The hidden underground Musabori stronghold lies deep beneath the ruined city, shrouded in secrecy and menace. Yumi, returning to atone for her failed mission, approaches the entrance alongside Watari.
A Musabori guard, stationed at the office gate, spots Yumi immediately. He presses the dispatch button on his intercom and mutters, “The girl’s here.” Stepping forward, he eyes Yumi with suspicion and asks, “What do you want?”
Yumi, standing firm, replies, “I’m here to atone for my mission.”
The guard scoffs. “Took you long enough to come back, huh?”
She shrugs. “I was busy beating some sense into this kid here.” She gestures toward Watari. “An outw, a fugitive—figured I’d drag him in instead of putting him down. Convinced him to join us.”
The guard raises an eyebrow, gncing at Watari. Watari, doing his best to keep his usual carefree attitude hidden, stares back with a carefully neutral expression.
The guard lets out a low chuckle. “You know what happens to you, right? Since you failed your mission… you know where to go.”
He then jerks his thumb toward Watari. “And since he’s a fresh recruit, he’s going to the same pce. Might as well get moving.”
With no further words, they step inside. As they traverse the dark corridors of the Musabori stronghold, they pass through a long, dimly lit hall filled with Musabori operatives, each more terrifying than the st. Men with sharpened teeth, scarred faces, and cold, merciless eyes watch them in silence. Some sharpen their weapons; others seem to enjoy the fear lingering in the air.
Watari, while keeping his composure, can’t help but sweat under the weight of so many dangerous figures. He had seen Ren, in what he assumed was the Jū Setai Hoju outfit before—crisp white button-ups, bck suspenders tight over their shoulders, dark combat boots ced to perfection. They all dressed the same, efficient and uniform.
But these men?
Their shirts were bck. Not a single trace of white on them. It was the same style—same boots, same fitted suit pants, same gloves on some of their hands—but the color shift made all the difference. A quiet statement. A corruption of what was once standard.
His cartoonishly scared expression betrays his discomfort, though he refrains from speaking. They cannot afford to joke in front of these people.
They finally arrive at a massive, bloodstained arena at the heart of the stronghold.
A guard at the entrance, a wiry man with a predatory grin, licks his lips upon seeing Yumi. “New blood, huh?” he sneers.
The arena is a filthy, brutal battlefield—bloodstains, broken weapons, and shattered bones litter the ground. The stench of death lingers in the air.
Yumi turns to Watari, voice low and sharp. “This is your initiation test. You survive, or you die. There’s no in-between.”
Watari’s face fills with fear. “So if I die here I go to the In-Between (Chūkan Yūrei)? I didn’t think I’d get to see it this soon.”
BONK.
A quick fist comes smashing down onto Watari’s head.
“I said there’s no in-between, not that you go to the In-Between. Idiot!”
Watari blinks at her. “Ohhhh. So wait, hold on—‘initiation test’? What exactly does that—”
Before she can expin, a buff, battle-worn warrior steps out from the shadows, his presence alone commanding attention. His voice booms across the arena.
“Yumi Takahashi.”
Yumi tenses slightly.
“We’re ready for you.”
She clenches her fists, giving Watari one st gnce before stepping into the arena.
?
Yumi steps onto the bloodstained floor of
the arena, the metallic scent of dried violence hanging thick in the air. Her boots make no sound against the filth-covered ground, her face unreadable as she surveys the three men standing opposite her.
Two of them are just brutes—muscle-bound, scarred men with cracked knuckles and dead eyes, their bodies speaking of a lifetime of violence.
The third, though… he is different.
The moment his cube activates, the air around him grows heavy—the faint hum of power coiling around his form like a living thing. A distortion ripples through the arena floor as his Tamashkii fres to life.
“A cube-user.”
Watari’s breath stills. This is bad.
The man smirks, rolling his neck, and then—
His body twists.
A sickening, bone-crunching sound fills the air as his form morphs, stretching and bulging unnaturally. His arms elongate, his muscles convulsing as deep bck grooves carve along his skin, forming jagged, pulsing lines that glow a sickly red. His fingers extend into razor-sharp talons, and when he exhales, his breath comes out in a low, guttural growl.
“Mizuchi.”
That was his form.
The Serpent of Blood.
From the sidelines, Watari’s eyes sharpen. “The hell is that thing?”
