The dawn bathed the inside of the cabin with a soft, warm glow. Outside, the dew still clung to the leaves of the trees, and the wind whispered through the pines of the Minagumo Valley. But inside the old wooden house, a tense silence reigned.
Jiro sat in front of his grandfather, Kamimizu, and beside him was the young prodigy Shinji, whose very presence was enough to disturb Jiro's thoughts. It was strange to him… far too strange.
Shinji, the boy who years ago had defeated him with insulting ease, was now there, calm, seated as if nothing had happened, with his arms crossed and his sharp gaze fixed on him.
Since that day of defeat, Shinji had been cold, distant, as if Jiro were nothing more than background noise. To Jiro, that memory was a thorn lodged in his soul. Since then, he had trained in silence, with harshness, with rage… to one day surpass him. And now? Shinji had saved him. Shinji had brought him home.
The old Kamimizu, a man of stern expression and firm voice, watched him with a furrowed brow. At over seventy years old, the elder carried the weight of battles Jiro would never know.
His face, wrinkled like the bark of an old tree, still held an intensity that could make even the youngest soldiers tremble. To Kamimizu, hardening Jiro's heart was a duty… because deep down, he only wanted his grandson to survive a world that had never been kind.
—What have I told you about the Minagumo hill, Jiro? —the old man's voice cracked like a whip— I've told you again and again! That place is cursed. Cursed!
—B-but Grandpa… that's not what matters now, you have to listen to me, please...
—We're fed up with you, Jiro! —the old man shouted, striking the floor with his cane— You're impulsive, stubborn! And now, in trouble again!
Shinji remained silent, watching with an unsettling calm.
—Grandpa, please! —Jiro exclaimed angrily— Can you stop for a second!?
Kamimizu stood up suddenly, his hand raised in warning.
—Don't raise your voice at me, boy!
Jiro lowered his gaze, hurt, his fists clenched.
—Can't you just listen to what I have to say...? —he whispered, voice trembling.
Between them rested the crimson spear, its red glow soft but undeniable, like an open wound in the air. Shinji, with a slow motion, turned his gaze toward it and then spoke:
—Master Kamimizu —he said in a calm tone— I think you should listen to Jiro. What he's experienced doesn't seem normal. That spear... do you think it's normal to find it there, in those hills, with a boy fighting an unknown entity? There are more important things than his impulsiveness.
Shinji's words, though quiet, carried a weight that couldn't be ignored. The old Kamimizu slowly lowered his hand, his breath heavy. For the first time in years, the hardness in his demeanor faltered.
—You're right... Shinji —the elder said with difficulty, his voice now softer, more human— I let anger get the best of me. I'm... I'm being too shallow.
He sat down slowly, letting out a sigh.
—Alright, Jiro... speak.
Jiro swallowed hard and nodded. He sat in front of them and for a moment, looked at the spear in silence. His pulse still throbbed in his chest like a sacred drum. He took a deep breath and said:
—As you can see... this is the Spear of Raizen Tenkuma.
The words fell like a lightning strike.
Kamimizu's eyes widened in surprise.
—What are you saying? Are you serious, Jiro?
—Calm down, Mr. Kamimizu —Shinji intervened— Let him speak.
Jiro continued.
—I faced a masked spirit named Jin, and he revealed things to me... things I can't ignore. It all started with Dad's pendant. It led me there, to the hill. It showed me... visions, fragments of something much bigger.
The boy lifted the crescent-shaped pendant. Its light pulsed as if responding to his voice.
—That spirit spoke of the fissures. He said they're not natural phenomena, but doors opened by the will of the "Spirit Lord." A god who dwells in a realm beyond all worlds. He's been absorbing energy and essence from our world for eons. And now, we only have three years left before everything collapses.
—Three years...? —Shinji whispered.
—Yes... —Jiro nodded seriously— The spear chose me. I know it. Raizen Tenkuma... must be dead.
