Snow drifted through the ruined corridors of Aizu's Inner Ring. The once-proud gates of the Black Guard compound now stood twisted, half-burned from rebel raids. The corpses of resistance fighters littered the main hall, executed with single, merciless slashes. Standing amidst them was a man dressed in obsidian armor. His eyes were silver, calm, and cruel.
Jin Nomura.
He sat cross-legged, polishing Sizaka (死逆・しざか) — the sword said to cut not flesh, but fate itself. With every stroke of cloth across its jagged edge, memories stirred: Ishikawa on his knees. Screaming. Broken.
"Still breathing, ronin?" Jin muttered to himself, eyes closing. "Come then. Die properly."
As if summoned by hatred, the doors burst open with a single swing.
Snow swept into the compound.
And standing in its wake — a man clad in dark yukata, a twin sword sheathed across his back. His hair danced like a black flame. His steps left no sound.
Ishikawa.
"You took something from me, Nomura," he said. "Time to return it."
Jin rose with a scoff. "I gave you mercy. You came back for shame."
Clang.
Sizaka hissed from its sheath like a serpent. Its aura roared like a funeral hymn.
Ishikawa unsheathed both blades — the reborn Kuyōkagami and Kurasa — entering Hibashira no Kamae.
The air bent.
Then the snow vanished.
---
They moved as if dancing on clouds — blades ringing like war bells.
Jin's style was merciless: Kagerō no Mai (陽炎の舞) — Flame Mirage Style. He attacked with deceptive thrusts, sudden angles, like smoke taking form, then vanishing.
Sizaka flashed — and Kuyōkagami parried.
Each strike by Sizaka stole not just blood, but memories. The cursed blade devoured the will of those it cut. Ishikawa's left arm numbed. Visions of Kalari, Yumi's death, and Tatsuhiro's execution burned in his skull.
"Your soul's still heavy," Jin snarled. "That's why you'll lose."
But Ishikawa didn't retreat. He slowed.
One breath.
Then Shura no Iki (修羅の息).
His aura changed. No longer a man — a storm wrapped in stillness. He stepped between snowflakes, blade humming with ancestral fury.
Katsura Hōken: Tsumi no Hi (桂法剣・罪の火) — Sword Law of Katsura: Flame of Sin.
A single cross slash — and Sizaka cracked.
"What?" Jin gasped, staggering back.
"My guilt no longer weakens me," Ishikawa whispered. "It tempers my sword."
Jin screamed and surged forward with his ultimate technique:
Kyouzetsu Giri – Kyōfu no Ryū (強絶斬・恐怖の竜) — Supreme Severance: Dragon of Fear.
Sizaka erupted in black flame, cutting the very air apart in a spiraling death arc.
Ishikawa held his stance.
And stepped forward.
Shikkiri: Retsuzan no Arashi (執切り・裂斬の嵐) — Deathcut: Storm of Rending.
A cyclone of twin slashes. One from Kuyōkagami — heavenward. One from Kurasa — downward.
They met in the middle.
Boom!
The shockwave shattered the stone pillars. Snow exploded like fireworks.
Jin coughed blood.
Sizaka fell in half, cleaved by Ishikawa's purity. The aura faded.
"I lost...?" Jin muttered, kneeling.
Ishikawa sheathed his blades.
"No. You were already lost."
And with a final swing, he delivered a non-fatal slash across Jin's eyes — blinding him, but sparing his life.
"For the souls you stole, live in darkness."
---
As the storm calmed, Ishikawa stood alone amidst rubble.
Silence.
But only for a moment.
Clap… clap… clap…
He turned.
Atop the ruined stairway stood a tall man clad in white robes with teal trim. His face bore no expression. In one hand, he held a war fan of black iron. His aura — calm yet suffocating — felt heavier than any battlefield Ishikawa had known.
"I see you've grown," the man said. "Felled Nakajima. Defeated Jin Nomura."
Ishikawa narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man flicked open the war fan.
"I am Hayate Kurigawa — Captain of Aizu's Black Guard."
His fan shimmered faintly. Symbols etched along its folds.
"I came to bury a corpse. But it seems the corpse can fight."
Ishikawa stepped into stance, body aching but unbowed.
Hayate smiled — not cruelly. Not kindly.
"Rest, ronin. You'll need all your strength… to survive what's coming."
The sky darkened behind him.
And thunder roared.
---
To Be Continued…