Vescrutia: Legacy

The air in the chamber hung thick and spectral, a residue of Ayune’s performance. Words indeed failed to capture the oppressive awe the Dankestu Rite invoked. Iwa, Lord of the Owaki, felt the ancient magic crawl over his skin like icy fingers, even though the ritual had concluded. He had heard whispers of Yarou sorcery, dismissive rumors from his more pragmatic clan, but this… this was tangible power, a raw, untamed force contained by centuries-old methods. To witness it, channeled through Ayune’s Elden blood, was to stare into the abyss and find not emptiness but a terrifying, exhilarating potential.

Reverence warred with concern within him. The Yarou’s archive of occult knowledge was a glittering, dangerous treasure. The thought wormed its way into his mind: what if he could command such power? The clans of Edo were in constant, simmering conflict, a delicate balance of power teetering on the edge of open war. To possess the Dankestu’s secrets entirely… could shatter that balance and bring the Owaki to unparalleled dominance. But the wisdom of generations whispered down through the ages echoed in his mind. Greed, unchecked, would consume them all. No, he would adhere to the terms. The arrangement they'd struck was already a monumental gain, a carefully negotiated alliance born of mutual, albeit uneasy, respect. After witnessing the Rite firsthand, his eagerness to exploit its contained power for the Owaki’s ascent burned hotter than ever.

Beside him, Ren stood rigid, the younger warrior’s face a mask of strained composure. The spectral strangling of the air had been palpable. Yet, when Iwa glanced at him, his eyes held a new, unsettling glint. It was as if the spectacle had unlocked a hidden chamber within Ren. Acceptance, perhaps, of the darker currents that flowed beneath their world. But more than that, Iwa sensed a nascent hunger, a taste of what raw power felt like, even second-hand. And something else, a chillingly efficient detachment. The soft edges of Ren’s compassion for the Shi, those tormented, corrupted beings, seemed to have evaporated like morning mist.

The Shi restrained in heavy chains at the chamber’s center, lay still. The energies of the ritual had washed over it, a suffocating blanket of containment. The ritual was necessary, brutally so, to keep these beings at bay. The very existence of such magic was a grim testament to the Shi’s inherent danger. As the last tendrils of spectral energy dissipated, Iwa’s gaze sharpened, predatory, hawk-like. The Rite was complete. The knowledge, the method, and the power were now within his grasp. The key was his. Now… he only needed to find the door.

Ayune's expression was composed, though a weariness edged her features. She gestured to the ritual tools—blades and chains stained crimson dark.

“The words of the spell are inscribed upon the instruments themselves,”

Her voice, though soft, carried an apparent authority.

“And a full description of our methods are recorded upon the scroll, tucked within the chest. If there are no further questions, Lord Iwa… I would insist upon my immediate return.”

“Marvelous,”

Iwa murmured, approaching her. He held the jade case containing the map, their agreed-upon exchange, in his hand.

“Simply marvelous.”

He presented the case, bowing with a slow, deliberate descent, a genuine and earned gesture of respect. He had underestimated the Yarou, blinded by generations of rivalry. They were Shinobi of Edo, masters of secrets and shadows, custodians of powers he was only beginning to comprehend.

“Take this in good faith, Lady Ayune,” he said, his voice firm and even. “May you return safely to your clan.”

Their next meeting, he knew, would be under vastly different circumstances. Perhaps on a battlefield. But for now, a fragile truce held. His mind was already racing, dissecting every nuance of the Rite, every word Ayune had uttered, every movement she had made. His attendant, ever diligent, had meticulously recorded it all. They would dissect it, refine it, Owaki-fy it. Failure was not an option. What this knowledge would unleash for the Owaki, for Edo itself… it was a terrifying and intoxicating prospect.

He began to straighten, ready to dismiss Ayune and delve into the chest’s contents, when a sound sliced through the charged silence. A sharp, piercing klaxon, the emergency intercom, reverberated through the chamber, a discordant shriek that stretched across the entire Taka No Kami facility. It was a sound unheard in his tenure, a sound reserved for absolute crisis.

“L-lord Iwa, sir! We have a situation!” The frantic voice of a watcher crackled over the speaker, one of those stationed to monitor the skies, eternally vigilant against aerial incursions. Iwa’s brow furrowed. This was unprecedented. Whatever had triggered this alarm… it was serious.

“Enough of your frantic squabbling. Details!” Iwa’s voice, though raised, remained controlled, a lifetime of command ingrained in his tone.

A choked gulp echoed from the intercom. “An unsanctioned Owaki aircraft has requested permission to land, sir…”

“And why wasn’t it shot down?” Iwa’s voice hardened. The protocol was clear. Unidentified vessels were threats.

“Well… it’s Lord Sozen, sir…”

The name hit Iwa and Ren like a physical blow. Sozen. The disgraced, treacherous former Lord of the Hawk Clan, exiled, believed lost in the wastes beyond Edo. Their masks, usually ever-present, had been removed for the ritual, and now Iwa saw reflected in Ren’s widened eyes the shock mirrored in his own. Sozen, here?

“He says… he has found… the One.”

The words hung in the air, thick with an unspoken weight. ‘The One.’ The Serpent's Heir. The reincarnation of the infamous bearer of the Shi's Endless Art. The intonation, the urgency in the watcher’s voice, the sheer audacity of Sozen’s return… it sparked something within Iwa. His chest throbbed with a sudden, violent surge of blood. Confusion, disbelief, but overriding all, a dizzying euphoria. A slow, Cheshire cat grin spread across his face, utterly involuntary, unable to contain the burgeoning wave of exhilaration. Could it be? Could the ‘door’ he had been searching for, the final piece of the puzzle, the path to true, unassailable power, have… arrived?

“Permission granted,” Iwa said, his voice resonating with newfound authority. “Send them in.”

He turned to Ayune, who stood as still as a statue, her usual composure momentarily fractured by surprise. “Forgive me, Lady Ayune,” he said, his tone shifting back to polished politeness, though now edged with an almost manic energy. “But I believe our business here is… concluded, most abruptly. I have a most urgent matter that requires my full attention. Allow me to escort you out.” He moved towards her, ushering her towards the exit. “Oh… and before I forget.”

With a casual flick of his wrist, he pressed a button on the control panel beside the Shi’s containment chamber. Instantly, the heavy chains binding the creature erupted in a flurry of razor-sharp spikes, each laced with a fast-acting poison potent enough to kill even a Shi. A low, wet gurgle escaped the creature as the spikes retracted, leaving it limp and lifeless. It had served its purpose, a restrained demonstration of the Dankestu’s power. He would not risk its unpredictable nature in the ensuing chaos. Ayune had earned his respect but never his trust. He would not risk a Shi sleeper agent in his midst.

He said nothing more, simply gathering the chest containing the Yarou secrets. The lingering, spectral energies of the Rite still seemed to radiate from the blade Ayune had used, a silent testament to the potency he now possessed. Ren cast a last, strangely placid glance at the Shi’s corpse before his gaze sharpened, mirroring Iwa’s own newfound resolve. Necessary, Ren’s expression seemed to say. A necessary evil. Iwa’s aura had shifted, crackling with barely suppressed excitement. The grime of generations of quiet ambition was about to be blasted away. It was time. Finally, after ages of shadow and constraint, the Owaki would become a force, not just in name, but in power. Edo would tremble.