A deep silence enveloped them.
—And now, what are we going to do? —Kamimizu said— We can't access that realm without a talisman. And you, Jiro! You shouldn't be involved in something so dangerous!
Jiro stood up, furious, his gaze burning.
—But I have to! If I don't, this world will be destroyed! You, Mom, everyone I love... will die!
He began pacing back and forth, his frustration evident. He lifted the pendant and looked at it intensely.
—There's another reason too... Dad. He's still alive. Somewhere, out there... I know it. This pendant is one of two. The other half is with him. And every time I'm near this spear, the pendant reacts. It's... resonating. It's sending me a message.
—I'm really sorry.
Jiro looked up. His eyes shone with contained emotion.
—I won't sit idly by. Not after all of this.
Grandpa Kamimizu remained silent for several seconds. He watched him with a mix of pride and fear. He knew what that meant. He knew that, just like the ancient warriors, his grandson had been marked by destiny.
—But Jiro... —said Grandpa Kamimizu with a trembling voice, barely holding himself up in his wooden chair as the fire flickered in the hearth—. The problem is... you're still just a child.
His voice broke. Not from weakness, but from love. From fear. From the weight of a lifetime of losses that refused to heal.
—All of this... everything that's happening —he continued in a softer tone, almost pleading—. It's too sudden. It would be too much for you to bear.
Shinji watched him in surprise from the corner, leaning against the wall. In all his years with Jiro, he had never seen old Kamimizu so… human. So vulnerable. That elder of imposing voice, almost mythical wisdom, and a gaze sharp as a spear now seemed like any other man… one with a broken heart.
—And besides —Kamimizu said, lifting his gaze to his grandson—, being a dimensional traveler is incredibly dangerous... You could regret it, you could suffer, you could lose... you could even die, Jiro... do you understand?
Jiro said nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on the table, on the crimson spear, unmoving, unblinking. But something in his pupils trembled.
Shinji watched the scene with a knot in his throat. It was the first time he'd seen Kamimizu in such a state. A man showing his pain without shedding tears, begging without shouting, breaking without falling apart. In silence, Shinji thought: Maybe those who seem the strongest… are the ones most torn apart inside.
Kamimizu stood slowly, the weight of the years in each step. He moved to the center of the room, breathing with effort. His voice became a whisper carrying a thousand memories.
—Jiro... what will happen to your mother? And to all of us who love you? —His voice broke—. I live with the constant fear of losing you. You're my grandson… I don't want you to end up like your father.
The old man turned around, his eyes now glistening.
—Do you know how much I've suffered, Jiro? When your father vanished… when I watched your mother sink into depression night after night... when I had to take offerings to a grave with no body... of a son who never came back...
His voice faded. The room became a sanctuary of silence. Only the crackle of the fire answered.
With clenched fists, Jiro finally lifted his head and whispered:
—Grandpa... I didn't know you felt that way... But I have no choice... I'm sorry...
He walked to the table and looked at the spear. Its reflection showed a face that was no longer his—someone older, more resolved, more hurt.
—I'll leave… in three days.
The air froze. Then, Grandpa Kamimizu collapsed to his knees.
His whole body trembled, his shoulders shaking as if his soul was leaking out. Real tears finally fell from his age-worn face. Shinji could barely contain himself, watching without stepping in. He felt like an intruder in a mourning he couldn't fully understand.
---
The next day...
Jiro was in the forest. Alone. His silhouette stood out among the trees while the sun barely pierced through the branches. The crimson spear glimmered in his hands with a pale glow, dormant, as if waiting for blood and fate.
—I need to prepare —Jiro murmured, panting—. To defeat that Spirit Lord... and find my father. All of this… I have to do it. Saving my world is my priority...
The forest responded with its silent language. Only the sound of steel cutting the air disturbed the natural balance. Among the trees, Jiro recalled the scene from that day...
