.
.
.
.
[Eastern side of the forest, 1:40 AM]
The downpour hadn't let up. Rain hammered down in thick sheets, soaking through cloth and hair. Beneath the curtain of water, three figures stood—Akemi, Asahi, and Denji—facing the silhouette that emerged from the forest's shroud.
Denji tightened his grip on Pochita, who growled low, sensing hostility. "Tch. Pochita!" his fingers twitching as he reached to rev the small devil.
Before he could pull the cord, a firm arm slammed across his chest, halting him in place.
"The hell are you doing?!" Asahi hissed through gritted teeth, barely audible over the rain.
"What?" Denji snapped, glaring sideways. "He's in the way."
Asahi opened his mouth to retort, but the figure ahead spoke first.
"Hey," the man said, his voice carried weight. His gaze fixed on Asahi. "Let him go."
Asahi stiffened.
The presence this man had was... unnatural, the kind that set off alarms in the spine.
His fingers quivered involuntarily. Reluctantly, he lowered his arm.
Akemi said nothing. Fists clenched at her sides. She didn't like this. Not at all.
.
"Now," the man began again, his voice faintly amused. "You wanted to—"
Denji lunged.
A flash of steel as the blade extended—longer than before. It tore forward, aiming toward the stranger.
The man's eyes flickered. The sight of pochita elongated saw caught him by slight surprise. He simply stepped sideways, casual, hands barely in his pockets.
SHRREEIIII—KRRRKKK!
The blade missed—but not by much. It carved through a thick tree behind him, shearing it clean easily. The trunk groaned and collapsed in a thunderous crash, shaking the ground beneath them.
The man eyes glinted.
"Oh?" he mused, watching the ruined tree. "Now that's interesting."
Denji lunged again. He swung Pochita in a wide arc, carving the air with strength. The whir of metal buzzed violently through the downpour.
But the man didn't flinch. His movements were fluid, almost lazy. With a single lean of his torso, he let the chainsaw brush past him.
Denji didn't stop. He spun into another slash from the side—reckless and fast—but his footing betrayed him.
The soaked mud gave way beneath.
His momentum turned against him. Denji slipped.
However, a firm hand caught him by the chest mid slip.
"Careful," the man muttered in a mocking tone.
He pressed his palm flat against Denji's chest—not forceful, but enough to shove him upright with ease.
"You'll cut yourself swinging like that," he said, head cocked with amusement.
Denji's eye glinted noticed the man was beside him. He changed his stance, his feet sank deep into the mud, locking him into place. His arm blurred, as he swiftly swung Pochita with raw force from the left.
Rain slashed sideways.
The man's eyes snapped wide.
He instantly leaned back—spine arching inhumanly, just enough to let the blade miss his face by a hair's breadth. A strand of his hair split and drifted into the rain.
He couldn't believe it.
For the first time, his grin faltered. "You…"
There was something in Denji's movement—too sharp, too fast.
Dangerous.
The boy's foot dug into the muck again, muscles coiling. He twisted low, body pivoting as he brought Pochita down toward the man's gut.
His breath hitched as he was still bent.
"Tch—!" the man grunted.
He rolled to the side.
The teeth of the saw shredded leaves and dirt as he evaded, flinging himself to the side.
Trying to quickly recover, he planted a hand on the slick ground and pushed himself back into a crouch, only to see Denji.
He was already there.
Chainsaw inches from his skull.
"—!?"
His pupils shrank as he threw his body backward with raw instinct, slipping just out of range as the whirring teeth sliced the space his neck had occupied.
Reacting instantly, his feet skidded and rolled away, trying to make distance and regain his balance. Hair plastered to his face as his eyes were on the kid
Denji didn't stop. He didn't let the man take a breather as his opponent tried to rise up to his feet.
The chainsaw came screaming in from the right.
The man's eyes flared. Too close. Too fast.
He jumped back, barely avoiding a brutal cleave through his arm. The heat of the blade lightly brushed his skin opening a small papercut wound.
His momentum threw him back several meters, the mud dragging him even farther as he landed hard, rain hammering down on his bare chest, his breath knocked out of rhythm.
Time slowed.
Hands pressed into the earth. Eyes locked forward.
Denji was coming. Fast. Two seconds. Maybe less.
During that small time frame.
Something lit inside him.
His pupils dilated.
His lips curled.
The grin returned, wide and feral.
"Heh… hahahaha…"
.
.
Meanwhile, Asahi and Akemi stood frozen in the downpour, soaked to the bone as they watched the clash in silence,
Trees fell.
Pochita's chainsaw shredded trunks like paper. Leaves burst into the air. Denji's wild slashes carved through the woods with no care for the terrain, turning it into an open battlefield.
the weight of helplessness clung to the siblings.
Their Market-issued devices? Gone.
Their weapons? Long stripped.
Their breathing grew shallow. For a moment, nothing existed except the clash of motion and the roar of a chainsaw.
