ATERBURN

The ground beneath their feet heaved in a violent tremor. Skyscrapers groaned and cracked as a heatwave spread outward like a tempest. Cars skidded and crashed into each other, alarms wailing in cacophony. Streetlights warped and shattered, and in the midst of it all, fire began to ignite—dark, hellish blue fire that swirled about Kairo's figure.

The very tension was unatural—a weighty pressure that cramped the air taut, causing it to feel denser, as if even oxygen itself was reluctant to be consumed. The flames kissed the clouds, bronzin' the horizon with an unearthly blaze.

Kairo's voice cut across the chaos in glacial authority.

"Inferno Burst."

A deafening roar came after it. A titanic gush of blue flame burst outwards, engulfing the streets in a remorseless tide of devastation. The ground itself split wide open underneath. Asphalt ran like water, windows shattered, and the streets turned into a burning furnace. The fire stormed forward with terrible haste.

Kuragiri's eyes narrowed to slits as he leaped back, boots crunching on the breaking pavement. But the fire would not be doused—kept blazing, hungry and unquenchable.

"Tch. I must put a stop to this," he growled, obviously annoyed. His palm emitted a chill as a lit ice gauntlet formed across his fist. He launched it toward the oncoming fire, hoping to deflect the raging wildfire.

But the moment the gauntlet came into contact with the flames, it vaporized—completely destroyed by the heat. The flames scorched his fist later and left burning ember trails on his skin.

Kuragiri's face twisted in anger.

"Void Sphere: Spatial Dissection."

With a flash of dark energy, a jet-black sphere materialized, its surface distorting like a warp in space. It spun around Kairo at light speed, leaving black streaks of trails—like a mini event horizon tearing the air apart. A dome-shaped cutting field began to materialize, humming with the threat of destruction.

But Kairo did not move.

Unperturbed. Unflinching. Serene—like a god in the midst of the storm.

Kuragiri sneered.

"Move if you dare."

But then—he heard something.

A voice. Soft. Chilling. Too close.

A whisper behind him, closer than an attack.

"Should I?"

The voice sounded like it was coming from behind like an unearthly whisper.

Before Kuragiri could even finish the turn, a spout of flame burst out from behind him, engulfing his back like a battering ram. His body was flung through the air, crashing through walls and debris before he finally slammed into the burning hulk of a half-destroyed building. The entire building trembled from the impact.

Smoke and fire twisted around the room like serpents as Kuragiri lurched up from the ground, gasping, eyes bulging.

He gazed in the direction of the space where Kairo was standing—only to see it unraveling into flames.

"An afterimage?" he panted in indignation.

A snarl answered him out of the shadows.

"It's a doppelgänger, you fool."

Kuragiri's face twisted with rage. "You bas—"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Snap.

The sound boomed like the call of an act of God. It erupted suddenly everywhere around Kuragiri's body—bills of fire exploding up out of nowhere, lighting his meat with searing pain. His body jerked and leaped with each burst, flames shattering his flesh like avalanches of molten knives.

"I've seared your skin with fire," Kairo declared, his tone merciless. "I can scorch you to an ash heap."

Claening his teeth through the agony, Kuragiri let out a sound of deafening bellow, "Frost Aura!"

Cold coursed over him as a defense in protection, a shroud of numbing power over him. The air around him cooled instantly, ice shattered across the ground.

But the streams of fire kept coming.

The Frost Aura only stood up to an inevitable—a raging blast ripped through it repeatedly, and he bled from multiple gashes. Burnt flesh, scorched wounds, and melted layers of his Morphic cloak bore witness to his suffering.

Finally, his knees gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, panting, broken, incinerated.

Footsteps echoed.

Kairo's figure emerged from the smoke, awe-inspiring and terrifying, as if emerging from the closing gates of the end of the world. He towered above the defeated assassin and grasped Kuragiri's hair, yanking his head back with glacial disdain in his eyes.

"I'm beyond your power. My fire scorches everything and consumes everything. You can come back in ten years and challenge me," Kairo's voice was hollow, godly. "But the outcome will not be different."

His face darkened.

"Get that into your blockhead."

kuragiri to himself,

"this guy is a monster."

kairo releases his hair and strides away kuragiri body falls to the floor as if dead.

Kuragiri slowly opened his eyes, met not by fire nor ice, not by broken rubble nor screams of battle—but by silence. He blinked twice, adapting to the odd quietness. He was in a house… a humble one. The walls were made of wood, cracked a little but warm-colored. There was a small table in the middle of the room, lined with mats and a sofa. Beside it, a bowl of hot ramen rested near a clay water jug.