---
Memory
In front of Rayjou Tamashi's house, a dark figure awaited.
—What are you doing here? —said Rayjou's sister, her imposing figure blocking the doorway—. Yesterday, Rayjou came home unconscious and beaten. Every time you're around, something bad happens.
The girl, with an intimidating beauty, tall, her black kimono flowing in the wind, held his gaze with coldness.
—Please... let this be the last time you come here. For his sake... and yours.
She shut the door in his face.
Jiro stood frozen. He said nothing. His breathing was heavy. Deep down… he knew she was right. He… only brought problems. A shadow that stained the light of others. What's the point of being a hero… if everything you touch ends up hurt?
---
Present
Jiro clutched his chest with restrained rage.
—Well... it was good while it lasted.
He gripped the vata tightly. Then, in an instant, he held the spear with resolve.
—But I can't afford to turn back because of this.
A tree fell with a clean strike. Then another. And another. His entire body moved like a whirlwind in the wind, as if dancing with fate itself. Sweat ran down his back, his breathing grew harsh, but his gaze stayed firm. It was as if he had accepted the role the world gave him—even if it hurt. Even if it tore him apart inside.
High up in a tree, Shinji watched him. Unseen. Silent. But he understood... more than he could express.
Then, he vanished into the branches without a trace.
---
Later, in the village...
Jiro walked through the streets, the spear strapped to his back. Everyone stared. Children, elders, merchants... All with curious eyes, intrigued. Not by him... but by what he carried: a spear as red as blood, unusual, perfect.
And though he walked with steady steps, with the posture of someone who had chosen his destiny, inside… something in him felt good. He felt like, finally, someone saw him... even if it was because of a strange object.
And then, he thought something.
—This spear... can open and close rifts. Its power is immense... destructive. —He stopped cold—. I wouldn't want to hurt someone with this...
---
Night
The night sky stretched like a living painting. Three shining moons ruled the darkness, and the stars—countless, colorful—wove constellations of another world.
Jiro slept. In silence. Holding the spear like it was the only bond he had left with something beyond pain. The futon barely moved with his breathing. He seemed at peace. But inside… he was still dreaming of future battles.
---
Elsewhere...
Far away, between ruined hills and fields reduced to ash, a sound emerged. Pulsing. Like a heartbeat… but bigger, more alive. The Shiketsu… had grown. Its size now surpassed a man's.
And suddenly… an eye opened at its center.
One that should not exist.
One… that had just awakened.
Morning arrived with the soft breeze of the third day—the very day Jiro was to depart. The Kamimizu household lay in complete silence, except for the sound of trees gently swaying in the wind and the singing of a few birds announcing the dawn.
Jiro, already dressed in light travel clothes, tied his hair with a small red ribbon as a symbol of determination. Before any farewells, before the pain or uncertainty of the journey... he had something important to do: dedicate that last day to his mother.
—Here you go, Mom… —Jiro said as he entered the kitchen with a basket full of fresh vegetables—. Just harvested. Look how big they are.
Mrs. Kamimizu, surprised, looked at him delighted as she took the vegetables —Thank you so much, Jiro, sweetheart... but you didn't have to—
—It's fine, Mom —he interrupted with a warm smile—. That's what I'm here for, right? To help you.
And without waiting for a reply, he left quickly, leaving his mother both surprised and confused.
A little later, while Mrs. Kamimizu was about to hang the laundry as she did every morning, she noticed that all the clothes were already hanging—perfectly aligned in the wind. She blinked twice, perplexed. Jiro, standing at the foot of a tree, simply said:
—You're welcome, Mom…
His mother watched him in silence, frowning slightly, murmuring:
—What is this boy up to?
But the real surprise had yet to come. Later, as she headed off to clean the house, as was her routine, Mrs. Kamimizu stopped dead in her tracks. Every corner shone with an immaculate, almost supernatural cleanliness. The wooden floor reflected the sunlight like polished glass, and the table was so spotless it was hard to look at it directly without squinting.
