Dextin stood across from Aingo and Dran in the messed-up remains of the palace, the air thick with tension and the bitter taste of what was comin'. Between 'em, in the waverin' light of the crumblin' structure, lay the pieces of what used to be a mighty regime. The three men—each scarred by loss, burdened by duty, and driven by a fierce desire for payback—got into position in a silent standoff.
Dran's vision was fadin'; his eyes, cloudy with pain and exhaustion, searched desperately for the familiar face of his buddy. With a rasp in his voice, he called out, "Aingo… my friend, my vision… it's failin'. I'm afraid I ain't gonna last much longer…" His words, though weak, carried the weight of a warrior who'd seen too many battles and lost too much.
Aingo's face tightened with worried anger. "Dran, don't talk like that now," he admonished, his tone laced with both concern and a quiet determination. "You can't give in to these dark thoughts."
Dran coughed out a weak chuckle, his lips twistin' in both pain and defiance. "Aingo, listen up… I got just one technique left in me—a secret of the Red Katana. It's a power that grants immense flame, a gift I've barely even touched. In my final moments, I plan to boost it beyond its limit and strike that bastard Dextin down myself. Even if death comes quick, I ain't gonna let that tyrant live on." His words trembled as he admitted, "I'm near my end, yet I'll take him down with me."
Aingo's eyes widened in disbelief and sorrow. "No, Dran," he protested, shakin' his head like he was tryin' to make the grim fate disappear. "You don't have to die tonight. I can't—I won't—see you perish!"
Dran interrupted him, his voice gainin' strength even as his body faltered. "Promise me, Aingo. Promise me that, no matter what happens, you will follow me to the bitter end." His gaze, though heavy with pain, burned with unyielding resolve.
Aingo gritted his teeth and wiped a tear from his weathered cheek. In that silent moment, with the ruins of their world crumblin' around them, he made his vow. "I promise, Dran. I'll stand by you, no matter what."
Before either could savor this fragile bond, Dextin broke their solemn moment. Liftin' his Green Katana across his shoulder with an air of disdain and dark amusement, he called out, his voice echoin' off the shattered stone walls:
"Are you done with your useless talk? Hurry up, 'cause you both are gonna die—and I'll make sure of it with one final attack!"
Without waitin' for a reply, Dextin charged. But fate intervened as the very foundation of the burnin' palace began to crumble beneath 'em. With a deafenin' roar, the structure shuddered and collapsed, sendin' debris cascade goin' everywhere around the fighters. Dextin stopped dead in his tracks, startled, as the buildin' fell around him. In a desperate bid for survival, he shielded himself against the fallin' rubble.
Outside, the villagers looked on in stunned silence. The once-imposin' palace now lay in ruin, its collapse a symbol of the crumblin' regime. Among 'em, Neon cradled baby Rider gently in his arms; the kid, nestled in a sleepin' slumber, remained oblivious to the chaos unfoldin' inside.
Aftermath and Renewed Battle
Dextin, though bruised and momentarily stopped by the fallin' debris, pushed aside a heavy beam of wood that had landed on him. Casually, like it was just a minor inconvenience, he got back on his feet. His right-hand adviser soon followed, haulin' away the scattered timber and takin' a seat amid the wreckage. Moments later, Aingo emerged from the rubble, his eyes scanin' the carnage for any sign of Dran. Findin' the battlefield disturbingly silent where Dran should be, he shouted, "Dran! Where the hell are you?!"
At last, Dran emerged—the last to stagger free from the ruins. He pushed aside a fallen wooden beam with great effort, forcin' himself to stand. Seein' his friend, Aingo rushed forward with relief and worry etched across his face. "Dran, are you alright? Talk to me!"
Dran, still catchin' his breath, looked up at Aingo with a grim expression. "You gotta hold off Dextin on your own for a few minutes," he said, his voice strained. "You can't let him strike again, not while you can still fight." His tone left no room for argument, though it carried the heavy note of inevitability.
