Amidst the chaos, cries echoed through the broken city:
"Where is our saviour?"
"Where is Yami Hibuko?"
"Why won't he save us like he always does?"
Faith in their Kurozuki lingered, a fragile hope that he would emerge from the shadows and end the nightmare. Yet, he never appeared. Not once.
Why?
Because…
Yami Hibuko coughed in his bed. But it was no ordinary cough. Blood streaked his lips, and his skin had grown pale, sickly. Every day, he vomited green bile, as if his very body was turning against him, and blood poured from deep within his chest.
The legendary swordsman, once a towering force of Emka, now lay weak and frail, unable to rise. Outside, the streets burned. Homes crumbled to ash. People slaughtered one another. Emka, once a beacon of peace, had become a nightmare. And yet, Hibuko could do nothing.
His son, Hiroto Hibuko, knelt beside him, urging him to rest. But Yami refused. Every attempt to rise left him trembling, rotting from the inside.
"I think this is my end," he whispered, voice rasping. "I gave you a chance to build, to live, to laugh, to breathe."
He coughed violently, crimson staining the sheets.
"But that's what you chose. One day you will understand… the world can be more than fear and lies. Do not follow me. Follow what is right. I shall rest now."
Blood poured from his mouth as his family rushed to hold him, but it was too late.
Yami Hibuko's soul had departed.
That day, the sky over Emka seemed to weep. Thunder rolled across the horizon, lightning splitting the clouds, as if the heavens themselves mourned a legend. Emka trembled in sorrow, honoring the sword that once protected it.