—MY EYES! —she shouted, covering her face with a hand.
—All done, Mom! —Jiro said proudly, spinning around with a towel in hand—. See how beautiful the house looks?
Mrs. Kamimizu, stunned, couldn't find words. Her son—the very one who avoided sweeping even his own room—had turned the house into a shining palace.
—This boy is not okay! —she thought before fainting to the floor.
Jiro rushed to her side.
—Mom!
Hours later, lying on the futon, Mrs. Kamimizu slowly opened her eyes. Beside her, Jiro watched with concern.
—Are you okay, Mom?
She sat up slowly, touching her head.
—Yes... yes, I'm fine. I was just too surprised —she replied with a weak smile—. But tell me, Jiro... why have you been acting so strange today?
Jiro tried to stay calm, smiling awkwardly.
—Strange? Me? Why would you say that?
—Jiro… —she looked at him directly, arms crossed—. You're my son. I know you better than anyone. Don't try to hide anything from me. Is something going on?
—No, Mom... it's nothing, I think…
But his expression betrayed him. His face, once bright, suddenly darkened. The shadow of his thoughts clouded his gaze.
—Jiro… please, answer the question, son. What's wrong?
And then, unable to hold back any longer, Jiro closed his eyes tightly. His voice trembled.
—I… I'm scared, Mom…
Mrs. Kamimizu gently moved closer, placing her hands on his cheeks.
—Scared of what, son?
—Of losing you —he replied with a choked voice—. Of everyone disappearing… and me being left all alone.
Silence filled the room as the sun's rays shone through the window, illuminating the figures of mother and son. Mrs. Kamimizu embraced him tightly—as if she wanted to shield him from the entire world.
—Jiro… you are not alone. You never will be. Even if the world turns against you, even if the path is dark, as long as my heart beats… you'll always have a home to return to. Always.
The boy trembled in her arms as a few tears slipped from his eyes. That moment wasn't a goodbye... it was a promise.
A promise that even if he left to face the unknown, his mother's love would be his invisible shield.
And the sun, witness to that eternal bond, began to rise a little higher in the sky… marking the beginning of the journey that would change Jiro's life forever.
The atmosphere turned warm and dense, as if every word and every breath were absorbed into the air. The embrace between mother and son was more than a gesture—it was a necessity, a silent plea from the soul. Mrs. Kamimizu, her face serene yet her heart agitated, gently stroked Jiro's head as he sought refuge in her arms. The sweetness of that moment contrasted with the years of struggle and emptiness she had silently endured.
—Fear —she whispered softly, like a motherly lullaby— ...is a very common feeling among us living beings. It's part of who we are. Don't hate it, my son... Accept it. Fear doesn't make you weak. It makes us human... more aware... wiser...
Jiro listened, clinging to that moment as if afraid it would vanish. Inside, his emotions were like a storm slowly calming. Each of his mother's words was a drop of relief falling on his restless heart. A spark of clarity lit within him.
—Mom... —he said, lifting his head with eyes still clouded by sorrow— What would I do without you? You're all I have left after Dad... You and Grandpa mean everything to me... I don't want to lose you. I don't want to be alone again...
He pulled back slightly, but didn't let go of her hands.
—Mom... please. Promise me something...
—What is it, sweetheart? —she answered with tenderness, though a hint of concern colored her face.
—Promise me you'll be okay... no matter what. Promise me that.
Mrs. Kamimizu looked at him, surprised by the seriousness in his voice. She saw in her son's eyes raw, real fear. The anxiety of a child who hadn't yet healed from all his wounds.
—Jiro...
—Please, Mom! —he interrupted, with a choked cry— Just that... promise me...
The woman, seeing her son's insistence, finally closed her eyes and squeezed his hand tightly.
—Yes, Jiro... I promise. No matter what happens, I'll be okay. I believe in you.
