The silence after Pseudo-Sorato's departure was ringing. The air in the colony, saturated with residual battle energy, seemed frozen in anticipation. The team stood amidst the destruction, their strength spent, and the mental wounds inflicted by the ghost of the past bleeding.
Kagetori broke the silence first. He wiped blood from his lips, his golden eyes burning with a cold fire turned inward.
"It's clear. Hunting for keys is playing by his rules. We need to cut off the snake's head. I'll find this Organizer and tear him apart."
Raidou, impassive as always, countered, his icy voice cutting the air:
"A foolish emotion. The keys are a resource. Controlling them, we control the ritual's energy flow. Deprive him of fuel—he will emerge from the shadows himself. That is logical."
"The academy," Shiori said quietly but firmly. "We've received a distress signal. They are under attack. Our duty is to return and help."
"Run from the battlefield?" Ryūnosuke snorted, but uncertainty was in his eyes.
"Not run. Regroup," Kaede clarified, her analytical mind already weighing risks. "The academy's forces are limited. Without us, they may fall."
Akira was silent. He felt the heavy responsibility for both—for the academy and for the need to stop the madness here. His "Zone" pulsed, reflecting the internal conflict.
The compromise was fragile and temporary.
"Fine," Kagetori agreed reluctantly to the split. "Icy ghost, you're with me. To hunt the rat." He looked at the others. "As for you... break through to the academy. Warn them. But be ready. This Game won't let you go so easily."
Without further words, the two groups parted. Kagetori and Raidou vanished into the chaotic depths of the colony, two titans united by common hatred but not trust. Akira, Kaede, Ryūnosuke, and Shiori moved toward the flickering, distorted outline of the sphere's border in the distance.
The path of Akira's team quickly turned into a nightmare. The ground gave way beneath their feet, turning into quicksand. The air thickened, slowing movement. Rocks collapsed on their own, as if kicked by an invisible hand.
"This isn't random," Kaede declared, her fan already in hand. "Someone is directing the colony's traps against us."
They didn't see the enemy. But he saw them. Osu, the master tactician, watched from the shadows; his Kokuro "Spider's Eye" saw the "trajectories" of their techniques, their intentions, their weaknesses. He saw everything. Except one thing. Akira. The boy was a blind spot, an "unaccounted variable" in his flawless equations.
When Ryūnosuke tried to clear the path, his technique turned against him, nearly crushing him into a metal ball. When Shiori tried to summon a defense, an ancient Scar went out of control, nearly striking her herself.
That's when Akira activated his "Zone." A bubble of stability appeared around them, and the colony's chaotic attacks shattered against its boundaries like waves against a rock.
"Stay inside!" he commanded, feeling his strength waning.
Kaede grinned. Now that they weren't being attacked blindly, she could work.
"Kokuro: Crimson Loop! Local Paradox!" She rewrote reality in a small radius, making the colony's traps trigger before activation. Rocks fell before reaching them, pits filled themselves in.
Ryūnosuke and Shiori provided covering fire, deflecting the rare direct attacks that broke through the web of illusions and paradoxes. They worked as a single mechanism, truly trusting each other for the first time.
In the shadows, Osu gritted his teeth. His calculations were falling apart. This "void" was disrupting his control. He couldn't defeat them. But he could delay them.
Folding his hands, he activated his highest-level technique. The space around the team compressed, spun, and stretched into an endless, constantly shifting labyrinth of distorted space. They were trapped.
Deep in the colony, in a zone where time flowed like honey, they found him. Not the Organizer. Gangan "Dochi," the Earth Titan. He wasn't tall. He was broad, squat, seeming carved from the mountain itself. His skin resembled time-cracked rock, and his eyes glowed with a dim, fading ember light. The Game's activity had awakened him.
He didn't attack. He simply was. And his presence was oppressive. Their Kokuro became heavy, viscous as tar. Every movement, every technique required incredible effort.
Raidou launched a spear of absolute zero. It flew several meters and disintegrated into icy dust before reaching the target. Kagetori tried to use "Eye of Thunder"—the lightning, usually fierce and swift, crawled from his finger like a lazy, sluggish serpent and evaporated a meter from Gangan.
"His power is suppression," Kagetori said through gritted teeth, feeling his own might turning against him. "He doesn't break. He suffocates."
Raidou, his icy calm not even shaken, only coldly stated:
"Compared to the overwhelming will of my master, even in his current, unstable state... this cumbersome mountain is nothing. Were Tenmao here, not even dust would remain of this behemoth."
They fought, wasting their strength in vain. Raidou's ice couldn't reach the target. Kagetori's lightning died. Gangan stood motionless, unshakable, eternal. This was a test not of strength, but of endurance. And they were losing.
"Pointless," Raidou concluded. "Our target is the Organizer, not this relic."
With a reluctant nod, Kagetori retreated. They left, abandoning the Titan in his realm of suppression, unable to breach his defense.
Both groups, divided and exhausted, found themselves at a dead end. One—trapped in a spatial labyrinth; the other—repelled by a force against which their might proved useless.
And at that moment, the familiar, cold, and mocking mental impulse crashed into the consciousness of everyone remaining in the colony.
«The second act begins. I hope you're not tired yet? The entertainment is just starting.»