Ayune accepted the jade case with both hands, her touch gentle, deliberate. Her expression did not shift—no triumphant smile, no smug satisfaction. Only a faint lowering of her shoulders, a quiet release of tension so subtle it might have gone unnoticed to any save for those trained to see the smallest tells.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” she said simply, her voice calm and cool as a still pond.

She did not speak of the Rite, nor of what Iwa might extract from it. That was no longer her concern. What the Owaki would do with the knowledge—what consequences they might invite—was a matter for another day, another battlefield. Her duty was fulfilled.

Then came the klaxon.

Ayune stood unmoved, save for a blink—slow, calculating—as the chamber erupted into confusion. Her gaze drifted toward the intercom, brow barely furrowing at the mention of an unsanctioned aircraft. Sozen's name however did elicit a subtle response. While she was not familiar with Owaki politic, she'd heard that the former Lord had died. But the mention of the Serpent's Heir hitched her breath in her throat. She had to bite her tongue, lest she voice her own fears as her Xhi'on's. But if such a thing were to be true, if the heir truly existed outside of Shi fairy tales, then she needed to relay this to her council at once. Their existence would cause an upheaval in the balance of power.

“But I believe our business here is… concluded, most abruptly. I have a most urgent matter that requires my full attention. Allow me to escort you out.”

Ayune bowed and proceeded to follow Iwa toward the next shuttle. She paid no mind to the destruction of the Shi's body. Fuck them.

*Hours before*

It was humid and damp in the forest, clinging to Jao like a shroud. Each rustle of leaves felt amplified, each snap of a twig a potential alarm. His heightened senses, usually a boon, were now a source of frayed nerves. He glanced at Sozen, the Owaki leading him deeper into the green labyrinth. “You sure it’s here, Sozen? There is nothing but forest for miles, not exactly the prime spot for an aircraft hanger.”

Jao’s voice, low and gravelly, carried the undertones of simmering impatience. They had been moving for what felt like hours; a tense silence punctuated only by the sounds of the forest. Sozen had promised him transport, a vessel to reach Taka no Kami, the Hawk’s Nest, and the promised feast that awaited. But so far, all Jao had seen was an endless sea of trees, each mocking his growing skepticism.

Sozen paused, tilting his head, his dark eyes scanning the dense foliage.“It’s here…let me just…hmmm.” He circled a cluster of trees, his hand brushing against gnarled bark, tapping with a deliberate rhythm that suggested he was listening for something beyond the natural sounds of the woods.

Jao folded his arms, his bracers creaking softly, watching Sozen with narrowed eyes. A flicker of suspicion danced in his gaze. Was this some game? A way for the slippery Owaki to escape his clutches? No. Jao’s presence was a shadow that clung to Sozen, a promise of retribution that wouldn’t be denied. Sozen knew flight was futile. Still, the forest stretched on, and Jao's patience, always a fragile thing, was thinning rapidly. The hunger gnawed at him, a constant, maddening ache.

Just as Jao’s control threatened to shatter, Sozen’s voice cut through the tension, laced with triumph. “Aha!” He exclaimed, a rare burst of unguarded emotion. He fumbled amongst the low-hanging branches of a particularly thick tree, his fingers grasping and pulling. “You might want to stand back.”

With a raised eyebrow that conveyed volumes of doubt, Jao did as instructed, taking a cautious step back. Sozen, with a grunt of effort, wrenched downwards on a thicker branch, expecting the snap of wood, the satisfying crack of fibers giving way. Instead, a loud, mechanical click reverberated through the forest, echoing against the silent trees. It was followed instantly by a deep, grinding rumble that vibrated through the ground beneath Jao’s feet. He watched as the earth began to split, dark lines spider-webbing outwards from where Sozen had manipulated the tree. Dust and leaves billowed outwards as a vast, rectangular section of the forest floor tilted and slid downwards, revealing not earth and roots but cold, unyielding metal. A gigantic door, seamlessly integrated into the landscape, emerged from its hidden recess.

“You were saying?” Sozen drawled, smirking as he approached the newly revealed entrance. The metal was smooth and untouched by rust, defying the damp forest air and the passage of time.

Jao stood silent, his earlier skepticism dissolving into a grudging respect. He shifted, his stance becoming less guarded, more intensely curious. He watched Sozen closely as the Owaki began to examine the metallic surface, his fingers tracing invisible lines.

“The control panel should still be functional; let’s hope the password still works.” Sozen leaned down, his movements swift and practiced. He flipped open a small, almost imperceptible panel, revealing a keypad nestled within. His fingers danced across the keys, entering a sequence of codes. A low hum emanated from the door, the metallic clicking returning, followed by heavy machinery whirring to life.

The metal door slid upwards slowly, revealing a descending ramp leading into darkness. Beyond that ramp, a low, sleek shape began to rise on a hidden platform, bathed in the faint illumination from within. An aircraft. Small, agile looking, and undeniably advanced despite it's supposed age. Jao’s eyes widened just a fraction, a subtle shift in his otherwise impassive expression. Perhaps this venture wasn't as foolish as it had initially seemed.

“Now, let’s go over the plan one more time,” Sozen said, turning back to Jao, the smirk now replaced with a mask of grim purpose.

“I know my role, Owaki. I will allow you to arrest me, handcuffs and all. Not to mention a mask, one that will give off the impression of a functioning sunless mask,” Jao replied, his tone still laced with begrudging acceptance. He still felt a prickle of unease about trusting Sozen, but the lure of what lay ahead was too strong to resist.

“Right, from there, we will fly to the farm. And if we aren’t shot down immediately, they will seek parlay with us once I announce myself, and declare who I have captured.” Sozen nodded to Jao. “Once we are completely inside…you’ll do your thing.”

Jao’s gaze sharpened, focused like a trained arrow aimed at its mark. “Indeed…my thing.” A dangerous smile stretched across his lips, a predatory curve that revealed teeth just a little too long, a little too sharp. He could barely contain the ravenous anticipation surging within him. Years. Decades. Lifetimes spent waiting, lurking in the shadows, forced to feed on scraps, on the weak and the insignificant. Finally, it was time for the snake to feast on the hawk. And he was starving. The madness of his hunger had clawed at him, a constant torment, requiring every ounce of his formidable will to suppress. But the leash was loosening. It wouldn't hold much longer.

“Well, let’s get going. And hope that I can still fly this thing,” Sozen said, gesturing towards the aircraft.

They descended into the hanger, the air inside musty and metallic. Sozen moved with practiced ease, entering the cockpit and running his hand over the controls, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes. He secured Jao in heavy, cold cuffs, the metal biting into Jao’s skin even through his bracers. Then, he placed a crude, sunless mask over Jao’s face, obscuring his features and making him appear like a captured Shi, a common sight, yet one always tinged with fear and resentment. It is a necessary deception. Sozen engaged the flight systems, the engines humming to life with a low, powerful thrum. The launch platform began to rise, carrying them upwards and outwards, back into the open air, towards the sky and Taka no Kami.

*Present time*

The aircraft sliced through the sky, a silver dart against the azure canvas. Below, the world was a patchwork of forests and fields, but ahead, looming against the horizon, rose Taka no Kami. It wasn’t just a fortress; it was a monstrous testament to Owaki power and their pockets, a mechanical castle that pierced the clouds, bristling with weaponry and radiating an aura of cold, unwavering authority.

