The sky hung low here, a suffocating press of bruised clouds that never broke for sun or storm. Not true darkness, but a perpetual dusk—the kind of light that made eyes strain, where shapes blurred at the edges and movement flickered in the periphery like dying embers. The air carried the scent of wet charcoal and something older, something rotten beneath the soil.
Ruins clawed at the horizon. Houses slumped into themselves, their roofs caved in like broken ribs, beams jutting upward like splintered bones. Windows gaped empty, some still clinging to jagged teeth of glass. A church spire tilted precariously, its cross bent sideways as if punched by a giant's fist. Cobblestone streets had buckled over time, thrusting upward in jagged spikes or swallowed entirely by the hungry earth. Every structure wore a patina of grime, a film of ash that never quite washed away.
Trees stood sentinel throughout the wreckage—leafless, branchless, their trunks stripped bare into twisted black spires. Some resembled frozen screams, their bark split open in agonized contortions. Others leaned like drunkards, roots half-exposed from the cracked ground, clutching at the dirt as if afraid to be torn away. Between them, patches of grass bristled in stiff, unnatural tufts, each blade the color of dried blood. It crunched underfoot, brittle as insect carapaces.
There were no birds. No insects. Just the wind hissing through hollow doorways, making the ruins whistle—a sound almost like voices murmuring just below hearing. Occasionally, a loose shingle would clatter to the ground, or a distant wall would groan as it settled deeper into its grave. But mostly, it was the silence that unsettled. The weight of a place long abandoned, yet somehow still waiting.
Puddles dotted the landscape, their surfaces oily and reflective. They didn't ripple, even when stepped in—just swallowed boots whole, liquid thick as syrup. If one looked too long into them, the ruins in their depths sometimes shifted, showing glimpses of how things once were: a lit window, a child's swing swaying, a figure standing where no figure stood now.
And always, the clouds. The endless, churning clouds. They didn't promise rain. They didn't promise anything at all.
Without warning, the sky erupted with movement—dozens of crows burst into flight, their crimson eyes burning like embers against the gloom. They circled high above Kazui and Kenta, a swirling vortex of black feathers and piercing shrieks, before suddenly darting away in a single, synchronized motion. The flock streaked toward the broken church in the distance, their forms blurring into the ashen horizon.
The two exchanged a glance and moved forward, their boots crunching on the brittle, blood-dark grass. Each step sent echoes through the ruins, the sound like cracking bones. The air grew heavier, thick with the sense of unseen eyes tracking their every move.
Then—movement.
From behind the crumbling church emerged four figures. Two approached from Kazui's right, two from Kenta's left.
They were monstrous yet eerily refined—dressed in tailored black suits and wide-brimmed hats, their faces elongated into crow-like beaks. No hands, only wings that flexed like clawed fingers. Their legs were humanoid but furred, their entire bodies coated in sleek black feathers. And their eyes—pitch-black orbs swallowed by pure white sclera, unblinking, unnatural.
Kazui's muscles tensed. "Maiden Summon: Saya."
A rush of displaced air, and Saya materialized behind him in a kneel, her twin katanas already half-drawn.
Kenta's jaw dropped. "DUDE! SHE IS SO HOT!"
Kazui smirked, not even turning. "I know, right?"
The elite crow-soldiers didn't hesitate. The two on Kazui's side lunged, wings scything through the air like blades—
Saya moved faster.
One heartbeat, she was crouched. The next, she was a blur—dashing past the creatures in a single motion, her katanas flashing. A split-second pause. Then—
KGAHH!
Blood fountained from the crows' severed wings, black ichor spraying in arcs as they staggered, shrieking. Their limbs twitched, useless, before they collapsed, writhing in agony.
Saya flicked her blades clean, the droplets painting the dead grass darker.
"Master," she said, voice calm. "Shall I continue?"
The moment Saya spoke, the two wounded humanoid crows began healing before their eyes - severed wings knitting back together, gashes sealing shut as if time itself was reversing their injuries. Kazui and Saya exchanged a brief, startled glance as the creatures rose to their feet, completely restored.
