Gojo Kowai was as good as dead.
I didn't want to allow myself to get carried away by emotion, nor let feelings dictate my reasoning. Still, I couldn't lie to myself... deep down, I wanted to avenge Nakamura-sensei.
We had all disguised ourselves as ordinary civilians, currently traveling by train toward Nara. As the distance between us and our destination shortened, the hatred inside me grew stronger. It was as if black ink was spilling into my heart, staining it entirely.
Mhm. I would not deny it.
'I hate the Saints.'
"Eh?!"
"Nani nani?!"
"What? What's going on?!"
The moment that thought slipped through my mind, the atmosphere inside the train shifted. People began panicking, their faces pale with fear.
I was gripping a metal pole, staring out the glass window, with dead eyes, at the passing scenery… unable to suppress the bloodlust seeping from me.
Yasuna quickly moved closer, looping her arm around my neck and pulling me toward her.
"I… never knew… even he could die…" I murmured, my voice muffled against her shoulder.
She said nothing, only patting me gently until my murderous intent finally subsided.
By now, perhaps I should have been crying. But just like that last time, when I saw his smile before everything fell apart... I couldn't shed a single tear.
I hadn't cried since I was six, after all.
But my hatred for those Saints… Whether eleven years old, seven years old, even a toddler… if they were tied to the Saints in any way, I would bare my fangs at them without hesitation.
Just you wait, Gojo Kowai.
*
Sixty of us arrived at the designated site: a vast, secluded property hidden deep within the mountains.
Upon arrival, we found several members of our clan already there, standing outside a massive, glowing purple dome that enclosed the entire estate.
"Ah, they've arrived!" one of them called out, his face concealed behind a mask.
"What is this? Some kind of barrier created with new tech?" Shizuka stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she examined the shimmering surface.
"No… not technology," the masked man replied, his voice trembling. "This is something supernatural, created by the devil inside. They even fired a bazooka at her, but she came out without a single scratch!"
"Calm down," Shizuka ordered, her tone sharp. At once, the man straightened himself, regaining composure. "Do you know how it works?"
"Hai," he nodded, "Once you go inside, you can no longer leave... at least, not until the brat inside is dead."
To demonstrate, he pushed a wooden stick into the barrier. It slid through without resistance, but when he tried to pull it back, the section that had touched the dome was cut cleanly.
He removed only half of it, the other half remaining inside.
"We believe this is a demonic trick of the Saint," he continued, "meant to ensure that she annihilates everyone who dares to enter."
Huh?
Why take such extreme measures?
The Saints remained as cryptic and dangerous as ever.
But the Talents were not to be underestimated either. Each of us either possessed a unique technique or had mastered an existing one to perfection.
However…
"Shizuka-sama," I murmured, stepping closer to her, "I have a bad feeling about this."
"I do too," she replied, "but this is an order we cannot refuse. We are not the backup this time; we are the main force."
She signaled us to move, then stepped inside the barrier.
The rest followed her without hesitation.
Before Kuro entered, he placed a firm hand on my head.
"Nagisa-tan, do not forget this: we are tools of the clan. Death touches all of us; it is inescapable," he murmured. "But death is not the enemy... it never has been."
He pulled me into his arms and pointed toward the interior of the dome. "The enemy is right there. And we are going to bestow death upon them. Cheer up! We're together, after all."
He was right.
I shouldn't be letting my hesitation show like this. I am one of the executives.
I steadied my breathing, mentally preparing myself for what lay ahead.
"Are you fine now?" Yasuna asked, appearing beside me.
"Yeah. Let's go."
We stepped into the dome, masking our faces.
I had no way of knowing how things would turn out, and I had no desire to die a second time. But no matter what… I would make sure my friends survived. I was tired of watching the people I cared for perish.
Nakamura-sensei would be the last.
*
Fear… dread… a piercing screech in my head… and pain.
A lot of pain.
*
The moment we gained visual contact with the Saint, Gojo Kowai, Zaki moved first, exactly as planned. She fired the opening shot.
Zaki had taken position on high ground, balancing atop a ten-foot statue, her weapon the rare firearm gifted to her by the Chief: one of only three in existence.
With her signature technique, [Ninpō: Shōgeki no Tekken], every strike she made was guided with uncanny precision, as if divine hands adjusted her aim to ensure the bullet would meet its target. And every hit she landed was a critical one.
We had set ourselves in a formation encircling the small girl with short orange hair.
She wore the same type of uniform as the Saint who had killed Nakamura-sensei. But instead of a skintight top, she had chosen a black tank top paired with military-style pants.
The property around her was littered with the remains of our comrades, their bodies scattered like fish floating belly-up in a poisoned lake.
In a childlike voice, husky, yet carrying a slightly rough undertone, she spoke.
"So you're the main dish… or am I still dealing with appetizers?"
Her face was almost angelic, charming in its softness, yet there was something deeply unsettling about it.
Her golden eyes were opened wide, brimming with an eerie light, a faint, thin smile on her lips. Blood had been wiped from her face, leaving only the stain of violence in her expression.
Not only did Gojo Kowai shrug off the high-powered boiler beam fired at point-blank range, she immediately began bulldozing through us without the slightest pause.
As the beam hurtled toward her, she lazily waved a hand, and the light bent away on impact with her palm.
Like a haze of gold, she was here one moment, standing over a dead ninja, and in the next, she was somewhere else entirely—surrounded by more of our fallen comrades.
With every casual movement she made, Talents were cut down as if they were ordinary civilians.
Talents who had once survived ferocious tigers, enraged grizzlies, and genetically enhanced hounds…