A harsh, crackling voice filled the cockpit. “Unlawful Aircraft, you are violating Edolan flight protocol. Turn back now, or we will be forced to engage.” The voice was impersonal, robotic, the voice of the system it seemed, not a man.

Sozen activated the comms, his voice firm and steady. “Control, this is…Lord Sozen Owaki. I request parlay with my elder brother, Iwa Owaki.”

Silence crackled on the other end. Then, the voice returned, colder, sharper. “Impossible. Lord Sozen is dead. On what grounds do you make such a claim?”

Sozen inhaled deeply, his gaze unwavering. He spoke the words, the ancient mantra of their line, a phrase known only to the Owaki blood. “The hawk's blood is heralded, as is the art of the claw.”

The reaction was instantaneous. The robotic coldness in the watcher’s voice vanished, replaced by a stunned, almost reverent tone. “Sir…” The single word hung in the air, heavy with disbelief and sudden deference. Sozen had spoken the words perfectly, with the weight and cadence of true authority.

“Tell him,” Sozen continued, his voice dropping lower, more urgent, “that I have found…the one…”

Another pause. Then, the watcher’s voice, now laced with a nervous tremor. "You have been cleared to land, Lord Sozen.” The channel clicked off, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

Moments later, the aircraft touched down on a designated landing platform carved into the side of Taka no Kami. The ramp hissed open, and they were immediately surrounded. Owaki guards, clad in polished armor, their faces grim and impassive, flooded the platform. Kunai were drawn, the ephemeral energy of their arts flickering around their fingertips, ready to strike down any threat.

Sozen stepped out first, his presence immediately creating a visible ripple of shock and disbelief amongst the guards. Faces paled, eyes widened, as if they were witnessing a ghost. The lord rumored to have been slain in the Shi uprising, Lord Sozen Owaki, stood before them, alive, and dragging a captured Shi in his wake. Sozen tugged roughly on the chain attached to Jao’s collar, projecting an image of aggression and control. “Let’s go, you.”

He had to play the role of captor convincingly, feign the righteous fury, the pride of the Owaki. He could only hope Jao understood, could forgive the charade later.

“Lord Owaki and Lord Ren are waiting. They have requested that you meet them in the main hall. Follow me, and don’t pull anything.” An attendant stepped forward, his voice strained but respectful, guiding them away from the hanger, deeper into the labyrinthine heart of Taka no Kami. Sozen’s body tensed. Ren? His timid younger brother was here? No doubt they had brought him to Taka no Kami to show him the supposed might and security of their clan, had he been made aware of the rot festering beneath the surface, the slavery of the Shi in the farms, the horrific experiments conducted in the shadows? He...feared for his younger sibling, he could only imagine what such exposure might do to Ren.

Jao, still masked and cuffed, felt the shift in atmosphere acutely. Having spent the majority of his life masked, denied the light of day, his senses were as refined as the Sunless themselves able to perceived the most subtle shifts in their environments. They were in. All the artifice, all the deception, had worked. He shifted in his restraints, a shiver of anticipation running through him. It was approaching but not just yet. Time to introduce chaos into the carefully structured power of the Owaki.

Funny, he thought with a dark amusement, how even in defying the Nether Serpent, in forging his own path, he still found himself acting as in accordance to the djinn’s will. For what he was about to do, the carnage he was about to unleash, would send the shinobi world reeling, shattering the fragile peace, igniting a conflict that would consume everything. But from the ashes, something new could rise, a change his family, long since enslaved, their wills broken, their flame for vengeance quelled, had only dreamed of achieving.

Jao’s heart beat steadily, yet pulsed with a heavy, building rhythm. Here, within the cold, metallic walls of Taka no Kami, he could feel them, the hundreds of Shi prisoners, locked away in the lower levels, their suffering a faint but undeniable echo in the air. But more than that, a stronger, more potent pull resonated deep within him, a dark, alluring song that vibrated in his very bones. The fragment of the dark djinn soul, the Ring of Power, was close. It called to him, a promise of silken surety, a key to unlocking his full potential. The feast was about to begin.

“Lord Iwa sir, the…guest in the South Hall. We've already searched them for weapons. The Shi is without them; Lord Sozen has a black blade on his person. Should we take it from him?”

Iwa continued his stride, the report barely registering against the backdrop of his meticulously planned day. A ‘guest’? Likely some minor trade delegation or another petitioner seeking favor he had no intention of granting.

“Don’t bother,” Iwa finally responded, his voice a low drawl, “My brother is useless with a blade. I’m sure it’s purely for decoration.” He dismissed the guard with a flick of his hand and rounded the corner, Ren, his younger brother, falling into step beside him. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, the revised expenditure reports – absolute chaos, Ren. Utter chaos.”

But as they walked, the guard’s seemingly insignificant words shifted subtly within Iwa’s mind. Sozen… Impossible. Sozen was gone. Lost to the shame of his rebellion, he vanished into the shadows years ago after his disastrous attempt to… well, it was best not to dwell on Sozen’s folly.

Then, the final phrase echoed in his thoughts: guest of the Shi. Curiosity, sharp and predatory, eclipsed Iwa’s initial shock. An offering? Could this be… could it be true?

The Serpent Heir.

The name, barely whispered even in the deepest archives, sent a tremor through Iwa. Inheritor of power so terrifying it was spoken of in hushed tones as if uttering it aloud might draw its attention: the Dankestu Mugen, the Endless Void. Wielded once by Ains, the mythical shinobi who had nearly brought Edo to its knees. Ains, rumored to devour souls with a single gaze, a power that could shatter mountains and topple empires. And now, Sozen, his traitorous, foolish brother, was… offering it to him?

At the very least, it affirmed everything his clandestine experiments had hinted at. The existence of the Heir was not mere folklore. It was factual. And if the captive they held below was indeed the Serpent's Heir, then it confirmed his most audacious theory: that the being they held captive, deep within the vaults of Taka No Kami, truly did birth the Antithesis of Order–the key to unlocking the next stage of their clan's evolution.

The implications crashed over Iwa like a tidal wave. Greed, raw and potent, unfurled in his chest, squeezing his heart. This was it. The missing piece. The key to true Owaki dominance is within their province and beyond. He'd spent years, decades even, in the relentless pursuit of unparalleled power, scouring forgotten archives, bribing informants in forgotten temples, hunting down fractured rumors that most dismissed as madmen's tales. And now, by some twisted stroke of fate, it was being delivered to his doorstep, gift-wrapped in treachery and desperation by the very brother he had believed lost.

Skepticism, a shinobi’s constant companion, gnawed at him. This was too convenient. Too perfect. A trap? It reeked of it. Sozen had always been subtle, even in his rebellion. But the ego, that ever-present serpent coiled within his ambition, whispered louder. Fortuitous. Destiny. He, Iwa Owaki, was meant to wield this power. He did not intend to let even the mere possibility of it slip through his fingers.

He and Ren strode with renewed purpose towards the South Hall, Iwa's mind already racing, a whirlwind of calculations and contingencies. He needed to play this carefully. To test the waters, to gauge Sozen’s true intentions, and most importantly, to assess the… offering.

