""Haaaah!""
I vaulted high above the figure, muscles coiled, every ounce of force channeled into my arms for a punishing downward slash.
*SHING!**CLANG!**SKRRRKKK!*
Steel met steel—my blade crashing down against the length of his rifle. Sparks erupted between us as the edges scraped and shrieked, the vibration of the clash rattling through my bones. But once again, he turned the momentum to his favor—guiding my sword just off-course with expert precision, twisting his weapon to redirect my strike wide.
And then—
*BOOM!**SKRINK!*
He fired his weapon.
I jerked my head aside at the last instant, the concussive blast grazing past my ear, the heat of it brushing my skin. My blade, now off-track, tore through the platform below instead—cleaving it clean in two with a piercing screech of ruptured stone.
""Tch—!""
The sonic pressure of the gunshot tore through my eardrum like a nail through cloth. My head rang, balance spinning, vision trembling at the edges. For a heartbeat, everything blurred.
"...!"
And that was all the opportunity he needed.
""!!!""
A boot came screaming down toward me—an axe kick as fast as it was brutal. I managed to raise my arms just in time, catching the blow on my guard. But the force behind it was monstrous.
*CRASH!*
My body rocketed backward like a cannonball, slamming into the nearest path suspended in the air veiled in the dungeon's gloom.
The stone shattered beneath me with a thunderous *WHUD*, a spiderweb of fractures erupting across the surface as I skidded through the dust cloud now exploding outward from the impact.
Grit ground beneath my boots as I dug in, sliding backward—
*SHHRK!*
I clenched my jaw, forcing my muscles into line as I rammed my blade into the stone to brake the momentum. The metal screeched against the floor, my grip iron-tight, the force nearly wrenching it from my hand.
*Whsssh!**Whsssh!**Whsssh!**Whsssh!*
Knives hissed through the air—slim, deadly arcs of silver that carved through the smoke like streaking shadows.
*CLANG!**CLING!**CLANG!*
I tore my blade free in a flash and slashed thrice—precise, fluid counters that sent steel sparking off my weapon as I deflected each incoming knife. They ricocheted past and embedded themselves in the stone behind me with hollow thunks.
My slide finally came to a halt just as the dust began to settle.
""…""
I stood still, blade lowered but ready, my eyes never leaving the figure watching me from above through the thinning haze. The smoke curled around him like a living veil—unmoving, unreadable.
And then—
"..."
Without a word, he discarded his rifle. The weapon spun end over end into the abyss below, vanishing into the black like a stone dropped in a well.
He raised one hand slowly.
*Glimmer*
A glint in the air—
From the ether of his [Item Box], a sword shimmered into existence and slid into his grasp, cleanly, quietly and intentionally.
It was a single-edged, eastern-style blade—long, slightly curved, polished to a flawless sheen—and as my eyes followed its shape, I felt a strange feeling bubbling in my chest. Down to the tsuba, even down to the cord-wrapped hilt...
It was identical to mine, a perfect mirror of [Mumei].
""…""
My grip tightened instinctively around the hilt of my blade, fingers coiling like a vice as we locked eyes through the silence-choked air.
He stood motionless on the fractured remains of the platform I had split in two, still completely in balance as his half of the platform hung precariously over the void. I was on a lower path—angled beneath him, the distance between us charged with tension like a stretched wire ready to snap.
((So I was right, he is a GEN 7 like me...))
Normally, I'd have some dry remark by now, a muttered jab about how this day was somehow worse than yesterday or how it keeps sliding into the sh*t whenever I think it can't get any worse than this, either that or something sarcastic to keep myself from succumbing to my endless streams of complaints.
But not this time...
There was no room for humor, no luxury of complaint to be found.
A fellow Gen 7 soldier had gone rogue.
And even I couldn't afford to take that lightly.
The Executerii maintained a light-based threat classification system—an escalating scale used to measure the severity of events, locations and or entities. The system began at "Infrared", denoting minor disturbances and nuisance-level threats, and steadily climbed through "Visible" and "Ultraviolet", and "X-ray" before reaching "Gamma", a tier reserved for forces capable of toppling nations, reshaping continents, or threatening global annihilation.