"Expected this," Kenta called out from where he was engaging his own opponents. "Kazui! You'll need to separate their beaks from their faces - that's the only way to finish them."
The logic was sound. A bird's beak served both as its primary weapon and essential tool for feeding. While most birds relied on talons for hunting, a swift strike from their beak could be just as deadly. Without it, they'd be helpless.
"You heard him, Saya," Kazui commanded. "Remove their beaks completely."
Saya gave a curt nod, her grip tightening on her twin katanas. The two regenerated crow-humanoids had regained their fighting stances, their pure white eyes burning with malice.
The first creature attacked with terrifying speed, its wings spread wide as it lunged beak-first toward Saya's throat. She barely managed to deflect with a crossed-blade guard, the impact sending vibrations up her arms. Before she could counter, the second crow was already upon her, swinging its wing in a brutal arc that caught her across the ribs and sent her skidding back several feet.
Kazui watched intently, analyzing their movements. "They're coordinating attacks - one distracts while the other strikes. Break their rhythm!"
Regaining her footing, Saya feinted left before suddenly pivoting right, her blades flashing in a deadly X-shaped slash. The first crow barely avoided decapitation, but not before losing several primary feathers from its left wing. Black ichor sprayed from the wounds, the creature letting out an unearthly shriek.
The second crow seized this moment of distraction to strike from behind, its beak aimed precisely at Saya's spine. At the last possible instant, she dropped into a crouch, feeling the whoosh of air as the deadly beak passed inches above her head. Springing upward with all her strength, she drove both katanas upward in a scissoring motion.
There was a sickening crunch as steel met keratin. The crow's beak split cleanly down the middle, black blood gushing from the wound. It staggered back, clawed wings clutching at its ruined face, emitting gurgling screams.
But the first crow wasn't done yet. With a furious cry, it launched into a spinning attack, its wings extended like twin scythes. Saya barely managed to roll away from the first pass, but the second wing caught her across the shoulder, slicing through fabric and drawing first blood.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Saya used the momentum of her roll to come up in a perfect stance. As the crow completed its spin and came in for another pass, she timed her strike perfectly - a single, fluid motion that sent her blade singing through the air.
The crow's beak flew in a graceful arc before clattering to the ground some distance away. The creature froze mid-attack, its white eyes widening in shock and pain. It took two stumbling steps before collapsing to its knees, then face-first into the dirt, twitching violently before finally going still.
The second beakless crow, now completely disoriented, flailed wildly in panic. Saya approached methodically, dodging its desperate wing strikes with ease. With one final, merciful slash, she separated its head from its shoulders, ending its suffering.
Panting slightly, Saya flicked the black blood from her blades before turning to Kazui. "Two eliminated, Master. Though..." she touched her wounded shoulder lightly, "...they proved more troublesome than anticipated."
Kazui nodded grimly, watching as the corpses began dissolving into black smoke.
Just as the last crow dissolved into smoke, a piercing shriek erupted from Kenta's side of the battlefield. The remaining two crow-humanoids had opened their beaks wide, unleashing a soundwave so powerful it sent visible ripples through the air.
"KIYAOOW!!"
The sonic blast hit Kenta like a physical blow, lifting him off his feet and hurling him backward through the crumbling wall of a ruined house. Dust and debris exploded outward as he disappeared into the dark interior.
Saya grimaced, clutching her wounded shoulder. The deep gash still oozed blood, making her grip on the katanas unsteady. She wouldn't be able to rejoin the fight like this.
Then Kazui's relic pulsed with notifications:
[2 Karasu Defeated]
[+200 Souls]
[Saya has Leveled Up x3]
[Current Level: 6]
[New Skill Unlocked: Moon Strike]
Moon Strike: A technique where Saya swings her twin katanas with the calm precision of moonlight. Allows 100 strikes in one second. Cooldown: 2 minutes.
A warm glow enveloped Saya as her wounds knit themselves together—skin mending, muscle reweaving—until not even a scar remained. She flexed her shoulder, blades flashing as she spun them experimentally. Ready.
