Jibetsu's clay mask was inscrutable, but a storm raged behind it. He sat in the Tsuchigumo's underground shrine, surrounded by scrolls with maps and reports. His fingers, like dried roots, traced the parchment depicting "Tenran."
Strength is the fool's path, he reasoned, his inner voice cold and methodical. Kagetori is an unpredictable guard. A direct assault would be suicide. Kiriyama Akira... he is no longer a ghost, but a shield. He is surrounded. Therefore, the shield must not be broken; he must be made to step out from under its protection himself.
His strategic mind, honed by centuries of survival in the shadows, worked flawlessly. He analyzed weaknesses.
Weakness one: trust. The heroes, emboldened by victory over the Colossus, now believed in their strength and in Akira's uniqueness. They had become a team. And a team could be lured by playing on its strengths.
Weakness two: necessity. They needed the Arks to understand Magoro or deprive him of resources. This was their vulnerability.
Weakness three: Akira's very uniqueness. His strength was a double-edged sword. In a place where Kokuro was unstable or dangerous, he would become indispensable. And it would be easiest to hunt him there.
Jibetsu found the perfect trap. "The Labyrinth of Eternal Night." An ancient underground complex built before the clan era. It was said not to have been made by humans, but by something older. There, Kokuro behaved unpredictably: techniques could amplify a thousandfold or turn against their user, feeding on ancient, wild Scars saturating every stone. A place even the Council ventured into with trepidation.
The perfect bait. He ordered a rumor to be seeded through his network—subtly, unobtrusively. As if one of the Arks, the "Ark of Forgotten Whispers," was hidden in the very heart of the Labyrinth to contain an ancient evil that could awaken.
The rumor reached "Tenran" faster than Jibetsu expected. They gathered again in the director's office.
"It's a trap," Ryūnosuke stated bluntly, crossing his arms. "Too convenient."
"Perhaps," Kaede countered, her mind already analyzing options. "But if the Ark is truly there, and it can harm Magoro... we can't let it fall into Tsuchigumo hands. The risk is justified."
"The Labyrinth..." Shiori whispered quietly, flipping through an ancient tome. "There's a transcendent concentration of Scars of madness and curses there. Any of our techniques could go out of control. Any, except..." She looked at Akira.
All eyes turned to him. He stood silently, feeling the weight of their expectations.
"My 'Zone' should neutralize the threat," he said simply. His voice was even, but something tightened inside. He understood. Trap or not, they had to go. Because only he could do it.
The decision was made.
The entrance to the Labyrinth of Eternal Night was a gaping maw in the rock, hidden by a curtain of swaying shadows. The air emanating from it was cold and heavy, smelling of ozone and the dust of centuries.
Crossing the threshold, they felt it instantly. Their Kokuro trembled, like a living thing sensing danger. The energy around was chaotic, hostile.
"It... hurts to breathe here," said Shiori, pressing a hand to her chest.
Progress was slow and tense. The Labyrinth walls were covered with strange, hypnotic patterns that constantly moved. Akira walked ahead, his "Zone," though small, cleared the path, momentarily stabilizing the insane energy.
That's when the "accidents" began.
The floor beneath Ryūnosuke suddenly turned into quicksand, swallowing him up to his waist before he could react. As Kaede and Akira helped him, a maw opened in the ceiling, from which a stream of foul liquid poured, forcing them to scatter. Then the walls shifted, splitting the group in two. It wasn't a direct attack. It was subtle, surgical manipulation of the Labyrinth's very structure. Jibetsu, watching through crystal eyes embedded in the walls, was playing his game.
Akira and Shiori found themselves cut off in a narrow stone tunnel. The door behind them slammed shut silently, merging with the wall.
"It's a trap," Shiori stated, her voice trembling. "Specifically for us."
They entered a round hall. In the center on a pedestal lay a glittering object—the "Ark." But the moment they took a step, the walls of the hall came alive. Faces appeared on them—distorted, screaming masks of stone. And a Whisper began.
It wasn't a sound. It was a Scar. An ancient Scar of Madness. It penetrated directly into the mind, into the very essence of Kokuro, dragging out the darkest fears, the most hidden nightmares.
Shiori cried out and fell to her knees, clutching her head. Her eyes rolled back, tears streaming down her face.
"No... Mom... Dad... I didn't mean to..." she muttered, her body convulsing. The Whisper attacked her connection with the Scars of the past, turning her gift into an instrument of torture.
Akira felt only slight pressure. The madness found no hooks in him to latch onto. But he saw Shiori suffering.
"Hold on!" he shouted, running to her.
He activated his "Zone," trying to surround her. But the Whisper was too strong, too omnipresent. It emanated from everywhere. To protect her, he had to create a constant, expanded dome of negation enveloping them both.
And it was burning him out. For the first time, he felt real, draining fatigue. His own void, which he projected, required incredible concentration. He felt his mind stretching like a string ready to snap. Cold sweat trickled down his temples. He knelt, one hand supporting Shiori, the other bracing against the floor, maintaining the "Zone."
"Can't... hold... long..." he whispered through clenched teeth.
Shiori, coming to her senses, looked at him in horror. She saw him pale, his hands trembling.
"Akira... leave me... run..."
"No," his reply was simple and final.
At that moment, figures materialized from the shadows of the hall. Six Tsuchigumo fighters in their clay masks. Jibetsu stood before them.
"Little void..." his grating voice sounded triumphant. "See what you've done to your protector. The Emperor awaits. Don't make us hurt her when you collapse."
Akira tried to rise, but his legs gave way. The "Zone" wavered. Shiori cried out again, and blood spurted from her nose—the Whisper had reached her once more.
Then the wall next to Jibetsu exploded. In a cloud of dust and debris, with faces contorted by rage, stood Ryūnosuke and Kaede. Their clothes were torn, a bruise on Kaede's face, but fire burned in their eyes.
"Hey, spider!" Ryūnosuke roared, his sword already in hand. "Our dance partner is here!"
"Touching them was your last mistake," Kaede added coldly, and the air around her fingers trembled, ready for rewriting.
Jibetsu slowly turned to them, his mask hiding disappointment. The calculation was precise, but he had underestimated the speed at which the "golden students" would break through.
Akira, almost losing consciousness, saw their silhouettes in the breach. He saw Shiori, leaning on him, trying to stand. He saw the readiness for battle in Ryūnosuke's and Kaede's stances.
He clenched his teeth, squeezing out his last strength to hold the "Zone." The battle was inevitable. And he, the void who had become a shield, had to endure. For them.