Each tier also had sub levels separated from 1 to 3.
Anything that exceeded Gamma-3 (G-3) fell into the final category of "Blacklight", that designation wasn't a warning. It was more of an admission. Blacklight threats transcended comprehension—entities or phenomena so far removed from reason and logic that the moment they stopped being theoretical, the only possible response was to brace for extinction and hope something resembling mankind is left behind when the dust has settled.
A rogue Mekhanite-enhanced soldier would already qualify as a V-2 to V-3 level event—serious enough to warrant a full battalion or a specialized strike unit. Worst case? You'd need a small army.
But a GEN 7 defecting and or betraying the organization?
That pushed the scale into Ultraviolet, U-2, at minimum.
Which meant that right now, the only way to handle this kind of scenario was to either mobilize an army equipped with heavy ordinance to deal with the cause of the issue...
Or throw an equally dangerous threat at the problem...
*CRACK!*
In a blink, the figure vanished.
The split-apart platform he'd stood on shattered a split second later, bursting into a cloud of debris as stone fragments exploded outward under the force of his leap.
*CLANG!*
Sparks erupted like a shower of fireworks as our blades collided mid-air, his strike arcing down like an asteroid that fell out of the sky, mine raised to catch it in time with a bone-rattling clash.
He bore down on me with unrelenting force, driving his blade harder with each blow. Then, in one fluid motion, he vaulted clean over my head. I didn't move from my stance—but as he twisted through the air, he unleashed a flurry of slashes aimed at the back of my skull, my shoulder blades and my spine.
*CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!*
My blade danced behind me on instinct, parrying each one with clinical precision.
*SSSSHHHHK!*
His boots hissed against the stone as he landed in a low slide, coasting backward until he came to a graceful halt along the path behind me. Dust curled in his wake.
He shifted into a textbook middle guard—blade leveled at his navel, tip aimed straight for my throat, elbows tucked in loose but ready, a stance of calm, lethal readiness.
""...""
I pivoted to face him once more, blade rising over my shoulder, angled almost horizontally above my head. My torso twisted slightly, one leg sliding forward into a coiled lunge.
My whole body was a spring, poised to explode.
((This swordsmanship...))
I almost recognized his swordplay, there weren't many even amongst the GEN 7 who excelled in the art of the blade after all despite the nameless [Mumei] blade being our uniform weapon. But as of now I couldn't quite place why it felt so familiar.
((Doesn't matter...focus...))
As we clash, I surmised that clarity will strike me soon enough.
*CRACK!*
In a heartbeat, he assumed an Iai stance before dashing towards me—blade humming as he vanished and reappeared inches from me. His next strike ripped through the air, a right‑to‑left slash so fast it blurred the very lines of its passage.
I countered in kind, sweeping "Mumei" downhill from left to right with both hands, meeting steel with steel.
*CLANG!*
The impact reverberated through my bones. Even through my enhancements, the weight of his attack felt colossal, like smashing into a siege ram in the form of a blade.
*CRACK!*
A small scrap of metal flew from my blade's edge. Mumei shuddered, a hair's breadth from fracturing in two.
((Damn…))
In the micro-second before my sword fully broke apart, I whipped my left wrist outward, diverting the blow, this effort alone nearly cracked snapped my wrists even with my GEN 7 physiology. The force cascaded off the corridor walls in a violent spewing of sparks.
*POW!*
A thunderous shockwave blasted out from my redirection of his slash, so powerful it crumpled the nearby stone like paper. Magic-infused symbols strips along my forearms flared to muffle the concussion, preventing my ears from bleeding out, I had learned from my previous experience with the sniper to not allow him to weaponize sounds.
Seizing the moment, I took advantage of the momentum I already had and coiled my body, springing at him, my right elbow leading in a spinning strike aimed at his solar plexus.
""—!""
He vanished again—this time ascending like gravity itself had flipped. One instant I aimed my blow at his ribs; the next, he hovered above me, boots flexing as if stepping on thin air.
((That infernal trinket…))
In an instant I recognized it, he's using that damn item that allowed him to freely change the direction of his personal gravity again—the miniature version of the needles found in this dungeon.
