Chapter 9: The Cradle of Flames

The stolen drone coughed black smoke as it careened through Tokyo's industrial underbelly, its failing engines whining like a dying animal. Nakato clutched the shuddering frame with one hand while keeping his other arm tight around Hinako's waist. Blood from her broken ribs seeped through his fingers, warm and sticky.

"Almost there," Daisuke muttered through gritted teeth, his fingers dancing across the drone's jury-rigged controls. The glow from his cracked holographic display painted hollow shadows under his eyes. "Ryujin's safehouse should be—"

The drone lurched violently as its left rotor gave out. They plummeted thirty feet before crashing through the rusted roof of an abandoned textile factory. Nakato's back took the brunt of the impact, his flames instinctively cocooning them at the last second. The explosion of dust and debris choked the air as they skidded across the concrete floor.

Hinako groaned, rolling off Nakato with a pained hiss. "Next time... I'll take my chances with gravity."

Nakato sat up, spitting out blood and plaster. The regulator's shattered remnants dug into his wrist, its final warning still flashing:

**[BLOOD MEMORY CORRUPTION - 87%]**

The phantom images wouldn't stop—flashes of that sterile lab, the crying infant, the screaming woman who might have been his mother. None of it made sense. If he was the original Shadowborn, why had he grown up an orphan? Why—

"Found it." Daisuke's voice cut through the haze. He'd pried open a hidden floor panel revealing a biometric scanner. "Ryujin programmed my palm print into the system after the Shinjuku op." He pressed his hand against the screen.

The ground beneath them vibrated as a massive hydraulic platform descended into darkness. The air that rushed up smelled of antiseptic and something older—burnt ozone and cold steel.

Hinako limped to the edge, squinting into the abyss. "What the hell is this place?"

"Project Phoenix's first facility," Daisuke said quietly. "Where they made the prototypes."

Flickering emergency lights buzzed to life as they reached the bottom, revealing a nightmare frozen in time.

Row upon row of containment pods lined the cavernous space, each large enough to hold a grown man. Most were shattered from the inside out, their thick glass spiderwebbed with cracks. Nakato's boot kicked an old data pad, its screen still displaying a frozen feed:

**[SUBJECT #13 - STABILIZATION FAILURE]**

The accompanying image showed a humanoid figure mid-transformation, its skin splitting to reveal blackened muscle beneath.

"Jesus," Hinako breathed, picking up a child's stuffed rabbit from the debris. Its fur was matted with something dark and flaky. "They tested on kids?"

Daisuke's fingers trembled as he accessed a terminal. "Not just kids. Families." The screen lit up with personnel files—scientists, soldiers, even politicians. All with one thing in common.

The black sun brand.

Nakato's vision swam as another memory fragment struck—

*—a woman's voice singing softly as needles pricked his arm—*

He staggered, catching himself on a pod. The glass was cold under his palms, except for one spot where his fingers touched something sticky. A single bloody handprint, small enough to belong to a child.

Daisuke suddenly gasped. "I found the archives. Project Phoenix wasn't about creating Shadowborn... it was about *replicating* them." The main screen lit up with a DNA helix comparison—two nearly identical strands. "Kuroto discovered a natural Shadowborn fifteen years ago. A child born with the black flames. They used his DNA as the template for all the hybrids."

Hinako's eyes locked onto Nakato. "You."

The screen changed, showing security footage of a dark-haired toddler playing with flames in a sterile playroom. Scientists observed behind one-way glass. The timestamp read **18 YEARS AGO.**

Nakato's knees buckled.

The child was him.

Daisuke scrolled further, his voice growing more urgent. "There was an incident. The original subject—Nakato—was stolen from the facility by two researchers. Akira Mazui and his wife."

The screen displayed two personnel files:

**[DR. AKIRA MAZUI - TERMINATION ORDER]**

**[DR. HANAKO MAZUI - PRIORITY TARGET]**

Hinako snatched a photo from the debris—a young couple smiling nervously at the camera, the woman holding an infant wrapped in a blue blanket. "Your parents weren't just scientists. They were heroes."