Asahi leaned closer, voice barely a whisper beneath the curtain of rain.
"Let's leave… now—while he's distracted."
Akemi's gaze snapped to him, her voice a hesitant whisper. "But what about—"
"We'll get help," Asahi insisted, desperation flickering behind his eyes. "Toru might already be near, right? If we reach the market, someone there will come, they have to... We'll come back with backup." His voice cracked toward the end. He didn't want to abandon Denji. But he didn't want both him and his sister to die either—not here, not like this, not by this strange man's hands.
Before she could answer—
WHAM!
Denji's body was suddenly lifted by a spinning kick.
CRACK!
He slammed against the thick tree with a sickening thud, bark splintering on impact. The air punched out of him in a hoarse gasp.
Akemi and Asahi's heads snapped toward the sound, horror plastered across their faces.
The man straightened slowly, the same leg he used to send Denji flying now lowered to the ground, his foot tapped against the soaked earth,
A slow exhale escaped his lips as he tilted his head, gaze flicking toward the twins.
Whirrrrrr—
The metal discs hovering around his wrists began to spin, faster this time.
Heat shimmered around his arms. The air warped.
In a single, effortless gesture, he flicked his index finger.
FWOOOSH!
A sudden towering wall of flames erupted from the soaked forest floor with a violent hiss, splitting through the downpour. The wall of flame surged outward in a wide arc, a giant ring entrapping them all, encircling the battlefield.
Akemi staggered backward, shielding her face from the heat and sudden light.
Asahi froze—eyes wide at the phenomenon around him
"Thinking of running?" He slowly took a few steps towards Denji.
"Typical," he continued, voice low but clear over the hiss of steam and fire. "The moment you feel powerless... you flee."
The molten discs around his arms glowed brighter now, and still the flames raged undisturbed by the storm burning surrounding trees in the area.
"It's because you were born weak," he said, casting a look at them, "and helpless."
Asahi's knees gave out.
He collapsed beside a fallen branch, wheezing in the heat-drenched air, sweat mixing with the rain on his skin. Subtle signs of him inhaling bigger as oxygen began to thin.
Akemi followed, slumping beside him, the heat was gradually getting to her. She slightly grew weaker, as she too tried to get more air in her system. Her eyes narrowed to the fire, to her brother, to Denji's crumpled form lying just beyond.
The man stopped walking.
He now stood in front of Denji.
The boy lay slumped at the tree's base, mud clinging to his limbs, Pochita still buzzing faintly in his hand. His lone eye twitched from the pain, blood trailed down from his mouth.
Denji gasped as he was hauled upward. A powerful hand was wrapped around his throat, fingers pinning him against the tree.
Denji's legs kicked instinctively, trying to have his feet on the ground, but there was no leverage. His other hand clawed at the man's arm, trying to force it loose, even as his lungs screamed for air.
The man's second hand clamped around Denji's wrist—right at where he gripped Pochita. The pressure was just enough to lock the joint, just enough to keep him from swinging the blade against him.
The chainsaw buzzed violently. But the man didn't even flinch.
His grip tightened just enough to make Denji's knuckles whiten from the pressure. The glowing discs around his wrists hummed low, still spinning, though their molten hue had cooled—just slightly. Enough to keep the boy from turning to cinder.
The fire wall behind them continued to rage, casting flickering shadows across the wet ground.
The man tilted his head, studying Denji with sharp interest. His eyes settled on his lone eye, glaring at him, a faint trace of a smirk pulling at his lips.
"But you…" he said, voice low,
His thumb brushed near Denji's collarbone, just enough to feel the kid still straining.
"You're not normal." His tone deepened, eyes gleaming.
"You should've died from that kick. Ribs shattered. Lungs punctured. Heart stopped."
"But you didn't."
Denji still struggled to free himself, breathing ragged, his sharp teeth biting down.
That only made the man's grin widen,. "You've got potential," he said, his voice curling like smoke. "And I—"
He leaned closer, breath warm against Denji's soaked face.
"I can make you perfect." His smile sharpened.
"I want you…" A whisper now. "…as my slave."
Denji's brow twitched. But before he could react—
SPLAT!
.
A wet impact crashed against the man's cheek. Thick. Heavy.
Mud.
splattering across his left eye and jaw.
His head jerked slightly from the impact.
It wasn't pain. It was shock.
The man tried to blink.
The world turned half-brown, his sight slightly obscured. His left vision smeared in muck.
He hadn't felt the intent, it didnt flare his instinct. No threat. No killing intent. Just a slap of earth to the face.
The man turned his head toward the source, mud dripping from his brow. His other eye narrowed.
And there they were.
Akemi, arm still outstretched, trembling, her fingers muddy and wet from the chunk of earth she'd hurled. Her chest rose and fell in short, labored gasps. Her eyes, sluggish with exhaustion, locked defiantly onto his.