Jiro couldn't hold back his emotions any longer. He threw himself into a tight embrace, as if trying to stop time, as if wanting to hold onto her forever.
But the calm was short-lived.
BAM!
The door burst open violently. Shinji appeared, breathless, his face pale.
—Jiro! Come quick... this is urgent!
Mrs. Kamimizu, alarmed by his expression, asked firmly:
—What's happening, Shinji? Why do you look like that?
—Mrs. Kamimizu... please, stay at home. It's dangerous out there —Shinji said with respect, but no time for explanations.
Jiro slowly let go of his mother.
—Mom... I'll be back soon...
And he ran off with Shinji, without looking back.
---
Outside, the sky had an unnatural color, as if the very heavens had cracked. The streets were full of murmurs and screams. Everyone stared at the sky in horror: thousands of Shiketsu fissures torn open in the air, like scars on reality itself. From those cracks, spectral spirits escaped, flying between houses and mountains with a dark and dreadful presence.
—This can't be happening...! —Jiro exclaimed— But I... I closed the Shiketsu...!
The villagers began running in panic, seeking shelter wherever they could. The air was thick with distorted mana, and the sky was covered in living shadows.
Then, amid the chaos, a figure stood tall: Jiro's grandfather, clad in his old armor, accompanied by a unit of Oni warriors armed and ready.
—Jiro! —the elder shouted with authority— I don't know what's going on, but stay away from those creatures. Get to safety!
—I'll be fine, Grandpa! Don't worry!
—Jiro, listen to me! —the elder snapped, tightening his gauntlet.
At that moment, a spirit swooped down from the air. But before it could touch the ground, the grandfather unsheathed his katana and, with a single clean slash, cut the spirit in two, vanishing it into the air.
Without another word, the elder charged forward with his squad, leaving behind a trail of determination and courage.
Jiro, heart pounding, stared at it all in disbelief.
—How is this possible...? I was supposed to have sealed it!
Then, a memory struck him hard.
The cave... the masked spirit...
I will keep feeding this Shiketsu for three days...
—That Shiketsu...! —Jiro shouted— I didn't seal it...! This can't be!
Thousands of thoughts crashed into him like waves. Something immense had awakened. Something that hadn't been stopped in time.
With his heart racing, Jiro ran back toward his house in desperation.
Meanwhile, Shinji, brave and focused, helped villagers escape, guiding them to safety through the woods.
But Jiro knew this was only the beginning.
The ground trembled slightly as Jiro ran down the path leading to his home, dodging screaming people, smoke, and fragments of burning wood. The screams pierced the air like needles, heavy with desperation. When he reached the yard, his breath was fast, but his eyes, determined. He ran to the corner where the bamboo grew tall and firm, and there, as if waiting for this moment, was his spear—the Higetsu no Yari—resting among the stalks.
He reached out his hand, and the handle returned a familiar energy. The carved wood, smooth and firm, vibrated gently at Jiro's touch, as if recognizing its wielder.
–Jiro?! –his mother's voice burst in behind him, scared but firm– What's happening now?! What are all those screams? –and when she saw him with the spear, her eyes widened like moons in the night– Wait… since when do you have a spear?
Jiro, eyes ablaze, replied as he walked toward the exit:
–I'll explain later, Mom! I promise!
And without another word, he jumped onto the wooden fence, then the roof. Each step echoed like a war drum on the cracked tiles. When he reached the edge of the house, he focused his spiritual energy in his legs. The world seemed to freeze for an instant. And then, BOOM! Jiro launched into the air as if springing off an invisible trampoline, soaring through the sky like a fired flame.
–Jiro…! –his mother murmured, eyes welling with tears, making a small, worried pout only a mother could make. Yet she didn't stay behind; she left the house, following him through the agitated streets.
