A strange energy pulsed from his body as he took a step forward, his gaze locked onto his enemy.
In pursuit of their objective, he had lost his brothers. But it wasn't just their deaths that gnawed at him—it was the bitter knowledge that they had been seen as nothing more than disposable rags, tools meant only to clean up the messes of their superiors.
What was he to do now, in such a hopeless situation? His brothers were dead at the hands of a formidable enemy, and their goal was farther from his grasp than ever before.
But he couldn't stand there helplessly, waiting for the same fate.
No—there was a fire burning within his soul now.
A fire fueled not only by the desire to avenge the brothers he loved, but also by the need to prove that he was more than a filthy rag to be discarded once its purpose was fulfilled.
From the blood oozing from his body, even more crimson spheres of energy formed, hovering in the air, ready to be launched at his enemy.
Tsushiro readied himself as well, slipping into a firm stance, his sword held forward as sparks danced through the air around its blade.
Asahi raised his hand once more. This time, his fingers positioned themselves deliberately, poised to flick his attacks forward.
A cold, unwavering stare was all that showed on his face. In that moment, nothing else mattered.
He took a deep breath. Then, with his gaze locked firmly onto Tsushiro, he spoke calmly,
"Blood Manipulation: Chains of Fate."
Then, with a slow flick of his fingers, the spheres shot toward Tsushiro. Together with the ones already hovering nearby, they began to encircle him from all sides.
One after another, they pulsed—each successive sphere flashing brighter than the last.
Tsushiro turned anxiously, searching for a way out. Then, as if driven purely by instinct, he leapt into the air.
Just as he expected, the spheres followed.
Midair, Tsushiro watched them carefully, forcing himself to stay calm. He needed to understand it—the pattern, the rule, the trick behind the technique.
As the approaching spheres flashed brighter and brighter, he tightened his grip on his sword.
Two spheres closed in.
One flashed violently.
The other remained dull.
Tsushiro didn't hesitate.
He struck at the flashing sphere, committing to the risk. If uncovering the secret meant endangering himself, so be it—because without understanding this technique, he knew he could never win.
Then, as he struck, he noticed something unexpected.
Instead of detonating in a violent explosion like before, the sphere's glow dulled.
The change was so subtle and instantaneous that he would have missed it entirely if he hadn't been watching closely.
A realization crept in.
Mid-swing, he twisted to his right—and there it was.
For a brief instant, the other sphere burned with a grim crimson light, identical to the ones that had come before.
Then came the flash.
Followed by the sound of the blast.
This time, there was no escape.
The explosion swallowed him whole, not even granting him the chance to fully manifest his Iron Shell.
He was shot down from the sky, engulfed in a roaring ball of flame.
The inferno tore through the night before slamming into the ground below, sending embers and scorched earth flying in every direction.
Asahi grinned as he watched the blaze rage where Tsushiro had fallen.
"No one can escape their fate," he said coldly.
"Not even you, Tsushiro Yamada."
Seeing this, the three jumped in shock. Unable to even comprehend what was happening, they were reduced to helpless bystanders.
"No way!" Izumi yelled, his voice breaking.
Their expressions turned pale as they watched the raging fire slowly burn itself down.
Then—
A sudden chill ran down their spines as the wind shifted, growing unnaturally cold.
Asahi narrowed his eyes, watching the dying flames—only for a speeding projectile to burst forth from within the inferno.
He reacted just in time, twisting aside as the attack tore past him and slammed into the ground behind him.
He turned sharply.
An icicle had been driven deep into the grass, frost spreading outward from the point of impact.
Asahi gritted his teeth and looked back.
From within the thinning flames, a silhouette emerged.
Step by step, it walked forward.
It was Tsushiro.
His robe was charred and torn, burn marks etched across his skin. The blade in his hands now shimmered pale blue and white, cold mist curling off its edge.
He drew in a slow breath—his exhale spilling into the air as frost.
Gripping the hilt with both hands, Tsushiro leveled the sword at Asahi.
He spoke a single phrase under his breath.
"Release: Fuyumi."
He stepped forward, carefully monitoring Asahi's reaction.