Aingo's eyes filled with conflict. Doubt and worry battled inside him—could he really handle fightin' Dextin? Yet Dran insisted, "This is our chance to do what's right, Aingo. I'll join you soon; for now, you gotta engage him alone."
With the villagers and a few remainin' soldiers watchin' in hushed anticipation, Aingo steeled himself and prepared for what was comin'. Suddenly, from the gathered crowd outside, Neon's voice rang out as a warnin': "Aingo, look out!" His shout cut through the tense air, urgin' caution.
Before Aingo could react, Dextin reappeared from the haze of fallin' debris. With a swift, savage motion, he landed a deadly slice across Aingo's body, sendin' him reelin' backwards. As Aingo crumpled, Dextin's voice rang out in a cold, mockin' tone:
"You really think I'm gonna let you babble on? I'm pissed off that my palace is in ruins because of your ass!"
Enraged, Dextin advanced toward the weakened Dran, who lay strugglin' on the rubble. In a moment of sheer instinct, Aingo lunged forward to intercept Dextin's lethal strike, blockin' the blow with his own blade. Dextin paused in shock, starin' at Aingo as he demanded, "How the fuck are you still alive?!"
Aingo smirked despite the pain. "I protected my vitals before your slice could claim 'em," he retorted, his tone carryin' both defiance and a subtle challenge. With newfound strength, he pushed Dextin away a few feet. "I'm not gonna allow you to come near Dran," Aingo declared, positionin' himself as a barrier between the tyrant and his injured friend.
Dextin laughed bitterly, sneerin', "You're nothin' but a nobody, Aingo! With your pathetic sword, you'll fall like all the rest!" With that, Dextin surged forward, swingin' his Green Katana with lightnin' speed toward Aingo. But Aingo, as if foreseein' the attack, dodged with remarkable agility. In one fluid motion, he swung his own blade in return, drivin' Dextin back. The clash of steel rang out, and the gathered onlookers—villagers and soldiers alike—watched in awe. They could barely believe that someone dared to stand against Dextin's might.
Aingo paused, his chest heavin' with exertion, and addressed Dextin with a steady, resolute tone: "I might not have a special katana, but I ain't gonna yield even if it costs me my life." Dextin, pissed off by this defiance, sneered and landed a vicious slice across Aingo's chest, trippin' him over. "You'll end up like the rest—dead!" he spat. Yet Aingo, refusin' to surrender, rose once more, pressin' his sword into the ground for support as he fought on.
Dextin's anger grew as he watched Aingo's unbeatable fightin' spirit. But then, amid the chaos, a familiar voice echoed softly, cuttin' through the clamor: "Don't kill yourself, hero." Aingo turned to see Dran, now standin' upright despite his wounds, grippin' the Red Katana which glowed with a deep crimson brilliance. "Thanks, my friend," Dran murmured, his voice low yet determined, "but I'll take it from here." Without further words, Dran moved with a speed that was superhuman. In a single, breathtaking motion, he lunged forward, the Red Katana raised high and ablaze with full power, aimed straight for Dextin's heart.
Dextin, realizin' he couldn't dodge this final attack, shifted his stance. Yet the blazin' strike hit home—though not to his heart, it instead tore through the side of his ribs. A roar of pain and fury erupted from Dextin as a torrent of flames surged through his body. In retaliation, he thrust his Green Katana forward, its blade plungin' into Dran's stomach. The aura of the green blade enveloped Dran for a brief, terrible moment, as both warriors pressed their advantage in a climactic standoff.
The Aftermath and a New Beginning
All around 'em, the right-hand adviser, Aingo, and the remainin' villagers watched in horrified awe as a burst of green and red light exploded from the two blades. In an instant, the brilliant radiance was replaced by a violent gust of wind that swept through the shattered palace hall, forcin' everyone to steady themselves against the sudden onslaught.
