Renji was back on the train.
The same screech of steel. The same flickering lights. The same shadows knitting themselves into the towering form of the Kurogami.
"No…" he muttered, throat dry.
The demon's cleaver shimmered into existence, and once more it charged. Renji bolted, hurling himself through the shattering window exactly as before.
But this time he didn't fall into the city. He landed inside a dark chamber that smelled of rust and old blood. Chains rattled.
Renji froze.
"Hanzo?"
There, slumped against the wall, shackled in heavy iron, was his brother-in-arms. His body was battered, his breathing shallow, as though he'd been torn apart by a dozen torturers. Hanzo lifted his head, eyes desperate.
"Renji… help me!"
Renji's chest tightened. He sprinted forward, crouching beside him. "Hold on. I've got you."
The key gleamed faintly on the ground, just out of Hanzo's reach. Renji snatched it, unlocked one cuff, then moved for the second.
That's when pain erupted through his chest.
He looked down. A jagged katana jutted from his gut, blood gushing hot and thick. Hanzo's chains disintegrated like mist, his bruises vanishing as his eyes flared a venomous green.
"Got you, Shin'nen," he snarled, twisting the blade to shred Renji's insides.Renji gasped, falling to his knees. "Han… Hanzo…"
"Hanzo is dead," the voice was guttural, mocking. The figure rose, features warping into something crueler, darker. "It's Shura now."
He raised the sword high, ready to sever Renji's head. Renji screamed—
And snapped awake.
His heart pounded. Sweat slicked his skin. He clutched his chest, half-expecting to find the wound still gaping there.
"Nightmare, huh?" a calm voice said.
Renji shot up, fists clenched. "Who's there?!"
From the air itself, light shimmered into form, swirling into an orb that pulsed with ghostly radiance. The outline of a man flickered inside.
"Sorry I'm only speaking to you now," the voice said gently. "Renji."
Renji's breath caught. "...Father?"
Haruto nodded within the light. "Those nightmares mean two things. First—Shin'nen's grip over you may be strengthening. Renji, always remember: your powers come from a cunning primordial god. Don't let him corrupt you."
Renji's hands trembled. "But what if I can't be like you, Father?"
"You shouldn't be like me." Haruto's expression was grave. "I made mistakes that still haunt me. You must aim higher—become better than I ever was."
The words struck Renji harder than any blade or bullet. He swallowed, eyes burning.
"And the second thing…" Haruto's glow pulsed, dimming. "Those nightmares? They're not just dreams. They're glimpses of what might come. Hanzo was your brother, but now… he is shackled by Shura. I hate to say this, but you must begin seeing him as an enemy."
"No." Renji's refusal was immediate, fierce. Guilt twisted in his chest, but he didn't waver. "Hanzo is the reason I didn't end my life years ago. He's still in there—I'll save him."
Haruto searched his son's storm-gray eyes—the eyes of Renji's mother, but filled with his own unshakable stubbornness. At last, the father sighed.
"Someone will come to check on you soon. But you must know one last truth."
Renji's breath slowed. "What truth?"
"You only have nine lives. Each time you fall, you revive stronger. But every death pulls you deeper into Shin'nen's grasp. The nightmares will worsen. Your body will be prepared for him to use as his vessel. Unless you master all seven currents before your final life runs out…"
Haruto's voice grew faint, trembling.
Renji finished the sentence, his own words heavy with dread. "Then I'll become the very threat I've been fighting against."
The light flickered once more, then faded, leaving Renji alone with the weight of his fate—and the echo of his father's warning.
***
Hanzo sat in the dim light of his apartment, the air stale with smoke from a half-burnt incense stick. His fingers turned a small hand mirror slowly, his own reflection staring back at him with eyes that seemed to shift from human warmth to eerie green at random. The radio on the table crackled and filled the silence.
"There's been recent outbursts of strange attacks across the country… the perpetrators displayed disturbing features during an assault on Neon Blossom Street yesterday, throwing the nation into uproar over the President's stance on these potential terrorist attacks. Eyewitnesses described the attacker as a towering figure dressed like a skeleton. Fortunately, no casualties have been reported—"
The broadcast cut to static with a sharp click. Hanzo had turned the knob himself, face tightening.
"Shura," he said aloud, his tone flat, tired, and mocking all at once. "Your general's second attempt… another failure. Couldn't even claim a single casualty."
His lips twitched into a smirk, but it wasn't his alone. In the mirror's reflection, his features warped subtly — jawline sharper, eyes burning green for an instant before fading back. The laugh that followed was not entirely his own, deeper, resonating as if two voices overlapped.
A sudden screech at the window dragged his gaze. A bald eagle hammered its beak against the glass with unnatural persistence, wings beating heavily. Hanzo stood and unlatched the window, and the bird swooped inside. But there was nothing natural about it. Its feathers shimmered faintly, each one edged with shadow, and when it perched, its eyes glowed with the same poisonous green.
Hanzo tilted his head, studying it. "A messenger," he muttered, running a hand along the mirror's edge. The bird's gaze bore into him, its beak clicking with unnatural precision.
But instead of fear, Hanzo chuckled low in his throat. He set the mirror down and leaned back in his chair, watching the bird as though it were a loyal servant.
"Still, we shouldn't waste time dwelling on incompetence," he said, his smirk widening into something cruel. His fingers tapped the table once, twice, as if keeping rhythm with a thought only he could hear. "Because thanks to my plan… we might have something."
The eagle let out a harsh cry, the sound carrying an otherworldly undertone, and Hanzo's laughter followed — jagged, broken, echoing with the devil that lurked within him.
The mirror on the table quivered, its surface warping like disturbed water. A faint outline shimmered within: not Hanzo's face, but Shura's twisted visage — horns curling, eyes blazing with hellfire green.
"Renji bleeds," the voice whispered from the glass. It was not quite sound but a vibration, a presence that crawled along the skin.
Hanzo grinned wider, his teeth catching in the pale lamplight. "And when he bleeds," he murmured, "he grows closer to you, doesn't he? Every wound, every nightmare. Soon he won't know if he's Renji… or Shin'nen's puppet."
The eagle shifted, spreading its wings. Dust scattered from the old shelves, the room thickening with oppressive aura. Hanzo raised the mirror again, gazing into it until his own reflection was gone — replaced entirely by Shura's monstrous form staring back at him.
"Don't worry, my Lord," Hanzo said reverently, though his voice dripped with madness. "I'll play my part. I'll make sure he takes every step down that road."
His laughter spilled out again, filling the room until even the eagle seemed unsettled, its feathers bristling. The radio hissed faintly in the background, the unfinished news report looping once before fading into silence.
Hanzo set the mirror down gent
ly, almost lovingly, and whispered into the quiet:
"Let's make the world burn for him."