"You're not going to vent this time?" Tsushiro asked, a dry edge of sarcasm in his voice, deliberately trying to provoke him.
"No," Asahi replied firmly. "I'm not."
He straightened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"In fact, I'm pleased you didn't go down so easily. I want to defeat you at your best."
He paused before continuing, his tone shifting.
"Though I'll admit, your response surprised me. I never would've expected you to shroud yourself in cold air to dampen the blast."
Tsushiro tightened his grip on the hilt.
"Yeah, well, your attack caught me off guard too," he replied evenly. "But now… I think I'm finally starting to grasp how your technique works."
"Is that so?" Asahi said, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Then there's no reason to keep it hidden any longer. This serves my interests as well—I don't want a handicap."
Tsushiro grinned.
"My technique, Chains of Fate, allows me to create sphere-like bombs that I can detonate remotely," Asahi explained. "I do this by withholding the activation energy required to trigger each sphere."
Another crimson sphere formed in the palm of his hand.
"When the moment comes to detonate one," he continued, "it draws the stored energy from the surrounding spheres, forcing itself to explode."
The sphere in his palm glowed intensely before he crushed it by closing his fist.
"I decide when and where the spheres detonate," Asahi finished calmly. "It's an attack with no flaws, the perfect technique."
"Nothing in this world is completely perfect," Tsushiro said as the remaining spheres rushed toward him, "and I'll prove it by powering through your 'flawless' technique."
"Then bring it on!"
Tsushiro weaved through the speeding spheres, slashing several mid-flight.
Seizing a brief opening, he rushed at Asahi, targeting him directly.
Asahi hardened his arm, blood clots forming rapidly to parry the incoming strike.
But when Tsushiro's blade met his defense, he was driven back, the mist and frost from Tsushiro's sword leaving his hand coated in ice from the sheer impact.
Asahi summoned the spheres back, but they lagged behind—just enough for Tsushiro to press his advantage.
He wouldn't waste it. He raised his mist-covered sword high, ready to end it all in a single strike.
The spheres zoomed toward him, but his focus was absolute—on Asahi, not on his own safety.
And then, as if destiny itself bent to his will, Tsushiro struck.
A swift downward slash, accompanied by a gust of swirling fog and frost, shot straight at Asahi.
A single, resolute phrase rang out with the attack:
"Taksho Tenyin!"
The gust of fog and mist slammed into Asahi, sending him hurtling toward the cliff. The area of impact was soon surrounded by jagged icicles, several feet high.
The crimson spheres faltered and hung in place, their momentum abruptly halted as the puppeteer's control vanished. They wavered for a moment before remaining suspended, powerless without Asahi to guide them.
As the mist cleared, Tsushiro's gaze fell on Asahi, sprawled in a crater etched into the cliff face, blood pouring from a wound in his chest.
Without thinking, he spun around to check on the three teens. They were physically unharmed, but their faces betrayed the weight of the chaos—they looked as if their very souls had been wrenched from them.
He took a step toward them, but then he sensed the spheres move.
Suddenly, they shot forward at terrifying speed, converging on Asahi.
Tsushiro's jaw tightened, his muscles coiling as he braced himself.
The spheres surrounded Asahi as he coughed blood, his grin impossibly wide.
"My mistake," Asahi gasped, labored breaths filling the air. "I wasn't taking you seriously enough. But now… it seems I have no choice."
Tsushiro's eyes narrowed. "You don't mean—"
"Yes, I do!" Asahi interrupted, crimson energy crackling across his form. "My metamorphosis!"
He opened his arms wide, and the surrounding spheres converged on him, forming a massive orb of glowing crimson energy, him trapped at its center.
The sphere floated above the ground, pulsating with lethal force.
Tsushiro's grip on his sword tightened, every fiber of his body screaming with tension. He leapt toward the orb, a torrent of mist and fog trailing his blade. Icicles erupted around the floating sphere, shards glinting dangerously in the moonlight.
The orb remained intact… at first. Then, a thin crack appeared along its surface, jagged and ominous.
Tsushiro's chest tightened, a rush of adrenaline flooding him. His eyes locked on the crack, knowing that what came next could change the playing field completely.