He found them waiting in the Hall, near the vast hangar doors looming like a metal leviathan's jaws. Beside his brother, chained and masked, stood… something. The figure was cloaked and hooded, every inch of exposed skin hidden, its movements unnaturally still, almost statuesque. A crude, sunless mask crafted from dull, gray metal obscured its face, leaving only the faintest suggestion of a jawline and the shadowed hollows where eyes should be. Sozen looked… gaunt. Thinner than Iwa remembered, shadows etched deep beneath his eyes as if sleepless nights had become his constant companion. Yet, despite his physical depletion, there was a strange, unsettling stillness about him, a composure that didn't quite ring true, like a carefully constructed façade.

“It is me, Iwa, flesh and blood,” Sozen replied, his voice carefully modulated, a forced humility clinging to each syllable like cheap perfume. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Iwa stopped a few paces away, his posture relaxed and almost welcoming, but his eyes were like chips of ice, scanning his brother, the masked figure, and every detail of the hall, searching for inconsistencies for telltale signs of duplicity. “Sozen,” he replied, his voice warm, laced with a feigned fondness that belied the icy calculation in his heart. “Brother. I confess I am… surprised. We believed you… lost.”

Ren stood silently beside Iwa, his body battling conflicting emotions. This… was so much to take in so suddenly. There is so much to process. He didn't know whether to embrace Sozen, the brother he had mourned or curse him for his past betrayals and misguided sympathy towards these… monsters. He looked at Sozen, and his heart sank further. The sun that once shone so brightly in his brother’s eyes, filled with rebellious passion, was now replaced with something dull, something… cynical.

“Lost to shame, perhaps,” Sozen conceded, his gaze flicking down to the masked figure beside him, almost protectively. “But not to death. I return, Iwa, to… atone. To offer something to the clan, to… begin to repay my debt.” He gestured vaguely around the hall. “Though I must admit, a Yaarou here in Taka No Kami? Bold even for you, brother.”

Iwa raised an eyebrow, playing along the facade, his eyes lingering on the chains binding the masked figure. “Yes, well, in the spirit of mutual gain, we have come to an… arrangement. Lady Ayune Yaarou. But that concerns you not.” He shifted his attention back to Sozen, a flicker of something akin to amusement in his eyes. “This… boy… is the offering? He’s not much older than Ren.” He glanced at Ren, who remained silent, his expression unreadable.

“The Serpent’s Heir, inheritor of the Ain’s Endless art…” Sozen’s voice dropped, becoming almost reverent, “the answer to our bloodline’s prayers, Iwa. The Dankestu Mugen.”

“Captured?” Iwa echoed, still adopting a tone of polite inquiry, feigning casual disbelief. “How did you even manage this?”

“Even snakes need to sleep, brother.” A ghost of Sozen’s old, sardonic wit flickered across his face, then vanished. “They believed me dead, so I became a ghost. I caught one of the Descendants alone… tortured the truth from them. They, in their arrogance, told of this boy, this… Shadowfang and his plans to return to Zaria. With the remaining sunless shinobi still under my control, I ambushed him. He never saw us coming.”

Inside, alarm bells screamed. Something was deeply, profoundly wrong. Sozen’s performance was too theatrical and too practiced, with the words rolling off his tongue unnaturally. And the masked figure… the oppressive aura radiating from it was palpable, even through the thick mask and layers of chains. It wasn’t the chaotic energy of the Yaarou they held captive; this was something colder, older, heavier.

He took another step forward, a genuine smile curving his lips, the mask of familial affection firmly in place. “Brother,” he said, his voice softening further, dripping with false warmth, “Come, let me embrace you. After so long… Father is sure to be overjoyed.” He extended his arms invitingly, the gesture of a welcoming brother.

But his movement was a feint.

He moved swiftly, a blur of motion honed by years of shinobi training, not towards Sozen, but towards the masked figure. In his hand, concealed in the folds of his sleeve, appeared a hair-thin syringe, its needle glinting faintly in the hangar’s muted light. Before anyone – even Sozen, who seemed momentarily stunned by the unexpected shift in his brother's demeanor – could react, Iwa’s hand shot out. The syringe plunged into the exposed nape of the masked figure's neck, just below the edge of the sunless mask, targeting the vulnerable point where the neck met the shoulder.

A muffled grunt escaped from behind the mask, accompanied by a twitch of the chained wrists and a sudden tightening of the cloaked shoulders. Iwa retracted the syringe, a single bead of luminescent green tonic clinging to the tip, shimmering like captured starlight. He stepped back, his smile now predatory, the warmth gone, and his eyes locking onto the masked figure with an intensity that could melt steel.

“My apologies,” Iwa said, his voice now devoid of warmth, sharp as tempered steel. “But Owaki hospitality extends to genuine apologies, not… theatrics. The lab was kind enough to prepare a little something for our… guest. A mild sedative specifically formulated to… inhibit Shi's ocular sensitivity. Just a precaution, you understand.”

He signaled with a curt nod to the guards flanking the hall entrance. Two Owaki shinobi, masked and clad in black, moved forward with preternatural silence, their movements efficient, lethal. They were on Sozen in an instant, their grips like iron bands, holding him tight, immobilizing him before he could even register a protest.

Iwa circled them slowly, his senses sharp, his mind dissecting every detail of the scene. Sozen’s feigned subservience was almost pathetic now, his eyes wide with fear and… something else, something Iwa couldn't quite place. The masked figure remained unnervingly still, the sedative taking hold, emanating an aura of… something else entirely. Something cold and ancient, something that prickled at the edges of Iwa's senses. He allowed a dismissive snort to escape his lips. “A captive? You expect me to believe you, Sozen? You, who betrayed us to free the Shi, now return with a… prisoner? Hardly believable.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Yet I meant what I said: you can return home. With Ren, unharmed,” he emphasized, glancing at his younger brother, who still stood frozen, watching the unfolding drama. “It is Father's right to decide what to do with you.”

“Now,” Iwa said, his gaze intense, boring into the masked figure behind the dull metal, “let us see who you truly are that my brother so foolishly offers as… redemption.” He took a step closer, the predatory glint in his eyes reflecting the cold, harsh light of the facility. “We Owaki are not easily fooled, Sozen. Especially not by family.”

The tonic, refined over generations by Owaki alchemists, was designed for one purpose: to temporarily inhibit the Shi's unique ocular abilities. It wouldn’t harm a human, but for those beings whose vision held secrets and powers beyond mortal comprehension, it was a temporary but effective dampener, a shield against the unfathomable.

Iwa stepped back, a predatory gleam intensifying in his eyes, and unclasped the crude metal mask with a slow, deliberate hand, relishing the suspense, the anticipation. He pulled it away, the metal scraping softly against the chains, revealing the face beneath.

It was pale, unnervingly smooth, almost porcelain as if sculpted from moonlight itself. His features were delicate and beautiful in a way that was both ethereal and unsettling. But the eyes stole the breath from Iwa’s lungs, freezing the air in his chest.

They were not human eyes.

Pupils that seemed to swallow all light, serpent-like black fissures in a canvas of violet. Irises that shimmered with an impossible depth, swirling with nebulous purplish colors that shifted and pulsed like galaxies contained within pools of liquid night. He stared directly into them, the tonic burning a faint trail through his veins, its protective magic working, shielding him, at least temporarily, from whatever power lay dormant, now suppressed, within those fathomless depths.

“The Dankestu Mugen…” Iwa breathed, barely a whisper, his eyes becoming slits of pure, unadulterated greed. He ignored Sozen’s strangled gasp, ignored Ren’s sudden intake of breath. He saw only the eyes, the promise of ultimate power reflected in their alien depths.