He looked around cautiously.

".Where am I?" he murmured to himself.

The air was quiet, too quiet. He moved towards the door, trying to get his bearings. Then, the door burst open with a deafening clatter, and he was taken aback.

A boy teenager burst in with reckless exuberance, a toothy grin spread wide across his young face. He was the same teenager Zera had tried to recruit earlier.

"I'm Kazuki!" the boy beamed, spreading a wide grin.

Kuragiri squinted his eyes slightly, half anticipating that this would be some sort of elaborate scheme, but the air held no peculiar aura. It was.real.

"Okay?" he replied cautiously.

"I saw you injured on the floor," Kazuki replied, bouncing up and down, "So we took you in and gave you first aid! My sister tended to you ramen so that you could wolf it down, hehe!"

Kuragiri stood there a moment longer, gazing at the boy. There was something about the boy's energy that was infectious. A small, minute smile twitched the assassin's lips—tentative and momentary, but genuine.

".Okay then."

He moved forward to the table and sat wordlessly on the mat, still unsure if to believe totally in what was taking place before his eyes. But the scent of the ramen was too enticing. He picked up the chopsticks and ate.

The broth was thick. The flavor leapt across his tongue, much more than anything he'd eaten in years. It was. soothing. He took a moment to relax, savoring the taste.

But before he could bend his head to take another mouthful, the door opened again.

Taken aback by the unexpected arrival, Kuragiri jumped back involuntarily and the noodles caught in his throat. He began to cough spasmodically, grasping the jug of water and struggling desperately to force it down. But it only made matters worse—he choked all the harder, his face turning crimson. His vision blurred as he collapsed backward.

Footsteps approached him in haste.

The door creaked open slowly. A young lady stepped inside, her arrival like a dream. She had smooth blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders so beautifully, dressed in a flowing gown that swayed gently with each step. Her crystal blue eyes sparkled in the faint light, and her face was captivating—lovely, serene, almost ethereal.

Without uttering a word, she softly knelt down beside Kuragiri. He tried to sit up, but she gently placed his head on her thighs. With the edge of her gown, she wiped his mouth with delicate ease, as if he were some fragile thing requiring gentle handling.

His cheeks reddened to beet color.

"I'm not a child… I'm fine," Kuragiri growled, turning his face away. "Cou—cough!"

She did not say a word. Her silence was serene, calming. She simply placed his head on the sofa and quietly retreated, vanishing into the other room like a whirlwind.

Kuragiri gradually sat up, his head still in a whirl of confusion and heat. He took up the jug, filled a cup with water, and drank long and slow, trying to cool himself down literally as well as mentally.

Suddenly—

"Yooo! Kazuki's back, babyyy!!"

Kazuki burst into the room like a thunderstorm, nearly dropping the jug in Kuragiri's grasp.

"Dammit, kid!" Kuragiri snarled, his eyes narrowing. He pushed the boy forward and took a rough breath, "Hey… Who the heck is that?"

Kazuki scrunched his face. "Huh? The heck you mean? That's my sister, man."

Kuragiri's eyes went wide. The water he'd just drunk sprayed out of his mouth like a fountain when he almost choked again.

"Your sister is that?!"

Kazuki scrunched up his face, as though he could sense Kuragiri's thoughts. Of all the things… That beautiful angel is the sibling of that loud mouth? No way.

The door groaned again.

The young woman reappeared, dressed this time in a beautiful black kimono. A wooden practice sword was strapped carefully across her back. Every step she took had a subdued strength to it—composed, disciplined, but still graceful.

She approached Kuragiri, her crystal-blue eyes focusing on his.

"Are you feeling any better now?" she asked gently.

Kuragiri snapped out of his daze, feeling slightly disoriented. He glanced around awkwardly before saying, "Huh? Me?"

She shot him a deadpan, blank stare for a moment—then giggled.

"Yes, you of course."

Kuragiri scratched the back of his head, struggling to keep a small, self-conscious smile from spreading across his face.

The girl turned to face her brother. "Hey Kazuki, I'm off to the dojo. I'll be waiting for you in an hour."

"Noooo!" Kazuki groaned dramatically, rolling around on the floor like a defeated soldier.

She glided out noiselessly, her shadow vanishing through the doorway.

Kuragiri stood there and allowed her to leave, then glared at Kazuki with an eyebrow raised. "Oooh… so she is learning swordsmanship, huh?"

Kazuki rolled his eyes. "Learning? Pfft—ha. That's my sister, the greatest swordsman the Tsukikage clan has ever seen."