"They say time heals all wounds. But not when your soul is still bleeding." - Kuzan Shoushiki
The sky was ash-grey, thick clouds choking the moonlight. Wind howled across the rooftops of the fractured city.
Kamui crouched atop an abandoned apartment building, overlooking the cold towers of a government checkpoint, as he overlooked the checkpoint, scouting every entrance, every guard, every threat, until there was NONE.
Two years. Two long, cold, bitter years since the night everything shattered.
He pulled his hood tighter, exhaling mist into the air. Beneath it, the scar across his cheek pulsed faintly—a reminder of the final blow that left him broken beside the burning dojo.
"The Dojo burned to the ground. Everyone across the nation heard it: the arrest of Ishido Shogo: 'Propaganda spreader,' they called him. A traitor. A liar. But they didn't know him… we did. What they were spreading was propaganda to hide their corrupt lies."
Kamui's motives are not just revenge....it's cold-hearted hatred.
Kamui thought back to Argon.
"Argon went with his father. He didn't have a choice… but now, they say he's part of the Military Academy in the Capital. The same city that let Ishido fall. Argon… chose the other side."
And Arma? Vanished.
"The last thing I remember before blacking out was him beside me. But when I woke up… only I was there. The woman who saved me, Rina, said I was the only one pulled from the ruins. So where the hell did Arma go?"
The fire inside him burned again. Stronger than ever.
"Ishido… they're executing him next month. Publicly. In front of the world. And I'll be there. With or without my brothers."
From his pocket, Kamui pulled the Yaksha symbol — worn, half-burnt, yet still pulsing with strange warmth. He still didn't understand what it meant… but he knew it mattered.
Wind ripped across his face as he dropped from the rooftop. His feet landed silently in front of the government checkpoint. A single guard stood by the doors, smoking.
Kamui didn't hesitate.
He moved like a shadow. His foot swept the guard's leg, his elbow cracked the man's jaw with sickening force, and his hand clutched the back of his head before slamming it into the pavement.
The man never even saw him.
Inside the building, alarms blared.
More guards charged into the halls — rifles raised, stun-spears activated. Kamui didn't stop.
He ducked under the first gunfire, rolled, and swept a guard's legs, grabbing his baton and slamming it directly into the next one's ribcage. With a twist, he shattered the baton against a neck.
"You bastards… You took everything from me."
Blood sprayed across the grey walls as Kamui grabbed one soldier's arm and broke it backwards with a snap. Another lunged at him, only to be met with a flying knee that broke his nose into pulp. Kamui's hands dripped red.
There were five of them now. He dashed forward, using the narrow hallway to trap them. He spun — his left fist connected with a solar plexus, his right with a jaw, and as two more surrounded him, he leapt onto the wall, kicked off it, and slammed down on a head with enough force to crush the skull.
He didn't stop. He never even wanted to stop.
One by one, he snapped bones, crushed throats, and left trails of blood behind him. His face was a mask of fury, soaked with sweat and splattered with blood.
He finally reached the office — the one with intel on Ishido's captors.
Inside sat a single government official, trembling.
"P-please! I had nothing to do with the arrest. I just pass orders, I'm just a--!"
Kamui didn't listen. His eyes were empty. He walked forward slowly, blood dripping from his fingers.
"You are just a coward, a snake, a delivery boy. You helped them. Maybe you didn't give the order… but you carried it. And you didn't stop it."
The man screamed, backing against the wall.
Kamui threw the first punch. Then the second. Then the third.
The walls echoed with the wet thud of fists slamming into flesh. Bone cracked, skin tore, teeth shattered. Kamui didn't stop. Ten punches. Fifteen. Twenty. By the time he stood up, the official's face was unrecognisable — a heap of mangled flesh and blood.
Kamui stood over the body, his hands trembling, soaked in red.
"You're all the same. Snakes in suits. Rats in palaces. Killing the innocent to protect your illusion of peace."
He spat on the corpse and walked out of the room. The halls were silent. Nobody dared stop him anymore.
Up in the mountains, hidden among crumbled stone and pine trees, Kamui returned to the little shed he now called home. A place without comfort. A place of solitude, discipline, and hate.
He dropped the bloodied gloves on the floor and stared out into the distance.
"The world thinks I'm a criminal now. They fear me. They should."
He looked down at the Yaksha emblem, still hanging from his neck.
"Because I'm going to form a rebellion. An army. And I'll call it what Ishido gave us, yet he didn't offer an explanation, but I will carry it the way he wanted to."
His grip tightened.
"The Yakshas."
Meanwhile…
In the capital, within the gilded halls of the Presidential Palace, a servant knelt before the grand black-and-gold throne.
President Kuzan Shoushiki sat in stillness, dressed in his ceremonial dark robes, long white hair tied tightly, beard trimmed into a perfect V. His sharp eyes glanced at the report.
"A government office was attacked?" he asked softly, sipping wine.
"Yes… sir. Kamui. He—he killed everyone inside."
Kuzan didn't flinch. He didn't frown.
He laughed.
A deep, rumbling, echoing laugh filled the marble room.
"So… the little beast bares his fangs." He placed the goblet down and stood. "Ishido… you created something magnificent. Too bad it won't be yours much longer."
His hand slammed into the throne beside him, cracking it. His voice thundered:
"He will not hide from me. Let him form his little army. Let him carry that Yaksha flame. I am Kuzan Shoushiki — and my fire does not flicker in the wind. It consumes it."
He turned toward his generals.
"Find the boy. Bring me his head. Or bring me his soul. One way or another, I will end what that traitor Ishido started."
Outside, the city lights of Shinjuro flickered like candles.
But far above… in the dark, high on the mountain… a new fire had started.
And it would not go out.
Not until justice bled through the very heart of the empire.