The Precipice of Destiny

[Hitomi Yaarou]

The wind that passed through the Yaarou Compound no longer carried the scent of incense and rose petals. Now, it smelled of steel and ozone.

The sacred gardens—where acolytes once practiced traditional katas beneath moonlit boughs, now stood divided by chrome pylons and hovering patrol drones. And cutting through that once-hallowed ground came the clang of iron boots grinding through sand and stone.

Elder Hayate heard them before he saw them—droves of armored men and women marching in perfect unison below the balcony of the council chamber

The Kurotori. Thousands of Hexless Yaarou who, by recent decree of their Xhi’on, had been retrained in modern warfare. Their breaths no longer carried the quiet rhythm of trained assassins—now, the only sound that left their lips was the soft hum of filters built into their helmets. He could barely bring himself to call them shinobi anymore.

The Yaarou had changed.

Once, a legendary sect of assassins who weaponized silence and shadow, now marched in brazen, armored ranks. Black composite plating glinted across their uniforms; rifles of Hyperian alloy hung across their backs beside katanas embedded with serrated blades.

They were Hexless, but rather than sharpen their grasp over Ephemeral Arts, they instead mastered these new weapons from Hyperia—tools engineered to defeat the Bhalian Empire and the vaunted Mazoku elves by disrupting the creature's very biochemistry.

Hayate stood at the northern balcony’s edge, hands pressed to the rail as he watched a squad file through the lower gates. He could see the inscriptions etched along their armor: charms and phrases meant to honor their ancestors. But those words felt hollow now—written for ghosts in a language the new generation no longer understood.

From this height, he could see just how much his world had changed.

He recalled a time when these courtyards had been sanctuaries of wind and silence. Now, the air shimmered faintly with the presence of cloaked AION Sentinels embedded across the hills and towers of Qiyoto—hundreds of thousands of them, folded into the land like reflections without mirrors. They were still, hauntingly so, yet their unseen gaze made his bones ache.

Elder Ayune approached quietly, her small frame wrapped in ceremonial silk that looked almost absurd against the military sprawl outside.

Hayate barely noticed her at first, lost in the noise inside his head.

“Do you remember, Ayune?” he murmured, voice coarse. “We were acolytes when we first meditated there—where we learned to harness our strengths and discern our weaknesses.” He did not turn to face her, but Ayune could feel the pain in his voice, molting into a fine rage beneath his calm facade. “It was where the Yaarou tempered diamond from bone. Now?” His hands tightened against the rail. “Now what remains of that hallowed ground is being trampled into sand and stone. .”

“Hayate..” Ayune’s voice was soft, hesitant. She didn’t need to finish; he already knew.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “The Ephemeral Arts fade with every sunrise,” he said, turning to face his childhood friend. “Ayune, I fear our way is vanishing beneath the weight of these.. machines.”

Elder Jhun rose from his chair behind them, his expression a shadow beneath his hooded cloak. “Our Xhi’on has made her choice,” he said flatly. “Tradition is a luxury she no longer considers useful.”

“She hasn’t made a choice,” Hayate replied. His tone was low but edged. “She’s made a mistake.”

A pause fell between them—long, cold, filled with the rhythmic churn of boots beyond the balcony. They didn’t need to exchange glances to feel their shared unease.

Ayune finally cleared her throat, trying to soften the air. “We must have faith in our Xhi’on’s vision,” she said, folding her arms behind her back as she turned toward the council table.

Hayate scoffed. “And yet she won’t even grace us with her presence.”

“She will show,” Jhun insisted, though his words lacked conviction.

“She won’t,” Hayate muttered, stepping away from the balcony. “Not until she’s certain we’ve already lost our patience.”

Jhun sighed, following them toward the council seats. “The emissaries of the Hazen and Kuroha clans will arrive within the hour. And since our Xhi’on is… occupied, I shall go to receive them.”

“Why? To what end?” Hayate’s tone was bitter, the words cutting through the hum of machinery. “We can not keep making excuses for her behavior forever. If they truly wish to join us—let them wait. Let them see what the Yaarou have become.”

“Hayate!!”

Jhun projected sharply, slamming his fist on the table. The sudden outburst drew all the air from the room and diverted Hayate's eyes unto him. But he did not bend, he would not yield. Jhun could feel the emotion pouring from Hayate's eyes.. For a moment, it felt as if a brawl would ensue. But with a nod, Hayate quelled his pride and conceded the floor to his peer and partner.

Jhun took a calming breath before he spoke again. “You must temper yourself. No matter how noble or vindicated your intentions, you must be wise in your approach.”

“No.” Hayate retorted swiftly. “There is no boon or benefit to placating a child. I intend to reserve every ounce of this passion and vigor for my Xhi'on's arrival. She HAS to understand what is happening around us.. Unless you both plan to dance around the Serpent in the room until it decides to strike.”

[Hitomi Yaarou]

Their conversation faltered as a low tremor rolled through the hills—an explosion from the northern yard. Another weapons test. They happened daily now, yet each blast still drew silence.

“The Owaki are gone.." Hayate said at last. His voice carried the weight of a tomb. “Erased. Not conquered, not scattered—erased. A thousand shinobi reduced to ash within hours. Zeroken… and all his heirs among them.” His voice trailed off, his eyes lowering. “..it was him.. Aphosis has awakened.”

“Aphosis?!” Ayune’s breath caught at the mention of the Black Sun, and immediately the color bled from her face. “..a-and you’re certain of this?”

“Deathly so.” Hayate lifted his gaze, and the faint crimson shimmer in his pupils caught the light like blood on glass. His Hexcraft had gifted him precognitive abilities—lucid dreams of future possibilities, or suffocating nightmares that warned of calamity. “I’ve seen it myself, and his power eats through the Shi vessel like acid to flesh.”

“Mmn.. If that is true,” Jhun murmured, grim and measured, “then I fear no army of machines will turn the tide.” His gaze shifted to the empty seat at the head of the table. “Our Xhi’on must hear this. She must—”

“She won’t listen,” Hayate interrupted. His tone fell quiet, but the bitterness beneath it rang clear. “She’s too blinded by her by her own power. There’s no room left for counsel—only obedience.”

“Still,” Jhun said, his eyes narrowing with restrained conviction, “she must.”

Another detonation thundered through the walls—closer this time, close enough for the concussion to shake dust from the rafters. For a moment, all sound in the courtyard below vanished beneath its echo.

Then, another test.
This one even stronger than the last.

Despite all that this council had considered lost beneath Hitomi’s rule, the Elders could not deny what their Xhi’on had given them in return: power. Real, tangible, concrete power. The clan had grown richer, its armies larger, its reach immeasurable. But the warmth that once bound them—the culture and tradition that once defined them—had long since faded to smoke.

Beyond the walls, the gates of Qiyoto stood open. From every province, emissaries and warlords came to kneel, bearing their allegiance and their science. The Yaarou’s shadow stretched far across the realm now, fed by the unseen hand of the Gokodō—their clandestine syndicate funneling wealth into every vein of Hitomi’s new world order.

In the stillness that followed, Jhun’s voice broke once more, soft yet cutting:

“Power without balance,” he said, “is nothing but reckless abandon.”

Silence lingered after Jhun’s words. The three Elders sat like statues around the obsidian table, the faint red glow from the window cutting their faces in sharp relief.

“.. balance was lost the day the child was born,” Hayate muttered. “..she is too powerful to be led, or guided beyond her own selfish ambitions.”

“The girl is anointed.” Ayune said as though she truly lamented the fact. “The first of the Yaarou to be born—cursed with an Endless Art. Even now, her Hexcraft grows by the day.. by the hour.”