*WHOOSH!**CRASH!*
He plummeted back down, a living meteor slamming into the floating path. Stone exploded and the path completely broke apart. I dove free in the last instant before he crashed into me, missing the impact by mere inches but not fast enough to avoid losing my footing and falling into the abyss.
We tumbled through darkness, both of us as pieces of the path we were on earlier rained down around us.
In that fraction of a heartbeat when gravity gave way to the weightless feeling of free fall—time fractured into a thousand slow‑moving shards. My cloak flapped into a living banner, snapping behind me with a furious roar. [Mumei]'s edge drank every stray spark, turning them into streaks of liquid light. And then I saw him: a murderous shadow with a glinting blade barrelling through the void, blade whirling with homicidal intent as if he was some kind of murderous cyclone.
""...""
Without any words or hesitation I raised [Mumei] up into a horizontal position and braced for the next clash…
*CLANG!**SHRRRKKK!**CLANG!**CLING!**CLANG!*
Our steel collided like twin meteors. Each strike rang out, detonating soundwaves that cracked the surrounding darkness like glass. Sparks exploded like stars coliding in the void, spewing forth diamond showers of sparks as our blades danced, every collision echoing into the abyss.
*WHOOSH!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!*
He used that gravity altering trinket again, flying at me from multiple directions whenever I pushed him back with my slashes, forcing me to have to strain a bit in order to spin my body in freefall and answer his multidirectional assault.
He unleashed a deadly carousel of slashes—right to left, then left to right—so fast my hands shivered under the onslaught but not enough to overwhelm me. I grounded my feet on air, muscles straining as I repelled each blow: parry, riposte, parry, riposte. The rhythm was brutal music—a duet of deadly intent.
*SKRAAK!* *CLING!CLING!CLING!CLING!CLING!*
Finally in a last attempt to smash me down he flew up and then downwards towards me. His edge sliced a gust past my ear, tearing the air in a white hot hiss as he became some king of living circular saw. I dropped [Mumei] into a horizontal brace, halting his downward spiral and sending shockwaves rippling through my forearms.
*CRASH!**BOOOOOOM!*
We plummeted onto another suspended platform below, the impact detonating dust and rubble into a towering plume. The world quaked beneath us, fragments of stone whirling like shrapnel against the backdrop of empty space.
Yet we never paused, reacting in unison—bullet‑time reflexes forging a lethal ballet.
*CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!*
Through the choking murk, I lunged in an Iai rippling slash—blade flashing in a metallic arc toward his gut. He met it inches from flesh, metal screeching in protest as he spun me away with a single, bone‑crushing parry. I regained my footing and jumped back into the fray.
The dust was easily blown away with each thunderous clash. Time melted away into the clashing of metal on metal as our blades began to heat up the air they were passing through with pure friction. Turning the usual metalic sheen of the [Mumeis] into a yellowish red molten shine.
*CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!*
I've been incorporating feints, swords spins and changing my patterns of attack as we go on but none of my changes were enough to tip the balance firmly in my favour, I even resorted to switching my blade hand mid exchange once but I still couldn't make the difference.
It almost seemed as if he had already been built with the ability to respond to my every assault.
*KER-CHANK!* *SHHHRRRKK!* *Sizzle* *Sizzle*
Finally we locked blades, red hot weapons sizzling against each other. Our masks were inches apart—two apex predators locked in mortal challenge.
*KER-CLANG!*
He drove me back with a brutal downward press. I slid free, kicking off a crumbling piece of the ground protruding out from the crater formed from our crash to spring behind him, blade spinning around and sweeping for his spine—
*SHNK-CLANG!*
He vaulted upwards through the air, the metal slinging through the atmosphere as he flipped into an upside down slash that parried my blade. As I had the footing I pressed him back flinging him through the air before landing quite a distant ahead of me.
Neither of us betrayed the slightest hint of fatigue—our cloaks bore only streaks of dust and grime, our limbs refused to tremble despite the relentless barrage.
*SIZZLE…* *SIZZLE…*
The overheated steel of our blades sang as it cooled, rivulets of steam rising like restless ghosts. We drifted apart a hair's breadth, circling each other in the shattered chamber, eyes locked in mutual acknowledgment: this stalemate would not break by brute force alone. Even his gravity‑twisting trinket couldn't tip the balance.
