The behemoth roared in agony, its rocky flesh charring and splintering into debris as the barrage of cannon shells continued to wear the titan down. In a futile attempt, it recklessly flailed its arms at the zeppelins above, that were too high for it to reach.
HUUAAAARRGGHH!!!
Its jaw split open violently as it screamed, creating an unnatural permeating sphere of energy that glowed a deep crimson red, engulfed by veins of dark lightning.
Sirens blared as a voice over the intercoms spoke.
BEHEMOTH ATTACK IMMINENT! SPECIAL TEAMS—ENGAGE.
Several airships descended towards the behemoth as squads of warriors appeared—each uniquely dressed, a faint glint of matching metals flashing at their hands and weapons.
Mikado gazed over the railings, puzzled.
"H-Hey… why did they stop firing?" He glanced at Maximillius for answers, only to be met with heavy silence—broken by the flutter of wind against the airship walls and the faint, low hum from the behemoth below.
Maxi bit down hard. Hard enough to hear a crack.
"…Get ready… here they come…" he whispered, a wide grin plastered across his face. The lollipop that had been dangling from his lips was gone. Mikado knew that look.
Maximillius was overcome—not with desire, but with lust for battle, for violence, for bloodshed.
Mikado's eyes shifted to Yoriko. She, too, wore the same expression.
What could possibly be so… exhilarating about this?
Multiple ropes dangled from the sides of the airships as various soldiers slid down them—but no two descents were the same.
Some came down with disciplined control—boots pressed against the hull, slowing themselves with practiced precision before landing in low, silent crouches. They rose immediately, weapons ready, eyes already tracking the behemoth's movements.
Others descended far less gracefully.
One soldier slid too fast, laughing as his boots screeched against the metal. He hit the deck hard, rolled and sprang back up with a wide psychotic grin.
Another let go early, crashing onto the platform with a heavy thud. He stood up on the deck with no weapon. Only a faint glint on his hand that momentarily flashed.
Mikado narrowed his eyes as he spotted a familiar figure descending from their deck.
Gan.
He slid down the rope fast with one hand. Too fast, grinning wide as he lost balance, flailing his arms and his cannon—slamming hard on his back—shaking the platform. The nearby soldiers laughed, and Gan stood up—chuckling loud as he prepared to fight.
Maximillius leaned against the railing, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "That idiot," he muttered, eyes glinting.
Yoriko, perched on the edge beside him, let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling. "He never changes."
Mikado's laughter bubbled up uncontrollably as he watched Gan land with a thud, cannon bouncing off his back, his wide grin infecting the battlefield. The wind whipping past them, the sheer chaos, the skill—it was mesmerising.
And then, more figures appeared, sliding down the ropes. Each had a presence, a flair—some laughing, some silent, some impossibly fast. Tenma came last.
He dropped like a meteor, spinning once mid-air, landing with a deafening stomp that made the deck quake. A massive sword rested in his hands, gleaming ominously. His grin was sharp, confident, almost godlike, and his eyes glinted with that unsettling calm certainty that made even the veterans glance twice.
Less than a minute had passed. The air was thick with tension, and the behemoth—massive, impervious, enraged—let loose the energy sphere it had been charging. A deep crimson glow surged forward, veins of dark lightning arcing around it, filling the air with a roaring hum.
Gan didn't hesitate. He lifted his cannon and fired—a shell streaking straight at the crimson sphere, exploding against it with a thunderous crack.
Tenma leapt forward, sword raised high. A faint flash caught Mikado's eye as something glimmered along Tenma's hand. The massive blade cut through the energy, slicing the sphere cleanly in two. The halves wavered—shimmered—then the other special soldiers moved.
Each had their own weapon, their own flair. Spears, gauntlets, crossbows, strange energy projectors. They attacked with precision, each strike dividing the energy into smaller and smaller shards until it dissolved completely—dispersed into harmless sparks across the deck.
Mikado's eyes widened as he saw the faint, glowing bands at the wrists, fingers, and weapons of the soldiers. Flames, sparks, arcs of light, pulses of energy—some common, some wild and unfamiliar. His chest tightened.
And then he saw it.
The crimson-orange glow of a ring on the hand of one of the soldiers—it pulsed with the exact same light, the exact same horrifying energy that Kiroku had been killed by. His stomach dropped, heart hammering painfully.
