The smoke before the fracture
The city of Daiketsu never slept, but on nights when there was no trial, it couldn't breathe. The red lights of abandoned temples flickered like hearts about to go out, and the industrial streets were open veins where mafia clans injected their will. Without the Tree, without marks, without spiritual echo, power was no longer legitimacy. It was control. It was fear. It was the art of making the enemy disappear before they knew they had lost.
The Coal Accord was born as a response to this new order. A pact between mafiosi from ancient bloodlines, excommunicated executors, and heirs of fallen temples. They met in the ruins of an underground cathedral, where withered roots still hung like forgotten skeletons. The agreement wasn't signed in ink. It was burned into the skin. Each member wore a line of coal across their neck. A promise of silence, shared power, and war if necessary.
But shared power is never eternal.
The traitor with wings of lead
Among the new leaders was one who didn't speak in meetings: Genzou Taira , nicknamed "The Son of Lead." A former sniper for the Gure clan, he was now the leader of the Gray Teeth, a mafia that traded in forbidden spiritual weapons. His skill was as feared as his silence. He could project a distortion field within a twenty-meter radius that caused enemy weapons to lose accuracy, weight, and balance. No one knew how he did it. Only that where he walked, the gunpowder trembled.
That night, Genzou arrived at the meeting with a different look. He didn't sit down. He didn't bow. He wore the mark of the agreement around his neck, but something about his presence smelled of betrayal. Okuma, the leader of the Sacred Crows, noticed it. His metallic mask vibrated subtly as he sensed the altered frequency in the air. No one said it, but everyone thought it: one of their own had broken the pact.
Okuma stepped forward to the center of the room. His voice, as he pronounced Genzou's name, shook the foundations of the cathedral. He didn't ask questions. He simply said:
—Have you brought the silent ones?
And then, from the shadows, more than twenty hooded figures emerged. They were the Kamikura , an order of assassins who served only payment and survival. They answered to no clans. Only contracts.
Genzou smiled, for the first time in years.
—The coal is going out. Now we'll burn it with iron.
III. The Battle of the Crypt
What happened next wasn't a battle. It was an interrupted execution.
The Kamikura attacked soundlessly. They moved through the shadows like liquid. But the gangsters were no rookies. Rikuya Nami activated his skin of living symbols. The runes on his torso changed shape, adapting to the enemy's aggression. With a single gesture, he made one of the assassins' bodies explode from within, invoking his deepest fear.
Yurei Sanjo moved like a ghost. Although she was blind, her ability was absolute: "Hollow Breath." With each step she took, a five-meter circle lost sound, light, and meaning. One by one, the Kamikura within that range fell like disconnected puppets. They didn't scream. They just collapsed.
Kyoukotsu, the wielder of the rusty root, took a steel tube and turned it into a fiery spear. Whatever it touched, it melted. His body was a furnace. His mind, a field of cooled fury. He cut down enemies without moving much, like a butcher in a trance.
But Genzou didn't need soldiers. He was the distortion.
From his position, he raised a finger. The gravity in the room shifted. Guns fell from hands. Bullets flew off course. Rikuya's symbols began to bleed. And for a moment, the entire agreement nearly collapsed.
Until Okuma's voice echoed.
—There's no trial here. Just witnesses.
His voice broke through Genzou's field. The pure vibrations shook the surroundings as if someone had torn the veil between this world and a more primitive one. Okuma's mask glowed a dark gray. Genzou fell to his knees, his ears bleeding.
—It can't be! — he shouted — The Tree has fallen!
Okuma approached slowly. His voice, one last time:
—But the forest still breathes.
And with a clap, he unleashed a wave of pure echo that disintegrated the remains of the distorted field.
Akihiko returns to the scene
Miles away, on an abandoned train passing through the ruins of Kaimetsu, Akihiko opened his eyes. He'd felt the ripple. Not by power. By bond. That kind of vibration could only come from someone who hadn't inherited wisdom… but had instead turned it into an echo.
The world wasn't just reacting. It was learning to sing again.
Akihiko grabbed his gun. His coat. And started walking south. He knew he was back. Not because anyone had called him.
But because silence was no longer enough.