((I'm experiencing a sense of deja vu again...))
I thought as a flash of recollection from an earlier battle with another opponent crossed my mind, Cynthia of the Scarlet Chorus. Back then, I'd easily outpaced and beaten her at first, only to find her mutated by bloody fury and genetic augmentation into a monster that overreached my own strength later on in the battle.
But this…this was different.
My current adversary was my equal at every turn. Every feint I launched, every slash I executed, met its match, No spontaneous development that we couldn't both predict, no sudden sprint of power—only a perfect reflect of abilities.
((Magic, pure finesse, or a single unguarded moment…that is all that will decide who walks away here))
I concluded, tilting my head slightly, gauging his stance, searching for any minuscule twitch in his grip, any hesitation in his gaze behind that mask. He returned the scrutiny with the same cool precision.
A battle—at its core—is just another form of social interaction. A violent, visceral dialogue where weapons speak louder than words, and just like any interaction, you can learn a great deal about your opponent by watching closely: the way their shoulders shift, how their eyes flicker, the rhythm of their breathing, tension tells a story, posture reveals intent.
And right now, I could tell we were both arriving at the same unspoken conclusion:
"It's time to turn this up a notch"
*CRACKLE!*
Black lightning erupted from the edge of my blade, arcing along its length like a chained storm desperate to break free. The magic coursed through me like a pulse of fury made manifest, the air around me warping with static pressure.
He responded in kind. But instead of meeting my raw surge of power with his own, his approach was... different—eerily precise, almost meditative.
One foot slid forward. His posture shifted low, controlled. He folded his right arm inward, elbow bent, drawing his blade up and over his left shoulder in a bow-like stance—his entire body coiled like a spring, prepared to release everything in a single, unstoppable strike. There was no pretense of defense. No hesitation. Just the stillness before the flash.
His Prana didn't explode—it condensed into a singularity at the edge of his sword, sharpening the air around him until it screamed in silence.
""!!!!""
I nearly froze in shock.
((That form is—!))
I recognized it instantly, though I didn't want to. Before the thought could even finish forming—
"[Shadowless One Blade, 1st Form: Death Knell]"
For the first time since this battle began, I heard his voice, a quiet, resolute murmur. Like a death sentence being handed out.
*SHING!* *CRACKLE!* *BOOM!*
My shocking recognition caused me to fire off my attack just a micro second slower than him, our attacks collided.
I lunged forward—black lightning surging like a living storm from my blade as I released the strike I'd been building.
At the exact moment, his sword blurred through the air in a brutal, upward arc—blindingly fast.
The entire world narrowed into a single point of impact.
*KRRRRCHHHHHH!*
I violently sidestepped, using every muscle in my body to just BARELY dodge his slash.
A violent shock screamed down my arms as his blade kissed mine—and kept going.
*CRRRR-KRRRRACK!!*
My [Mumei] split, not cracked, not chipped. Split cleanly in two.
It was like watching glass cleanly slicing apart in slow motion, the metal split, unable to withstand the condensed power behind his technique.
And then I heard it—
*SKRRRRAAAAAAAHHH!!*
—the building behind me. A full, floating cathedral-sized structure suspended in the void.
His blade hadn't just torn through my sword. It sliced clean through the entire building like paper—splitting it in half, the halves shearing off with a groaning wail as debris and entire support pillars dropped like meteors into the abyss below.
Meanwhile, my own attack struck.
The black lightning roared outward in a chaotic arc of destruction, like a beast unleashed. A bolt hit him head-on—
A shockwave erupted, stone cracked, the air flashed white with Mana discharge.
For a moment I thought I'd caught him.
But when the smoke cleared—
"..."
He was still standing. The only mark was a small singed hole in his shoulder—the fabric burned away, skin beneath slightly charred, but no blood, he didn't even flinch.
And then the real devastation came.
