her sword rising.
"You're just a foolish little child. Green as grass. That sweet attempt to overwhelm us… fine, call the Wolves to the field. But even the APH can't take us down. Even their elite, their strongest fighters, fear our name," she declares, lecturing—until Ryuu hisses between his teeth.
"Yeah? Because you hide!" another voice cuts in, female and trembling, but fierce.
"Because you're afraid," she repeats, staggering to her feet beside Ryuu, bracing against his shoulder.
"You hide like rats! While others fight out there, you cower in comfort. While kids like Ryuu beg for their lives, you sit safe in the dark. Sure—maybe you're the strongest. Maybe no one will ever surpass you. But what good is strength!"
She pauses for a moment, putting her hand under the coat, looking like she is trying to take something out.
"What good is it, if you can't even protect a single child? Spirit doesn't fear you—he just doesn't see you as a threat. Why would he bother wiping you out, when you're already so obedient at his leash?!"
At her words, Rin raises her blade, pointing the tip at her—as if singling her out with a finger.
"Bold words, coming from those already dancing to his tune. You're his pampered lapdogs, cleaning up his messes," Rin retorts—loud, but calm, emotionless.
"Ha… Better a lapdog than pretending to be a hero! Better a lapdog than no home at all! Someone like you will never understand what it means to have no one. To lose your family. To fight every single day just to survive. The Wolves saved me. Took me in. Pulled me off the streets. If being a lapdog means I get to keep my place… to keep living… with my family—then I'll gladly be one! At least lapdogs get to eat!"
As she spits the words, she pulls out a small case—its base tapering into a syringe. Inside, a black liquid swirls, restless, aching to be freed.
"Voidicide?" Rin asks flatly.
"Ohhh, so you do know about it? It's a special treat for lapdogs, just like me," the girl answers, rolling up her sleeve, pressing the needle to her arm.
"Tch… you really have no clue, little one. But what else should I expect from children? You're far too young to understand anything."
She pushes off from the ground.
Ryuu reacts instantly—spikes tear upward—but Rin smashes through them one by one, carving her path forward. Her target clear, the sword leading and the girl's thumb sliding toward the syringe's head. The gap shrinks—down to only centimeters left.
But Ryuu leaps in between. His right arm forms the crescent-shaped copy of Shato's blade. The clash of steel screams through the fog, before their weapons draw again. Rin slashes. Ryuu blocks. But in that moment, Rin swats his copy upward, seizing his head and yanking him forward, just to drive her knee into his gut. Then she flings him aside and thrusts further, putting the golden blade right beneath the girl's chin.
"Stop."
One strike would be enough. A single thrust. The sword is so close—yet Rin halts. Unwilling. As though an unseen wall pressed against her blade, right before her opponent's throat.
Silence falls. Rin holds the weapon steady—no twitch, no tremor, no movement.
Then—a sharp crack echoes in the mist.
The sound of an empty case. A syringe, drained dry, shattering into fragments. And through the mask, Rin can almost feel her opponent's grin—crawling down her spine, etching itself into the deepest corners of her mind.
The grin.
And that single command.
Stop.