Smoke hung low over the ravaged horizon like the breath of a dying god. It twisted and stretched into phantom shapes, drifting through the shattered ruins of what had once been a city alive with light. Now it was silent — the kind of silence that comes after screams, after collapse, after everything that ever mattered has been burned away.
Gomi Kirā walked through the wreckage without a word. His boots crunched over broken glass, bones, and fragments of scorched banners. His fists were still stained with the drying blood of his last battle — Hoko's blood — and yet the weight in them wasn't victory. It was loss. The kind of loss that doesn't scream or rage, but simply sits there, gnawing quietly until you forget what peace ever felt like.
Hosogiri followed close behind, his steps hesitant. He glanced sideways every few moments, studying Gomi's face. The older oni's eyes were hollow, the once-burning crimson now dimmed to ash. His expression wasn't anger anymore — it was detachment. As if each breath he took was one more he didn't think he deserved.
The trail wound through blackened soil and fractured obsidian ridges. Beyond them, a canyon of molten glass shimmered faintly under the dying light of the Pit's false sun. The air was heavy — thick with static, humming like a broken wire. Every few steps, Hosogiri swore he could hear something whispering beneath the earth.
When the whisper turned into a pulse, both of them froze.
The ground beneath their boots cracked.
A wave of heat rolled through the canyon.
Then — a laugh.
A deep, burning laugh, guttural and wrong. It clawed its way through the smoke like a wound reopening.
Gomi turned slowly. His jaw clenched. "No…" His voice was quiet, but beneath it lay disbelief that bordered on exhaustion. "It can't be."
From the ashes behind them, the ground split open.
Something moved in the fissure — a shape half-buried, crawling from molten rock. Stone crumbled, the air screamed, and the fractured light from above bled across the shape as it rose.
"You thought…" The voice was torn, broken — a sound made of both agony and triumph. "…I was done?"
It was Hoko.
But not as before. The corpse that had once fallen under Gomi's pity had returned — changed. His skin was threaded with glowing veins of magma. His horns, once black and cracked, had regrown into twisted spires of molten gold and ash. His eyes — no longer eyes at all — were black voids rimmed with burning orange, like the sun glimpsed through smoke. He was dead but he had become a living corpse driven only on nothing but vengeance for Gomi. The one who killed him and ruined his reputation in his eyes overall.
"I prepared for this," Hoko rasped, stepping forward. Lava dripped from his fingertips, sizzling against the dirt. "Before you struck me down, I bound a return spell beneath the light of your final blow. The seal broke when your pity touched me. And now—"
He spread his arms wide. Fire crawled across his heart like a living curse.
"—I return not as the Oni you defeated… but as the Oni of Resurrection."
Hosogiri stumbled backward, a strangled noise escaping his throat. "That's… impossible."
The earth quaked as Hoko moved. His presence alone warped the world — the air shimmered, and trees within a mile radius withered to dust. Even the sky above them seemed to recoil, darkening into a bruised red twilight.
Gomi did not flinch.
He simply exhaled, slow and steady. His voice, when it came, was quiet — barely more than a whisper carried on smoke.
"You really don't learn… do you?"
Hoko grinned — and charged.
The ground shattered beneath each step. His first blow came faster than thunder, slamming toward Gomi with the force of a collapsing mountain. Gomi moved, just enough to avoid it — the shockwave split the canyon floor in half. Streams of molten rock burst upward, turning the battlefield into a landscape of fire and glass.
Hosogiri leapt aside, blade flashing in panic. "Gomi—!"
"Stay back!" Gomi roared, his voice echoing through the smoke.
Hoko came again, his body nothing but a blur of flame and hate. His fists were comets, his roar an earthquake. Every swing tore pieces of the world apart.
But Gomi had changed too.
A faint glow pulsed beneath his skin — violet veins tracing across his arms like cracks of lightning. His breath came slow, measured. His body moved with terrifying precision.
He caught Hoko's wrist mid-swing.