She fell silent for a moment. “The seals we've placed upon her will not last at this rate of progress. They won't be able to contain her, and soon all of Qiyoto—all of Edo for that matter, will be at the whim of her restraint..” Her gaze bounced now between the two of them, her voice trembling with reserved worry. “..do you think she knows?”

Hayate exhaled slowly. “ Oh, she knows. That’s what frightens me most. She’s not blind—she simply no longer cares.”

Jhun finally rose, his crimson eyes reflecting the storm in his mind. “..if The Black Sun has truly been born again,” he said, “then you are right, Hayate.. Steel and circuitry will not protect us. No, It will be the hand of our own monster that will usher us to salvation.” His eyes were calm, stilled by a sense of duty that he seemed to have forgotten something up until now. But no longer. “It is our duty to hone and mold her potential into what she already believes it to be. No matter what it looks like, our Xhi'on may have literally been born for this moment. Whether or not she is ready is reflective upon us.”

Ayune’s hands folded neatly in her lap, but her fingers trembled against the silk. “Then gods help us,” she said softly. “And strengthen our resolve beyond her pride.”

Hayate turned from the table, his eyes drifting toward the balcony where the crimson skyline burned against the metallic horizon. He opened his mouth to speak, but was preceeded by the first echo of approaching footsteps rippling through the hall.

The air changed.

The temperature seemed to drop as the steps drew closer. The Elders felt it, and straightened their back along their chairs in preparation. Jhun took the initiative to rise from his seat—adjusted his robe and took a breath in preparation.

The Xhi’on was coming.

[Hitomi Yaarou]

The air within the council chamber grew taut as the footsteps drew near. Each echo seemed deliberate—measured—neither hurried nor hesitant. And when the chamber doors finally began to part, their hinges exhaled a low, reverent groan, as though bowing to their master.

Hitomi stepped through the threshold behind an entourage of heavily armored soldiers.

The faint scent of smoke and cinders drifted in behind her; residue from the litany of recent combat exercises still clinging to her skin. Dirt and soot streaked her ivory complexion; a faint line of dried blood traced the edge of her jaw, and small cuts marked the back of her hands—shallow, but fresh.

Her white hair was tousled and speckled with ash, framing the embers of her eyes in wild strands that caught the light with every step.

She wore no ceremonial robes today. Instead, her combat attire clung close to her frame—reinforced crimson fabrics that flowed to the ground like a robe, adorned with intricate armor plating along her arm, collar, and shoulder. And over it, the ivory fur of her Mazoku pelt slung at her shoulders like a defiant relic of conquest.

The contrast between her and the chamber’s solemn grandeur was almost surreal. Nevertheless, the three Elders rose instinctively—out of ritual more than respect—bowing their heads in the way their line had performed for centuries.

Yet even their reverence felt hollow beside her quiet power.

“Lady Yaarou,” Jhun began, voice low and practiced. “We are… grateful you chose to attend.”

Hitomi’s gaze drifted lazily between them, her expression unreadable beyond the mask of apathy. “You sound surprised,” she said at last—her tone dry, not cruel, but heavy with fatigue and faint amusement. “Would you have preferred I sent another drone in my place?”

Jhun swallowed, exchanging a glance with Ayune. “No, of course not. It is… good to see you well.”

“Well enough,” she murmured, brushing a smear of ash from her cheek. “The AION Sentinels are improving. Their reaction time’s still sluggish for my standard, but that will be sorted in time.”

“Forgive me, my Xhi’on,” Ayune said gently, “but—your attire. The emissaries from Hazen and Kuroha will arrive shortly. They expect—”

“—a god,” Hitomi interrupted, her eyes flicking toward the balcony. “And they will not leave wanting.” Her voice was calm, but its edge could cut steel.

Ayune bowed her head accordingly. “Of course.”

Jhun cleared his throat. “Ahem— Lady Yaarou, the Elders have convened today not only for the emissaries. There is… another matter. One we believe requires your immediate attention.”

“Proceed,” Hitomi said, stepping toward the obsidian table and settling into her seat, leaning her chin on her fist. “But make it quick. The Hyperian's predict Bhalia's forces to be approaching sooner than later, and I've little patience for the hurdle of politics.”

Her words carried the finality of command, and yet it was Hayate—steady, scarred, unflinching—who dared to speak next.

“My Xhi’on,” he began, his voice low but firm. “Your focus on fortification honors the Yaarou name. You’ve given our people strength, unity… purpose. But there is a threat greater than that of Bhalia that looms on our horizon.”

Her eyes met his, flaring bright and cold. “..oh?”

He hesitated. “The Serpent’s Heir. The vessel of Aphosis—has awakened.” He said, steeling his nerves as he challenged his Xhi’on's gaze. “The Owaki are no more.. Not conquered—but obliterated completely.. All accomplished by a coalition of Shi, one of which we are certain to be Aphosis reborn. ”

A beat passed. The hum of the chamber dimmed to nothing.

Hitomi blinked once, slow and unimpressed. “And?”

“A-AND?!” Hayate frowned, stepping forward. “Y-you cannot be indifferent to this. The prophecies foretell ruin in his wake—the rebirth of the Black Sun conveys an encroaching, perpetual darkness.” Hayate turned his gaze to Ayune, as if to reinvigorate will. He continued after a nod from his friend. “If Aphosis truly lives again, then this amassing of allies and weapons may be for nought.”

Her expression barely shifted. “Prophecies?” she snickered softly, the word like a sneer dressed as a sigh. “..ghost stories written by frightened shi worms, trembling in their cells? Is THIS is what you dragged me here for?”

“These same ghost stories have already claimed the lives of thousands,” Hayate snapped.

Hitomi’s gaze hardened—not anger, but command. “The Owaki were weak.” She tilted her head slightly, that ghost of a smirk playing across her lips. “I am not. If the Serpent’s Heir wishes to bring ruin to Qiyoto, let him come. I will mount him on my wall with the others..”

“Arrogance will not save us!” Hayate’s voice cracked with restrained fury. “You believe yourself above fate, but even you must bow to it!”

The room stilled. Even the wind outside seemed to falter.

Hitomi’s tone cooled to a whisper. “I do not bow to anything, Elder.” Her red eyes glimmered faintly, blistering with light like a laser. “..or have you forgotten with whom you speak?”

The words hung heavy, oppressive, but eerily calm. She did not raise her voice; she didn’t need to.

Ayune averted her eyes, her hands tightening in her sleeves. Jhun simply watched—silent, torn between awe and unease.

Hayate exhaled slowly, his anger dimming into weary resolve. “You speak as though power grants you wisdom. But unchecked power has only ever brought despair.” He continued, fists tightening. “It is my duty—our duty as Elders to veer you away from such failure.. and I would not be doing what is charged of me if I continue to stay mute. I implore you my Xhi'on.. you mustn't be so blinded by your own power.”

“You,” she replied evenly. “Are beginning to annoy me.”

A sentence that immediately pulled all the air out of the room, and what followed for the next few silent moments could only be described with one notion. Dread. Hayate's bowels had turned water, as the last person to have been told that very phrase had been murdered on the spot. Even elders Jhun and Ayune felt their breath hitch in their throat. Petrified in the moment, stunned in apprehension of what Hitomi was going to do.

For a moment, all fell still..

Until Jhun’s golden bracelet screamed—sharp, intrusive—an alarm that shattered the tautness. The sound jerked Jhun upright; it snapped the spell of silence and, perhaps, saved Hayate’s life. “Lady Xhi’on!”, Jhun exclaimed in breathless urgency. “The Emissaries of the Kuroha and Hazen clans have entered Qiyoto airspace. They will be landing momentarily.”

