Who is the reason for it all?

The battlefield quaked under the force of their clash.

Atama's laser beams cut through the air, searing streaks of crimson light that traced after Seiya. But speed was the enemy here—Seiya's movements were beyond the reach of human perception, a blur of purple light streaking in unpredictable patterns. Atama's enhanced visor tracked multiple trajectories at once, calculating probabilities and preempting Seiya's next moves, but even his tech had limits.

Seiya grinned as he effortlessly sidestepped another blast.

"Too slow, genius." He mocked, darting behind Atama and delivering a crushing kick to his back. Atama barely had time to brace as he was sent hurtling through the ruined battlefield, skidding to a stop as his suit absorbed most of the impact.

Atama coughed, his ribs aching. He'd reinforced his armor before the battle, but Seiya's attacks were more than just physical force—his vibrational energy amplified the strikes, sending shockwaves through every fiber of Atama's suit. The only reason he was still standing was because of his tech's adaptive shielding.

"Damn, you're persistent." Atama muttered, standing back up, his HUD flashing damage reports. He dismissed them.

Seiya stretched his arms, smirking. "Persistent? I call it superior. You can throw all the fancy lasers you want, Atamatsu Kyorin, but none of them will land. You know that, don't you?"

Atama exhaled sharply, his mind working through calculations. Seiya was right—he couldn't win by traditional means. Attacks that relied on pure reaction speed would never work. He needed to set a trap, force Seiya into a predictable pattern.

He pressed a command on his wrist. Instantly, dozens of small, needle-thin drones detached from his armor, spreading out in an erratic pattern. They were nearly invisible to the naked eye, moving at speeds that even Seiya couldn't easily track. These were his Auto-Pulse Drones, designed to adapt to an opponent's movements and adjust attack vectors accordingly.

Seiya laughed. "Cute little toys." He blurred forward, weaving through the swarm as he closed the distance to Atama in an instant. His fist shot forward, aiming for Atama's throat.

But Atama was waiting.

He twisted just enough for Seiya's punch to graze his shoulder, redirecting the force while one of his drones fired a microscopic pulse wave at point-blank range. The wave hit Seiya square in the side, sending him staggering back a few steps.

Seiya's smirk faded. "Tch."

Atama's visor glowed as he analyzed the impact. "Your speed is remarkable, but it has limits. My drones calculate your path in real-time, adjusting in nanoseconds. Your only option is to move even faster. But the moment you accelerate past your peak control… you'll be vulnerable."

Seiya clenched his jaw, irritation flashing across his face. "You think you're so smart, huh? Fine." He took a step back, his entire body vibrating violently. The air around him distorted, warping under the force of his speed. Then—he vanished.

Atama's drones fired in every direction, but they hit nothing.

A whisper.

A breath.

Then—

A fist buried itself into Atama's stomach, sending him flying backward. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, creating a crater where he landed. Atama gasped, his suit crackling as systems struggled to compensate.

Seiya stood over him, flexing his fingers. "You see, Atama, the difference between us is simple. You think your intelligence is enough. But intelligence means nothing when your opponent is untouchable."

Atama's head spun, pain radiating through his ribs. His suit was repairing, but not fast enough. He needed a new strategy, and fast.

Then it hit him.

Seiya relied on speed to overwhelm and disorient. But what if Atama removed that advantage entirely?

He activated a command on his suit, and suddenly, a spherical field expanded around him. A Temporal Deceleration Zone. Within this space, time itself slowed to a crawl—only for those moving at extreme speeds.

Seiya, mid-stride, suddenly stumbled.

"The hell—?!" he growled, his body sluggish, like he was wading through thick molasses.

Atama smirked, standing up. "You've got speed, Seiya. But you don't have control over time itself."

Seiya gritted his teeth, vibrating faster in an attempt to break free, but Atama had already adapted. His suit locked onto Seiya's slowed form, and for the first time in this battle, he was wide open.

Atama surged forward, his fist connecting squarely with Seiya's jaw. The impact sent the speedster sprawling, purple energy dispersing in chaotic streaks as he crashed into the ground.

Seiya groaned, his body twitching as he attempted to push himself up. His nose was bleeding. His vision swam.

Atama loomed over him, his suit's energy pulsing. "Yield."

Seiya spat blood, his smirk returning. "Tch. Damn, I hate to admit it… but that was impressive." He chuckled, though wincing. "You really are as annoying as they say."

Atama extended a hand. "You don't have to keep fighting."

Seiya looked at it for a moment before laughing and slapping it away. "Nah, man. I'll pass on the sentimental crap." He struggled to his feet, his stance wobbly. "But… I'll admit you got me. This time."

Before Atama could react, Seiya took a deep breath—and then, in a blur of purple light, he was gone, his afterimage lingering for a second before fading completely.

Atama exhaled, his suit powering down slightly as he processed the fight. It wasn't a perfect victory, but it was enough.

He turned to where his team had retreated. He needed to regroup, to prepare for what was next.

If Seiya was only the beginning, then something far more dangerous was on its way.

"Wait... Before I go, tell me who's sending you all."

Seiya smirks, his confidence unshaken, and replies with a smug tone.

"It's not like you can't figure it out. We'll meet again, Atama... Get stronger, get faster... I'll still be ahead of you."

He vanishes. Atama, maintaining a neutral yet serious tone, speaks after his departure.

"I can do it myself. As long as my mind exists… you won't escape."

The scene shifts to Black Dragon, trapped in the void… drifting in a sea of eternal emptiness. No light. No dark. Just… Nothing.

His mind is hollow, his soul stripped of hope. Yet, as he floats, he grasps the knowledge of the universe, unraveling the wisdom of self.

He drifts further, beyond all realms, beyond understanding—so far that even the writer himself can no longer perceive him.