---
The sound of footsteps on rubble broke the silence left in the wake of spilled blood.
From the edge of the chaos, Lex stepped into the center, golden mask in hand, and a smirk curved on his lips like a scythe waiting to fall.
"Welcome, honored guests," he said, his voice smooth, condescending—yet laced with something raw beneath.
Bruce's breath caught in his throat. His fists clenched.
Lex tilted his head as if savoring the moment. "Now that everyone's finally arrived…" He tossed the mask into the air and crushed it under his heel. "Let the madness begin."
As if on cue, the ground trembled underfoot. Sparks flared in the distance. Smoke curled upward like a veil rising for a performance long overdue.
Then came the call—low, deliberate.
"Shackled Dawn," Lex intoned, his voice sharp enough to split the air. "Assemble."
From the depths of the ruined hall emerged six figures, silhouettes taking shape one by one.
Ajax. Sinclair. Sato. Naoya. Hana. Kana.
They didn't need introductions—their presence said enough. They were killers, remnants of a legend that refused to die.
Lex clicked his tongue, amused. "You're all that remains? Tch… what a shame."
From the crowd of defenders, Takahashi stepped forward, eyes fierce.
"And what do you expect to achieve with those numbers?" he asked coldly.
Lex grinned, eyes twinkling with cruel excitement. "You speak as if numbers were the key. But you've forgotten—there are traitors among you."
The tension thickened like a noose tightening. Faces shifted. Unease spread.
Takahashi's voice cut through it.
"All units—grab your children. Move the heirs to safety. The patriarch and his right hand will remain with me."
Bruce blinked, caught off guard. "The patriarch is…?"
A gentle pat on his back snapped him from his daze. Narberal stood beside him, voice soft.
"He means you, Bruce."
The moment the words landed, a hundred eyes turned toward him. Not with suspicion—but with trust.
Expectation.
Faith.
Takahashi took a step back, nodding once.
"We of the Takahashi clan do not follow bloodlines. We follow strength. So show us, Bruce—are you the man who'll lead us forward?"
Bruce froze.
He could feel the weight of it—all of it—on his shoulders.
And then, without warning, another voice rose—stronger, deeper, without room for hesitation.
"Enough," Yamashiro said.
The field fell into silence again.
Yamashiro didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
His words were law.
"Okamoto. Hoshikawa. Takahashi. Kozuki—form the vanguard. We divide now."
He turned his eyes to each without pause.
"Takahashi. Take the tall one acting clever.
Kozuki. The two exchanged butlers are yours.
I'll handle Tokima myself.
Narberal—take care of the girls.
Okamoto. Secure the white-haired anomaly.
Hoshikawa. The children are under your protection."
He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice dropping like the hammer of judgment.
"And as for the traitor… leave them to me."
Not a second passed before they all moved.
Blurs of motion. Blades drawn. Shields raised.
Orders carried like thunder and met with a storm of action.
Bruce stood there, heart pounding, as warriors surrounded him—men and women who had seen a hundred battles and still looked to him for direction.
He stared at his hands.
"I… couldn't do anything…"
But the time for hesitation had long passed.
The stage was set.
The true battle had just begun.
---
"Everyone, make sure to keep the heir alive!" Lex's voice boomed like a curse over the battlefield, reverberating with such weight that even the trembling walls seemed to still in obedience.
"YES, SIR!"
The remaining members of Shackled Dawn roared in unison, their voices fueled by fervor and fanaticism.
Lex adjusted his gloves with a calm smirk. "We already possess the Bleeding Keys. All that remains is finding the secret chamber where the Judgement Chain rests."
But then, heat — actual molten heat — swept the floor as Takahashi stepped forward.
"Drip... hiss... crackle..."
Each step melted the ground beneath him into bubbling magma. The veins across his neck glowed an ominous red, spreading like cracks in volcanic rock. His skin shimmered with liquid fire, muscles pulsating as his molten form fully awakened.
Kaede's voice cracked, desperate.
"Dad! Let me fight with you!"
Takahashi turned, half his face aflame, eyes glowing like twin suns.
"You're still far too weak," he said, his voice layered with heat. "But watch closely... as your father leads us to complete victory."
Lex's eyes gleamed as he gave a dry chuckle. "You're cocky."
With a snap, seven executioners appeared in the air like reapers of death, their scythes materializing with shrill screeches of iron against bone.
"Seven?" Takahashi grinned. "You're quite impressive... summoning seven at your age."
Lex chuckled. "I am a genius."
A second snap — and suddenly, the executioners vanished, only to reappear, their death scythes poised precisely around Takahashi's neck.
But Takahashi didn't flinch.
In a fluid spin-kick, he opened the air itself. Time lagged behind him. Lava trailed from his legs like whips of fire. With a fiery leap, he landed squarely on the shoulders of one executioner, then launched himself — one after another — fists blazing with hellfire.
Crack! Boom! Burn!
Each punch reduced an executioner to ash, their scythes melting mid-air like sugar under acid rain.
"Quantity," he growled, fists smoldering, "doesn't exactly mean quality."
Lex clicked his tongue in frustration, expression twisted with rage. With a furious swipe, he whisked off his long coat, casting it into the wind like discarded honor.
"You'll regret that."
He launched himself like a missile, cutting through the air, fist cocked and aimed straight for Takahashi's face — a meteor fueled by vengeance.
Meanwhile—
Narberal walked calmly through the battlefield, the storm and smoke parting around her as if unwilling to touch her presence. Her hair fluttered, untouched by the chaos, eyes fixated on two young figures standing in her path.
