The headquarters smelled faintly of iron and dust. Even in its pristine white hallways, the scent of battles past clung stubbornly to the corners. Hayabusa walked alone, the black agent outfit stretched across his frame. The sleeves hung long and the coat trailed slightly behind him, but he barely noticed. The weight of it was familiar now, part armor, part shadow, part expectation.
The masters were waiting in the central hall. White coats pressed and flawless, faces calm but unreadable. One of them, tall and severe, stepped forward.
"Hayabusa," he said, voice even. "There's activity in the Shadow District. A group of demons has been detected. Investigate. Contain. You are to go alone."
Hayabusa inclined his head. He didn't speak. Questions were wasted energy. Orders were clear, execution mattered more than words.
Another master added, "The shadows are spreading. Contain them before they reach the lower sectors. Understood?"
Hayabusa's mind flicked over the words like a blade testing its edge. Contain the shadows. Do not underestimate the threat. Simple instructions, but he understood the weight behind them. Failure would not be excused, not by them, not by himself.
He left the hall and walked through the corridors, boots silent. Each step brought memories of training, long nights, cold mornings, bruises and calluses. He had pushed himself past exhaustion over and over. Every leap, every swing, every failed attempt had been a preparation for this. And yet, a quiet voice inside reminded him that preparation alone was never enough.
He reached his room. The Kusanagi rested in its case. He lifted it once, feeling the faint pulse of the runes under his fingers, the hum of enchantments wrapped along its length. The sword was more than a weapon, it was proof of every effort, every cut and bruise, every night spent perfecting his movements.
He fastened his scarf, adjusted the coat, and climbed to the rooftop. The wind tugged at him, biting at hair and scarf, carrying the faint scent of the city below. Lights flickered across the streets, some districts alive with warmth, some shadowed and abandoned. The Shadow District lay waiting.
A single black shadow peeled from his form and raced ahead into the darkness. Hayabusa followed without hesitation, teleporting to its location. The rooftops here were broken and uneven, stairways crumbling, alleys littered with debris. He moved carefully, each leap deliberate, each landing soft but precise.
He thought of the Cyclops, the small man in black who had raised him, who had trained him without words and guided him without fear. He had always been there, silent but unwavering, watching, correcting, letting him fail and rise again. His single, sharp eye had seemed to pierce through everything, through fear, through anger, through doubt.
Hayabusa exhaled slowly. He had improved. He could feel it now, the reflexes, the balance, the connection to Kusanagi. He thought of the Cyclops' words "Control comes before power. Always remember that". He had followed them, meticulously, obsessively. And yet, in moments like this, he couldn't shake the lingering uncertainty. Would it be enough?
A low growl shattered the quiet. Three demons emerged from the shadows, twisted, unnatural forms, eyes glinting in the dim light. Hayabusa adjusted his grip on the Kusanagi. The runes along the blade flared a reddish-violet, sharp and alive, and with a single, fluid strike he cut through the nearest demon, its body parting cleanly as the sword hummed. The other two froze, then scattered into the dark streets, sensing his presence and retreating.
Hayabusa exhaled slowly, letting the moment settle around him. The city was silent again, only the distant hum of forgotten streetlights, the faint rustle of debris, the echo of his own heartbeat. He glanced at the streets around him, noting the labyrinth of alleys and broken rooftops. Each shadow might conceal another threat. Each step might reveal the unknown.
He thought again of the Cyclops. The small man who had carried him through his earliest fears, who had taught him precision, patience, and control. I am ready… almost, he told himself. I have trained enough to reach this far.
Ahead, beneath the ruins of a crumbling building, he saw it a vault, faintly etched with ancient runes. The runes pulsed faintly in response to his presence, as if acknowledging him. A whispered command, and the mechanism unlocked, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
Hayabusa paused at the edge, hand resting on the hilt of the Kusanagi. The glow of the runes painted the walls in reddish-violet light. Below was the unvisited district, abandoned, silent, and waiting.
He inhaled deeply, letting the quiet settle around him. This was where the mission truly began.
And then, carefully, he stepped forward toward the stairs.