When the wind finally died down, the scene that remained was one of devastation and finality. Before 'em lay a wounded Dextin, barely clingin' to life, and an unconscious Dran, collapsed to the stone floor. The Red Katana—its fiery glow dimmed yet still pulsatin' with raw power—rested between them, unmovin' and silent.
Dextin, clutchin' his broken left side, tried to get up and staggered toward the gleamin' red katana blade. But before he could claim it, a crowd of villagers surged forward, brandishin' their own swords in anger. Their eyes burned with righteous fury as they advanced upon the wounded tyrant. In a final act of defiance, Dextin produced his Green Katana once more, raisin' it like he was gonna challenge 'em, and bellowed, "Bring it on then!" However, his right-hand adviser rushed to his side, urgently whisperin', "Master, you're too weak! Escape, now, and save what's left of yourself!"
Dextin, his face contorted with both rage and reluctant acceptance, knowin' he'd be back. Yet the villagers wouldn't allow him to flee; they charged him under the command of Neon, who now led the rebellion from the outskirts of the ruin. In a desperate move, Dextin's adviser hurled a smoke bomb from beneath his sleeve, and within seconds, Dextin and his adviser vanished into a cloud of swirlin' smoke.
Amid the chaos, Aingo sprinted back to Dran's side. Dran, barely clingin' to life, forced himself to breathe as he lay motionless on the cold floor. Tears streamed down Aingo's face as he cradled his fallen friend, pleadin', "Dran, it's over. We've lost too much." But even as Aingo begged, Dran managed a weak, sorrowful smile. In a raspin' whisper, he recalled words from days past: "You always did say if I kept actin' careless, I'd be the one to die first—and now, friend, you're right." His voice trembled with both regret and resignation. "I'm a failure…I couldn't stop Dextin. He will return, mark my words. But promise me, Aingo—promise that you'll train my son, that you'll give him the life and strength I couldn't. Let him grow to be a warrior, as noble as you. Promise me, I beg you."
Aingo hesitated, his heart achin' with grief and duty. After a long, painful pause, he whispered, "I promise, Dran. I'll raise your son as my own, and he will one day wield the power of the Red Katana." Right then, Dran managed a final, faint smile and murmured, "Then thank Neon for me…" His words faded as his eyes closed, and he slipped away into eternal silence.
Aingo cradled Dran's lifeless body, tears minglin' with dust and blood on the ruined floor. In the midst of his sorrow, he noticed somethin' unusual—the Red Katana didn't fly away like it had so many times before. Instead, it remained, suspended in a quiet glow. Neon, who had rejoined the crowd outside, informed Aingo in a hushed tone that a villager had just declared the weapon could now be wielded by anyone—it no longer required a chosen one.
A moment later, a villager emerged from the throng, holdin' aloft the Red Katana with a look of exuberant joy. "Now, anyone may claim this blade!" he shouted. Then, he was immediately faced with instant death. Aingo bellowed, "Step back, all of you!" The villagers obeyed in a tremblin' rush, understandin' that the Red Katana had lost the energy to fly on its own after Dran's final desperate attack but still couldn't be wielded by just anyone and needed the Sword Master for it to regain its lost strength. Its power now lay dormant, waitin' only for the true Sword Master to reclaim it and restore its glory.
Aingo looked upon Dran's still form, his face hardenin' into a mask of resolve. In that moment of grief and determination, he made his decision. Though his heart was heavy with sorrow, he would raise young Rider—Dran's son—and prepare him to become the next wielder of the Red Katana. He would ensure that the legacy of Dran's sacrifice would live on in the form of a new champion, one who might one day fulfill the promise of freedom that had been so dearly paid for.
The air grew quiet as the ruined palace and scattered villagers bore witness to this solemn vow. Aingo, with steeled determination and a heart full of both grief and hope, gathered what remained of the broken swords and the shattered remnants of a fallen regime.
Seventeen years later…