The sky was bleeding.
Ragna felt it before he saw it—an uneasy pull in his chest that dragged his gaze upward from the dojo courtyard.
What he had dismissed as birds or planes moments ago were no longer fleeting streaks. They were growing. Slow at first, then faster. Too low. Too bright. Too many.
Dozens of them now—trails of crimson fire carving across the darkening blue, flames so deep and blood-red they seemed to pulse with a hidden life. No shapes within, no silhouettes—just that unnatural, throbbing glow, like veins of liquid scarlet torn open against the heavens. To everyone watching, they could only be meteors. A once-in-a-lifetime shower, beautiful and terrible.
Their light cast long, writhing shadows across the gravel, turning the ground into a restless sea of black and gold.
One roared overhead, low enough that the air thrummed in his ears. A wave of heat slammed into him, sudden and sharp, carrying the scent of scorched metal and something older, stranger—like incense from a forgotten rite.
Outside the dojo walls, people stopped. Heads tilted back. Phones rose. A few laughed nervously. Others stood frozen, mouths open in silent awe.
Then someone screamed.
The sound cracked the air. More voices rose—sharp, chaotic. Car horns blared. A child wailed.
Ragna's heart slammed against his ribs.
These weren't ordinary meteors.
They were falling.
And they were coming here.
He scanned the courtyard frantically—open sky, wooden roof, no shelter. The sensei stared upward, transfixed. Kira lingered inside, her expression unreadable.
Another streaked past, closer. The ground trembled as the first struck in the distance—a muffled boom that rolled through the city like the heartbeat of something awakening beneath the earth.
Ragna whispered, voice lost in the panic:
"…We're not going to survive this."
Then one loomed larger with every heartbeat—a molten giant wrapped in blood-red flame, screaming down from the crimson sky.
He ran.
Feet pounded gravel, then cracked pavement. Lungs burned. The world buckled; each impact shook the bones of the city. When they struck, they did not shatter the surface—they burrowed. Deep. The ground shuddered, swallowed the fire, and sealed over it with a low, guttural groan, as if the earth itself were drinking the crimson light.
One struck too close.
Blistering heat flashed before the shockwave hurled him through the air. He flew, weightless—then slammed into the earth. Darkness took him.
He woke to agony. Silence broken only by distant screams. Smoke stung his eyes; the air tasted of ash and iron. Blood.
Groaning, he pushed himself up. A few feet away lay a small, pale hand, fingers curled as if reaching for someone lost forever.
His stomach lurched. He staggered upright and stumbled forward, one foot in front of the other, through a landscape turned to ruin.
Somehow, his legs carried him home.
The door hung crooked. Inside, dust drifted like gray snow. His mother lay in the narrow bed, skin almost translucent, chest rising in shallow, painful breaths. Mimi sat beside her, tiny face streaked with tears, clutching their mother's hand like it was the last tether to the world.
Mother!
The word tore from him as he dropped to his knees.
Her eyes opened—tired, fierce with love. Ragna…
We have to go. Now. I'll carry you...
"No." Her voice cut softly through the rumbling sky. "Listen to me, my sweet boy. Take Mimi. Run. Live."
Tears blurred his vision.
I won't leave you.
"You must." Trembling fingers brushed his cheek. "Promise me you'll keep her safe. She needs her big brother."
Mimi whimpered, crawling into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her small body shake.
"Please," he begged, voice cracking. "Come with us."
His mother smiled—a small, heartbreaking thing that held every lullaby, every quiet morning. "I'm tired, Ragna. I've done my part. Now it's yours."
She stroked Mimi's hair one last time. "Be brave, little one. Your brother will protect you."
Then, to him: "Go. Before it's too late."
He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
"I love you both," she whispered. "So much. Always remember that."
"I love you, Mother," he choked, pressing his forehead to hers for one fleeting second.
He stood, lifting Mimi against his chest. She buried her face in his neck, silent sobs shuddering through her.
At the doorway he looked back. His mother raised a frail hand in the smallest wave.
And then the sky fell again.
White-hot roar. The house exploded—walls collapsing, flames erupting, beams crashing down. Ragna threw himself over Mimi as debris rained like judgment.
When the thunder faded, he raised his head.
Where the bed had been, there was only fire and rubble.
"Mother…"
The word was barely a breath.
Then it shattered free—a raw, animal scream that carried every piece of his breaking heart.
"MOTHER!"
Mimi clung tighter. Her quiet crying was the only sound left in a world that had taken everything else.
He scooped her up, slung her small body over his shoulder, and ran.
The streets were madness—people running aimlessly, shouting, screaming. Corpses lay twisted on the ground. The air vibrated with fresh impacts, each one burrowing deeper, the earth groaning like it was birthing something unspeakable.
Mimi cried against his back, her tears hot on his neck, but he did not comfort her. His mind wandered in shards—Mother's smile, the crimson flames, the hand reaching from rubble. His lungs were fire, legs heavy as stone.
Then memory pierced the haze.
Gensu's voice, a few hours ago, at school: "The Temple… they built something not long ago, because of the prophecy. A shield. For when the world ends. Emergency services and defenses, the priests believe it."
The church. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes away.
Could they last fifteen minutes?
No.
He ran faster.
Veins bulged in his neck and arms. Foam flecked his lips. Survival instinct flooded him—pure, animal adrenaline. He didn't even realize he had stopped breathing. Only forward. Only the Temple.
The world narrowed to a trance. Screams faded to silence. He no longer heard the wails, saw the bodies, registered the panicked crowds clawing for hiding places. His entire being focused on one point: the steeple he could still see rising above the chaos.
He dodged bodies, vaulted crumbled walls, leaped from fence to fence, rooftop to shattered rooftop—parkour born of desperation, Mimi bouncing against his shoulder yet somehow held secure.
Five minutes.
The church loomed—ancient stone glowing faintly with an unnatural shimmer, a translucent veil rippling around its walls like heat over desert sand. A defensive measure, alive and humming. The only way in: the open doors, where people poured through in frantic streams.
Multiple entrances saved him. He crouched low, shoulder-charged through the press of bodies, elbows and knees driving forward until cool sanctuary air hit his face.
Inside: hundreds of faces—terrified, praying, blank with shock. He didn't care. Didn't see them.
Then darkness rushed in from the edges of his vision.
His legs gave out.
He collapsed, Mimi tumbling safely from his grip into the shadowed nave as the world went black.