(End June 2025)
The training wing of First Division Command Post was still fueled with the sweat and blood that was made a week ago, but the subterranean gym below it had already forgotten injury. At 06:00 sharp once a week, Karu Arakizawa opened the compression doors and drowned the mats in music so bass-heavy it rattled light-fixtures. The rule was simple: anybody who had the nerves to stand up for themselfs could spar. Four regulars never missed a session—Lucien, Kagetsu, Cho, and Karu himself. Rylen and Emiluna usually spectated, watching closley and learning, but today Rylen wanted a piece too; he leaned against the railing sipping isotonic coffee, jaw still stiff but smile loose.
Lucien rolled his shoulders. No Purgeflame glimmered, no infernal brand crackled—only healthy flesh and stubborn adrenaline. Beside him, Cho flexed both revolver calloused hands; she'd left her weapons in the locker, content to fight with knuckles, knees, and that elastic blur-speed she called "jogging." Kagetsu twirled his daggers—not lethal today, vibro-edge dialed low enough to bruise but not sever. Karu, towering and half-armored, toggled Titan-0 Apex into spar-safe mode. Reactor-fans whispered like distant surf.
"Forty-minute block," Karu announced, voice half-muffled behind his visor. "Three cycles. First bout: Lucien versus Kagetsu. Second: Lucien versus Cho. Third: Lucien versus me. Parameters: hand-held steel allowable, but no reactor spikes, no power negations, no hellfire. If a seal flickers"—he pointed at Lucien's forearm—"the bout stops. Understood?"
Lucien smirked. "Yes, dad."
Karu chuckled. "Begin on my count. Three, two, one—Spar!"
Lucien vs Kagetsu — "Shadow & Meteor"
Kagetsu vanished mid-step, Speedblitz propelling him twenty feet to Lucien's right. Twin daggers whipped out, neon grooves hissing. Lucien pivoted, left palm deflecting the first slash; sparks skidded across the padded floor. Kagetsu struck low, feint, rebound—his style a whisper of cutting wind. Lucien's counters were heavier, meteor punches aimed at joints. Steel kissed flesh.
"Predictable!" Kagetsu taunted, ghosting behind him.
"Complimentary!" Lucien answered, heel-kicking the air where Kagetsu appeared half-second later. The impact boomed; Kagetsu skiddered back, daggers crossing in X-block, wrists vibrating.
At the three-minute mark Kagetsu ducked a hook and scythed Lucien's ankle. Lucien caught himself on fingertips—break-dance spin—then swept Kagetsu's supporting knee. Both fighters crashed, reversed, rolled; the crowd of off-duty operators howled approval.
Kagetsu's visor flashed amber: edge integrity drop 8 %. He grinned, knives retreating. "Draw?"
Lucien, breath hot, wiped sweat. "Fine. Call your mother; tell her you survived."
Rylen rang a desk-bell—bout one over.
Lucien vs Cho — "Wind & Stone"
Cho bounced on the balls of her feet, long braid bobbing. "Speed test: you outrun, you win."
Lucien raised eyebrows. "I'm getting heavier."
"Then lighten up." She winked and blurred forward, jabbing with open palms that created tiny vacuums; each miss popped Lucien's eardrums. He acclimated, planting wide stances, absorbing shock through hips. He answered with body hooks—Cho folded over them like silk, flicking elbows across his temple, horse-kicking his quad.
Mid-bout, she pretended to stumble—lucid trap. Lucien lunged; she activated micro-power-negation at her skin, nullifying his kinetic energy. His punch died against invisible syrup.
"You cheat," he laughed, retreating.
"Read the rule sheet: negation counts as passive." She sprang, heel aimed for his clavicle. He braced, caught her ankle, pivoted, and set her gently on her back. Shock flared in her eyes, then a grin.
"Call it even!" she declared, tugging free. "Next time revolvers."
The ring timer chimed. Two bouts down; Lucien's lungs pumped furnace-air.
Lucien vs Karu — "Mountain & Thunder"
Titan-0's servos hissed as Karu stepped forward, reactor lights dialed to harmless orange. "Ready for physics homework?"
Lucien cracked knuckles. "Teach me, professor."
