The battlefield fell into a tense silence as the sound of steel gliding against leather echoed, heralding Yuzuki's slow unsheathing of his Yamato. His previously clouded eyes now gleamed with a clear silver hue, mirroring the harrowing moon that loomed overhead.
His hair fluttered like a cape, merging with the darkened sky, as he adopted a relaxed yet impenetrable stance, the blade's tip lowering toward the ground with a glint of purple light.
Etoile narrowed his eyes, gripping his blades tightly before launching forward like a bullet from a chamber. His crossed blades sliced through the air, only to meet emptiness as Yuzuki vanished, reappearing behind him. A swift spin and a forceful heel dug into Etoile's back, but before he could be propelled downward, Yuzuki seized his clothes and hurled him backward.
Despite the pain, Etoile landed on his feet, only to be struck again as Yuzuki's Yamato handle drilled into his back, sending him skyward.
Suspended in the air, Etoile became a helpless puppet to Yuzuki's relentless assault. The Yamato struck with precision: his shin, arm, back—each blow numbing his limbs and bruising his muscles. He struggled to track Yuzuki's movements, catching only glimpses of purple light as lightning illuminated the blade.
His hand, stomach, neck—all targeted with unerring accuracy. As the blade neared his neck, its trajectory shifted at the last moment, colliding with a metallic arm that emerged from below, driving it into the ground with immense force.
A shockwave rippled out as the metallic limb that had intercepted the blow slammed into the rooftop, pulverizing the stone beneath it. Sparks flickered along its surface—cold chrome limbs twisting free from the rubble with mechanical grace.
Etoile landed beside it, chest heaving, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. One knee hit the ground, but his eyes burned with wild, beaten fury.
"Don't interfere," he coughed.
"Analysis: Without support, probability of defeat exceeds ninety-seven percent," came a dispassionate voice, transmitted through static for the first time. The Mecha didn't look at him, only at Yuzuki.
Yuzuki didn't respond. He didn't flinch.
The wind howled through the ruins of the rooftop. Sparks danced in the air.
Then—everything moved at once.
The mech surged forward with inhuman speed, its blade-arm swinging in a wide arc while Etoile dashed in from the opposite side. A perfect pincer. Perfectly timed.
Yuzuki's foot scraped back half an inch.
In that space between moments, he vanished.
Etoile's strike hit only shadow as Yuzuki appeared above him, inverted mid-air, slamming his heel into the man's shoulder. Before the mech could counter, Yuzuki dropped like gravity was a weapon, driving his elbow into the Mecha's arm with enough force to throw its aim off by mere degrees—enough to make the follow-up miss.
Metal screeched as the Mecha adjusted, pistons hissing. It fired a volley of pressure blasts—raw force condensed into invisible waves. Yuzuki twisted sideways, Yamato dragging arcs of purple light as he weaved between them, letting the final blast push him forward into a blade swipe from Etoile.
It carved his shoulder—but he was already inside the guard.
His sword handle cracked Etoile across the temple, and the world spun.
The mech lunged again, trying to trap Yuzuki in close quarters, but he dropped to one knee and dragged his sword up like he was unsheathing the moon itself, cleaving upward. Sparks exploded from its leg as one of the support pistons snapped, and the mech staggered.
Still—not down.
Yuzuki exhaled slowly. His knees bent. His eyes softened—not from mercy, but from calculation.
Then he allowed the hit.
The Mecha's fist slammed into Yuzuki's ribs, the sound of impact cracking through the air like a sonic boom. Blood hit his teeth—but Yamato was already spinning.
He twisted mid-blow, ignoring the pain, and drove the hilt directly into Etoile's sternum.
There was a sickening crunch. Etoile's eyes widened—and the air left him. He folded like a crushed shell, collapsing beside the Mecha.
But Yuzuki was still mid-fall.
The mech wound up again, limbs glowing with charge.
And then—
"BACK OFF!!"
A streak of white slammed into the scene like a comet.
Kiana.
Her foot connected with the mecha's jaw with a resounding crack, sending it skidding backward in a shower of sparks. She landed hard, chest heaving, arms spread protectively in front of Yuzuki, who was now coughing violently from the blow he took.
"You're not dying on me, got it!?" she shouted at him, her voice cracking.
"Stupid, dramatic, dumb sword idiot—what were you thinking!?"
Yuzuki laughed weakly between coughs, blood dripping down his chin.
"...Was hoping you'd call me cool this time…"
Kiana glared, cheeks puffed. "It's only cool if I'm part of it!"
He winced. "I'll keep that in mind."
The rooftop pulsed with tension. Cold wind swept past them, carrying the faint scent of scorched copper and metal. As the fractured moon hovered high above the jagged skyline, the two stood side by side, their silhouettes carved into the night—blades sheathed.
Then came the voice. Low. Final. Like the toll of a funeral bell.
"Put the children away," Victor said, not turning to look at them. "It's starting soon."
The words weren't loud. They didn't need to be. His voice carried with it the weight of something unspoken.
His back remained turned, shoulders relaxed, as if the ruined battlefield before him was nothing but a garden to be tended. Lightning coiled around the figure in front of him like living veins of wrath, casting everything in a blanket of purple light—and Victor stared straight into the storm.
Unblinking.
Unmoved.
Across the rooftop, Yuzuki didn't question it. Not even for a second.
He moved like the wind, flinging his Yamato into the sky in a smooth, practiced motion. The flash of steel caught the mech's visual array—its sensors blinked toward it for less than a second.
And that was all he needed.
Yuzuki grabbed the unconscious Etoile by the knee—and, with the same casual force one might toss a stone into a river, he flung the broken swordsman clean off the edge of the building.
"...What?" Kiana breathed, too stunned to react.
The mech's eye flared, its body twitching in confusion—then panic—as it launched itself off the rooftop, roaring into the darkness after its fallen master.
Yuzuki collapsed backward with a wheeze, landing on the cracked rooftop with his arms propped behind him.
"...There," he muttered with a grin,
sweat dripping down his brow. "Gone."
He looked up just as a gust of wind swept Victor's hair to the side, revealing the eyes that had been hidden beneath.
Eyes that didn't burn with fury. Didn't glow with power.
They were hollow.
Like the calm right before the sky tears open.
Like death hadn't come yet only because it was still choosing where to begin.
And as the lightning surged louder, crackling like war drums at the edge of the heavens, Victor took a single step forward.