“Well, brother,” Iwa finally said, a slow, chilling smile spreading across his face. " I must admit…” Almost reverently, he reached out a hand towards Shadowfang's face.

“This… is a wonderful gift.”

His eyes shifted over to Ayune with a somber expression.

"I believe you said you had urgent matters to attend to, my Lady. Please, enjoy a safe return home."

He turned from her, leaving the others to escort her out promptly. He held no qualms about her knowing that the power of Ain's rested in the Owaki's hand. Let them know and be wary of what was to come. He motioned for them, the guards holding Shadowfang, to follow him. There wasn't a moment to lose. The tonic would not hold for long; they needed to repurpose and conduct the ritual within the next few hours before it wore off.

Ayune had reached the bay behind Iwa, Ren and an escort of guards when the sudden sound of raised voices drew her gaze. Iwa paused and she did the same as her eyes narrowed on Sozen Owaki. He emerged from his airship, dragging behind him a masked prisoner shackled in thick, rune-etched chains. His voice rang out, full of triumph, proclaiming his prize: the Serpent’s Heir—a Shi born with the power of the Ain.

Ayune didn’t speak. She simply watched.

Even as Iwa barked commands and guards surged forward to restrain his brother, her eyes never left the captive. Something itched at the edge of her memory—a hum behind her ribs that hadn’t stirred in years. When the mask was pulled free, that hum became a tremor.

Her breath caught.

The boy's face was pale, ethereal, almost otherworldly—moonlight carved into flesh. His features were delicate, hauntingly beautiful.. and unmistakable. The sharp angles of his jaw, the slope of his nose– all of it was too familiar.

Not exactly.

But well enough.

It was the face of a woman long thought lost—once a revered voice on the Yaarou Council, a master soulcrafter whose influence had lingered even after her supposed disgrace and disappearance. A bloodline buried in silence. A legacy erased.

Until now.

Ayune’s heartbeat slowed, then quickened, like a pendulum shaken off course. Her stomach turned, and she steadied herself with the faintest inhale. If this truly was the Serpent’s Heir, and if he bore Yaarou blood… then the implications stretched far beyond politics or prophecy. The delicate balance of power and alliances now seemed precariously poised on the edge of the blade.

She said nothing.

Not now.

But her mind had already begun to race, stitching together implications and unspoken truths as she was ushered to the waiting airship. But even as she boarded the ship and the roar of the engines swallowed the world behind her, that boy's face stayed burned behind her eyes. She had to tell the Xhi’on what she learned.

Jao’s body tensed as the name rang in his ears, a discordant chime in the tense silence that had fallen over the aerial platform. Ayune. A Yaarou, here? He couldn't even begin to fathom what calamitous event could have dragged one of those ice-blooded witches to this precarious parley amongst the clouds. What crisis, what earth-shattering upheaval could be so momentous that it would compel the fiercely independent clans to convene, peacefully even, in the sky of all places? The air itself felt thinner, colder, just the echo of her name enough to send a shiver down his spine. Jao didn't like the implications, not one bit. But his churning anxieties about Ayune’s presence were abruptly cut short. His breath hitched, not in fear, but in stunned surprise as a prick, sharp and swift as a viper’s strike, pierced the side of his neck.

“He’s…fast.” The shocked voice, Shadowfang’s, rumbled beside him, a surprised undertone lacing its usual gravelly edge. Even for Shadowfang, a warrior renowned for his preternatural senses and reflexes, Iwa's speed was alarming. It wasn’t merely quickness; it was an almost uncanny ability to bypass perception. Shadowfang, ever vigilant, ever ready to slip into the ethereal shadows, had barely registered Iwa’s approach. Normally, the sharpened ears of the sunless could detect the faintest tremor in the air, the subtlest shift in the very fabric of their surroundings. But Iwa’s movements were like a scalpel, clean and precise, seemingly slicing through space with barely a ripple, leaving almost no trace. He…was unnervingly skilled.

Jao’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as the cold, viscous green liquid pulsed through his veins. His skin prickled, then hummed, a faint jade luminescence blossoming across his flesh, tracing the intricate pathways of his venous system like liquid fire burning him from the inside out. Pain, sharp and searing, lanced through him, yet he refused to falter. He remained standing, a statue of defiance in the face of the unexpected assault. It didn't incapacitate him, not in the immediate, collapsing sense, but his limbs grew heavy, weighted down by unseen anchors. His muscles felt sluggish, unresponsive. Moving naturally, escaping? Futile. Any attempt to break free would be met with an opposition he was now ill-equipped to withstand. But the plan was never to resist.

Sozen, standing beside him, though visibly taken aback by the startling swiftness of Iwa's actions, the brazen display in front of Ayune no less, radiated an almost unnerving calm. This was a calculated move, a power display, a flashing of cards held close to his chest. In her infinite wisdom, Lady Rhea had foreseen this, had warned against the inherent volatility of Iwa’s nature. Sozen had banked on it.

He never truly expected his brother to believe a single word of the flimsy pretense they'd presented, an obvious ploy designed to get them close. But Sozen knew Iwa better than anyone. He saw the glint in his brother’s eye, a predator’s gaze mixed with the desperate greed of a starving bird of prey. Eager to prove his superiority, to reinforce his position atop the food chain, Iwa would never let the mere possibility of being outmaneuvered slip through his grasp.

The biggest gamble in this audacious scheme hadn’t been Iwa himself, but his skepticism. Whether they would even be permitted to land, to speak, instead of being blasted from the sky – that had been the true uncertainty. But the Withering… that was a shadow that haunted all Owaki, even Iwa, especially as the eldest, burdened by the weight of responsibility. As Iwa’s gaze, sharp and piercing, locked onto Shadowfang’s, Iwa would see the scorching vengeance simmering beneath the surface. Though not yet consumed by the horrifying, vacant glow of the delirium, the raw, unadulterated hatred in his brother’s glare was enough to break lesser men. But Jao could see plainly, Iwa was far from lesser.

Rough hands, surprisingly gentle despite their earlier aggression, clamped onto their arms, and they were dragged towards a descending platform, the guards' grips firm yet almost perfunctory on Sozen and Jao. As they plummeted downwards, Jao, fighting the encroaching fog of the sedative, caught a fleeting glimpse through the swirling mists. They were passing through layers of the facility, intricate metal lattices and glowing conduits, then… cages. Hundreds of them. Within, Shi. Confined, their eyes dull, vacant, devoid of the spark of defiance he knew so well. His brothers and sisters, reduced to husks.

“Just…give me a little more time…I promise…” The whispered words, a mantra of desperate hope, echoed in the clamor of his own racing thoughts. This fragile promise, to those lost souls, to himself, was what kept him tethered to awareness, what fueled the flickering embers of his resolve. The deeper they descended, the more agitated Jao’s spirit became. Even through the numbing haze of the drug, a white-hot fury simmered within him, festering like an open wound. Every cold, impassive Owaki guard he laid eyes upon only intensified this feeling, stoking the fires of his rage. He yearned to feel their lifeblood warm on his hands, their viscera dripping between his fingers. But not yet… not yet. He had to see it… see her for himself.

Every inch they dropped intensified the frantic beating of his heart. The ring of power… it was close. He could almost hear its silken song, a seductive melody drawing him in, promising strength, salvation. But something else tugged at him, a different kind of pull, something deeper, more primal, something that felt disturbingly familiar. A subtle, gnawing unease coiled in his gut, a twinge of anxiousness that belied the simmering rage. What was waiting for him in the depths? Whatever it was, it was powerful disturbingly so.

