Part 3
Haruto closed his eyes, focusing on the image beginning to take shape in his mind.
His breathing slowed—deep and steady. With each inhale, the vision became sharper.
He pictured the guns he had admired in a manga back in his teenage years. They weren't just weapons: they were symbols of resolve. They belonged to a gunman who faced danger with a smile and unwavering purpose.
As he summoned their forms, the details came alive. The carved grips, the metallic engravings, the contrast between crimson and blue—everything was vivid.
This world, strange as it was, offered something his old one never could: the chance to become who he truly wanted to be.
"Materialize!" he shouted, letting his voice cut through the silence with visceral determination.
For a moment, nothing happened. A void began to spread in his chest. Failure loomed.
But he didn't give in.
He clenched his eyes shut, locking the image in place: the elegant curves of the metal, the fiery red of Aka-Oni, the icy blue of Ao-Oni, inspired by demons of Japanese folklore.
Then he felt it. A force deep inside pulling at him, as if the spell was reaching into his very soul. A high-pitched hum buzzed in his ears, and pressure built in his chest.
It was as if the world itself resisted.
He stood firm. He didn't let go of the image. Every line, every curve, every glint of metal remained vivid in his mind.
At last—it happened.
A flash of red and blue tore through the air, lighting up the forest with vibrant energy.
His hands trembled as the guns began to take form. The metal gleamed—heavy and flawless. He could feel their weight, their power… their reality.
For an instant, all fatigue vanished. A surge of triumph rushed through him.
It wasn't just magic. It was a statement.
Haruto stared at his hands. The guns pulsed with subtle energy, like they were breathing with him.
Aka-Oni, the red one, radiated fierce heat.Ao-Oni, the blue one, exuded a calm, icy aura. Both felt alive.
"Aka-Oni… Ao-Oni…" he whispered, unable to look away.
"MaterializeLock!" he declared with resolve, following Yuna's instructions.
He turned to find her watching him silently. In her eyes glimmered a mix of surprise and satisfaction. She hadn't expected him to succeed so soon, but the faint curve on her lips said it all.
"Looks like you did it," she said finally, with a soft smile. "Not bad for a first attempt. You clearly had a vivid image of those things."
"They're called guns," Haruto replied, raising them carefully, admiring the perfectly replicated details.
Yuna tilted her head, intrigued.
"Guns?" she echoed, fascinated.
She leaned closer, inspecting the weapons with genuine interest. Her expression blended awe and respect.
"They're weapons from my world," Haruto explained. "They fire high-speed projectiles."
Yuna's green eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing the guns with real curiosity.
"Interesting… They look small, but I can feel a strong energy coming from them," she said, reaching toward Aka-Oni—then hesitating. She paused, unsure whether it was safe to touch them. "Maybe they're more powerful than they appear."
Haruto gave a faint smile. The euphoria of success swelled within him, warming him like a gentle current. It was real. He had done it.
But as quickly as it arrived, the feeling vanished.
A wave of weakness slammed into him. His legs buckled. The world tilted under his feet.
The void in his chest returned, stealing every last drop of strength.
The guns, once light and solid, grew heavier. Unbearably heavy. As if they were draining his very life force.
The cost of summoning them was more than he could handle.
"Haruto…?" Yuna's voice was soft but laced with concern. She knelt beside him.
He tried to respond, but his lips wouldn't move. The buzzing in his ears intensified. His vision blurred. The guns, still faintly glowing, flickered… and vanished.
"Haruto!" Yuna shouted, catching him before his body hit the ground.
Her gaze—calm and steady—was the last thing he could focus on.
Everything unraveled into a vortex of shadows. Yet he still felt the warmth of her hands.
The cold earth was the last sensation he knew.
A brutal contrast to that warmth—just before silence swallowed him whole.