Hitomi let her gaze slip from Hayate like a tide, allowing a soft smile to cool away her stoic expression. “..we will finish this soon.” Before she turned from him, drawing the air back into motion as she rose from her seat and strode toward the balcony.

She took a calming breath, taking a measured glance upon the world in which she intended to command, before delegating her will.

“See to the emissaries, Jhun,” she said without looking back. “Offer them sanctuary—or servitude. I care little which they choose, so long as they remember whose shadow they've come to hide in.”

“Yes, my Xhi’on,” Jhun answered softly.

Hitomi paused at the balcony's edge, sunlight cutting across her armor. Below, the horizon shimmered as two airships approached—sleek, elegant, bearing the banners of Hazen and Kuroha. She wondered what faces they would use, what songs they sing to garner her favor. None of it truly mattered, so long as she enriched the Yaarou with resources, it made no difference to her.

[Hitomi Yaarou]

Hayate’s mind churned as he watched Hitomi’s back retreat toward the balcony, the sunlight glinting off her armor and casting her shadow long across the chamber floor. Every measured step she took reminded him of the peril he courted by speaking his thoughts aloud. The words he was about to say could see him exiled, imprisoned, or worse—torn from the council chamber and discarded like a broken blade. Yet the risk was a flame too enticing to resist.

“Y—

Hayate drew a breath, steadying his voice. He repeated the thought silently, testing the weight in his mind before he said the words allowed. His pulse thrummed with a mixture of dread and resolve—so thick it left a lump in his throat that made it hard to breathe. Every fiber of his being screamed in rebellion, yet he could not turn back. She had to be provoked. He had to stoke the ember of her pride until it became a blaze. It was the only language she understood.

“You're afraid.”

The words fell from his lips clumsily, like a babe's first words. Hitomi's head twitched, as if confused by what she heard. Hayate could feel his heart violently thud against his chest—so loud, he'd gone deaf to his own thoughts. But he couldn't stop now. “The Serpent’s Heir. The Black Sun. A universal legend of unimaginable power shared between three rivaling clans has risen, and you don't care?! No.. the only reason Hitomi Yaarou, the most formidable Xhi’on in Yaarou history, would hesitate to strike is fear. Pride.. arrogance.. confidence in her own power may blind her to prophecies, but fear… not even she is free of that.”

Hayate swallowed, trembling from the weight of his own audacity as he awaited the storm he had summoned.

“...”

..and slowly, and deliberately, his Xhi’on turned to face him.

The room seemed to constrict in those moments, the walls inching closer—the stone tiled floor suddenly boiling hot beneath his feet.

And in that instant, Hayate saw it—the full, unmitigated force of her presence. Her crimson eyes, already unsettling, blistered with a cold, murderous light that shook him to the core; through his bones and down to his soul.

And she.. wouldn't look away.

She suffocated him.. burying him beneath a silent tsunami of ghastly rage and Hayate simply couldn't bear it. He wilted, his posture collapsing like a guilty dog, afraid after biting the hand that feeds. Or a man.. simply afraid of death.

“Hitomi..” Elder Jhun moved instinctively from his chair, placing a hand on his Xhi’on's shoulder with perhaps more familiarity than he should have. But he'd known her since she was a child, and that menacing gaze had haunted him from the first day he'd seen it.. As did the grisly scene she'd left behind. “My Xhi’on.. I beg of you..” He pleaded, tightening his grip as if to temper her wrath in any way he could.

Hayate’s stomach knotted with a petrifying certainty that the next few seconds could mark his final moments. “I—” he began, rising from his chair and steadying his voice amidst the tremor in his chest. “My Xhi’on… forgive my candor. I–I only wished to goad your ambitions toward—”

The words fizzled away in his mouth as Hitomi’s eyes bore into him, unblinking, unyielding. He had expected scolding, a verbal maiming, perhaps a contemptuous dismissal or being thrown in the Yaarou dungeon. He had not expected the suffocating— palpable aura of murderous intent that swelled against the chamber walls.

Before he could retreat, the inevitable hand of God had struck.

It happened instantly, but began as a pressure at the base of his skull, subtle, almost teasing—but within heartbeats, it escalated into a forceful, incomprehensible crush. As if her gaze alone had enacted judgement upon him. The world shrieked in soundless agony as an invisible impact obliterated his head in a single visceral moment. Blood splattered everywhere, arcing across the obsidian table to the walls and ceiling, as well as both Ayune, Jhun, and Hitomi.

Hayate’s body collapsed, headless, a ragdoll of what had been a steadfast Elder.

Silence hung, a void heavier than any prophecy, broken only by Ayune’s muffled gasp, quickly smothered by a trembling hand pressed to her mouth.

The chamber had become a tableau of carnage; bone, tissue, and terror, petrified in disbelief.

Jhun remained rigid but pale, and paralyzed; his throat constricted, his garbs tarnished. The unthinkable had occurred: the Xhi’on had murdered an Elder.. Treason of this magnitude had never been witnessed in living memory. Even in a world of shadow and conquest, the act defied everything they had been taught, everything that bound the clan together. The Elders were sanctioned from any sort of physical harm, even from the Head of the Clan. It is a clause that empowers the selective few to speak freely, despite the power and prestige hailed by their respective Xh'ion. This.. was unprecedented. Irredeemable. Jhun's voice trembled, barely audible: “…what have you done?”

But Hitomi did not look at him. She did not even respond. Curtly, she used her wrist to remove Jhun's hand from her shoulder and wiped the blood from her face. Her smoldering gaze then swept the chamber, taking in the aftermath without pause before finding someone to issue her commands.

“Find me the Shi dogs,” she commanded, voice cool, deliberate, leaving no space for argument. Her crimson eyes glittered like molten embers, a promise of unflinching carnage.

A breathless silence followed, the Elders still frozen in horror. But then, like an angered giant–

“NOW!!"

Hitomi's voice shook anything not nailed down, and it carried absolute authority. No argument, no hesitation, no mercy. The Xhi’on’s wrath had been stoked to flame, and all who remained in the chamber knew without question—they either obeyed, or be vanquished. The sounds of more than a dozen feet shifting and stomping filled the chamber—like a sudden stampede of frightened buffalo. But Hitomi didn't move. She simply waited for her will to be done.. and to cool off a bit.

“..this serpent will be dead by nightfall.”

[The Bhalian Empire]

[Far Above the Clouds]

The skies over Qiyoto shimmered in quiet splendor—tiered spires piercing the morning mist, banners of the Yaarou crest fluttering over terraced walls of crimson marble and enchanted stone. The city had woken early; bells from the eastern quarter tolled through the haze, calling the faithful to their morning rites.

Above the clouds, a small convoy of emissary airships approached, their hulls etched with the colors of distant clans. They drifted through the high airways, banners trailing like strokes of vibrant paint across a pale canvas.

But far above them—beyond sight, beyond the clouds and vivid trails of color—something vast loomed.. something vast, and ominous.

The Crimson Cloud hung cloaked in the upper stratosphere, a colossus of black iron and crimson sigils. Its segmented hull pulsed faintly; the shimmering veil of its concealment field flickered as power bled through conduit and coil. Beneath decks, the reactors thrummed like a measured heartbeat.

‐‐‐The command bridge was a study in discipline. Rows of officers stood at attention along the central corridor, uniforms immaculate, movements precise. At the far end of the bridge, before the great forward viewport, stood Commander Delion.

He spoke only when the deck reported.