Sozen looked out at the captured Shi as they were led through the sterile corridors of the laboratory below. Their eyes, empty voids reflecting the artificial light, were a stark testament to the cruelty of the Owaki, a horrifying tableau of lives stolen, spirits broken. His heart felt heavy, a leaden weight in his chest. Regret, sharp and acidic, gnawed at him. He knew, with chilling certainty, that he had contributed to this, to their captivity, to the systematic robbing of their light, their freedom, their very essence.

The initial pang of pity began to coalesce, hardening into something more resolute, more dangerous. He hadn’t underestimated his brother’s inherent distrust, his ingrained inability to forgive; he had counted on it. He had counted on Iwa’s predictable rage, and on Jao’s unyielding strength. Jao needed to withstand whatever heinous theatrics Iwa had planned, needed to buy them time, to hold on until the tonic's influence waned and their true contingency, the real gamble, could finally be set into motion.

Step by step, his shoes clacked against the solid floors. Step by step, they inched ever closer to the fulfillment of something set to shift Edo's very well-being. The scales had already been tipped when the ritual for dominating the Shi came into his hands.

“Thousands of years, hundreds of failures, yet today, we stand upon the precipice of history itself. Order, stability, unification.” Iwa's voice, booming in the spacious chamber, held the brittle, triumphant tone of a man who had already tasted victory. Confident, now more than ever, that the former glory of the Owaki, tarnished and faded by time and circumstance, was sure to return. His place as head of the clan, coveted and fought for, was a surety once he got his hands on the ultimate prize. A clone of Ain’s, a mirror of Jao, a perfect weapon, and completely subservient to his will.

The Yaarou and Owaki, two sides of the same coin, shared a deep, ingrained disdain for the Shi. But where the Yaarou saw only filth, expendable laborers whose sole value resided in their uncanny eyes and the cursed chi that flowed through them, the Owaki, led by Iwa, saw something else entirely: promise, evolution, and potential to be weaponized.

“And to think…” Iwa continued, his voice dripping with a mocking amusement, “all this time, those Damned rebels held the very door to destiny all along. You Shi are slippery serpents, indeed. Eighteen years they hid you from us… but no longer.”

The Yaarou always had their eyes set on the virtue of the Future, progress at any cost, a relentless march forward. The Owaki, conversely, revered the strength of the past, clinging to tradition and ancestral might. But what of the present? Who did the now of Edo truly belong to? A question of bitter fate echoed in Shadowfang's muddled mind as the drugs took firmer hold, blurring the edges of his vision and pulling him deeper into the oppressive atmosphere of the Owaki facility. He was unceremoniously shoved into the containment room, a cold, sterile space laced with the hum of advanced mechanical obstructions. Devices designed to observe, dissect, and study the Shi, like specimens under a microscope.

Within the center of the room, bathed in an eerie, pulsating light, stood a massive containment unit, vastly different from any other he had seen. It was larger and more complex, radiating an unnatural stillness that sent shivers down his spine even through the drug-induced haze.

“But seeing as how you have graciously gifted yourself to us,” Iwa’s voice sliced through the fog in his head, sharp and laced with anticipation, “I have a gift in return.” He gestured theatrically towards the central unit.

“Iwa, don’t.” The weak protest came from Sozen, dragged along in Shadowfang’s wake. He knew where they were. The familiar stench clinging to the air, a sickeningly sweet perfume of Lilia blossoms interwoven with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid undertones of despair. It… it was too cruel, too pointless to subject him to this.

But Iwa ignored Sozen, dismissing his plea with a wave. What use were the fitted sympathies of a traitor, a Shi lover? Shadowfang had come searching for truth, explanations, and vengeance for the destruction of his village, for the life stolen from him. Iwa would at least grant him two of the three in his twisted generosity. His own added gift, however, would be a crushing despair so profound it would shatter the very core of his being.

“As I’m sure the traitor,” Iwa sneered at Sozen, “has told you, eighteen years ago, we got intel. There were whispers that a Yarou councilwoman and a Shi had been secretly seeing each other. It was her handmaid who spilled the secret, cliché, I know. It’s always the maid.” He said, his voice conversational, as if recounting a mundane anecdote, walking towards the shrouded container.

“Originally, we were only interested in what the blood of a Yaarou and Shi mixed could produce. See, the Shi possess incredible cellular regeneration thanks to their cursed chi, while even a hexless Yaarou… well, a hexless Yaarou can still possibly produce a child with hexcraft. The inherent chaotic energy… you see the potential.” Iwa’s eyes gleamed with a feverish excitement. “Could you have imagined it? A Shi born with the power of Hexcraft? The thought alone was enough for us to sink a small fortune into the handmaid’s pockets.” He chuckled a dry, humorless sound.

“But what we discovered, what that repulsive union yielded, was something far greater than we could have ever hoped.” He finally reached Jao, lifting his sullen head with a soft, almost gentle, vice grip on his chin. Jao, the cloned Shi, the weapon, stood passively, his eyes vacant, his spirit seemingly already broken.

“You…” Iwa murmured, studying Jao’s blank features, then abruptly released him, letting his head fall forward, his dark hair curtaining his face.

“One bearing the eyes of the most infamous Shinobi in all Edolan history.” Iwa’s voice dropped to a hushed reverence, a theatrical whisper meant for Shadowfang alone. “A man whose prowess was so great his very legacy was wiped from the pages of the past. Parables of his strength, valor, and terror whispered through the ages, distorted and feared. His very name was too taboo to speak. In over ten thousand years, not another Shinobi has been born to match his legend and his Endless art, thought lost forever.”

Iwa turned back to Shadowfang, his eyes burning with triumphant malice. “Then, eighteen years ago, a haunting sight, a child newly born, carrying those eyes, those damned eyes of an ancient destroyer. A mother nearly devoured by her own baby's untamed chi. A man, a fool Shi, was forced to choose between the woman he loved and the child he barely knew. Why, it was something straight out of a fable; I could scarcely believe the reports. I always felt you were lurking in the shadows, the serpent heir. But for years, I had to settle…”

His eyes, glinting like chips of obsidian, narrowed. “If I could not have the serpent heir himself, then the one who birthed him would have to suffice…” Iwa’s eyes flashed with devilish glee, a predator savoring its kill, as he pressed a button on a nearby console. A low hum filled the chamber, and a visor hanging over the large containment unit began to retract slowly, like the unveiling of a macabre masterpiece.

One might have expected the body of a frail, broken human woman to be revealed, a victim of their Owaki experiments. But what lay inside that unit was anything but human. As the visor fully retracted, revealing the contents, Shadowfang’s breath hitched in his throat. A cold dread washed over him, paralyzing him with its icy grip.

A plaque in front of the unit read: “Medusa.”

A woman… or what was once a woman. Much of her hair was gone, shaved close to her scalp, but the remnants of what remained were a silken, jet black streaked with disturbing patches of grey. The creature, for that was what it had become, had piercing red eyes, burning with a tormented, trapped fire. Her skin wasn't skin anymore but covered in plates of dull grey metal, grafted and fused where flesh used to be. Attached to her head, snaking around her like living serpents, were innumerable tubes, thick and pulsating, feeding into and draining from the metallic husk.

