- Riko Amanai -
She couldn't move.
She couldn't scream.
She was supposed to be brave, wasn't she? That's what she'd told herself. But her knees had buckled when Geto fell, his body crashing beside her like a broken marionette. Gojo had stopped breathing moments before that, blood streaming from his temple, limbs twisted at impossible angles.
And yet—
Kishibe stood.
The sun hung overhead like nothing had changed. But Riko couldn't breathe in this silence. Her ears rang, her eyes refused to blink. All she could do was watch the last man between her and death refuse to fall.
He was shaking.
His body was torn open in too many places to count. His knuckles were split to the bone, his blade broken halfway. He held the jagged edge anyway, like a promise he hadn't finished keeping.
Toji tilted his head.
"Still standing, huh?"
Kishibe didn't respond. He spat blood, adjusted his grip, and moved again.
The clash echoed like thunder.
Toji came in fast, the momentum of his strike whipping through the air. Kishibe met him mid-sprint, their blades colliding with a crack so loud Riko flinched. Sparks flew. Kishibe twisted his arm at an impossible angle to redirect the next strike—then elbowed Toji square in the ribs.
Toji staggered. But just barely.
Kishibe pressed forward, jabbing low, then feinting high. He fought with raw violence, no elegance, like an animal maimed but still biting. Every step forward cost him blood. Every block rattled his bones. But he didn't back down.
Not once.
Toji snarled. "You're persistent."
Another blitz.
Kishibe ducked the first swipe, spun under the second. He scraped his broken blade across Toji's side. Blood sprayed. Toji hissed.
"You little—"
Kishibe drove his head into Toji's face. Skull met cheekbone with a sickening crack. Toji reeled back, nose bleeding now. His grin was gone.
"You're just a sorcerer," he spat. "But you're fighting like a goddamn curse."
Kishibe said nothing.
He came again.
And again.
A low slash. A punch to the throat. A dirty hook to the jaw.
Toji blocked most of it, but the rhythm had broken. The confidence wavered. His strikes were still faster, stronger—but Kishibe refused to die.
Even Riko could feel it now: the shift.
For the first time—
Toji flinched.
Not from pain. Not from fear.
From recognition.
He twisted away from a slash and staggered back half a step, chest heaving. His grin faltered. Then he laughed, breathless.
"You're not normal. You're something else."
Kishibe gave the smallest smile.
"Neither are you."
They moved at once—
The final clash.
Toji ducked low, slashed upward. Kishibe turned his shoulder, letting the blade cut through muscle instead of bone, and struck Toji across the jaw with the hilt.
Toji fell back.
Only for a moment.
Then he surged forward with a roar, blade flashing.
Steel met flesh.
A fountain of red.
Kishibe's broken sword fell first.
Then his knees.
And finally, his chest hit the pavement.
Still reaching.
Still reaching for her.
Toji stood over him, panting. Sweat clung to his temple. One eye was swelling shut. His shirt was soaked red.
"You almost got me," he said, glancing at the lifeless body. "Mad Dog."
He turned toward her.
Riko wanted to run. Her legs wouldn't answer. Her mouth tried to scream, but her voice was gone.
Toji stepped forward.
His knife gleamed in the light.
"It's nothing personal," he told her.
She closed her eyes.
A flash of steel.
And then—
Nothing.