“Commander!” a young intelligence officer called, stepping forward. Fingers danced over a handheld interface. [B[“We are approaching the drop zone—ETA ninety seconds.”[/b]

Delion did not turn. His hands were clasped behind his back; his profile caught the light of the consoles—calm, exacting, untroubled.

“And tell me,” he said, voice flat as a board, “what have you learned about our prey?”

The officer’s fingers moved faster. Holographic images spilled upward—faces, biometric reads, overlays pulsing with data. “Facial recognition matched to battle remnants recovered on Muu. Target identified. Location triangulated.”

Floating feeds stitched together: a likeness of Hitomi, live outer-camera angles, street-level thermal sweeps of Qiyoto’s central quarter.

“The target is a Yaarou by blood,” the officer continued. “A clan of human warriors. Skilled in ritual and spellcraft—formidable in local terms, but their technology and customs are primitive by Bhalian standards. They reside here, upon Edo, within a city known as Qiyoto. And until recently, they've maintained little to no military presence other than the clan's primary guardian—our target, Hitomi Yaarou.”

“O'ho.. witchcraft? I see, so that's how you did it..” Delion’s jaw tightened minutely. He lifted his wrist communicator, eyes returning to the widening holograph of Qiyoto—tower lattices pinned with firing coordinates.

“Status of the veil?” he asked finally.

“Stable, Commander. Power draw nominal. All weapons arrays primed and awaiting orders.”

He let a thin, satisfied curl touch one corner of his mouth. “Good.”

“Also, Commander—radar shows five vessels inbound from the southeast,” the officer added. “Unarmed. No escorts—likely diplomatic.”

Delion paused as the emissary silhouettes slid into the viewport’s edge—five slow, unsuspecting shapes drifting toward Qiyoto’s glimmering walls. For a breath the bridge held its collective silence.

“Do they fly beneath Yaarou banners?” he asked softly.

The officer hesitated. “Yes, sir. By their flight pattern, we can predict them to be landing soon.”

Delion turned fully, the motion quiet but deliberate. “Then they are participants. Not observers.”

He stepped closer to the viewport. Through the haze, the emissary convoy came into sight—five silhouettes drifting toward Qiyoto’s glimmering walls.. Blissfully unaware of the encroaching storm above them.

For a long breath, Delion said nothing. His expression was unreadable, carved from a soldier’s restraint. When he finally spoke, his voice carried across the bridge like a blade drawn from its sheath.

“Drop the veil.”

The ship inhaled. Engines spooled with a sound like distant thunder; the concealment field folded away. The Crimson Cloud shed its illusion and stood revealed—an armored leviathan against the sky. No exultation answered the unveiling, the crew did not cheer or boast. There were only hands at stations, the mechanical precision of a machine doing what it was built to do, and a severe tension.

Ironically, this severe tension was the calm before the storm, as every being aboard the vessel was privy to protocol and Bhalian strategy. They knew what came next.

“Target all five vessels,” Delion ordered. “Fire at will.”

The sound came seconds later—a thunderous exhalation that tore the sky apart.

Outside the viewport, beams of emerald light lanced through vapor and cloud, omnipotent and unerring.

The emissary ships were annihilated on contact—erupting into blossoms of flaming shrapnel before the wreckage scattered to ash on the morning winds seconds later.

“Kills confirmed, Commander. All targets neutralized,” the communicator intoned.

But he didn't respond just yet.

Despite the blinding explosion, Delion's gaze never wavered from his target; even as the blistering lights from the Crimson Cloud's TF-40X, simply known as the “Terraformer”, eclipsed the rays of both Kairn and Bako. His eyes sliced through the molten chaos with obsessive focus, abetted by his Joro physiology, and surveyed the aftermath before the air could begin to cool.

“Mm.. yes.” He watched the ruin play out as if he were reading a report. The Terraformer’s beams left the sky with a sick, molten glow. Soon, the chaos resolved into data on his displays—impact vectors, fragmentation patterns, thermal decay.

“..that they are.” He responded, allowing a cadence of glee to lilt his voice.

He then turned his eyes toward the city below, where Qiyoto’s towers gleamed under the morning sun. [B[“Then we proceed. Ready the forward batteries and recon drones. Prepare the Frostjack, and realign the Terraformer.”[/b]

His tone remained calm—almost gentle—as he clasped his hands behind his back once more.

"Prepare yourselves for a taste sweeter than any vice.. More savory than the flesh, and worth more than any pound of glory or victory.” He said as a menacing smirk pulled the corners of his mouth so far they teased at his fangs.

“Revenge.”

[Hitomi Yaarou]

The chamber shook in the aftermath.

It began as a low, distant hum—a strange vibration that rippled through the marble floors, still slick with Hayate’s blood. The Elders and attendants had been scrambling to obey their Xhi’on’s command, filling the room with motion and whispers of strategies dedicated to locating Aphosis’ Avatar.

That's when they heard something. A sound like the heavens splitting open.

Windows rattled, spires trembled.. Then, all at once, the horizon erupted in a bloom of blinding fire—bathing the balcony's pale stone in an unearthly emerald green.

The room shuddered with gasps from the Elders and soldiers. All save for Jhun whose gaze remained fixated toward the haunting vista, eyes reflecting the inferno beyond the balcony in a daze of horror.

He saw it happen.

The emissaries’ airships—five elegant silhouettes gliding through the morning mist, bearing the banners of distant clans—had not even reached Qiyoto’s outer gates before a celestial column of light descended from the clouds. It struck them like the judgment of gods. In a heartbeat, they were ash. The sky devoured them whole.

Jhun blinked, once, twice—his breath shallow. It felt unreal. Surreal. His mind refused to accept what his eyes insisted upon.

“..My god.." he whispered hoarsely, stumbling backward. “T-the Emissaries.. all of them..”

The words trembled from his lips, brittle and pale as ash. The color drained from his face as the silence thickened. Around him, the emerald light shimmered across the chamber’s bloodstained marble, turning every shadow into a writhing, living shape.

Then came the sound—the aftershock.
A concussive roar rolled through the Qiyoto mountains like defeaning thunder, shaking the very walls of the compound. It caused dust to rain from the ornate ceiling as the emerald radiance pulsed through the windows, painting the council in shades of terror.

And yet, amid the trembling world, Hitomi did not move.

Her silhouette stood framed by the inferno—motionless, regal, unyielding. The wind tore through her cloak and hair, casting her form in spectral grace. For a fleeting moment, she looked less like a woman and more like something eternal, something ancient—a goddess sculpted from wrath and silence.

Her expression was unreadable, poised between fascination and disdain.

As the reflection of the firestorm danced in her crimson eyes, she allowed a smile to crease her bored expression. And in that moment, to all who beheld her, Hitomi looked every bit like the vengeful vector of power she claimed herself to be.

“M-my Xhion..”
Ayune’s trembling voice broke the silence, soft as a prayer.
“..The Hazen..and The Kuroha Clan's envoys have been obliterated.. Qiyoto is under siege.”

“I am aware,” Hitomi replied. Her tone was calm—eerily calm, each word weighed and deliberate. She turned from the balcony to face the petrified faces of her council. And with a casual wave conjured an orb of light. It hovered above her palm, flickering before projecting a blurred view of the upper atmosphere. Through the distortion of clouds and smoke, a vast shadow took form—The Crimson Cloud—its enormous hull bleeding through the mist like a scar in the sky.

“They have come.” She said plainly. “..we must thank Hyperia for their foresight. They prove themselves useful yet again.”

“All of that..” Jhun breathed. “From a single vessel?”

“Such power.” Ayune whispered, almost reverent “It's.. otherworldly.”