Iwa gestured again, a flourish of his hand as if presenting a prize. “Say hello, Shadowfang…to your mother, Suzaku Yaarou…”

The air in the containment room thrummed with a sickening sensation that pressed down harder than any physical weight. Shadowfang’s breath hitched in his throat, a stark reality slammed into him. He stared, unblinking, at the monstrous figure within the containment unit. The plaque, “Medusa,” seemed to mock him with a cruelly ironic name, a twisted echo of feminine beauty turned into something nightmarish.

His mother. Suzaku Yaarou. The words echoed in Iwa’s voice, sharp barbs digging into Shadowfang’s soul. How long had he waited to learn her name, though he had always hoped it would be from his father's lips. He asked about her once; his father grew silent...as if something harrowing weighed on him. He told him she had gorgeous black hair and fair skin like his. And eyes that burned like wildfire. His mind struggled to reconcile the elegant, fierce image he had constructed from those fragmented moments and longing with… this grotesque amalgamation of flesh and metal. The silken black hair his father mentioned was matted and brittle, clinging to a head dominated by a network of tubes that pulsed with an unnatural luminescence. Her skin wasn’t skin at all but burnished metal plates overlapping in places like grotesque scales, interspersed with patches of pallid, almost translucent flesh. And those eyes. They were piercing red, burning with a cold, alien light, unreadable and terrifying.

A low, guttural sound escaped Shadowfang's lips, a strangled whisper of disbelief. “No…” he managed, the word tasting like ash. This couldn’t be. This was some elaborate, cruel trick. Some nightmare conjured by the drugs. The festering in his spirit began to twist more and more, coiling tighter around his heart. Shadowfang’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Disgust, horror, disbelief, he staggered closer, drawn in despite the revulsion churning in his gut. Iwa permitted it, letting the guard walk him to the glass. He could see details he hadn't registered before. The metallic plates weren't randomly placed; they seemed to follow the contours of a human form, reinforcing, perhaps even replacing bone and muscle. The tubes pulsed with an unnatural, rhythmic light, feeding into her, sustaining her… or possibly controlling her? The air crackled with energy, unseen but palpable, radiating from the unit and from Medusa herself.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out a trembling hand towards the reinforced glass of the containment unit. His fingers hovered just millimeters away, a stark barrier on the cold, smooth surface. Through it, he could see the red eyes flicker, not with intelligence, but with something predatory, instinctive. Yet, within that burning crimson, was there… a flicker of something else? Something beneath the monstrous exterior?

He strained his eyes, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. He searched for any trace of the woman his father had spoken of. The woman whose eyes burned like wildfire. And then, he saw it. Not in the artificial luminescence of the tubes, not in the burnished metal plates, but deep within the unsettling red of those alien eyes. A flicker of… pain? A desperation that seemed to cut through the layers of metal and mutation and speak to something buried deep within him.

A choked sob escaped him. “Mother?” The word was barely a whisper, lost in the hum of the containment unit and the pounding of his own blood. It was a plea, a desperate question hurled into the void.

Medusa’s head, encased in metal and tubes, tilted slightly. One metallic hand, ending in wickedly sharp claws, twitched. The red eyes seemed to focus, or to attempt to focus, on him. The cold alien light dimmed for a fleeting moment, and something almost heartbreakingly human flickered in their depths.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was replaced by the cold, predatory glow. Medusa let out a low growl, a sound that vibrated through the floor and into Shadowfang’s bones. The metallic hand slammed against the glass, the sound echoing in the suffocating silence of the room. Was it a gesture of frustration, rage, or maybe… a warning? Whatever it was, it broke Shadowfang's heart in two. Sozen made a choked sound, stepping forward. “Iwa, this is madness! You don’t know what you’re doing! She’s… she’s suffering! Can’t you see? This isn’t glory, it’s torture!"

Iwa stood wearing a face that was nothing short of indifferent. An observing glimmer as Medusa, the codename given to the monstrous experiment of Shadowfang's mother, reacted to Shadowfang; that was the only interesting thing, the only moving point of this plot for him. She had only returned their words with primal indignation, needing to be put to sleep for them to draw fresh samples. Yet, it appeared that here in front of her child, that event, his monster retained a fraction of her former resolve.

Iwa's own mother was gone, swallowed by the withering when he was still a child. He barely remembered her smile's warmth and gentle strength in her hands. Only Kaito shared her with him. Sozen and Kaito had different mothers. She was a faded photograph to Iwa, a nostalgic ideal that meant little in the harsh reality he had come to embrace. That loss had broken something in him, perhaps. Or perhaps it had simply cleared the fog. He was like Ren once, clinging to childish notions of morality and love. Foolishness. He had learned since then that such things were luxuries Edo and, indeed, the world could ill afford. What he was orchestrating here was not cruelty, not in his eyes. It was pruning, a necessary excision of weakness to cultivate strength. Shadowfang had been clinging to the hope that his mother was here, that someway by the grace of some god, he and she would be able to pick up where fate let them off. Iwa offered him the unvarnished truth: power was the only currency that mattered.

He scoffed a dry, humorless sound, turning his back on Sozen, who stood rigid, his face a mask of barely contained fury. “Suffering, Sozen? Always with the sentimentality. A little discomfort is a paltry price for ultimate power. And besides,” Iwa’s lips curled into a thin, cruel smile, "I doubt she registers discomfort anymore.” He snapped his fingers. Two Owaki guards, their faces impassive, stepped forward, each bearing a tray laden with glass vials filled with viscous fluids and strange, humming devices of polished steel and obsidian. “The ritual begins now, Shadowfang. And you, dear brother, will have front-row seats to the dawn of a new Edo.”

With another sharp gesture, he signaled the guards. They moved quickly, flanking Shadowfang and Sozen, their grip firm as they steered them out of the observation chamber, through a sterile corridor, and into a larger room. This was the stage Ayune had used for her demonstrations. In the center of the room stood a complex array of unoccupied restraints. Iwa intended to conduct this ritual himself. The tonic they had administered to Shadowfang had dampened the boy’s Anthem, the power that had proven so disruptive in previous attempts. The risk was mitigated but not eliminated. Even with the tonic, this ritual demanded focus, skill, and… patience, which was a bit lacking. He had craved more time to study Ayune’s notes, to refine the process, to master it and bend it to his grander ambitions truly. But time, like sentimentality, was a luxury he could no longer afford. His time was running out.

“Sir, are you certain?” An attendant, his voice hesitant, dared to voice his concern. “We’ve only just…”. The words died in his throat as Iwa’s gaze, sharp and glacial, locked onto him. The attendant flinched, understanding dawning in his eyes. Nothing. Absolutely nothing would stand between Iwa and his vision. Edo, kneeling at his feet. The Lords, the Daimyo, begging for his favor, for a sliver of the power he intended to wield.

“Prepare the specimen,” Iwa commanded, his voice ringing with authority. Ensure the bindings are secure. Get a sample of his blood as is. We can compare the data later after the change.”

The attendants moved with practiced efficiency, securing Shadowfang within the restraints. The same enchanted wrapping used previously, ready to pacify the heir further. They then used a syringe to draw a vial of blood from him. Iwa grounded himself, breathing deeply, mentally recalling every minute detail of Ayune’s demonstration. The precise placement of the instruments, the cadence of her incantations, and the subtle shifts in energy flow.