Above, the sky was fractured by the dark cracks of the Shiketsus, each one spewing deformed, furious spirits. From above, Jiro saw everything. His village was being consumed by chaos. Collapsed houses, fire crawling across rooftops, and people trying to protect their families. Warriors sealing fissures with effort. Nothing was easy.
Then he saw him.
–Grandpa!
The old Oni with the fierce gaze looked up just as he sliced a spirit in half with his ancestral katana. His armor shone even brighter between the smoke and ash.
–Boy! –the grandfather shouted– I told you not to expose yourself to danger!
–I'm sorry, Grandpa! –Jiro shouted as he landed beside him– I couldn't just stand there and watch all of this!
The old man looked at him for a second... and then nodded. The bond between them didn't need more words. They jumped together, spinning through the air like dancers of steel and fury. Jiro wielded his spear with ferocity, his spiritual energy forming golden waves that exploded on impact, while his grandfather slashed and sealed with deadly precision.
But the spirits kept coming. Flaming monsters, deformed beasts with misty fangs, beings covered in eyes. The Shiketsus opened like mouths of hell. Houses burned, and the sky was a sea of red.
In the middle of the battlefield, Rayjou!
–Jirooo! –he shouted with a voice full of fear and excitement.
Jiro looked at him and smiled through the battle. Seeing his friend was like spotting sunlight through storm clouds.
–Rayjou!
And beside him was Shinji, the calmest of them all, now filled with energy and focus. Two giant fire spirits roared behind a girl. Without hesitation, Shinji jumped, and as he landed, he slammed his hand into the ground. A tremor of spiritual energy erupted from his body, creating ice spikes that pierced the creatures. The fire vanished, the fissures sealed. Silence... for a moment.
Jiro clenched his teeth.
–I won't fall behind!
The Higetsu no Yari glowed with a blue shine. Jiro dashed toward one of the largest fissures, his steps floating in the air like he was climbing an invisible staircase. His grandfather followed.
–Let's go, Jiro!
Both lunged toward the rift. But something wasn't right. The fissure… moved. Suddenly, a humanoid body formed. Tall, shadowy, like solid smoke. It had burning eyes and a twisted smile. It extended its arm, and with a single motion, struck them both.
–Jiroooo!
His mother screamed from below, seeing her son and the elder flung like rag dolls.
Their bodies crashed into giant trees, knocking them down. Branches cracked like bones and the earth trembled. Jiro lay stunned, his spear at his side, his body bleeding. The grandfather stood up with difficulty, leaning on his sword.
–W-what was that...? –Jiro murmured, spitting blood, his heart pounding hard.
The crunch of broken branches marked the end of a forced flight. Jiro and his grandfather crashed violently onto the forest floor, carving a trench of torn earth and shattered leaves. Both lay there, gasping, confused. The air was thick, charged with an unnatural energy that seemed to bend space itself.
—What was that…? —the grandfather muttered, getting up with difficulty as a thin line of blood slid down his temple—. Did the Daiketsu… attack us?
Jiro stood up, staggering, blood running from the corner of his lips. His gaze was fixed on the distant figure still emerging from the Fissure like a formless titan.
—Yes… but I don't understand why. Fissures don't act like that —he said in a broken, incredulous tone—. Fissures don't talk…
And then the figure spoke again. Its voice was a blend of metallic echoes and pure spiritual resonance, as if it were speaking from everywhere at once:
—But I do, child of the spear. I've returned… to kill you.
Jiro stepped back. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. That voice… something in it stirred a deep memory, one that refused to take shape. The being knew him, remembered him. It described him with precision, with an almost familiar certainty.
—What are you…? —Jiro roared, his words trembling with rage.
But his grandfather didn't let him wait for an answer.
—This isn't the time to ask, Jiro! It's the time to kill! —he shouted, launching himself at the enemy with his spiritual blade.
However, the being —that incarnated Daiketsu— simply raised its hand. With a snap of its fingers, it sent the old master flying with an invisible force, like a dry leaf in a storm.
