The Observer and the Shadow over Chagas"
Time seemed to stop.
It was not a metaphor—it was as if the world, sensing what was awakening at the center of Chagas, decided to hold its breath.
The atmosphere grew thick, dense as oil. The clouds stretched into an ominous silence. The birds had ceased singing. The wind refused to blow. Only the cruel glow of golden light from the crater—born of Yuzuki's return—continued to pulse like the heart of an ancient god.
At the top of the highest neighborhood in the city, in room 602 of the Old Rock Hotel, Gotier awoke abruptly.
" Hrk…"
He fell out of bed as if drowning in his own room. Sweat welled from his forehead and back like fountains. His mouth was dry. His chest tight. Breathing felt like inhaling bone dust.
" What… energy is this…?" he whispered, coughing, still tasting the bitter cheap wine from the night before.
On the corner of the balcony, Zeke was already standing. Silent. The sword—a black blade without reflection—rested in his hand. The half‑moon shield spun on his back as if breathing on its own.
He was watching the sky.
His expression serious. Tense.
" Zeke…?" Gotier murmured, trying to compose himself. " Why the long face…? I just drank too much, you don't have to judge me…"
Zeke did not answer immediately. Then he turned his face, cold as ever.
" We have company. "
Gotier froze.
" What do you mean…? "
" We are being watched. " His tone was dry, cutting. " The roof of the house across the street. "
Gotier followed his companion's gaze. The window creaked open. The blue moon and snow fell outside like silent ashes of a world's end.
His body shuddered.
It was not just fear.
It was the sensation of being devoured by invisible eyes.
Sweat ran down his temple.
Zeke leapt from the balcony in a clean motion, landing on the opposite roof without a sound. Gotier, hesitant, followed, stumbling a little but managing to steady himself beside his friend.
There, seated on the roof—in complete silence—was the man.
He was a tall Black figure, his body defined as a sculptor would carve a war statue. He wore loose fighter's garb, wrapped in cloths that fluttered softly despite the still air. A white band covered his head, and red eyes gleamed under the moonlight.
He had a large, well‑groomed beard, and white stone earrings dangled from his ears. A slender twig was being chewed calmly between his teeth.
He observed.
As one witnessing the birth of something inevitable.
Zeke and Gotier stood side by side in combat stance.
" Who are you? " Zeke asked.
No answer.
The entire city was enveloped in absurd energy. Gotier felt his stomach churn. The rooftops quivered lightly, as if the whole city lay under invisible pressure.
In the distance, the sky snowed violently. But it was no ordinary snow.
They were frozen blades, as thin as needles.
Gotier looked upward.
The blue moon hung enormous, and the Golden Tree—that which existed only in ancient legends—pulsed on the horizon like a beacon amid the apocalypse.
" Zeke… this is way bigger than us, isn't it? " Gotier whispered.
Zeke kept his eyes on the stranger.
" A new battle is about to begin. And perhaps… we are not ready. "
The man chewing the twig finally spoke. His voice was hoarse and deep, yet calm as a monk on the brink of a volcano.
" I am only the shadow that follows the light… "
He spat the bit of wood onto the roof, the dry sound echoing like thunder.
" My name is Ezra. And I have come to harvest the survivors. "
The Gluttony of Endeavour
Ezra brought his bloodied thumb to his lips. He bit down hard, his red eyes fixed on Gotier.
Then, he curled his finger downward.
A sign of death.
Blood trickled in a crimson stream, falling silently… and that simple gesture was enough to set the world in motion.
"Now!" Zeke roared.
Gotier didn't hesitate.
In a flawless spinning move, he drew his dagger and carved the ground with his feet, forming a whirlwind of dust and energy. The blade flew like a silver serpent, aiming straight for Ezra's eyes.
But Ezra… smiled.
With a minimal gesture, he trapped the dagger between two fingers—thumb and forefinger—as if taming a leaf in the air.
Before Gotier could react, Ezra's foot rose like a hammer.
"Hrk—!"
The kick struck Gotier's head with absurd violence. The impact sent him crashing into the ground like a human missile, shattering the entire roof of the house below. A thunderous crash echoed. The building collapsed within seconds.
Rubble. Dust. Silence.
Zeke looked from the roof. His eyes widened.
"Damn…" he murmured.
Among the debris, he saw civilian bodies—families who'd slept unaware that hell had been wrought upon them. The face of a child—motionless, eyes still locked in a dream that would never end—made Zeke clench his fists.
"Rupture."
Zeke's black sword trembled in his hand.
The air around grew denser, as if the blade were tearing the very atmosphere. The snow halted. The moon seemed to flicker. Existence stretched in silence.
Zeke vanished.
Like contained thunder, he reappeared behind Ezra, ready to split his skull with a single strike. Gotier, face bloodied, performed three backflips and landed in an attack stance.
"We've got him…"
Zeke smiled.
But Ezra… did not move.
And even so—Zeke was kicked.
"URGH!!"—his body flew two houses away, smashing through walls and windows before falling in a cloud of dust.
Gotier turned pale.
"What power is this…? Who the hell are you?!"
Ezra cracked his neck and spat the blood from his thumb. His voice was calm, yet laden with venom.
"I am the envoy of King Lepra."
He looked directly into Gotier's eyes and smiled the cruellest of smiles.
"And he asked me to deliver this message: 'Killing your wife and daughter was the best thing that ever happened to me… Better than sex.'"
Gotier's world froze.
For a moment, everything went mute. The snow ceased. The sky stopped breathing. The heat of rage consumed him, a wordless roar tearing from his throat. The image of his wife, his daughter, the blood on the walls… it all came flooding back.
"…You will die." Gotier whispered. "I swear I will torture you until you tell me where he is, you bastard…"
But then… he saw it.
A red energy seeped from Ezra's body. It was blood, but more than that.
It was something impure.
Ezra was a Kanji.
"Damn…" Gotier swallowed hard. "Zeke… Zeke, get out of here! He's a Kanji! HE'S A KANJI!"
Zeke rose slowly from the rubble, coughing. But his eyes never left Ezra.
"I'm not leaving you here, Gotier."
Ezra opened his arms.
"The gluttony that consumes my blood… makes me stronger."
He drove his bloodied nail into the ground.
"Come to me… Endeavour."
It was like summoning an ancient nightmare.
The ground trembled.
The wood of the houses rotted in seconds, walls melting like wax. Dead vegetation writhed. The corpses of the dead swelled with rot. The stench that rose was not just of blood—it was of carrion, of despair, of life being consumed.
From Ezra's chest sprouted red and black tumors that spread across his arms, legs, and face. They moved on their own, pulsing, oozing dark, hot pus.
The red aura spread through the city like a wave of disease.
"Endeavour… The Kugutsu born from human hunger."
Ezra raised his right arm. The air snapped.
Gotier and Zeke, despite their training, fell to their knees.
"This… this is nothing like anything else." Zeke murmured, his voice trembling.
Ezra laughed.
"This is just the beginning."