Ren stood beside him, holding a small, ornate box. Ren stepped forward at Iwa’s silent nod, his face pale but resolute. Sozen’s eyes, filled with grief that cut Iwa like a physical blow, met Ren’s. They were the eyes of an elder brother burdened by failure. Sozen had tried to shield Ren, to keep him untainted by the darkness that festered within their family, within the Owaki. Perhaps, in his misguided gentleness, he had failed Ren from the start. He should have acted sooner before Iwa’s influence had taken root.

“Ren,” Sozen’s voice was low, pleading, “there’s still time. You don’t have to do this…”

For a fleeting moment, Ren’s gaze wavered. He looked at Sozen, the brother who had taught him so much, the one he had once admired. He heard the desperation in Sozen’s voice, and a flicker of doubt crossed his young face. But then, his eyes hardened. He remembered the carefully curated stories Sozen had spun, the half-truths and comfortable lies designed to keep him sheltered. On the other hand, Iwa had shown him the world as it truly was: brutal, unforgiving, ruled by strength. And glaring at Shadowfang, pathetic and bound, Ren saw the stark reality of the Shi, the powerlessness of sentiment, the ultimate insignificance of hope. He turned away from Sozen, the fleeting moment of hesitation vanished.

“You’re wrong, brother,” Ren said, his voice cold, echoing Iwa’s indifference. He opened the ornate chest, revealing the instruments for the rite, gleaming obsidian and polished silver. “I’ve been a part of this since I was born an Owaki.”

Iwa smirked, his lips curved predatory as he reached for the sleek and sharp obsidian needle, the catalyst of his ambition. Iwa pricked his thumb, a bead of crimson welling up. With a swift, decisive motion, he traced an arc of his blood across Shadowfang's forehead. The ritual had begun.

“I see… so you have chosen then…” Sozen’s voice, suddenly louder, sharper, cut through the tense silence. “…5…4…”

Iwa continued his preparations, ignoring Sozen. He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, steadying breath. He needed focus and absolute clarity. As he tried to silence the noise in his mind, Sozen’s insistent and unnerving voice broke through.

“Silence, fool!” Iwa snapped, his eyes still closed, his concentration wavering.

“3…2…1…” Sozen’s countdown continued, each number a hammer blow against the fragile wall of Iwa’s composure.

“Someone shut him up!” Iwa roared, his eyes snapping open, fury lacing his voice.

One of the attendants, panicked, lashed out, a brutal punch to Sozen’s gut. Sozen doubled over, gasping for breath, but his resolve remained unbroken. He straightened, his eyes burning unholy, and bellowed, “Now, Shadowfang!”

Momentarily stunned, his carefully constructed focus shattered, Iwa whipped his head back towards his captive. Confusion warred with shock on his face. What game were they playing? Shadowfang was a husk, a meat puppet, as long as the tonic coursed through his veins. Unless…

Iwa’s eyes darted back to Sozen. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across Sozen’s face, a chilling counterpoint to the pain contorting his features. Understanding, icy and horrifying, dawned on Iwa.

“You bastard,” Iwa hissed, his voice laced with a dawning terror, “What have you done?!”

A fanged smirk spread wide on Shadowfang's face as Sozen finished his countdown.

"Sick 'em, Kuro." The command was barely a whisper, breathed out from beneath the edge of Shadowfang's hood.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a flicker of movement, dark and sinuous, emerged from the depths of the hood. Kuro. A serpent as black as the void between stars, its scales shimmering faintly in the artificial light. In a blur of motion, Kuro struck. Like lightning, it spat out a toxic bile, venom straight into his left eye. Fortunately for Iwa, Kuro was still only an infant, his venom not as corrosive enough to eat away at Iwa's flesh, yet it was acidic enough to cause intense burns. His cries of agony were a call of invigoration for Jao. Taking advantage of this window, Shadowfang's limbs sprung to life. The heaviness of the tonic swiftly metalized. He twisted his frame, arching himself upward using the bandages, holding his arms as leverage, and unleashing a swift yet devastating kick to Ren's chin. In the same fluid motion, a small vial of ophidian he had tucked tightly away, barely noticeable but enough for him to use in a pinch, such as now. The liquid metal snaked around his torso, traveling up his arms and shifting its form to small blades that cut loose the bindings. Joa landed a few feet away from his position.

" Good job, boy."

He petted Kuro, lightly stretching the top of his head. The serpent hissed, pleased with itself. He pulled out his shades from a hidden pouch in his cloak, customs forged by the gamalow.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you...little man?"

Scarcely a moment later, his naten returned in full, with it, the amethyst gleam of his Endless Art. The Dankestu Mugen gleamed a furious blaze, like a living inferno of inevitability; it flooded the room with a virtually palpable dread, his aura snaking around him like a maelstrom of terror until it coalesced into a spectral form of a massive snake mirroring the wingless one. However, it was short-lived as Jao sleekly cleaned the lenses of his spec before placing them on his face and forcing the aura to recede. Control. He needed to be in control for now.

Sozen, watching the chaotic display, seized his moment. The guards holding him, momentarily stunned by Shadowfang’s sudden resurgence and the terrifying aura, loosened their grip. The hilt of the obsidian katana strapped to his back became a weapon. He rammed it with brutal force into the face of the guard on his left. The man’s nose crunched, and he stumbled, going limp. The remaining guard reacted instantly, swinging a heavy fist. But Sozen was already moving. He gathered wind naten in his foot, feeling the familiar power surge, and swept his leg in a low arc, tripping the guard. Sozen was upon him as the man fell, a crouching wind palm slamming into his stomach. The guard was propelled backward, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud, sliding down to the floor unconscious.

"Once again, you've underestimated our bond, brother."

He took the blade, the obsidian Katana, and tossed it to Jao, who caught it without looking.

"I speculated you might use the tonic, so I came up with this nifty counter drug, though I must say, it took a bit longer to metabolize the tonic than I had hoped. Guess it all worked out, right Shadowfang."


Jao rolled his neck, releasing the lingering tension of being bound and collared like a dog.

“Tch...you played your role a little too well, Sozen, but it was effective…and now…” Jao tossed his cloak aside. It landed in a heap, revealing a solid black shinobi garb, the crimson serpent clan symbol embossed boldly on the chest. He moved with a newfound fluidity, a predator uncoiling. He gripped Kuroi Ryu, Black Dragon, tightly in his hand. The blade seemed to pulse with dark energy, responding to his rage, his desire for vengeance. Yet, the void pyre, the blade’s ultimate manifestation, the draconic flames of absolute annihilation, remained dormant, stubbornly refusing to ignite. The dragon still rejected him. But the blade itself, even unawakened, brimmed with dark naten, infused with his shadow power. It would be sufficient for now. He wanted to savor this.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he unsheathed Kuroi Ryu. The obsidian blade rested at his side, a promise of pain and retribution. He finally spoke directly to Iwa, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

“It will be your scream, Iwa Owaki, that fills this facility. Don't expect death to come swiftly; I'm going to make sure you feel every ounce of pain you caused my mother!”

Jao moved in a burst of virulent speed, fueled by years of simmering rage. Kuroi Ryu arced through the air, a black lightning bolt aimed at Iwa’s midsection. His intent was clear, brutal, and visceral. He aimed to cleave Iwa open, to spill his guts onto the cold, sterile floor, to make him pay, inch by agonizing inch, for the life he had stolen.