—Step aside, old man. This is not your concern… —it murmured, impassively.
—Grandpa! —Jiro cried, eyes wide with rage and fear. He gripped his spear tightly—. You'll pay for that, bastard!
His body flared with crimson energy. With a roar, he unleashed a barrage of blasts from the Higetsu no Yari, each one pulsing with the power of his soul… but the enemy only smiled. He raised his hand and portals of darkness opened before him, absorbing all the attacks like dust in the wind.
—That won't work on me again, foolish living being… —he whispered, almost amused.
And before Jiro could react, the Daiketsu appeared before him. His hand gripped his neck with a freezing force, devoid of any compassion.
—Let's take a little trip…
With a flash of distorted light, they crossed the skies. The world became a storm. Mountains, valleys, forests… all became a blur. Jin —the name he had taken— slammed him into everything at terrifying speed. The pain was indescribable. Rocks shattered against his back. The sky itself seemed to bend in their wake.
—I should've killed you and your friend when I had the chance… back in that cave —Jin said with restrained fury—. But don't worry. I'll complete my mission now.
With an explosion of energy, Jin struck Jiro with a force that fractured reality itself. Cracks in the sky, lights that didn't belong to this world, an explosion that made entire continents tremble.
Jiro screamed in pain. His whole body burned, but then… the spear responded. His spiritual energy reignited like a furious flame.
—So you're… the masked spirit from back then… —he said between gasps.
—I'd prefer you call me Jin. But that doesn't matter —the figure replied, his face still hidden behind a mask of fractured lights—.
With a single finger, he formed a spiritual shot. He fired it. A burst tore through the world, destroying mountains, creating rivers where dry rock once lay. But Jiro dodged it, driven by his will.
—What a surprise that you came back… —Jiro said, his eyes blazing—. This time, I'll finish you.
He lunged with the spear. Jin vanished. Reappeared behind him and struck him with both fists in the back. The impact sent him crashing into the ground. The area erupted in an explosion of dust, stone, and energy.
Jiro's scream echoed for miles.
The tremors of the battle rumbled like earthquakes. All of Lyrenis could feel them. Jin, the living Daiketsu, twisted the fabric of space with each movement. His face was a mass of broken colors, fragmented, impossible to see clearly. And then, with one final flash, he grabbed Jiro by the arm… and teleported him to the village.
The chaos halted. The warriors turned. People stopped breathing. The sky itself seemed to watch.
Jin lifted Jiro into the air, bleeding, destroyed, held like a broken puppet.
—This is for you, living beings —the voice was thunder. A judgment—. I will kill this brat in front of you all… and then I'll destroy your world when I'm done.
The words fell like blades.
Jiro's mother ran through the crowd, tears in her eyes, desperation etched into every step.
—Let my son go, you damned thing! —she screamed without fear—. What are you doing?! Jiro… sweetheart… wake up!
The whole village trembled.
And so, amid the end, the flame of the crimson soul still burned weakly. But it wasn't extinguished.
Not yet.
—Ma... mom...? —Jiro whispered weakly, his voice trembling with pain—. Where are you...? Hey... where are you...?
His legs were shaking. His breathing was fragile, and the world around him seemed to have frozen, suspended in a tense calm, as if the universe itself were holding its breath.
And then he saw her.
There, just a few steps ahead… on the ground.
His mother.
Collapsed, her lifeless body lying still, her hair covering part of her face and a thin stream of blood running from the corner of her lips. Jiro's heart stopped for a moment. A deafening silence took hold of his senses, as if his soul had been completely ripped from his body. His blood ran cold.
—No... —he whispered with wide eyes—. No, no, no...
Then he remembered what had happened seconds before. When his mother, desperate, ran toward Jin to stop him from hurting her son. She confronted him... and without a word, Jin struck her.
A slap. Dry. Violent. Inhuman.