They collided center-ring. Karu's jab alone displaced wind like a subway train; Lucien parried upward, redirecting instead of blocking. Every impact vibrated his spine. Karu executed a judo sweep—Lucien anticipated, tuck-rolled, sprang to vertical—but the commander was there, hip-throwing him onto the foam with seismic grace.
Lucien burst to standing, feinted high, body-shifted, hammered a triple-punch combo into Karu's obliques; Titan-0 armor dented shallowly. Karu didn't flinch; he answered with a shoulder-ram that skated Lucien ten meters.
At minute seven, Lucien's vision kaleidoscoped—endurance shot. Karu locked his wrist, twisted, pinned him chest-down. "Yield?"
Lucien growled. "One—more—" He bucked, but Karu's hold was iron.
Rylen struck the bell. "Point to Karu. Bout complete."
Cho tossed water bottles. Lucien downed half of his, then hurled it playfully at Kagetsu. "Anybody else want a turn?"
Kagetsu raised palms. "My daggers are filing retirement paperwork."
Laughter rippled. Karu helped Lucien up. "Your core strength's improved, but you telegraph the fifth hit in every combo."
"I know," Lucien wheezed. "Been working on reflex economy."
Cho tossed him a towel. "And power gating. Once your seal flares mid-mission, it'll matter how long you can fight before you escalate."
Lucien's smile faded—true. Yet today the seal had stayed dark.
Rylen clapped him on the back. "Progress."
They showered, exchanged quips about protein flavor (Cho swore by black-sesame, everyone else gagged), then hustled upstairs for intel briefing.
Intel Suite Theta, 10:15. Screens flickered across wall panels, each showing the same mountain hamlet: Asagiri. Sunlit but lifeless.
Lieutenant Aoki from the Third divison outlined facts—but conversation grew thick with cross-talk.
Cho pointed at freeze-frame of an untouched tea kettle. "Was boiling at 03:10. Drone footage 04:52 still steaming. People vanished mid-sip."
Jason grimaced. "No monsters leave a village tidy. Scouts found no tracks, no mana flux. It's like… rapture."
Emiluna zoomed an image: a Shinto shrine bell rope severed mid-swing, fibers frozen in outward curve. "Time fracture?"
Rylen tapped a holo-keyboard, overlaying tachyon noise. "Background temporal ripple negligible. Whatever happened didn't slow time—it harvested life signs only."
Lucien's gut churned. "Schedule field team."
Aoki: "Bravo is ready—"
Karu sliced a hand. "No. Alpha only. We need eyes that survived Frostjaw. Rylen leads."
Rylen inhaled. "Team: me, Lucien, Jason, Emiluna. Cho on remote overwatch. Departure 17:00."
Kagetsu gestured at his healing knee. "I'll run comms from HQ."
Emiluna squeezed Lucien's forearm. "Piece of cake compared to Reiken."
Lucien mustered a grin. "Let's hope."
Approach — 20:32
The tilt-rotor skimmed over cedar ridges. Cabin red-lights painted faces in war-horror hues. Emiluna adjusted her med-kit straps; Jason flexed twin gauntlets newly reinforced; Rylen reviewed spectral drones. Lucien stared out porthole, listening to rotor thrum sync with heartbeat.
Pilot voice crackled: "Two minutes out."
Rylen keyed coms. "Visors down. Non-lethal priority. Document first."
They set down on the school's soccer pitch. Mist curled over grass like dry ice. The silence felt loud.
Lucien deployed a micro-drone—live feed showed heat-negative. Jason nudged a seesaw; it squeaked, echo dying too quickly, swallowed by unnatural hush.
Emiluna wandered to a chalkboard still scrawled with kanji homework: hope, sunrise, future. She swallowed.
At the lane's end Lucien found sandal prints that stopped mid-step. The ground wasn't disturbed—just ended.
He crouched, skin crawling. "Not teleportation. Obliteration?"
Rylen scanned with soul-sensors—signal empty.
Jason lifted a child's toy drum, struck once. The sound bounced off houses then died, smothered.
Lucien's seal tingled. He turned. A giggle—girl-like—faded behind the shrine. He signaled pursuit. They swept rear garden—nothing but falling sakura petals.
Then he saw it: a black-red feather the size of a sparrow's wing, edges glowing as if cut from ember. It lay atop a stone fox statue, pulsing in perfect rhythm with his own heartbeat.
Jason whispered, "That yours?"
Lucien shook his head slowly. "No. But i feel like it knows me."
