SAI SHINU
The Red Veil flickered. His breath grew ragged. His strikes slower.
And then—
I cut him.
First his arm—crimson rift unraveling flesh and blood, roses scattering in the air. He screamed.
Then his leg—gone in an instant, the floor blooming violet petals where he fell.
I stood over him, chest heaving, sword humming with unmaking light. He writhed, his armor breaking down piece by piece, powerless now, useless now.
"You fed on blood," I said, raising my blade. "Now be undone by it."
The Crimson Rift consumed him. Roses bloomed where his body should have been. One by one, they scattered into nothingness.
Until only silence remained.
And me—bleeding, broken, but still standing.
The Rift should have devoured him whole.
It should have unmade him, like it had unmade hundreds before.
But it didn't.
The roses froze mid-bloom, their violet petals collapsing into ash. The glow in my blade guttered, then died. The Rift was gone.
My breath caught. My chest tightened. No…
I looked inward—and felt the void. The darkness core was empty. Hollow. Nothing left to feed the Rift.
Across from me, the master still writhed. His body was broken, the Red Veil shredded, his limbs mangled. But alive. His bloodied lips curled into a ragged smile.
I narrowed my eyes at him, my voice cutting through the silence.
"You think you're some kind of god?"
His lips curled into a twisted smile. "Of course I am. I am a creator."
The words hit harder than I wanted them to. My grip on my blade tightened. "Wait… don't tell me—"
"Yes," he interrupted, his tone proud, almost mocking. "I created them. Every single one of those abominations. Those monsters… those chimeras. They are mine."
My chest tightened, but I forced myself to smirk, lifting my chin slightly. "And what about me, Juro Kouji? What do you think I am? Another mortal? Another victim?"
He tilted his head, studying me. "What are you, Sai Shinu? Do you think you're some kind of god as well?"
I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face, sharp and cruel. "No… I'm not a god. I am the one who slays them. I am a godslayer."
He opened his mouth to respond, but I cut across his words, my voice low and fierce.
"But not yet. Not truly. I haven't killed a real god yet."
For a heartbeat he stared, and I pressed on, stepping closer, my blade gleaming with the faint pulse of Crimson Rift.
"You may call yourself a god because you claim to create… but you're no god. Just like everyone in this cursed village, you're a fraud. A pretender. A fake god."
My voice dropped to a growl, and I raised my sword, the darkness within me thrumming at the edge of breaking.
"And that makes me a fake godslayer.
"Well," he rasped, his voice a wet whisper, "the prodigal son still can't finish the job."
I forced myself to stay upright, even as my sword sagged under its own weight.
His one good arm clawed at the ground, dragging himself into a half-sitting position. Blood pooled beneath him, but it no longer surged to his call. The Rift's scars had cut it off.
"You've her eyes," he said suddenly. His head tilted, as if studying me anew. "Your mother's eyes. Fierce. Proud. And so very… tragic."
My teeth clenched. The memory burned behind my eyelids—her face, her tears, her last words in the Astral Gate.
"Shut up," I whispered.
But he didn't.
"She begged," he continued. "I can still hear her voice. My son… my son… She thought you could save her. And in a way, you did." His grin widened, cruel despite the blood staining his teeth. "Didn't you?"
My hands trembled on the hilt. I wanted to silence him. But his words were knives, cutting where no blade could reach.
"You killed her with your own hands." His tone was almost tender now, almost reverent. "The boy who slays his own mother to spare her from another fate. Tell me, Sai—did it feel merciful? Or did it feel like murder?"
The breath tore out of me. A weight pressed against my ribs until I thought they might crack. He knew. Of course he knew.
"Stop," I croaked.
He laughed, coughing blood. "You think that makes you different from me? No, boy. It makes you exactly the same. We both take what we love, and we break it."
I staggered forward, blade dragging along the floor. "No. I'm nothing like you."
"Really?" His one eye gleamed, sharp despite the ruin of his body. "And what of Namae? Will you destroy her too? You think she follows you because she believes? No. She follows because she pities you. Because she fears being the next name you whisper as you strike. My student. My heir. You stole her from me. Just as you stole your mother from yourself."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. My heart twisted. Images crashed through me—my mother's final smile, Namae's conflicted gaze, Hanae's trembling hand in mine.
"I…" My voice cracked. But then I tightened my grip, raised my blade—not glowing, not burning, just steel. "I swore I'd protect them. Even if it damns me. Even if I bear the weight forever. I'll never be like you."
The master chuckled weakly, and for the first time, his gaze softened. Perhaps not forgiveness, but resignation.
"Then finish it."
I lifted the sword above my head.
And with a single, shuddering breath, I brought it down.