But before she could move, Kenta's voice echoed from the rubble: "Leave these two to me!"
Kazui hesitated. "What power do you even have?"
"Echo Forge," Kenta replied, dusting himself off as he emerged from the wreckage.
"Echo Forge?"
"I'll explain after the fight."
What Kazui didn't know was that Kenta's ability wasn't some flashy, instant-copy power. Echo Forge was slower, more deliberate—it let him absorb faint imprints of techniques he witnessed, then painstakingly refine them in a mental training space called the Forge Room.
During his first quest, the Outer World Dwarf Hunt, he'd caught an echo of those darting knife attacks. For days afterward, he'd hammered that fragment into something usable—not a perfect replica, but his own twisted version. Now, as the soundwave crows prepared another attack, Kenta's hands blurred.
With Knives he had in his weapon inventory.
Kenta exhaled sharply, centering himself as the two remaining crow-humanoids reared back, their beaks gaping wide. He could feel the vibrations in the air before the sound came—that same ear-splitting shriek that had sent him flying earlier.
"KIYAOOW—"
But this time, he was ready.
The moment their throats convulsed, Kenta moved.
Echo Forge ignited in his veins, the stolen echo of the Outer World Dwarf's speed flaring to life. His muscles burned as the world slowed around him—the crows' scream warping into a deep, distorted groan, their wings unfolding like tar dripping from a spoon. He dashed forward, knives already slipping between his fingers.
Too slow.
The soundwave hit where he'd been, cratering the ground and sending rubble flying. But Kenta was already airborne, twisting mid-leap as he hurled six knives in rapid succession.
Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!
One blade buried itself just below a crow's right eye, black ichor spurting. Two more sank into the second crow's left wing, feathers shredding. The others went wide, clattering against the ruined church walls.
Shit. His aim wasn't perfect yet.
The injured crow screeched, its wing dragging as it lunged. Kenta hit the ground rolling, barely avoiding a beak that sheared through the air where his neck had been. He came up throwing—three more knives this time.
The crow dodged, weaving with unnatural grace.
Then the second one attacked from his blind spot, beak snapping shut on his forearm.
"Gah—!"
Pain exploded as keratin teeth punched through flesh. Blood welled, hot and slick, but Kenta didn't freeze. He yanked his arm forward, pulling the crow off-balance, and drove his knee into its throat.
Something cracked.
The crow gagged, beak loosening just enough for Kenta to wrench free. He backpedaled, clutching his bleeding arm. Fifty knives left.
The Tide Turns
The crows weren't giving him time to breathe. They split apart, flanking him—one still favoring its wounded wing, the other circling with eerie patience.
Then they attacked in unison.
The first came low, beak aimed at Kenta's gut. The second dove from above, wings spread to block escape.
Kenta dropped, letting himself fall backward as both crows overshot. Before they could recover, he kicked upward, his boot connecting with the underside of one's beak.
CRACK.
The crow reeled, its beak now hanging at a grotesque angle. The other recovered faster, slashing at Kenta's legs with its wing-tips. He rolled, but not fast enough—raking pain scored his thigh.
Fuck this.
He lunged for the crippled crow, knives flashing. Two to pin its good wing to the dirt. One through its foot. It shrieked, thrashing, but Kenta was already on it, his last knife pressed to the base of its beak.
"This," he growled, "is for the arm."
A brutal twist, and the beak came free in a spray of black.
The crow dissolved into smoke before it hit the ground.
The Last Dance
The final crow hesitated.
Kenta didn't.
Echo Forge burned through him as he charged, knives flying—not at the crow, but past it, forcing it to dodge right into his path. As it twisted away, Kenta pivoted, his last blade already in hand.
The crow's beak opened, sound gathering—
—And Kenta plunged the knife through its eye, deep into the skull behind.
It collapsed without a sound.
As its body crumbled to dust, the clouds above parted, revealing a crimson moon that painted the battlefield in blood-light.
Kenta exhaled, his breath fogging in the sudden quiet.
"Took you long enough," Kazui called from the sidelines.
Kenta flipped him off with his good hand.