“Such high praise,” Hitomi mused, her tone mocking but cool. The orb expanded under her touch, soon sentiently without her command. Its surface rippled, mapping the encroaching leviathan above. “Both of you—take the acolytes and the oracles into the Yaarou Sanctum and seal it once you are inside. The Kurotori have their orders; they shall maintain a perimeter around the Compound, as well as within its corridors.” Her gaze shifted across the chamber like a blade. “The AION Sentinels will patrol the inner and outer border of Qiyoto itself, to shield my city while I am away..”

“And what of you, my Xhi’on?” Jhun asked. “Surely you don't mean—”

“The Hyperian bunkers will hold until my return.” She said with an eerie calm about her. “You will be safe.. you will survive, and you are welcome to watch the show.” She said, gesturing toward the floating orb. “There will be several more within the bunkers, broadcasting my victory for all of Qiyoto to enjoy.” She said with a coy smile forming along her lips. “And when I kill them all, I pray it is enough for you all to remember that I'm not your child.. but your fucking Xhi’on.”

Ayune allowed a beat of silence to pass. And then another before she found the strength to speak.. despite her every instinct insisting she stay silent, lest she end up like Hayate. But in her fear, Ayune remembered her allies' courage, and could not tarnish his sacrifice with apathy.

“..No..”
She would honor him by stepping up. And fulfilling her duty.

“My Xhi’on, If that truly is a Bhalian fleet.. then you cannot hope to fight them yourself—not alone. You have a wealth of resources at your disposal—including the AIONS, the Kurotori, as well as your own hand chosen warriors.” She said, her soft voice suddenly strict and bold. As was her stance and posture for that matter. “There is no glory or triumph in this, only arrogance." She inhaled deeply, hardening her resolve. "As your Elder, I vote against this.”

And there, she said it.. She used it, the only card the Elders of the Yaarou Clan had in their disposal.

And the words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Alone, the Elders have little sway over their Xhi’on's decisions or ambitions. They were mostly advisors, guides.. figure pieces. However, should a council of them enact a vote and reach a unanimous decision, the Council had the right to veto their Xhi’on's decision.. one time every year.

However, during Hitomi's reign, none had ever been so foolish as to challenge her wrath.

Not until today.

Jhun's eyes went wide with shock, as if he were more disparaged by her ambition rather than inspired by her bravery. He held her gaze for only a moment, but even still, he could hear her heart. In her trembling posture. Begging him to agree. To vote against her decision could not only save Hitomi from her own devilish pride, it would curb this demon of conceit rotting her from the inside. But he had to agree..

It was precisiely why a minimum of three Elders were designated to a Xhi’on, an odd number as to avoid a deadlock. It was why tradition barred them from combat, let alone a public execution. The Council was the only deterrence to the Xhion becoming a tyrant.

“...”
But only if they agreed..
..and nothing came from Jhun's lips.
“Jhun..” she whispered, pleading. “Please.”

But her words never reached him.
He needn't even look at Hitomi to feel the suffocating pressure wafting from her—pressing into his ribs, daring him to defy her.. but he would not.

“...”

It was pointless.

Even if he did vote, there was no assurance that Hitomi would honor tradition, and concede to the wisdom of the Council. But her ensuing wrath after the fact would be all but absolute.

He said nothing, and in that silence Jhun felt Ayune's heart shatter from the betrayal, but he would not look at her. He couldn't face her.. His eyes never left the ground.

But Hitomi's gaze had shifted from Jhun and settled upon her. And what Ayune felt in that moment was not her Xhi’on’s rage, nor her mercy—but a cold, draining stillness.

Punitive. Despondent. Disappointed.

Crimson eyes suffused with an ancient power that seemed look through her rather than at her.

When she spoke, her voice was low and glacial.
“..get out.” She hissed. “..and make sure you're watching.”

Outside, the sky roared again—louder this time as the engines from the Crimson Cloud grew closer. So close that the vermillion hull of the massive airship could be seen parting through a sea of smoke and clouds above.

Hitomi’s cloak shifted as she strode toward the council table. She placed her palm against the embedded sigil; it pulsed in response, scanning her hand before revealing a recessed panel. With one press, the city sirens wailed—a long, guttural drone that echoed through the mountain passes and valleys below.

Qiyoto came alive.

From the terraces and plazas, civilians surged toward the Hyperian bunkers. The streets trembled beneath the march of armored divisions as the AION Sentinels deployed, their metallic forms gleaming like obsidian knights as the maneuvered through the city.

After that Hitomi turned to Jhun once more, her voice and continence suddenly lighter than air. “Jhun, I trust you to see to Hatori's safety.. until I return.”

And then, she had vanished.

Jhun flinched at the sound of his name but moved, half out of duty, half out of fear.

The Elders hesitated, caught between reverence and terror before they too rushed to follow their orders.

[The Bhalian Empire]

The command bridge of the Crimson Cloud pulsed with restrained energy—an orchestra of low hums, glowing runes, and the steady thrum of the ship’s anti-gravity cores. Every console shimmered with light from a thousand data streams, each one relaying the chaos below: the human capital of Qiyoto, sprawling beneath them like a painted jewel in the mountains.

Delion stood at the heart of it all, his silver-plated armor reflecting the pale red light of the bridge’s canopy. Around him, officers murmured in quick, clipped tones—recon units reporting, tactical relays flaring with motion, the steady heartbeat of a war machine alive and awake.

“Report,” Delion said, his voice quiet, but it carried. Always did.
“Recon units have full visual, Commander,” one of the communication officers replied, fingers sweeping over the controls. “The humans have mobilized with surprising efficiency. The city’s civilians are retreating to subterranean shelters—our scans cannot penetrate them. There's some kind of interference field, it’s—”

“—it's blocking even our biorhythmic sensors,” another interrupted, disbelief in his tone. How could human ingenuity subvert modern Bhalian Technology?

Delion turned slightly, one hand resting on the railing before the grand viewport. His golden eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned the projected images—swarms of people vanishing into the earth, streets emptying, towers dimming one by one.
He had expected panic. Chaos. The natural human disarray before annihilation.

Instead, he found coordination.. or at least, flashes of it.

“Fascinating,” Delion murmured, his lips curling faintly. “They hide like ants—Efficient. Disciplined.”
He folded his hands behind his back, a thoughtful expression blooming across his face. “Despite their trembling fear.”

Then, one of the officers went rigid. “Sir—visual on the target. Balcony of the central compound.”

Every voice fell silent.

Through the crystalline monitors, they saw her. A lone figure standing before the inferno—crimson cloak whipping in the mountain wind, her hair glowing in the light of their engines. Even from this distance, it was as though she stared straight into them—past the cameras, through the steel, into the bridge itself.

Hitomi Yaarou.

Her eyes were scarlet comets in the gloom, unblinking. Defiant.
For a moment, no one spoke. The air thickened.

“Orders, commander?” the lieutenant asked, hesitant. “Do we open fire on the compound?”

Delion tilted his head slightly, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. “No… not yet.”

He stepped closer to the viewport, his gaze locked on the distant figure. “Can't you see? She’s daring us to strike her first.”
He smiled faintly—cold, predatory. “A trap perhaps?”

His tone lowered, almost a whisper meant for himself. “To stand so openly beneath the gaze of the Crimson Cloud… she either commands absolute faith, or she’s desperate to protect something. Perhaps both.”

The silence of the bridge deepened as he considered the possibilities, his mind moving with the precision of a chess master. And Delion could feel the board forming—the pieces aligning—each decision from here on out would require meticulous thought..