Kana and Hana.
"So," Narberal asked softly, eyes unreadable, "who's coming at me first?"
Kana lowered her head, fists trembling.
"I'm sorry for making you do this, sis..."
Hana smiled gently. "It's okay. Don't worry."
They turned toward each other, and in one synchronized movement, held hands.
"Merge."
Light burst outward. Their forms folded into one another like threads being rewoven into a new, singular tapestry.
From the blinding aura stepped Kanae — taller, leaner, and charged with elegant, compressed power. Her eyes burned with both sisters' wills as one.
Narberal tilted her head.
"Before we begin," she said, unsheathing her blade with a whispering shing, "I'll have you know... I've never lost a battle."
Kanae clenched her fists, knuckles cracking like ice breaking. "Then you're about to have your first."
---
Yamashiro's gaze drifted across the battlefield, eyes narrowing as power flickered at his fingertips like static waiting to burst.
"Looks like things are getting started over there…" he muttered, his coat fluttering in the breeze. "So then—shouldn't we, too, begin... young Tokima?"
Naoya didn't flinch. His voice came low, dry, and hollow.
"I've long forgotten that name."
Yamashiro's lips curled faintly—not quite a smile, more like amusement soaked in condescension.
"Have you?"
"How convenient. Forgotten the name... but not the power. You draw from it every single day. Or have you deluded yourself into thinking you've become someone new?"
A faint tremor ran along Naoya's knuckles. He didn't respond.
"There was once a bastard child," Yamashiro continued, his tone like a needle slipping into skin, "born into a house so vast, its shadow stretched across nations. A child promised glory—only to be denied the right to even exist."
Naoya scoffed, eyes narrowing.
"And what would you know about it?"
Yamashiro took a step forward. The ground beneath his heel cracked with the weight of intent.
"I know enough."
"I know that bastard child was supposed to inherit everything. But instead, he was discarded like defective merchandise. Banished by the very man who gave him life."
Naoya's heartbeat spiked—but only for a second.
"Tch… you talk like you were there."
Yamashiro's grin sharpened.
"Whether I was or wasn't doesn't matter.
What matters is this—"
"You can lie to everyone else. But you can't lie to your blood."
Yamashiro strolled in slow, circling steps, arms tucked into the oversized sleeves of his traditional dark kimono. His voice echoed with calm disdain.
"The Tokima," he began, "a noble family wielding the hereditary gift of teleportation—proud, powerful, prestigious. Their current head, Tokima Masanori, has eight wives… yet only his first—and most beautiful—gave him a child: Hinata Tokima. Your elder sister."
Naoya said nothing. His gaze sharpened.
Yamashiro gave a brief smirk, pacing behind him like a shadow.
"But Masanori was never satisfied. Power and pride breed greed. He continued sleeping with countless women outside the estate. Eventually… a child was dropped at his gate. A nameless boy. Silent. Frail. But he could teleport."
He paused, deliberately.
"Masanori was ecstatic. He took the boy in immediately. Named him his heir. Yes... you, Young Tokima."
Naoya's fists clenched slightly at his sides.
"It went well… until it didn't." Yamashiro's tone grew cold. "A new heir was born. This one looked exactly like Masanori. His son in both blood and bone. You… well, you didn't. And just like that, the tension began."
He stopped in front of Naoya, his voice a whisper now.
"Your only ally was your grandfather. The man who swore nothing would happen to you. But as they say—"
Yamashiro paused, then corrected himself with a sardonic smile.
"No, not 'nothing good lasts forever'... More like: The strong inherit, the weak vanish."
"He died two years later. You were seven. The real son was four."
Tsubaki flinched slightly.
"The youngest didn't have teleportation, no… he had something better." Yamashiro's eyes narrowed. "He could create and manipulate gold. While you? You could barely keep a portal open for ten minutes without bleeding from the nose."
His voice dripped with mock sympathy.
"There couldn't be two heirs. So Masanori arranged a duel. A family tradition."
A breath passed. Cold.
"You lost, of course. And with that, you lost your name, your rights, your entire future."
"That's horrible…" Tsubaki whispered.
Yamashiro just chuckled.
"Oh well. We don't all get what we want."
"I didn't ask for any of it!" Naoya snapped. "The money. The name. The damn legacy. They gave me a life… then took twice as much in return."
"And I'm going to take it all back. Just you watch."
"How?" Yamashiro scoffed. "Stealing a single mythic-grade item? One that may not even be here? Please."
He turned to face them both fully, sleeves falling back to reveal tense shoulders, his eyes sharp as razors.
"Let's say the artifact is here. And you do have the Bleeding Keys—though even that's doubtful. What makes you think the item will accept you?"
"It's mythic grade for God's sake. It won't even respond unless the blood used to unseal it is the same as the one it was meant for. You think it'll just kneel for whoever stabs it with fancy keys?"
Before his next word, a blur of silver light darted across the room.
Ajax, already transformed, lunged in wolf form and sank his glistening fangs into Yamashiro's shoulder with full force.
"Ghh—!"
In the same breath, Yamashiro's arms exploded in size and texture—stone-hard, titan-formed—his right elbow twisting into motion.
With a brutal crack, he drove it straight into Ajax's ribs with unnatural force.
BOOM!
The impact sent the silver wolf flying across the room, smashing through a pillar and rolling into a bloodied heap. A few ribs cracked audibly, steam rising from the wound.
"Damned deviants…" Yamashiro hissed.
His shoulder, bitten and bloodied, began to crust over—the flesh slowly turning earthen in hue, veins like molten clay crawling through it as it started to heal.
---