The black lightning—still alive—snaked past him, curling mid-air like a hunting serpent. It slammed into the space behind him, following the trajectory of the spell, and then—
*KRA-KA-BOOOOOOM!!*
A massive explosion tore through the platform behind him, blasting apart Mana-infused stone in a flash of light and sound that shook the sector.
Just like me he didn't bother to glance back at the destruction either.
*Drip**Drip*
A thin trail of black blood ran down the right side of my forehead visible through a crack in my mask that I didn't even notice until I felt the warm feeling of my own dripping blood—his devastating slash had barely grazed me.
""...""
But honestly, I was too stunned to care.
Quietly, I uttered out the words:
""Retro...""
The name felt like ash on my tongue. I knew exactly who I was facing now—exactly which GEN 7 this was.
"Haaaaaaa~...took you long enough, Oblivion"
He replied coldly.
DB-003, Callsign: Retro.
Just like Limbo, myself and all other GEN 7s, he possessed a signature ability , [Retrocognition], the power to glimpse into the past...and weaponize it.
((So that's how he's been keeping up with me…even when he was firing bullets from a distance. He's been using [Retrocognition] to analyze my preferred patterns, my movements, my attack habits and predict how I'd respond in real time))
It was clear now. The reason he was able to counter everything I threw at him was simple: he was reading my combat history like a book. Every feint, every shift in rhythm, every opening I tried to exploit—he'd seen it all before. It wasn't intuition, it was raw data and with a gift like his, even unpredictability became predictable.
How did I recognize him? It was obvious that I almost wondered how I didn't recognize it sooner.
((I should've known...you're the one of the few among us who's been trained as extensively in the sword as I have...we had the same master, after all. You're...using her form...))
The thought rang loud in my skull as a flood of memories surged forward—her face, her voice, the fluid, merciless elegance of the style she passed on to us both: [Shadowless One Blade].
I'd had my suspicions before...but when he used that technique, everything just clicked into place.
*Clatter!*
I let go of my bisected [Mumei], the severed handle clattering against the stone. With a flick of my wrist, I summoned a spare from my [Item Box], another [Mumei], identical to the last. Mass-produced, disposible and still nameless.
Normally, Retro would've been on me before I could even re-arm—he was fast enough, sharp enough. But the technique he'd just unleashed, [Shadowless One Blade, 1st Form: Death Knell], came at a price. Even with the enhanced physiology of a GEN 7, that form drained the user heavily. I could see it now—his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. His stance wasn't shaken, but it wasn't sharp either.
""What exactly are you playing at? This is a rather inopportune time to be going rogue, no? Do you plan on ending up just like her?!""
My voice was flat and devoid of all emotions, a simple, cold interrogation—clinical and detached.
"..."
He didn't answer at first, he just stood there, catching his breath, recovering stamina, stalling.
""I detest repeating myself. You know that""
I pointed my blade at him, stepping forward, fully prepared to continue the battle and beat the answers out of him if I had to.
"..."
Again, silence. At least for a brief moment.
And then—finally, a whisper:
"Because...I'm sick of it!..."
His voice cracked. There was something in it I didn't expect—something I thought neither of us were capable of: grief.
""...""
I stood still, the edge of my sword still aimed at his chest, but the tension in my grip loosened slightly. His words didn't make sense, it couldn't have—
Not from a GEN 7...
"Master was right, Oblivion..."
He said, his voice low and trembling, like the calm before a scream.
"The Executerii only takes...and takes. It demands EVERYTHING from us and gives us NOTHING in return"
His eyes burned behind the mask. His hands clenched around the hilt of his blade, but he wasn't raising it.
"I'm sick of it!"
He exploded.
"This endless cycle of fighting—of bleeding in wars that aren't ours, suffering so someone else can have an easier time, never knowing why, never given the choice to say no! Again and again, we're thrown into the fire, just so the worthless cowardly bastards at the top don't have to dirty their own hands!"
It came out in a single, blood-curdling outburst—raw, trembling, and soaked in a thousand things I couldn't name: rage, betrayal, desperation...despair.
""It's what we're made to do. You don't have to like it to get it done. You're being overly dramatic""
I answered simply, voice calm and even. I refused to emotionally engage with this nonsense.