The impact screamed through the air — heat met heat, flesh met fury. The collision sent molten shards spraying across the canyon walls.
"You're not stronger," Gomi said, his tone as calm as death. "You're just more desperate."
Hoko snarled, wrenching free, flames spilling from his mouth. "You pity me?! You—who crushed me like an insect?!"
He slammed both palms into the ground.
The world erupted.
Fire geysers tore through the stone, forming whips of lava that lashed toward Gomi and Hosogiri. The air boiled. Hosogiri barely rolled aside, his cloak catching fire as he scrambled for cover.
Gomi didn't move.
When the lava struck, he caught it — both hands gripping the molten whip like a live serpent. The heat seared his flesh. Smoke rose from his palms. But he didn't let go.
His voice cut through the roar. "I pitied you because I saw myself in you."
And then the violet light in his veins deepened.
It turned crimson.
Something ancient stirred beneath his skin — something that wasn't entirely his own. Horns began to form from the sides of his head, spiraling upward like curved blades of bone and gold. His body glowed — not from fire, but from an aura that hummed with divinity and destruction alike.
Hosogiri watched, awe-struck, as a sigil burned itself into Gomi's right hand — the same symbol carved into the ruins of the First Oni King's throne.
The Second Rank had awakened.
Hoko roared in disbelief. "You… you can't—!"
"I can," Gomi said, his voice no longer entirely human. "Because I have to."
He moved faster than sight.
One step — the earth caved in beneath him.
One punch — the sky split apart.
When his fist struck Hoko's stomach, the sound was like the detonation of a dying sun. The blast wave flattened everything within a mile radius. The ground melted into rivers of glowing stone. The canyon walls disintegrated.
And Hoko flew — his body a broken comet crashing into the far cliffs. He hit hard enough to create a crater deep enough to swallow the ruins of ten cities.
When the dust cleared, Hoko was still.
Half his body had been burned away. His horns shattered into fragments. He coughed — blood and ash spilling down his chin.
His eyes flickered — not with rage this time.
But sorrow.
"I… I didn't mean… to become this…"
Gomi stood above him, breathing heavily. His horns still glowed faintly; his aura shimmered with a dying storm's beauty. Blood dripped down his cheek, staining his lips.
He looked down at his fallen foe.
Not with hatred.
But pity.
"I know," he said quietly. "But you chose it anyway."
Hoko blinked once. Then his body fell limp, the glow in his stomach fading to nothing.
Silence followed — a heavy, final silence that swallowed even the wind.
Hosogiri approached slowly, sword lowered, trembling. "Gomi… are you okay?"
No answer.
Gomi's aura faded. His horns crumbled into dust. The sigil dimmed and vanished from his hand. He looked up at the sky — a sky full of smoke and fractured light.
"I'm tired," he murmured.
Hosogiri hesitated, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're not alone."
For the first time in a long while, Gomi didn't pull away.
The smoke drifted quietly through the ruins, curling around the fallen as if mourning them.
And far below — in the deepest root of the Pit — something ancient shifted, listening.
The prophecy was still in motion.
City of Rock Solid — The Shimmering Threshold
Days passed.
The world beyond the Lavery Region felt colder, harder — stripped of color. The trio's boots clicked against stone paths that grew smoother with each step. Ash no longer clung to the air; instead, the faint scent of minerals and rain returned. But beneath it all was that lingering feeling that something unseen was watching them.
And then — the mists parted.
Before them stood a city carved entirely from moonstone.
The City of Rock Solid.
It was breathtaking — towers of crystalline silver-blue stretching skyward, walls gleaming with internal light, like veins of frozen lightning. Every street shone as though stars had been ground into the pavement. The entire city pulsed faintly, alive with a rhythm that matched a heartbeat.
Hosogiri stared, wide-eyed. "It's… beautiful."
Hoguro, silent as ever, scanned the horizon, hand resting on his blade. "Beauty doesn't mean safety."