Tenma was the last to strike. He raised his great sword high, the ring along his arm shimmering intensely. A pillar of pure, blinding light erupted from the sky, slamming down onto the behemoth's back with a deafening shockwave. It pinned the creature to the ground, the impact driving a hole through its chest.
The other soldiers surged in synchrony, their glowing bands and weapons amplifying the attack. Flames, arcs of lightning, beams of energy, and flickers of unknown power cascaded across the behemoth's body.
Mikado couldn't tear his eyes away. His chest felt tight, a mixture of awe and dread. Those bands—the flames, the sparks, the pulses—they weren't just weapons. They were something else. Something powerful. Something eerily familiar.
And as the behemoth roared its last, Mikado's mind screamed with questions.
What are those? Why do they look like Kiroku's death?
Flashes of the trauma surged back, slamming into his head like a freight train. The flames, the smoke, the crackling energy—they all mirrored Kiroku's death. He wasn't alive then, and he wasn't alive now, not truly.
Mikado clutched his head, teeth gritting, knees almost giving out. Yoriko noticed immediately. Glancing at Maximillius, she said softly, "Max, I'll take him away."
She grasped his shoulders, guiding him gently but firmly, away from the battlefield, away from the searing reminder of loss.
Maximillius barely flinched, eyes still fixed on the behemoth. Bored. Efficient. Detached.
I guess he hasn't learned about the rings yet… Yoriko, you said you'd teach him everything. He thought, closing his eyes as the monster let out its final, echoing roar.
It's about time you do it now.
Yoriko guided Mikado through the narrow corridors, away from the noise of cannons and screaming metal, until they reached an empty room tucked deep within the airship. She slid the door shut behind them.
The world went quiet.
No alarms. No gunfire. Just the faint hum of the engines and the soft creaking of steel.
Mikado stood there, frozen. His hands trembled at his sides.
Yoriko didn't say anything at first. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her chest. One hand rested on the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his hair, the other rubbing slow circles against his back.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You're safe. You're here. Right now."
Mikado's breathing was shallow. Uneven.
"The past is over," Yoriko continued softly. "It's not happening again. And none of it was your fault. Not then. Not ever."
His shoulders shook.
She kept going, her voice steady, grounding. "You didn't do anything wrong. You survived. That's not something to be ashamed of."
The words cracked something open.
"You don't have to go through this alone… You have me."
Mikado's fists clenched into her coat, his face burying into her shoulder as the tears finally broke free. They streamed down his cheeks, silent at first—then uneven, quiet sobs he tried and failed to suppress.
"…It reminded me," he choked out. "The fire… the light… it looked the same."
Yoriko held him tighter.
"I still feel awful," Mikado whispered. "Like I shouldn't be allowed to feel okay."
"You're allowed," she said immediately. "You're allowed to hurt. You're allowed to cry. And you're allowed to live."
Slowly—hesitantly—Mikado hugged her back.
Not tightly. Not desperately.
Just enough to say please don't let go.
The room stayed quiet as his breathing evened out, tears soaking into her shoulder. Yoriko didn't move. Didn't rush him. She stayed until his shaking stopped, until the present finally won over the past.
When he pulled back, eyes red and tired, Yoriko gently wiped the tears from his face with her sleeve.
"…Those things you saw," she said softly. "The ones that reminded you."
Mikado nodded.
She met his gaze, serious now—but still kind.
"That's something I need to explain to you," she said.
"Because if I'm going to teach you everything… this comes first."
Yoriko waited until Mikado's breathing steadied.
The room was quiet—too quiet. Just the distant hum of engines and the muffled thunder of battle far away, like a storm that couldn't reach them anymore.
She loosened her grip but didn't let go.
"…You asked what those were," she said softly. "Back there."
Mikado nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "They felt wrong. Like… like Kiroku's death… On the soldier's finger, something glowed."
Yoriko's fingers tightened for a second.
"They're called rings," she said. "Little of the world know about them."
She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.
"Behemoths don't just leave corpses behind when they die," she continued. "They leave power. Raw, violent power. Rings are what happen when that power is forced into something human hands can hold."
Mikado frowned. "Forced… how?"
"High-grade metal," Yoriko explained. "Forged with a part of a behemoth. Bone. Core. Blood. Whatever carries its essence. That piece has to be refined, enchanted—stabilised. The better the metal and the stronger the behemoth… the stronger the ring."
She paused.
"And the more dangerous."
Mikado swallowed.
"Most rings are worn on fingers," she said. "Some are bound to weapons instead. But the human body has limits. Two rings are the maximum for an average person."