“..you may be the most dangerous human I’ve ever seen,” Delion said finally. “A pity..” His expression hardened, a cruel light glinting in his eyes. “If you weren't a woman, I'd mount your head on my wall. You'd make an excellent trophy.”

He straightened, lifting a hand. “Prepare the cannons. Target the bunkers. If she won't strike us first, we’ll raze her city instead.”

The order rippled through the bridge. Officers scrambled to their stations, hands dancing over controls. Massive coils along the underside of the ship began to pulse with energy, charging the TF-40X to capacity—until suddenly, every screen aboard the vessel flickered and crashed.

“—Sir! We’ve lost targeting systems!”

“What?” Delion turned, his gaze narrowing. “Explain.”

“We— we’re not sure. It.. seems like an electromagnetic surge, emanating from the city itself! We can't be certain but whatever it is, it’s scrambling our sensors—full interference across all frequencies!”

The lights above dimmed for a heartbeat before returning, now tinted with a subtle static.

Delion chuckled quietly. “..humans and their traps. Cowardly, though effective.”

He moved with an effortless calm to the main console, glancing over the disrupted readouts. “Can we isolate the source?”

“Negative, Commander. We're blind. It’s like—like the entire city’s jamming us all at once.”

“An electromagnetic field…” he mused. “Impressive.” His tone wasn’t admiration—it was amusement. “She’s forcing us to descend.”

He turned his head slightly. “Very well. Deploy our infantry soldiers—Every division. We shall flood this city with our bloodied banners.”

At once, the bridge erupted in movement. Massive hangar doors began to unfurl along the ship’s hull, the hum of deployment sigils igniting across the vessel’s underside. In a flash of scarlet light, legions began to drop—
Joro Elves, clad in crystalline armor.
Vulcan Salamanders, their molten weapons burning like falling stars.
Cyr Avians, wings spreading against the smog, shrieking war hymns as they descended.

The sky above Qiyoto darkened as they fell like divine judgment.

“Has Commander Jack been notified?” Delion asked.

A door hissed open behind him.

“He has now,” came a voice—smooth, drowsy, and edged with frost.

Commander Jack stepped into the light with the lazy grace of a predator waking from slumber. His silver hair caught the crimson glow of the monitors, his eyes—glacial and pitiless—sweeping the room with mild disinterest. His attire was half-done, his robe draped over one shoulder as though the war itself had interrupted his nap.

“Finally arrived, have we?” he muttered, rubbing at his neck. “You woke me too early last time.”

Delion smirked. “And yet you survived.”

Jack ignored the jab, sauntering to the viewport. He looked down upon the sprawling human city, unimpressed. “All human cities look the same to me,” he said flatly. “Ugly little molehills. Which one am I allowed to kill?”

Delion chuckled. “Still impatient, are we? I see not much has changed since your arrival here. Rest assured you’ll have your fun. But first—”

An officer’s sudden shout cut him off.

“Sir! The cameras—she’s gone!”

Every head turned to the main monitor. The balcony was empty.

Delion’s amusement flickered back to life. “Gone, you say?”

Then, a tremor rolled through the Crimson Cloud. The light outside shifted, red bleeding into violet. Slowly—impossibly—a figure emerged in the open air just beyond the viewport, suspended in the void.

Hitomi Yaarou.

Standing on nothing.
Her cloak unfurled behind her like a banner of war, her hair whipping in the high-altitude wind. Her crimson eyes gleamed through the armored glass of the bridge—eyes that burned with something ancient, something wrong. Every officer felt it. The air grew colder, heavier.

The hum of the ship faltered, systems stuttering as if her presence alone disrupted them.

Delion smiled. “Magnificent.”

Beside him, Jack tilted his head, his usual boredom dimming into faint interest. “That’s her? The little human who killed a Mazoku?”

Delion nodded. “..the strongest I've ever encountered. You see now why she’s worth my time.”

Jack snorted. “I see a mortal too confident for her own good.”

“She’s more than that,” Delion said quietly. “She’s proof that humans can be dangerous.”

“..hold on.” Jack rubbed his eyes and drew closer to the window, analyzing the woman's appearance and attire. That's when his eyes settled on the tuft of ivory fur lining the woman's cloak. “..is she wearing his coat?”

Delion eyes narrowed. “..barbarism has always suited their primitive nature. But as I said, they are dangerous indeed.”

“..spare me.” Jack scoffed, before turning toward to leave. “..Kuran was old and arrogant. That old relic lost his step long ago. Trust me, what remained of him was hardly an Executioner; this won't take long.”

Delion's eyes railed Jack as he disappeared toward the airlock. Once the doors closed shut behind him, Delion then pressed a control on his vambrace. This triggered a low resonance along the bridge before his voice was projected through the ship’s external amplifiers—rolling across the sky like thunder.

“—Ah. There you are,” He began, his tone a smooth, aristocratic purr that carried miles through the clouds.

He let the silence linger, his gaze locked with hers across the glass. “You’ve made quite an impression in our records, frail creature. For a human, let alone a woman, to defeat a Mazoku Executioner in battle? Regardless of Kuran's ailment and age, the accomplishment itself remains.. an absurdity. No different than the ant, besting the boot.” His muffled chuckles whispered through the speakers. “I must confess—I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. But my, my.. the things I've read about you..”

He tilted his head, smiling faintly. “Forgive me, but I am nothing if not formal. Tell me, little ant, can you understand my words? Do you speak the Emperor's tongue?”

Still, the floating woman said nothing. Only her eyes glowed brighter, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

Delion’s smile widened. “Hmph. No matter.”
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a hiss.

“I am Commander Delion—remember this name for the sliver of time you have left. For I will be responsible for reducing you and your fragile world to ashen shadows..”

[Hitomi Yaarou]

Delion's voice flowed like silk across the clouds, ornate and measured—as if his every syllable was rehearsed and curated in a thousand reflections, carefully primped and tailored. But the woman floating before his ship paid no mind to his self indulgent blether.

No, she was studying the ships itself. The color, the size, the symbols; She had seen this vessel before—its shape etched forever into her memory. This was the same ship from the Onyx Trench—the one that vanished beneath into the clouds during her battle with Kuran. She had plans to destroy it promptly after her victory, but exhaustion and fatigue made that ambition unobtainable.

But now, fate had drawn the mighty vessel back to her; to her doorstep, no less. Hitomi wasn't certain whether to feel slighted, or highly favored.

Nevertheless, as Delion prattled on, Hitomi's gaze drifted past the crimson warship and down at the legion of armored drop-pods hurtling toward her city. Her crimson eyes narrowed watching them split through the clouds, streaking like comets into the streets of Qiyoto.

She counted hundreds of them—each large enough to harbor more than several dozen towering Bhalian infantrymen. And they flooded her city in droves.

Carried by inhuman strength, reflexes, and tactics, the Bhalian Military moved like a force of nature. The physicality of the Joro Elvs alone shook the ground beneath them, but the smoldering heat of the Vulcan Salamanders roasted stone and soil to cinders in their wake.

It only took moments for the Yaarou Capital to crumble like foliage in their presence. Buildings fell, homes were sundered. And while the roads were mostly evacuated, those too slow to flee were the first to witness true ruin and brutality.

But that's when her army surged into motion.

The Kurotori—black-armored phantoms met the invading soldiers with silent, ruthless precision, and the streets erupted in their collision. Despite the disparity in raw numbers, the Kurotori fought line by line, street by street, in a tide of disciplined ferocity. Casualties were met, but the bunkers were secured. The safety of her people remained secure.

With that, her gaze shifted again, and she saw her.
Mitsuko Yaarou.