Gomi's eyes narrowed. "That glow isn't natural. This city breathes."
They entered through gates sculpted from fused moonrock. No guards greeted them. Yet, the moment they stepped inside, Gomi could feel it — the weight of a thousand unseen eyes. Curtains shifted behind windows. Shadows moved behind crystalline walls.
The city was alive. Watching.
At the plaza's center stood a fountain of stone roses. Instead of water, glowing white sand poured endlessly from its petals, cascading into a pool that pulsed with the same eerie rhythm as the city itself.
Then — a figure emerged from the light.
A figure clad entirely in armor made of translucent crystal. Her eyes shimmered with silver luminescence; her voice, when she spoke, echoed softly as though carried by the wind.
"Welcome to Rock Solid," she said. "You've come far. Your arrival was… foretold."
Gomi stiffened. "We didn't come here for fate. Just rest."
She smiled faintly. "Fate does not ask permission."
Without another word, she turned, leading them into a towering structure near the city's core — the Pillar Archive.
Inside, the air hummed. Every wall was engraved with living inscriptions — symbols that shifted and breathed like veins. History wasn't written here; it was carved into the city itself.
"This," said the crystal knight, "is the heart of our memory. The story of Rock Solid. And the story of Yukia Yamara — the Follower of Deception."
The name echoed through the chamber.
Gomi froze.
The walls shimmered, and an image began to form — a being standing beside the First Oni King. A human, young-faced but ancient-eyed. Gentle, dignified. Yet behind those eyes was a sorrow that even the carvings could not hide.
"Yukia Yamara was once chosen by the First Oni King for his wisdom," the knight explained. "He was mortal — no magic, no horns, no strength. Only insight. His will was unmatched, his heart unyielding."
Hosogiri frowned. "Then why was he called the Follower of Deception?"
The carvings shifted.
Yukia knelt before the Oni King. His hands trembled. The king's shadow fell across him.
"He begged for immortality," the knight said softly. "Not for greed… but for loyalty. He wanted to protect his king forever. To see the land restored, generation after generation."
The Oni King refused.
And something in Yukia broke.
The stone walls burned with the memory of that moment — his face twisting from devotion into despair, then rage. He delved into forbidden rites, ancient and vile, trading his humanity for time. When he discovered the Prophecy of Gomi, he saw in it not hope — but mockery. That another would rise long after his king, after his time.
"He called the prophecy a lie," the knight continued. "He believed the future itself was corrupted. And in his desperation… he betrayed the one he loved most."
Images of blood and flame erupted along the walls — the Oni King's fortress under siege, Yukia's shadow cast long across the ruins.
"He was defeated, but not destroyed. He had already sealed his life away — cursed to wander forever, to watch the world die and live again."
Gomi stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "So he's still alive."
"Yes," said the knight. "And his spirit… returns here. Every Tuesday."
Hosogiri's eyes widened. "Every week?"
The knight nodded solemnly. "He appears not in flesh, but as a storm of whispers. The stones quake. The dead stir. He speaks to the moon — and to the heart buried beneath this city."
"The heart…" Gomi murmured. He looked down, noticing the faint pulse of light through the floor — rhythmic, alive. "This city was built on the remains of the Pit's true heart."
The knight bowed her head. "And Yukia still mourns it."
That night, under a pale silver glow, Gomi stood alone in the plaza. The city's light reflected in his eyes. Beneath his boots, the ground pulsed — a heartbeat older than gods.
Etched into the fountain beside him were words half-erased by time:
"He will return. He will cry not in anger, but in mourning. He seeks not death, but remembrance. And yet, he brings both."
Hosogiri and Hoguro approached quietly, but Gomi didn't turn.
He whispered, almost to himself, "He doesn't want to destroy it. He wants to go home."
And deep in the reflection of the moonlit sand, a face appeared — pale, tired, and weeping.
Yukia Yamara smiled through the glow.
"Then let us remember together," he said.
And the city trembled.
TO BE CONTINUED…