Jiro had seen it all, unable to move, trapped by Jin's force. And in that instant... something broke inside him. It wasn't rage. It wasn't pain. It was something deeper. Something ancient. Something that had been asleep... and had finally awakened.
The crescent moon pendant around his neck began to shine with a soft yet intense light, and the Higetsu no Yari, his spear, trembled in his hand, vibrating as if responding to the call of his soul.
Jiro lifted his gaze, tears streaming from his eyes, and screamed from the depths of his being:
—WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY MOOOOOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR?!
That scream tore through the air like a blade. The ground trembled. The wind broke. And the entire world heard it.
Far away, Shinji, the guardian of the seals, suddenly stopped his meditation. His body shivered.
—That power... —he murmured, looking up at the sky—. It can't be...
Jin, startled, let go of Jiro with a look of confusion. He didn't understand what was happening. But it was already too late.
A surge of crimson flames burst from Jiro's body, surrounding him in a whirlwind of pure energy. His horns glowed brightly, his eyes turned a deep crimson red, and burning marks —like magma cracks— traced across his cheeks.
Jiro was no longer the same.
With a gaze full of fury and compassion, he reached out toward his mother. From his fingers, a warm light flowed like a wave to her body, slowly healing her wounds.
Then, he turned to Jin.
—You... —he growled with a broken voice—. You destroyed the only thing I had left...
With unimaginable strength, he grabbed Jin's arm and squeezed. The sound of bones cracking echoed. Jin screamed, but Jiro didn't stop. He hurled him into the air like a ragdoll and, before he could fall, reached him and pierced him with the Higetsu no Yari, the spear erupting with a burst of crimson fire.
Everything froze for a second. Jiro breathed heavily. His chest burned. He looked at his mother, then at the sky… and finally at Jin, wounded and furious.
—I'm going to destroy you completely, bastard... I won't let anyone else lay a hand on my family... NO ONE!
Jin, gasping, chuckled under his breath.
—You? You're just a kid with borrowed power... YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING TO ME!
And with his other hand, he unleashed a blast of dimensional energy that threatened to consume everything. But Jiro, without moving, raised his spear. The Higetsu no Yari absorbed the energy as if devouring it hungrily.
—Thanks... for the energy —he said with a cold smile—. Now it's my turn to take you on a ride.
Jiro looked at his mother one last time. Her face, her warmth, her love engraved in his mind.
"Goodbye, mom... goodbye everyone... I'll be back soon. I promise."
With his spear, he drew an X in the air, a spatial rift that began to expand. Inside, hyperspace revealed an infinite tunnel of universal lines, threads of light and darkness interwoven. Grabbing Jin by the neck, Jiro launched himself inside.
The speed was so immense that Jin began to disintegrate, screaming.
—YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS, YOU DAMN HALF-BREEDDDDDDDD!
And so, Jin vanished… reduced to dimensional dust.
Jiro kept moving, faster and faster… until his own body began to fade into particles.
And he disappeared.
---
Far away, in another part of the world...
A calm sea. A serene sky.
But suddenly, the sky shattered like glass, forming a crack in the shape of an X.
From it, a whirl of crimson particles emerged... and then, Jiro's body materialized. He fell with a gut-wrenching scream:
—HEEEEEEEELP!!!
His body hit the water, bouncing to a shore of wet sand. For a few seconds, everything was silent.
Underwater, Jiro opened his eyes. He saw fish swimming by. A faint laugh bubbled out. He emerged abruptly, soaked, gasping.
He looked around. Solid ground. Different vegetation. Denser air. A... different sky.
And only one moon in the sky.
—Where... am I...? —he whispered, dragging his feet through the sand—. Is it... finally over...? But...
And then he knew.
This is not my world...
The air, the sky, the energy. Everything was different. Something greater had begun. His journey… his true journey, had only just begun.
And Jiro, eyes fixed on the lone moon in this new world, understood something that would change his destiny forever.
There's no turning back now.