CHAPTER-30

The battlefield was alive—No, it was breathing.

The air hummed with an unnatural energy, swirling and slashing like a wild beast hunting its prey. The wind shrieked with the sound of a thousand tortured souls, its ferocity tearing at the ruins that surrounded them. The sky was a swirling mass of black clouds, twisting and contorting, as if the heavens themselves were in the throes of agony. In the heart of the storm, something dark and deadly flickered in and out of existence. It was there one moment, gone the next. Watching. Waiting. Mocking.

The Wind Shikiban had no fixed form. It was not a creature—it was the storm itself. One moment, its jagged grin stretched across the sky, a mouth too wide, too hungry. The next, an arm reached from the vortex, only to dissolve back into nothingness. The air thickened, the wind itself coiling with malice. It was not a creature of flesh and bone. It was an entity that defied the laws of nature, something that should not be.

Daigo cracked his knuckles, unfazed by the eldritch horror swirling around him. A fresh cut licked at his skin, but his grin only grew wider. "Tch. So it's all talk, huh? I should rip that mouth off."

Yeaga stood beside him, exhaling slowly, his shoulders rolling with ease as if the storm around them was nothing more than a passing breeze. "We don't even know if it has a mouth, dumbass."

Ishiga stood a few paces back, adjusting his blood-specked glasses. He said nothing. His mind was elsewhere, calculating, feeling the storm's pulse. His gaze was cold, unwavering. He felt something—something ancient—lurking just beyond the veil of the storm. This wasn't a battle against mere monsters. This was something that transcended mortal understanding.

A whisper slithered through the wind, its voice a thousand overlapping whispers. "Three little mortals. Three little worms. How long will you last?"

And then—

The storm attacked.

The winds converged in a single, blinding arc, a scythe of air aimed at Daigo's throat. The force was unimaginable, but Daigo was faster. With a twist of his body, he barely dodged in time. The blade of wind grazed his neck, drawing a thin line of blood that bloomed in the air like a red flower.

Before Daigo could recover, the ground around them exploded as jagged spikes of wind ruptured from the earth. Yeaga's eyes flickered, and without a single wasted motion, he executed a flawless flip, landing lightly on his feet as if gravity had no hold on him.

Ishiga didn't move. His feet remained planted firmly, his posture unyielding, yet the wind that should have torn him apart parted before him, as though it had no power against his stillness.

Daigo barked a laugh, his voice loud over the storm. "That's it?! You call that a storm?! I'll show you how to break one!"

With a primal roar, Daigo launched himself into the air, his body a coil of raw muscle and fury. His fist shot forward, striking the storm with all the force of a thunderclap. The very air trembled as his punch collided with the wind, causing the Shikiban's form to flicker and distort violently, as though the storm itself was screaming.

Yeaga was already moving. A shadow among the chaos. Without a moment's hesitation, his leg lashed out, his foot cutting through the wind with surgical precision. His kick was so fast, so powerful, it split a section of the storm apart, sending gusts of wind scattering like torn paper in all directions.

"You're too slow," Yeaga muttered, the words like a quiet death sentence.

A cold, unnerving laughter echoed from the swirling darkness. "Slow? We are the sky. You are nothing."

And then, the storm shifted.

A cyclone—a massive vortex—erupted from the depths of the wind, ripping through the battlefield like a hurricane. The force of it was so overwhelming that Daigo, Yeaga, and Ishiga were torn from their feet, thrown into the sky. The world became a dizzying blur of razor-sharp winds, deafening shrieks, and an unrelenting pressure that threatened to crush their very bones.

Daigo's grin never faded. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists, shielding his face from the wind as his body spiraled through the air. The pressure was unbearable, yet he grinned through it. "Tch—this is pissing me off!" he spat, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.

His body twisted midair, his muscles coiling as he gathered raw power into his knuckles. His eyes glinted with dangerous excitement. And then—

BOOM!

With a single, monstrous punch, Daigo tore through the cyclone. The very air exploded outward, the shockwave deafening as the storm momentarily collapsed in on itself. Dust and debris were blasted away, and Daigo landed in a crouch, bleeding from several wounds but grinning with satisfaction.

"Did I break your precious storm, freaks?" he taunted.

"No."

A claw of wind, massive and razor-sharp, shot toward Daigo's ribs. It was faster than anything he'd ever seen, yet before it could reach him—

SNAP!

Yeaga's foot slammed down, his power pinning the claw midair. The air itself trembled, the force of his strike enough to stop the claw in its tracks.

Yeaga's face was cold, his smirk gone. His entire body seemed to radiate an icy calm as he stared into the heart of the storm. "Enough games."

In a blur of motion, he vanished.

A flicker of motion. A flash of darkness. The next moment, Yeaga was already in front of the Wind Shikiban, his knee driving into its core with enough force to shatter reality itself. The Shikiban screeched, its formless body splintering as the shockwave ripped outward.

Yeaga didn't give it a moment to recover. His hand shot forward with a speed that left the air vibrating, and in one swift motion, he grasped something intangible—something that was more than the storm. It was the Shikiban's very essence.

"Wind?" Yeaga's voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of finality. "No. You're just air. And I can crush air."

His fingers tightened.

The Shikiban howled in agony as its body imploded with a deafening crack. The battlefield trembled as the creature's form dissolved into nothingness, leaving nothing behind but silence.

One down.

Ishiga, ever calm, exhaled. His eyes were locked ahead, but there was no satisfaction in his gaze—only a cool calculation. "Sloppy."

Yeaga scoffed, wiping the blood from his hands. "Shut up. You didn't even do anything yet."

Ishiga didn't respond. His fingers twitched, and the storm shifted once more.

And then—everything stopped.

The wind ceased. For a heartbeat—just a heartbeat—the battlefield was still. There was no shrieking, no howling, no chaos. The storm held its breath.

Ishiga's eyes glinted as he made a subtle motion with his fingers. The very fabric of reality seemed to bend under his will, warping and twisting.

The wind reversed.

For the first time, the Wind Shikiban felt fear.

It screeched in primal terror as the storm it had controlled—the storm it had been—turned against it. The forces of nature rebelled. The pressure intensified, twisting inward, suffocating the Shikiban from all sides.

A final, inhuman shriek tore through the air—

And then—

Nothing.

The storm was gone. Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the ragged breathing of the three men. Daigo exhaled heavily, wiping blood from his mouth. "Well, that was annoying."

Yeaga cracked his neck, his voice quieter now. "Next time, don't get thrown like an idiot."

Daigo glared at him, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Next time, I'll kill it before it even breathes."

Ishiga ignored them both. His gaze remained fixed ahead, the winds still in his ears, but a deep silence lingered where the storm had once raged.

The battlefield had changed. The storm had fallen. But something—something darker—lingered in the air.