Doorsteps Of Hell
The ground was as hard as ice. It was splattered with blood, some still warm in the freezing air.
Ichiro stood tall in the midst of it, blood running down his face, staining his clothes.
His head was crushed in and his arms shook with pain, but he smiled nonetheless.
A stubborn, fearless smile.
"I'll take every hit you can give me," Ichiro said, voice rough, "even if I die."
Nymrathis smiled back with no warmth.
"Then take these."
He gestured with his hand.
Ten sharp icicles, hidden up until now, shot straight into Ichiro's body.
They pierced him sequentially — legs, shoulders, side.
He stumbled from the force, blood flowing out from every wound.
But Ichiro didn't fall.
He remained there, shaking but standing.
Nymrathis's smile dropped to a frown.
"Old people weren't this tough in those days," he complained with a sowl.
Ichiro coughed violently, blood running down his chin.
Still smiling, he looked at Nymrathis and said:
"Old? You're one to talk."
He pointed his blade lazily at him.
"If you really did drown the Kingdom of Nauterra. That would make you what. Over 800 years old?"
A pause, then a smirk.
"Grandpa."
Nymrathis's face twisted in pure rage.
He charged, ice sword forming in his hand.
He swung down to finish Ichiro for good.
But before the sword could hit, something grabbed Nymrathis's wrist.
A dark, cold energy — Yin.
Nymrathis spun around and saw the source.
Izumi.
Standing just barely, blood pouring from deep wounds all over his body — injuries so bad you could see through some of them.
Bone, torn muscle, even moonlight visible through the worst of them.
He looked like a corpse still trying to fight.
Nymrathis looked at him over, sneering.
"Look at you," he said. "Already halfway to Hell."
Izumi struggled hard, each breath a battle, but he didn't back down.
"I'll go to Heaven," he asserted, voice rough but afire,
"whether you like it or not."
Nymrathis laughed icily.
"Heaven? You're dreaming."
He leaned in closer to Izumi, whispering almost:
"Every sinner is bound for Hell. Not death — the worst Hell, the one even gods fear."
He rose to his feet, voice cold and cruel:
"There's only one way out, though. Redeem yourself. Shatter the curse. But no one's ever done it."
"And you? You won't be the first. Weakling."
Izumi staggered on his feet.
The words hurt.
But inside his head, a voice cut through the terror.
"And I always think you will be on the good side, Izumi."
His grandfather's words.
He clenched his fists.
And smiled.
"Got you distracted."
Nymrathis blinked in confusion.
"Huh—?"
Ichiro's voice boomed behind him:
"FIFTYFOLD!"
An enormous explosion of air pressure slammed into Nymrathis like a cannon.
The ground split in two.
Trees were shattered like matchsticks.
The cold mist was swept away in one huge wave.
Nymrathis was driven back, slamming onto the ground.
Dust all over.
Izumi fell onto his knees, gasping, barely awake.
He looked up.
When the dust had cleared — Nymrathis was standing there.
He had small cuts on his face, a thin streak of blood leading from his lip.
But Izumi stared harder.
The wounds. they were closing.
Healing right in front of them.
Within seconds, Nymrathis looked almost completely untouched.
The blood wiped away by the cold wind.
Nymrathis wiped the last bit of blood off his mouth and gave a nasty smile.
"Thanks for the cold breeze, old man."
Before Izumi could move, Nymrathis was already next to him.
He grabbed Izumi's head with his hand.
The cold hit all at once — worse than anything Izumi had ever known.
It wasn't just on the outside — it was freezing his soul.
Cold. Cold.
All he could think about.
He couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
Nymrathis clung for dear life.
All of the world around Izumi started to fade away.
But just as the world went black—
WHAM!
Ichiro knocked Nymrathis off Izumi just in time.
Izumi tumbled to the ground, shuddering and gasping.
Ichiro stood in front of them, bleeding from new wounds, but still wearing that same determined smile.
Still protecting him.