"…Average?" he asked quietly.
Yoriko didn't answer that.
"There are also relic rings," she went on. "Not made from behemoths at all. Ancient. Unnatural. They can do things that don't follow elements or logic. Those are rare. Extremely."
She exhaled slowly.
"And then there are the types."
She raised one finger.
"Attacker rings. Fire. Lightning. Raw destruction."
Another finger.
"Protector rings. Barriers. Reinforcement. Defence."
A third.
"Transformation rings. They enhance the user—strength, speed, senses. Sometimes… more than that."
Mikado's hands trembled slightly.
"There are also rings meant for convenience," Yoriko said. "Storage. Movement. Utility. You can wear more of those—they don't strain the mind as much."
"…And the ones that did that?" Mikado asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Yoriko hesitated.
"The rare kind," she said. "The kind you should never see unless the world is already breaking."
She met his gaze.
"Reality rings. Rings that twist time, matter, physics—things that should never be touched."
Mikado's chest felt tight.
"And creation rings," she added. "They don't destroy. They make. Objects. Constructs. Sometimes life-like things."
Silence stretched between them.
"One more," Yoriko said quietly. "Passive rings. They don't activate. They change what the user is when worn. Permanently."
She looked away.
"There's a rumour that one that allows its wearer to surpass the two-ring limit," she murmured. "But no one knows about it."
Mikado stared at the floor.
"…If a ring breaks?" he asked.
Yoriko's answer was immediate.
"It doesn't shatter," she said. "It explodes. The power inside loses control."
She reached out again, resting her hand on his head.
"That's why I pulled you away," she said gently. "And why Maximillius looked bored."
Mikado clenched his fists.
"…So those soldiers," he said. "They weren't normal."
"No," Yoriko replied.
Her voice softened.
"And neither are you."
Mikado wiped at his eyes, breathing unevenly.
"…What did you mean by that?" he asked quietly.
Yoriko paused—then simply shrugged.
"Nothing important," she said with a gentle smile. "You'll understand one day."
She sat beside him, folding her hands in her lap.
"…You saw the battle," she continued. "So tell me, Mikado."
He looked up at her.
"What do you want to do with your life now?"
"What kind of future do you want?"
The question caught him off guard.
Mikado stared at the floor—thinking. Memories rose uninvited—Kiroku's face, the fire, the screams. His fingers curled into the fabric of his clothes.
"…I don't want others to feel like me," he said at last, voice shaking.
"I don't want another kid to lose their friend like I did. Or their family… their home."
His voice steadied—not because the pain was gone, but because he pushed through it.
"I don't want kids crying because of war. Or behemoths. Or adults fighting battles they don't understand."
"I want a world where that doesn't happen anymore."
Silence filled the room.
Yoriko stared at him, eyes wide—not in pity, but in genuine surprise.
"…That's a very heroic answer," she said softly.
"And far more mature than I expected."
She smiled—small, proud, and just a little sad.
A voice came from behind the door.
Muffled. Calm. Amused.
"…You'll need power for that, kid."
Mikado stiffened.
The door slid open.
Maximillius stood there as usual—hands in his pockets, lollipop between his teeth—but something was wrong.
His smile wasn't lazy.
His posture wasn't relaxed.
His eyes were sharp.
Hunting.
Seeking challenge.
"Let's test you," he said simply.
Yoriko spun around instantly.
"What? NO—Max, don't you dare!" she snapped, stepping in front of Mikado. "He's just been through hell, you can't—"
"It's fine."
Both of them froze.
Mikado stepped forward, hands clenched—but his voice was steady.
"…He's right."
Yoriko turned to him, eyes wide. "Mikado—"
"Peace needs power," he said quietly.
"And words… need a voice."
The room fell silent.
Maximillius stared at him for a long moment.
Then his grin widened.
"Heh. You have a noggin."
Yoriko swallowed hard, worry twisting in her chest. "…Max," she said, lower now. "Go easy on him."
Maximillius didn't answer.
He took the lollipop out of his mouth, tucked it into his pocket, and cracked his neck once.
"What's happening?" Mikado asked.
Maximillius stepped back, gesturing toward the open space beyond the room.
"A spar."
"A fight to prove something."
His eyes locked onto Mikado.
"Let's see if you can actually walk the future you just described."
The air felt heavier.
Yoriko's heart sank.
Mikado took a breath—and followed him.
The door slid shut behind them.