The moment he finishes transforming, his glowing, slitted eyes snap toward Yumi.
“Your turn, little girl.”
Yumi doesn’t hesitate.
She exhales, stretching out her arm. A rush of power surges through her body, and then—
The temperature in the arena spikes.
The floor beneath her cracks, thin purple fmes licking at the ground as her Tamashkii ignites. The light from her cube fres violently, wrapping around her like a dragon’s embrace.
And then—
“Kiyohime.”
A roar of violet fmes erupts around her, engulfing her body in a searing heat that makes the other initiates instinctively step back. When the fire clears, she stands transformed—her sais now gripped tightly in her hands, their bdes gleaming with an unnatural purple glow. Her hair shimmers, her eyes flickering like molten amethyst.
The arena shakes.
For a moment, the two just stare at each other, the tension so thick it could have been cut with a bde.
And then—
They move.
The Serpent of Blood lunges first, his elongated limbs whipping toward her, cws slicing through the air with deadly precision.
Yumi twists, her sais cshing against his talons, the force sending sparks flying.
From the sidelines, Watari watches, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Damn… she’s fast.”
The moment their weapons lock, the serpent’s jagged mouth twists into a grin.
“Let’s see if that fire of yours burns through blood.”
With a violent roar, his body twists again—and from his back, four enormous, snake-like tendrils burst forth, each one dripping with a crimson liquid that sizzles against the arena floor.
Watari’s breath hitches. “Wait—”
The moment one of those tendrils strikes the ground—
The blood ignites.
?From the sidelines, Watari watches, eyes narrowed.
“Three-on-one. Kinda unfair.”
He gnces at Yumi. If she’s nervous, she doesn’t show it.
The moment the blood ignites, the two unarmed men lunge forward, coming at her like wild animals.
Yumi doesn’t move—at least, not until the st possible second.
A blur of motion.
Her body weaves between them effortlessly, her twin sais fshing out like silver streaks.
The first man barely has time to register the sharp sting in his ribs before she spins low, sweeps his legs out from under him, and sms the hilt of her sai into his temple.
One down.
The second one roars, bringing down a fist like a hammer.
Yumi ducks beneath it, her sai slicing along his arm, drawing a sharp, agonized hiss from the man.
He stumbles, and in that brief moment of weakness, she’s already behind him—her knee smming into his spine.
Two down.
And then—
A sharp, electric hum.
The Serpent of Blood is on her before she can react, his hand crackling with energy.
He’s fast, faster than the other two, and when his fist connects with her ribs, she actually staggers.
From the side, Watari’s eyes sharpen.
“She should’ve taken him out first.”
The man presses his advantage, his Tamashkii ability warping the air around his fists as he rains down a series of brutal attacks.
Yumi dodges—barely.
Each hit that grazes her leaves a thin, searing burn across her skin.
Too close.
She needs an opening.
And then, with a sharp breath, she finds one.
Her eyes fsh, and suddenly—
A burst of violet fme ignites along her sais.
Watari blinks.
“Wait, what?”
The serpent hesitates. Just for a second.
But that second is all Yumi needs.
Her sais ssh upward, slicing through the air.
A sharp arc of violet fire erupts from the bde, the fmes ripping through his defenses like paper.
He barely has time to scream before she’s on him—a brutal spinning kick to his jaw sending him crashing to the ground.
Silence.
Yumi stands over him, panting, blood dripping from her lip.
Watari grins.
“Yo, Mi-chan, that was incredible.”
As she wipes the blood from her lip, she scoffs. “Heh, that guy was way tougher than I expected. Guess that’s what I get for failing the mission.”
Watari looks at her.
A somber look crosses his face, as if he just realized how serious things are now getting.
He looks out at the crowd.
“It’s the boy’s turn now!”
“Yeah, bring out that kid and KILL HIM!”
“FRESH BLOOD!”
Watari tightens his fist.
After a short pause, he tries to lighten the mood.
“Still, you and Kiyohime are pretty damn amazing.” He grins.
She whips her head toward him, gring.
“Shut up, idiot.”
But there was no hiding it.
Even battered and bleeding, she stood victorious.
And then—
A voice.
“It is now time for Watari’s trial.”
Watari gnces back at Yumi.
She gives a slight, injured nod to him.
And with that, he heads out.
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