Her shadow. Her shield. One of the only living beings Hitomi trusted to fight at her side.

She watched Mitsuko cut a swath through the front lines. The edge of her axe burning like a bound star, so bright Hitomi could see it even from this distance; cleaving through circuits of enemies soldiers, melting steel and flesh in equal measure. She was a tempest in gold and crimson, leading the Yaarou vanguard at the base of the Central Compound.

Swinging, pivoting, and creating space for the Kurotori to press the advantage.

Watching her in action was enough to etch a faint curl along her Xhion's lips. But nothing short of excellence was expected from the only member of the Yaarou's royal guard.

Above, the Avian Cyr elves descended in elegant arcs, bombarding the streets with electrical bolts of energy that lit the sky and charred everything else to the slags of debris. Their speed and aerial dominance gave the Bhalian's the guise of omniprescence—speckling the skies in flocks of shimmering armor and sharpened steel.

But the AION Sentinels answered instantly, and with relentless precision. Thousands of them, streaking through the haze, to lend reinforcements to protect the ground forces. Their cybernetic bodies whirred and morphed into various forms to accomplish various tasks, such as; stabilizing collapsing structures, ferrying the wounded to safety, and reinforcing the city’s defenses in real time.

Hitomi saw now with her own eyes just how invaluable their support was.

This was their purpose; this was why she had them built.
To protect her home while she crushed her enemies personally.

It was then, when she saw the balance of the field stabilize, that she looked back to the Crimson Cloud.

Delion's voice was still droning on—proud, pompous, trying to pierce her indifference. He spoke of the apparent reputation she gained from her impossible battle against the Mazoku Executioner, Kuran. And between his affronts, he whispered reverence. Praise. Not even he couldn't deny her greatness.

But it was the only thing he said that she paid attention to.

She listened only long enough to catch the cadence of his final flourish. Then, her head tilted slightly—her hair swaying in the high-altitude wind.

Her tone was quiet.
Flat.
Almost bored.

“I do not care who you are.”

She said softly, yet every soul aboard the massive vessel heard her words clear as day.

“I’ve heard enough speeches from weak men,” she continued, her gaze hardening. “..from dead men.”

Her eyes gleamed faintly as she watched another wave of drop-pods descend to her city, and a cold calculating gaze hardened her expression. “You will send your champion; your Executioner. And you will do so now.” Her hand lifted, palm open toward the massive vessel. Power gathered at her finger tips, soft at first, before it stirred the air like coiled lightning. “..or I will kill you, and all the little roaches hiding on this ship. Every last one of you.”

It was then that Hitomi's eyes filled with ghastly crimson light, before she allowed her legion of invisible W'rayths to test the integrity of the Bhalian warship.. with extreme prejudice.

[The Bhalian Empire]

The Crimson Cloud trembled.

It started with a low, drawn hum that slithered through the hull plating like an illness. Then came the distortion: a sickening bend in the light across the bridge, followed by the flicker of every protective rune inscribed along the walls.

Panels ruptured along the hull, control conduits screamed with overload, and a spiderweb of fractures veined the upper panels of the ship. Lightning-like static crawled across the bridge’s viewing glass, and the entire command deck bathed in a red hue as alarms began to cry in overlapping tones.

“Status,” Delion commanded.

“Unknown interference—origin indeterminate,” barked the lieutenant from his console, his fingers flying across shimmering glyphs. “Shields are destabilizing—sector three through five flickering—”

A thunderous bang split his sentence in half. A shockwave rippled across the bridge, tossing several officers to the floor. Sparks cascaded from a ruptured conduit above the command dais as the air around them screamed.

“Impact?” Delion’s voice was measured, but taut.

“Negative impact,Commander,” another officer stammered, eyes wide over the runic display. “No projectile detected.. but there's something—something's out there!”

The bridge shuddered again. This time, the viewing pane rippled like water. And in that distorted reflection—fleeting, impossible—something moved.

The phenomenon was captured along one of the ship's remaining cameras–visages of the assailants' otherwise invisible weapon. Or.. lack thereof for that matter.

The silhouettes of Hitomi's W'rayths were visible as their forms slithered through the clouds outside the hull: distortions in the atmosphere shaped like claws, or the appendages of some demonic entity. No heat signature. No trail..

“By the Zenith..” one of the sensor officers whispered. “What in all the realms am I looking at?”

Those colorless distortions swept across the ship’s midsection. Metal screamed. On the decks below, the Crimson Cloud’s armor began to split open as if pried open by like wet bark.

Alarms cascaded through the comms.

“Shields at forty percent and dropping!”
“We’re losing stabilization thrusters!”

The Crimson Cloud lurched, suddenly caught in a downward drag. The bridge lights dimmed, then flared crimson. The ship’s gravity matrix flickered and restored itself in uneven bursts. For the briefest moment, the crew felt as if the world itself was tilting beneath them.

Delion stood perfectly still amidst the chaos, his gaze locked on the storm of distortion outside.

“Stabilize the altitude by rerouting auxiliary power from sector seven to the internal dampers.” he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. He did not shout — not yet — but the veneer of grace that usually wrapped his tone was gone. What replaced it was sharper, colder, forged in the habit of command.

His officers scrambled. Data bloomed in translucent sigils across the bridge — diagnostic runes, shield matrices, visual confirmations. Yet even as the ship’s systems fought to recover, the woman outside remained perfectly still. Floating. Watching.

Through the distortion, her shape lingered— insignifficant compared to the leviathan sized vessel— yet every sensor screamed from her fury. This formless tide, crashing against the hull.

Delion watched her in silence. His eyes were steady, but his jaw tightened as another tremor rattled the command floor and energy readings spiked off every scale. His initial thought was this was some form of telekinetic assault, but the Sylva Dryad elves aboard were attuned to sense and counteract all calibers of psionic frequencies. So no, this was different..

He sat down, leaning back in his seat and exhaled, the tension along the bridge coiling tighter with every moment. “Commander!” One of his officers hailed his attention. “Rerouting energy from sector seven would reinforce shields and stabilize the vessel, but doing so would disable all weapons. Sir, we would be defenseless.”

Delion chuckled at the notion. “What you are witnessing is the strength to kill a Mazoku Executioner. Priming our weapons against her at this range would be pointless, but we are hardly defenseless.”

The officer blinked, confused “Sir?”

“You have your orders.” His gaze never left the viewing panel. “Stabilize my ship. If she wants an Executioner, we shall grant her wish.” He said, magnifying the hull’s visual relay with a tap on his wrist.

Hitomi Yaarou remained suspended before the Crimson Cloud, one arm outstretched as though conducting this invisible maelstrom with merely a thought.

But then came the cold. A terrible, immediate cold.

It struck without warning—a convulsion of nature. The temperature plummeted so severely, so quickly Hitomi would feel the air crystalize in her throat. And things didn't stop there.

The clouds above Qiyoto fractured into ribbons of frost. And below, the battle transformed into a frozen tableau. Flames sputtered into smoke, steel rang like chimes before seizing into sheets of ice. Both the Yaarou soldiers and the Bhalian infantry found their movements slowed as the frost spread through the avenues like an invading tide.

Htiomi's gaze tried to trace the source, but before long the frigid tundra found its focus and converged onto a singular point; the length of her outstretched arm. The air hissed as ice climbed her skin in crystalline filigree, stiffening the flesh beneath her regal sleeves into brittle marble.

The pain wasn’t immediate, as it was so cold her nerves would have died before they registered any damage.

But seconds later, Jack emerged from the storm like a phantom made of ice and malice. His body was sculpted from the cold—a vestige cut from cobalt embers and arctic dust. The warrior smiled faintly, the kind of smile that preceded catastrophe.

