Tension hung in the air of the shaky alliance, thicker than the colony's distorted reality. Raidou walked a meter behind the group, his presence an icy reminder that this was not an alliance, but a truce.
"Stay close, kiddos," Kagetori tossed over his shoulder, his voice regaining a note of serenity, but his eyes remained focused. "Don't give the icy ghost a reason to decide you're hindering efficiency."
"Efficiency," Raidou retorted phlegmatically, "implies getting rid of ballast. For now, you are not ballast."
Ryūnosuke gritted his teeth but remained silent. Shiori nervously fiddled with a scroll. Akira walked in silence, his "Zone" on a low level, dampening the sharpest surges of chaos around.
That's when they emerged at the edge of a giant crater, at the bottom of which pulsated an object—a crystal in the shape of a perfect teardrop, covered in inner shimmering light. A Key.
And the Key already had a guard. Homura Enen stood motionless, her androgynous figure in a white kimono a center of calm in the raging chaos. She observed the crystal with the air of a scientist studying an interesting specimen.
Raidou, his icy gaze sliding over her, showed something akin to fleeting curiosity for the first time that evening.
"Why would a spirit of fire and destruction be reincarnated in a shell of this gender?" his voice held no mockery; it was pure, cold analysis. "It has less physical power. Illogical."
Homura slowly turned her head toward him. Her burning eyes held no insult, only the same analytical clarity.
"Fire doesn't care in which vessel it burns," her voice was quiet and melodious but devoid of warmth. "It consumes all the same. And does your ice care about the shape of a glacier?"
Kagetori, ignoring their dialogue, took a step forward toward the crater's edge.
"Alright, kiddos, end the philosophical debate. Time to..."
He didn't finish. The air behind him shifted.
"Hey, Reiden!"
A voice. That voice. The voice he hadn't heard in years, the one that made his heart clench and his blood boil. The voice belonging to the dead.
Kagetori froze in place as if struck by lightning. His back tensed, his golden eyes widened, staring into the emptiness before him. He didn't turn around. Couldn't.
"Turn around."
Mechanically, against his will, Reiden turned his head. And saw.
Sorato.
Tall, slender, with aristocratic bearing. Long hair the color of a raven's wing, some of it tied in an elegant bun, the rest cascading down his back. A dark purple kimono with silver-embroidered snakes. And those violet eyes, the color of a stormy sky, which held piercing intellect and... sorrow.
With a cry that was more of a roar, Kagetori leaped back several meters, his face contorted with shock and fury.
"You... you took his appearance..." he hissed, his golden pupils narrowing to slits. "My sensors... they see no difference in Kokuro! It's... it's Sorato Kuroi's signature! But... you're not him! What are you, monster?!"
Pseudo-Sorato didn't answer. He simply vanished. And appeared before Kagetori, his fist, moving at incredible speed, already centimeters from his face.
He's moving... faster than that blue-eyed samurai, flashed through Reiden's mind as he instinctively dodged. But... strangely. I have no trouble tracking him.
It wasn't just speed. It was perfect efficiency. Every movement of Pseudo-Sorato was devoid of the slightest hint of excess, perfected to an absolute. Their fight was a furious, lightning-fast exchange of blows that cracked the air. Kagetori parried, dodged, countered. But gradually, the initiative shifted to the ghost. A strike, a block, another strike—and Kagetori was flung back several meters, barely managing to raise his forearm. A wave of numbness shot down his arm.
And then Pseudo-Sorato extended his hand, and a blade materialized in his palm. "Yami-No-Hara." The Plain of Darkness.
Reiden straightened up, brushing dust from his shoulder.
"Useless. Sorato already exhausted all his Kokuro in our battle. You miscalculated, whoever you are."
But the blade was not empty. It pulsated. A low, ominous hum emanated from its edge, and the space around it distorted, sucking in light and sound.
Pseudo-Sorato smiled. It wasn't Sorato's smile—it was wider, madder, holding unconcealed amusement.
"In my current arsenal, there are seven thousand six hundred and forty-one Kokuro techniques," his voice was sweet poison. "Or did you think I took this body half an hour ago? I found its absorption technique... interesting. Decided to try it out. And the body itself was unusually strong for its age. A perfect vessel."
Kagetori froze. Arsenal... Sorato never boasted about numbers. He just used them. This manner of speech...
And then he saw it. Down the perfect, alien features of Sorato's face, from the violet eyes, two tears slowly, against their will, began to flow.
Pseudo-Sorato raised his hand, touched the moisture on his cheek, and examined his fingers with the same mad curiosity.
"How interesting," he whispered. "It seems his soul is still... intact? Responding to your presence. A curious phenomenon."
Black, all-consuming rage flooded Reiden. He charged forward, losing his composure.
Pseudo-Sorato parried his furious assault and, stepping back, unleashed his first technique. Not from Sorato's arsenal. It was "Fangs of the Rotting Serpent"—black, shadow-like tentacles that didn't attack flesh but burrowed into the very energy of Kokuro, trying to poison and tear it apart.
Reiden, blinded by anger, barely managed to erect a golden barrier. The tentacles pierced it with a deafening hiss, making the barrier crack. He was thrown back, his breath knocked out.
And at that moment, sensing weakness, a new player appeared on the scene. With a roar like real thunder, Raiden Inazuma appeared at the crater's edge. His blue eyes burned with the glee of a hunter finding weakened prey.
"A fight? Without me?" he shouted and, without waiting for an answer, plunged into the fray.
Raidou, increasingly irritated by the situation, met his attack. Their battle was inconceivable to the eye. Akira, trying to follow, realized he couldn't. Their movements were faster than his perception; they were mere blurred spots colliding with roars that shook the earth.
At one point, Raidou, using the slightest pause, leaped upward. He didn't freeze. He concentrated his will and applied the "Scar of the Icy Heart"—a technique that momentarily stopped the blood flow in Inazuma's body, freezing him from within.
Inazuma froze for a split second, his face contorting in surprise. And then... he laughed.
"C-cold!" he roared and, as if nothing happened, resumed his attack with redoubled fury.
Raidou retreated, his icy calm cracking for the first time. This wild, untamed thunder didn't obey logic. And a meter away, Kagetori, seething with rage and pain, fended off the ghost of his best friend, armed with a blade that shouldn't exist. The trap had snapped shut.