"Are you seriously STILL on about that?! Even now?! Goddess, FOR ONCE IN YOUR DAMN LIFE, OBLIVION—TRY TO SEE THIS WORLD THE WAY SOMEONE WITH A SOUL WOULD!!!"
He screamed at me, leveling his blade in my direction, the tension in his body taut like a drawn bow.
""...""
I remained stoic, unmoved, with no immediate reply. I simply readied my stance again in case he decided to attack.
"You don't even see it..."
He growled through clenched teeth, his frustration rising like smoke off a flame. Then, with a sharp motion, his hand reached up to his face—fingers curling around his mask.
Without hesitation, he ripped it off entirely.
A face I hadn't seen in years greeted me—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, a vertical scar running clean down his left cheek, and those furious emerald eyes that burned into mine with blistering intensity.
*Clack!*
He tossed the mask to the ground, letting it fall uselessly beside us.
"Do you really want to keep going like this until the day they inevitably throw us away?! Just like they did to her?!"
He shouted the question at me, voice trembling with unfiltered anger, his blade still raised and ready to strike.
""She was not a GEN 7...""
I replied coldly, still refusing to engage in this farce on anything but operational terms.
It was obvious. She wasn't like us. She wasn't built for duty. Inevitably, she would place her personal feelings above the organization's needs.
"SHE WAS LIKE A MOTHER TO US!"
He screamed again, his voice cracking—equal parts anguish and fury, every syllable bursting from him like a wound torn open.
""...""
A long moment passed between us before I answered.
""She knew the price of her infraction. You and I simply carried out the sentence...""
My tone was flat—clear, unyielding, and unapologetic.
"Infraction...is that why you haven't used the swordsmanship she taught us since then?!"
He said through clenched teeth, his grip tightening around his blade so hard the metal shook in his hands.
""Naturally. If you valued your continued existence, you would've abandoned everything that woman taught us too""
I answered firmly, meeting his anger with unflinching conviction. I still thought this conversation was utterly pointless, but I wasn't about to back down.
"..."
Again, silence.
""Stand down and come home, Retro. You're a GEN 7 like me. If you surrender now, we can easily sweep this under the rug""
This wasn't a suggestion, it was an order.
"..."
No answer.
"Fine. If you refuse to see it... then I'll make you!"
He growled, pulling his blade back into position.
I mirrored him.
""Haaa~ You're too emotional, recalcitrant...I'm sure that can be fixed with a bit of reconditioning""
I sighed, blade already humming in my grip. I genuinely didn't want to kill him. Not because I couldn't—but because it would be a complete waste of assets. GEN 7 weren't just soldiers. We were forged from the same fire. Even if I didn't show it, I considered them siblings. All of them.
He didn't respond with words this time.
"SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!"
He screamed—and just as I anticipated, he surged forward—
*FLASH!*
A brilliant emerald light burst from his eyes, swallowing us both in an instant.
""!!!""
I shielded my eyes, muscles tense, prepared to deflect the inevitable upcoming attack.
But it never came...
""Huh...?""
When the light finally faded—I wasn't in the dungeon anymore.
"*Chirp**Chirp*"
The ambient buzz of insects filled the air. The scent of wet grass and heat hit my senses all at once.
I was in a forest. Hot, humid, thick with summer. The cicadas were chirping all around me. Unlike the cool, dead forest above the dungeon, this one was alive and sweltering.
I could feel it instantly—this wasn't a teleportation, it was something more...temporal.
((Is it...summer right now? But... that can't be right. It's supposed to be winter))
Confusion twisted in my gut as I looked down—
""Wait... these clothes""
Gone was my black cloak and mask. In its place, I wore a fitted cuirass, layered over a black officer's coat. Belts of throwing knives and smoke bombs were strapped to my waist in their familiar configuration.
((This is... no. No, it can't be))
I turned, scanning the area, desperately searching for any evidence that might disprove what I already knew in my bones, not this place, not now.
But every tree. Every sound. Every breath of heat in the air told me the truth.
Everything matched.
""This is...""
I whispered, my voice barely audible, and for the first time in what felt like years, something I thought long buried stirred within me—something like dread.
""The day I killed Master...""
I said at last, grim realization settling in.