Hanzo stood before a fractured mirror in the dimly lit chamber of an abandoned manor on the city's outskirts. Dust clung to the air like ghosts of the forgotten, and broken floorboards groaned beneath his boots. He had found this place by instinct—a hidden ruin steeped in silence, its shadows thick enough to breathe in. It was here that he came, away from the city's eyes, to wrestle with the voice that now lived in his bones.
His reflection stirred. At first a twitch, then a ripple, until the mirrored image stepped free of his movements entirely. Its eyes burned brown-gold like molten metal, and when it spoke, its voice carried an echo that seemed to rattle the walls.
"You have the first seal," the reflection intoned. "The first step toward becoming an Overlord. Well done, mortal."
Hanzo's lip curled, suspicion cutting sharper than any blade. "That creature I fought at the Kokuryūkai…" His voice was a low rasp, but beneath it pulsed something restless. "I know him, don't I?"
The reflection smiled, cruel and patient.
"He is nothing more than a cockroach beneath your boot. Think of stepping on him, Hanzo."
Hanzo's grip tightened on the hilt at his side. His emerald eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me, Shura. His strength—it matched the rumors of Grandmaster Kenshi himself. Who is he?"
For a heartbeat, silence pressed heavy, then the voice of Shura rolled through the chamber like thunder from another world.
"He is a champion of Shin'nen, that arrogant god of the abyss who still dares bind me in prison. A champion bound to grow until his blade eclipses even yours."
The words struck deep, dragging a shadow across Hanzo's face. The thought of being surpassed—of being eclipsed—made his blood boil.
""Correct," Shura hissed. "Only with all seven seals, only with my generals at your side, will you have the strength to tear Shin'nen's leash apart. Then I shall teach you what no mortal guild dares whisper—the forbidden currents. Time. Death. Reality."
Hanzo's heart thudded like a war drum in his chest. He turned from the mirror, pulling open a hidden drawer. Nestled within was the humming black stone, veins of violet light crawling across its surface like lightning trapped in crystal. It seemed alive, breathing in his palm.
"Then I shall become Overlord," he whispered, the words thick with hunger.
He raised the stone, slammed it into his palm, and crushed it with a savage fist.
The chamber screamed. A shockwave erupted outward, rattling the foundations of the manor. Dust rained from the ceiling, walls cracked, and the mirror shattered into a thousand shards that flew outward like knives.
Hanzo staggered, clutching his chest as raw, unfiltered power poured into him. It seared through his veins like fire dragged through iron pipes, tearing him open and stitching him back together in the same instant. He roared, a sound that was half agony, half triumph, as his body convulsed beneath the violent storm of energy.
Emerald light blazed from his eyes, veins glowing beneath his skin like molten rivers. His reflection in the broken shards was monstrous—snarling, twisted, yet unmistakably radiant with terrible strength.
"Endure it," Shura whispered in his mind, though the voice was no longer distant. It was inside him, speaking from the marrow of his bones. "This is your rebirth, Hanzo. With each seal, you will shed your weakness. With each general, you will rise. I will make those humans remember my name through you."
For a fleeting second, Hanzo realized—time itself had bowed to him.
His reflection in the mirror leaned forward, lips moving a heartbeat before his own followed, as though the glass existed half a second ahead of reality.
Then the moment snapped. The room lurched back into motion, time rushing to catch up.
Hanzo collapsed onto his knees, chest heaving, eyes blazing emerald fire. His face twisted into a snarl of triumph and madness.
Hanzo collapsed to one knee, smoke rising from his skin, his breath ragged. The power was overwhelming, yet intoxicating. It coiled around him, settling into every tendon and muscle, reshaping his very being.
Slowly, he raised his head. The emerald glow in his eyes no longer flickered—it blazed like twin infernos.
"Overlord," he growled, savoring the word like blood on his tongue. "I'll crush their guilds. I'll drown their hope. And when I stand above their broken masters… they'll know the name Hanzo."
Outside, the night wind wailed across the broken rooftops. But in the manor, it was drowned out by the quiet, steady hum of power—the sound of a man no longer just human.
The first seal was his.
And the city would soon tremble.
***
Renji alighted from the train at Kazehara, the beating heart of Akakaze State, three hours later. The evening air hit him like a wall—dry, hot, and carrying the tang of iron from the sprawling forges that gave the city its name. The platform buzzed with merchants, travelers, and soldiers in crimson-trimmed uniforms, their chatter drowned occasionally by the distant rumble of thunderclouds gathering over the mountains.
Hikari was already waiting at the exit, arms folded, posture sharp.
"That was stressful," Renji muttered, stretching his shoulders with a groan. His cloak smelled faintly of smoke from the last battlefield, and his bones still ached from the train's rattling.
"Pipe it down, Renji," Hikari cut him short without looking up. Her sharp eyes scanned the map glowing on her phone, the faint blue light reflecting off her cheekbones. "The Hono no Senshi base should be a few klicks east of here."
Renji's eyes narrowed toward the horizon, where faint red plumes lit the sky. "Then let's get going." He stepped forward instinctively, boots clicking against the stone platform.
But her arm shot out, barring his path. Her tone carried weight—like a teacher snapping at a reckless student. "No. You don't just walk in."
Renji blinked. "What do you mean?"
Hikari finally turned to him, her gaze steady but heavy. "The Senshi won't just welcome you, Renji. To them, your bloodline is… dangerous. Some of their masters still whisper about your father and the chaos tied to his name. They'll see you as a threat long before they see you as an ally."
Her words dug deeper than he let show, but Renji only exhaled slowly, jaw tight. "So what? I'm supposed to wait outside while you do the talking?"
"Exactly," she replied bluntly. "I'll announce our presence first, smooth things over, and gauge their reception. Then—maybe—I'll bring you in. But if you show up uninvited, they might strike first and ask later."
Renji's fists clenched at his sides, shadows flickering faintly beneath his skin. He wanted to argue, to remind her that he had just carried Kokuryūkai through hell. But he caught the look in her eyes—not distrust, but concern.
"Fine," he said at last, voice rough with restraint.
"Good." She slid her phone away. "But it's late. For now, let's get a room and wait for dawn."
As they stepped off the platform, Renji slowed. His instincts prickled, that familiar itch crawling along his spine, his demonic eye hidden behind the strands of obsidian black hair narrowed.
He turned sharply and caught a figure watching them from the far end of the station—a man cloaked in grey, half-hidden in shadow. For a heartbeat their gazes locked, but the stranger quickly lowered his head and scurried past into the crowd.
Renji lingered a moment, eyes narrowing, before Hikari tugged his sleeve. "Renji. Come on."
He forced himself to follow, though the unease stayed with him. The glowing forge-fires of Kazehara cast their shadows long across the cobbled streets, and somewhere in that darkness, Renji felt eyes still trailing them.