Beside her, Asahi struggled just to sit upright. His shoulders sagged, breath shuddering through parted lips. His stare shifted to his sister wide-eyed and disbelieving.
He hadn't expected her to move.
Not like that.
Now they were trembling, both of them.
.
Suddenly his instincts roared back into focus. He turned his single eye toward Denji—just in time to realize something was wrong.
His body moved, trying to lock Denji down again—but—
His arm.
The one that held Pochita—
A searing hum split the air.
VRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!
The chainsaw screamed upward, glowing red beneath the blood and rain as it carved vertically through flesh.
A spray of crimson burst forth like a geyser from the man's side. His shoulder was carved open. Muscle. Tendon. Bone. seprated from the main body.
Time slowed.
He saw it all.
The limb spun like dead weight through the air, twitching. Blood trailing across the rain. The disc on its wrist had its sparks gradually die out, its movement slowing.
And for the first time, in a very long time—
He felt it.
"Ggk..k!"
A strangled sound tore from his throat. His face contorted, muscles twitching beneath drenched skin. Aside from the rarely simple wounds he received, having a limb being torn was a new feeling.
THWAM!
Denji's feet smashed into his stomach.
The grip around his throat had slackened. That was all he needed. He slammed his back against the tree and with everything he had left
Both legs shot forward, slamming into the man's gut.
The impact was vicious. Surya's body jerked backward,
He was flung back, crashing through a mound of sludge, his severed shoulder carving a trench as blood mixed with the storm.
He landed in a twisted heap, Steam hissed from his open wound,
The wall of fire surrounding them dimmed, its shrinking due to the disc of the torn arm, laid dormant in the muck nearby, its red glow sputtering, no longer fed by his will.
Aarav grunted, spine arched upward, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips.
He coughed.
"Khh...!" Air escaped his lungs
.
Across from him, Denji stood, chest heaving, Pochita vibrating softly in his grip. His silhouette shimmered against the dying flames— bloodied and drenched. His left eye burned with raw exhaustion and something else:
Disgust.
"...As if I'd ever wanna spend my life with some fugly guy like you."
He took a slow step forward, the chainsaw still low by his side.
"Maybe," he added, voice dry, "if you were a smokin' hot chick—" He flicked his wrist, gesturing lazily with Pochita. "Or offered me a harem. Even just one chick would've been nice. Then yeah, maybe I'd consider."
A beat of silence between them. The sound of flames were the only thing they heard,
...
..
.
"…Hey."
Aarav's voice, low and guttural, cut through the steam.
"You messing with me?" he asked, chest trembling as he slowly rose. His fingers twitched. Blood dripped down his side.
"You joke?" he continued. "After all that… you're still cracking jokes?"
He stood to his full height, facing away. Hair, once tied back, now loose and soaked, clung to his back.
"Forget it," he muttered.
Then his shoulder—where his arm had once been—stopped bleeding altogether.
A strange steam hissed from the wound as veins sealed themselves shut.
"I'll kill you all," he said calmly.
"Here. Now."
His remaining arm twitched. The disc on his wrist spun violently. The remaining fire wall, once dimmed, suddenly surged upward, flames roaring with renewed rage. Heat warped the very air around him.
"And I'll use your arm…" he whispered, voice tinged with killing intent, "…to replace mine."
He turned slowly.
His eyes had changed.
No longer amused—now they glowed with sheer malice.
Denji's grip on Pochita tightened, muscles twitching with fatigue. He planted one foot into the mud, rain mixing with blood down his cheek. His chest rose and fell, breath uneven.
His body was heavy—sluggish—but his glare hadn't dulled.
'Man... so much for a new life.' The thought crawled through his skull like a joke. 'Get a second chance and I still end up fighting weird shit...'
He glanced sideways—just a flick of his eye.
Akemi and Asahi lay slumped against the muddy ground, unmoving. Their skin was pale. Their bodies limp. Oxygen-starved.
They didn't have long.
Aarav was closing the distance.
Each of his steps felt measured, a slow descent toward execution. The fire wall around them raged higher, fed by his fury.
His remaining disc spun violently at his wrist, glowing like a miniature sun. The very air around him hissed from the rising heat.
Denji stepped forward, but before he could act—
.
FWHIP—!!
A piercing wind cut through the flames.
Aarav's eyes widened.
He felt it. Something fast. Too fast.
Instinct overtook reason.
SHING!
He didn't turn, eyes still on Denji, and with a sharp flick of his arm— his hand snatched the incoming projectile from the air that was aimed at his skull.
A metallic object slashed against his palm, blood sprayed before grinding to a dead stop in his grip.
He held it up, slowly bringing it front of his face to inspect it.
A black kunai...
Blood seeped from his hand as he inspected the weapon, merging with the rain. Steam rose, sizzling quietly from his wound as regeneration kicked in—muscle stitching back, skin sealing.
"...Huh?" He noted something attached, it had an odd talisman—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
.
.
.
.