Nakato's flames erupted uncontrollably, black fire licking up the walls. The memory fragments were coming faster now—

*—his father's voice whispering "Don't ever let them take you back"—*

*—his mother's tears as she tucked the note into his pocket—*

*—the sound of gunfire—*

Daisuke suddenly stiffened. "Oh god. The Eclipse Cult... it's not a cult at all." He pulled up a classified memo stamped with the Kage Corps seal.

**[OPERATION ECLIPSE: PHASE 3 INITIATED]**

The document detailed a planned culling—using artificially created Beasts to purge "undesirable populations" under the guise of random attacks. Shadowborn were meant to be the controlled opposition, their powers keeping the Beasts contained to target zones.

"They engineered the whole war," Hinako whispered, her knuckles white around the broken dagger hilt.

A new alert flashed on screen:

Daisuke's fingers flew across the keyboard. "They found us. Kuroto's sending—" The screen changed to show live security feeds from above. Dozens of black-armored figures rappelling into the factory. "—everything."

Hinako grabbed Nakato's face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Listen to me. However this ends, you can't let them take you alive. You understand? That fire inside you? It's the only thing that can stop them."

Nakato's flames responded to her words, coiling around them both like a protective serpent. The Blood Memory corruption ticked up to 91%, but for the first time, the pain felt clarifying.

Daisuke pried open a weapons locker, tossing Hinako fresh daggers before shouldering a pulse rifle. "There's an emergency tunnel behind the reactor core. Leads to the old sewer system."

Hinako tested the blade balance. "You two go. I'll hold them off."

"Like hell." Nakato's voice came out rougher, deeper—tinged with something ancient. His flames solidified into armor plating across his torso. "We fight together."

The first grenade landed at the base of the ramp.

The explosion shook dust from the ceiling as Nakato's fire shield absorbed the worst of the blast. Black-clad soldiers poured down the ramp, their visors reflecting the eerie glow of his flames.

"Burn them all!" Hinako screamed, her daggers finding throats between armor plates.

Daisuke's stolen pulse rifle whined as it overheated, taking out three soldiers before the power cell blew. He ducked behind a console, frantically typing one-handed. "I can overload the reactor! Give us two minutes!"

Nakato moved like a living wildfire. His flames had taken on a new precision—forming whips that disarmed, shields that protected, spears that pierced. But for every soldier that fell, two more took their place.

A sniper round grazed his temple, sending blood dripping into his eye. The pain triggered another memory cascade—

*—a younger Kuroto kneeling before a council of old men—*

*—a vote being taken—*

*—the words "necessary sacrifices"—*

Hinako's cry of pain snapped him back. She'd taken a plasma bolt to the thigh, her movements slowing dangerously. Nakato roared, his flames surging outward in a shockwave that incinerated the nearest soldiers.

Daisuke's voice cut through the chaos. "Go! The tunnel's open!"

Hinako limped toward him, dragging a wounded leg. "Nakato, now!"

But Nakato stood frozen, staring at the containment pods. The Blood Memory had reached 99%—the final pieces slotting into place.

He knew why Kuroto wanted him alive.

The original flames couldn't be replicated—only stolen. And there was only one way to do that.

"Get to the tunnel," Nakato said quietly. His flames were turning white at the edges, the heat so intense it warped the air.

Hinako's eyes widened. "No! Don't you dare—"

The explosion came from above. A section of the ceiling collapsed, revealing Kuroto himself descending on a hover platform, his sword dripping with fresh blood.

"Enough theatrics." Kuroto's voice boomed through the chamber. He tossed something metallic that rolled to Nakato's feet—Ryujin's broken regulator. "Your protector is dead. The Eclipse rises."

Nakato picked up the device, his flames merging with its residual energy. The Blood Memory counter hit 100%.

And the world burned white.