“..arrogant little human girl.” he murmured, voice low and sharp. “May I have this dance?”

Before she could retort, his grip tightened—and her arm shattered into a plume of shards and powder. Jack’s eyes flashed white and blue before he delivered a haymaker with effortless cruelty aimed at the side of her head.

Hitomi was hurled backward, her body carving a streak of vapor through the air before plummeting toward the burning sprawl of Qiyoto like a missile.

Jack lowered his arm slowly soon after, exhaling a plume of frost as he trailed his foe's trajectory.

But despite landing the first blow, he was frowning. Something was wrong..

While his fist clearly connected, he hadn’t felt her. Not really. The sensation wasn’t flesh yielding or bone collapsing beneath his force—it was… empty. A hollow impression of what should have been rewarding.

He didn't even feel the warmth of her blood on his fist, but as he looked down at his hand, his breath caught.

His hand was withered—his porcelain skin somehow cracked and grayed, as if millions of years had drained from his fingers in the blink of an eye.

“What the hell?” His lip curled.

And his gaze shifted downward, tracking her descent through the haze. The storm of ice he’d summoned still lingered, yet it bent around her falling form as if unwilling to touch her again.

“When did you–” he muttered, tone sharpening. “..hmm, sneaky little thing aren't you..”

Then, with a faint grin—more predatory than amused—he outstretched his good hand and released a barrage of cobalt colored bolts of death. They erupted into rigid pillars of frost on contact, razing the city of Qiyoto into a frozen wasteland in a matter of seconds.

[Hitomi Yaarou]

Hitomi struck the city like a meteor.

Her body crashed through the first tower in a burst of shattered stone, then ricocheted through a second, and a third— each impact thundering across Qiyoto like distant drumbeats. Her final collision carved a deep trench through the old merchant district. Market booths splintered. Stone buckled. A geyser of debris swept outward as she skidded to a halt in a storm of rubble and powdered brick.

For several long seconds… nothing moved.
Then the rubble shifted.

Hitomi rose.

No blood.
No limp.
No bruise, nor break.

Her skin—pale, immaculate—showed no sign that she had just been hurled across half a city by a creature whose strength could fold mountains.

Her W’rayths had cocooned her before Jack’s strike connected, weaving around her like invisible serpents, their coils forming an impenetrable barrier. Not a single strand of that unseen lattice had cracked.

Only her arm—frozen solid and shattered by Jack’s grip—remained gone, ending in a smooth stump of blackened flesh..

Hitomi barely glanced at it.

Her expression didn’t bloom with panic, or pain, or even irritation.

What she felt was disappointment.

“...an elemental?” she muttered, dusting mortar from her shoulder. “I wear the flayed skin of a Mazoku Executioner—one of your gods—and you answer me with an elemental?”

Her voice held no fear. Only wounded pride. For the Bhalians to respond with anything less than their most fearsome warrior; their most powerful weapon, was a spit in the face.. And a colossal waste of her time.

“Ughhhh..”

She groaned like a spoiled child. Hitomi anticipated a litany of the superpowered titans marching toward her shores—a barrage of Mazoku Executioners primed to test the mettle of Edo's very own advent monster.

But they sent one man at; an ant, in comparison to Kuran's magnificent frame. This new challenger was a specter, with a tiny wrists and a wiry build that looked smaller than her elders.

Her jaw tightened. The air around her thrummed and blistered as her W’rayths slithered restlessly at her feet. “Is it fear, are you all just afraid?!” She hissed. Eyes burning crimson as she stepped out from the crater. “For fuck's sake.. have some pride.”

It was then that a grizzly voice pulled her attention over her shoulder.

“My Xhi’on!”

He called. It was a Kurotori soldier, marching toward her with cautious urgency. His helmet and most of his armor had been shattered from battle, but the green colored blood slicked along his face conveyed throes of victory. Hitomi slowly turned to face him, and the man's face brightened with awe and relief.

Until he saw that she was missing an arm.

“By the gods! This way, Lady Yaarou!” he called, rushing forward. “I can lead you to safe ground—this area is under siege, but my unit is rendezvousing just a mile south!”

Hitomi couldn't help but chuckle at his words. The irony of her begging for a true challenge, while being coddled from combat by her own soldier. “..Do I look like I need your help?” She said dismissively, causing the soldier to pause in confusion.

“My Lady.. I..” He stammered; suddenly petrified before this woman whom he'd never been able to see with his own eyes.

Ty’el was only eighteen—a fresh graduate of the Yaarou's Kurotori soldier program, but the young virtuoso managed to accomplish enough for him to be appointed leader of his squadron in no time at all. But even at his rank, he'd never seen his Xhi'on with his own eyes—only in portraits and ceremonial sketches.

Her beauty had awed him.
Her presence terrified him.

She smiled down at him, but her eyes gleamed with something predatory—something that made him feel like offering protection had been a fatal mistake.

Ty'el opened his mouth to speak, to explain himself to some degree. He figured he was only doing his due diligence—to prioritize the safety of the Xhi’on above all else.. as he was trained to do. He had to let it be known that he never meant to disrespect her.

But he never got the chance..

Suddenly, a blistering beam of cobalt energy slammed down from the heavens like a celestial gavel.

It hit the soldier mid-step.

He froze instantly — flesh, armor, even his final breath crystallizing into a perfect statue of ice. A second blast followed, and a third, erupting across the district in jagged columns of sapphire frost. Buildings, streets, bodies, all were buried beneath towering crystalline monuments.

And yet, Hitomi stood at the epicenter untouched.. and unbothered.

Her W’rayths spiraled around her—warped distortions in the air—shielding her with lazy, contemptuous ease. "Anyway.."

She raised her gaze.

High above, Jack hovered in the ruinous storm, surrounded by spiraling arcs of cobalt lightning. His attacks split into rivers of ice that rooted themselves into the city, spreading cold like a plague.

At this pace, Qiyoto would be entombed beneath a continent’s worth of frost in minutes.

Hitomi inhaled slowly, unbothered by the crippling cold. Her hair drifted in the icy wind as though underwater.

“Are you watching Elders?” She murmured as a wicked smirk curled her lips. “Behold the gulf between gods and worms.”

Then she raised her remaining arm.
Her fingers pressed tightly together, mocking the shape of a blade.

Her W’rayths responded to her intent and recoiled, coalescing about her extended forearm. And for a brief instant, Hitomi stood completely unprotected, her defenses voluntarily dismissed—her air of invulnerability gone.

And the cold seized her in seconds.

Frost and ice began to collect along her cheeks as she channeled her Naten. Along her lips, and eyelashes too. But she didn't flinch.. As none of it mattered. Soon, a thin, crimson filament formed around her hand, humming like a whisper of steel being drawn from a celestial sheath.

She whispered through a font of frost.

“Divine Sword.”

And the air snapped in response.

A colossal stroke of force erupted from her arm—her W’rayths condensed into a single, impossibly dense vector of annihilation. The ground split beneath her feet. The street fractured open in a perfect line. Clouds above tore apart, cleaved in two by a blade that had no shape, no light, no substance.

Only doom. Only death

The blow raced forward faster than thunder, faster than perception. It bisected the cobalt blasts, shattered them into glittering dust as the attack carved upward like a force of destruction—continuing beyond just Jack, and extending toward the Crimson Cloud looming in the storm laden sky behind him.

If Jack faltered for a heartbeat—if he underestimated this blow— both he and the flagship of the Bhalian Empire would be severed from this world in a single, merciless stroke.