He pocketed the shard. The seal didn't flare, but warmth seeped through glove.
"Fall back," he ordered, voice hollow. "We bring this to Karu."
No one argued.
Exit & Debrief
In Ops at 01:10, Cho watched the replay, arms folded. "Weirdest part? Your drone audio caught nothing. That giggle didn't exist on tape."
Karu's brow furrowed. "We have four similar vanishings: Kyushu, Shikoku, Inner Mongolia, and coastal Peru. Each left no corpses, no mana, but silence and occasional child-laughter."
Emiluna's fingers trembled. "Children… why always that sound?"
Rylen slid the feather beneath spectral lens; the display spat data: carbon matrix unfamiliar, energy state negative-phase—hellfire derivative.
All eyes shifted to Lucien. He exhaled and whispered. "The King of Hell might be moving on Earth. Or someone wearing his brand."
Karu tapped knuckles on table. "What did you say?"
Lucien ignored him.
Lightning flashed beyond the windows, heralding an unseasonal storm.
Lucien pressed thumb to the feather's edge—felt cold and heat simultaneously. Creator's final words whispered again: listen. He vowed he would.
02:01, 25 June. Compound lights dimmed for curfew. Lucien lay awake, replaying village footage. The feather pulsed on his night-stand like a wounded star. Sleep took him anyway—and reality shattered.
He stood, not in dream, but in a stellar void: black floor of reflected galaxies, air weightless and cool. Soft wind rang invisible chimes. Then she appeared—the Creator of Gods—tall, serene, robes woven from nebula threads, silver hair adrift.
"Child of two crossroads," she greeted.
Lucien's heart steadied. "I thought you abandoned me."
"Eternity never abandons; it waits." Her gaze softened. "And the hour ripened."
With a sweep of her hand the void became a three-part mural.
Panel One — The Crown of Hell
A throne carved from obsidian meteors hovered in red gloom. Upon it sat a horned monarch—Lucien recognized the silhouette from his infernal encounter.
"My son," she said, voice touched by sorrow. "Born of my spark, designated Custodian of Balance, yet seduced by appetite for dominion. The King of Hell."
The mural played eons: the king forging pacts, devouring rogue demons, but growing hungrier, forcing open breaches to mortal worlds.
"He seeks successors for his thrown," she explained, "tools to march beyond his realm. Your seal awakened his interest. He will tempt with freedom, yet his freedom feasts on galaxies."
Lucien balled fists. "He says gods would chain me."
She nodded. "Gods may bind through fear, Hell through desire. Chains differ, but both can clink." Her eyes glistened like twin dawns. "I warn you: his road devours travelers, leaving only thirst."
Panel Two — Vengeance Reclaimed
The next image blazed gold: a scale held by a scarred deity garbed in storm. Cities rose and fell beneath him—some spared, some scoured. "The previous God of Vengeance," she narrated. "He confused justice with fury. Thus mortals remember vengeance as ruin."
The scene shifted: a shepherd shielding lambs, striking wolves only after attack. "True vengeance may also be protection," she said. "To stand for the powerless, to repay terror with boundary, not carnage."
"Could I claim that mantle?" Lucien asked.
"If your heart writes mercy between its beats."
He swallowed. "And if I choose neither crown nor mantle?"
The void mirrored infinite roads. "Then forge the third path. Light and shadow bow to willpower."
Panel Three — A Mother's Pride
The final vision displayed Lucien himself, walking between burned ruins and blooming orchards. Sometimes haloed in white, sometimes ringed in violet flame, but always moving forward. The Creator touched the rendering; it rippled.
"Regardless of your flag, I am proud. Choice defines soul; obedience only dulls it." She lifted two fingers and brushed his brow—cool peace filled him.
Her form began to fade. "When vanishings echo, seek the empty laughter. Your answer sleeps behind its grin."
Lucien reached out. "Will we meet again?"
"Who knows, time will tell." She smiled in the distance—real, mother-warm—and dissolved into dawn fog.
Lucien bolted upright. 02:37. No smoke, but warmth hugged his palm. He grabbed stylus and scribbled everything: Hell-king creator's son; vengeance redeems; proud no matter; empty laughter clue. The feather ceased pulsing as if satisfied.
He whispered, "I'll choose—but it'll be mine," then lay back, heart steady.