Vescrutia: Legacy

"ARGH!" Iwa howled, the venom burning like molten fire as it seared its way across his eyeball. His fingers, slick with the viscous poison from the serpent coiled around Shadowfang’s wrist, fumbled at his face. “Dammit, you snake bastard!” He staggered back, vision blurring into a kaleidoscope of pain, blindly reaching for solid ground, for Ren, for anything familiar in the suddenly treacherous world of blinding agony. Sozen had gotten the upper hand on him; in his glee of power, he had let the possibility of a counterdrug be in play. It had gone to smoothly now that he thought on it, but regrets were not a thing he harbored.

A sickening grunt of pain echoed in the chamber, sharp and cutting through Iwa's haze of agony. Ren slammed against the hard, cold floor, the thud reverberating through Iwa’s spinning head. Shadowfang’s boot, heavy and unforgiving, connected with Ren’s chin, the sound resonating in the tense air like a death knell. "Ren!" Iwa yelled, his voice raw with panic, his world swimming in and out of focus, the burning in his eye a searing white-hot brand.

Ren coughed, a wet, rattling sound, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Blood blossomed on his lips, painting a grim tableau against his pale face. "I’m… I’m okay, Iwa," he gasped, spitting a crimson fleck onto the stone floor. Though clouded with pain, his eyes were fixed on the doorway behind Shadowfang. "He’s coming!"

Iwa blinked rapidly, forcing himself to fight through the searing pain. Though still excruciating, the stinging in his eye slowly receded enough for the edges of his vision to sharpen. Shadowfang was already moving, a predator unleashed, a blur of furious, controlled motion. Kuroi Ryu, the cursed blade, flashed in the dim light, executing a horrifying arc of black steel aimed directly at Iwa’s chest. The air seemed to crackle around the blade, promising swift and brutal finality.

"You think you can just take from me?!" Shadowfang snarled, his voice raw, stripped bare by years of festering resentment and suppressed fury. The words spat from his lips were venomous, each syllable laced with a profound hatred that seemed to warp the air around him. "You stole everything! My name! My birthright! You will bleed for it, Iwa! Every last drop! For every breath you've taken, that should have been mine!" His eyes burned with a malevolent light, fixed on Iwa with an intensity that promised unspeakable pain.

Iwa’s reflexes, honed by years of brutal training and an innate, almost inhuman speed, sparked to life. He threw himself back, a desperate, instinctive movement, the razor-sharp edge of Kuroi Ryu whistling past his stomach, a breath away from cleaving him in two. The blade sliced through his tunic like paper, leaving a cold trail of air against his skin where the steel had kissed him. "Too slow, Shadowfang," he hissed, adrenaline surging through him, momentarily drowning out the agony in his eye. His breath came in ragged gasps, but a predatory grin stretched across his face. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually trying to kill me."

He twisted, landing in a crouch, his hand bracing him against the cold, unforgiving floor. Wind naten crackled and sparked around his boot, the air vibrating with barely contained power. "Greater men than you have tried and failed, Shi stain!" Iwa roared, pushing off the ground with explosive force, unleashing a brutal upward kick. The air itself screamed in response as a vertical gale of pure force erupted from his foot, slamming into Shadowfang with the impact of a battering ram. The force of the wind naten was palpable, visible as it distorted the air and momentarily stalled Shadowfang’s relentless advance.

Iwa snatched a small device from his pocket with his other hand. His thumb hovered over a single, ominous red button. "Serpent's Heir..." Iwa spat, his eyes blazing, now not just with fury but with a hint of something colder and calculating. "Let’s see just how much of the Serpent remains in you, shall we?" His thumb slammed on the red button.

A deafening shriek tore through the air – the blare of a high-pitched siren, brutal and ear-splitting, designed to shatter composure and sow chaos. The sound hammered against their skulls, amplified by the confined space, disorienting, paralyzing. Despite his injured eye, Iwa grabbed Ren by the arm, yanking him to his feet with surprising strength. "Come on, Ren! Now!" He bolted for the door, dragging his brother with him, leaving Shadowfang momentarily stunned by the sudden, jarring alarm and the brutal wind blast.

Shadowfang was a split second too late. As Iwa and Ren disappeared through the doorway, shadows began to writhe and coalesce in the opening like ink bleeding into water, a dark stain spreading across the threshold. Then, solidifying with terrifying speed, a masked figure emerged. Tall as Shadowfang, nearly identical in stature, cloaked in ash-black fabric that seemed to absorb the light itself. Its bare feet were silent on the stone floor, and its head, encased in a stark black, emotionless mask, was still unsettling—subject Zero.

Cold and utterly devoid of emotion, a disembodied, chillingly mechanical voice echoed from the shadows behind the masked figure: "Subject Zero, Eliminate."

Subject Zero remained motionless for a heartbeat, a statue carved from obsidian and bone. Then, its head tilted with a disturbing, mechanical click, like gears grinding into place. The next instant, it was gone, a blur of motion swallowed by the corridor, leaving only the lingering chill of its presence.

"They’re going after it! They’re going for the Ring!" Sozen shouted, his face contorted with alarm, his eyes wide with dawning comprehension. He understood Iwa’s desperation, his volatile pride. Iwa would gamble everything, even his life, to prevent them from gaining the Ring’s power. "I'll go after them!" Sozen roared, surging forward, propelled by loyalty and dread, lunging through the doorway after Iwa and Ren.

But as he burst through the opening, Subject Zero was already back, a crouched, silent predator, a wraith returned from the shadows. Shimmering with a dark, swirling naten that seemed to devour the light, one hand with shadows congealing around it morphed, with sickening fluidity, into a blade of pure darkness. The shadow blade was aimed directly at Sozen’s heart.

“Are we really running Iwa?” Ren questioned, his voice laced with irritation. His hand instinctively went to his bruised chin, a reminder of Shadowfang's brutal kick.

“Don't be a fool, Ren; it would've been stupid to try and face them with venom in my eyes.” Iwa snapped back, his voice tight with frustration. He could feel the burning throb behind his eye socket. “Plus, they’re here for the ring. We must not allow it to fall in Shadowfang's hands. If it does… it'll be the second coming of the Unlit Dawn...” His own irritation warred with a deeper, more profound dread. He glanced back, a frustrated look twisting his features. Had that accursed serpent not obscured his vision, he would have handled Shadowfang himself. The Unlit Dawn was a parable of the world in its initial state when chaos reigned, and brute might ruled the nature of Edo. It was a lawless era where murder was a pastime.

“Are the Rings really that powerful?” Ren asked, his breath coming in ragged gasps as they sprinted through the labyrinthine corridors.

“Ain's once used the Ring of Power to bend the pirate nation and its entire conglomerate to his whim, complying with his command to dominate the seas surrounding Edo and its trade.” Iwa explained, his voice urgent. “Imagine that kind of power, Ren. The unfettered power over nations, over nature itself.”

Ren gasped lightly, his eyes widening in disbelief. He knew the legends, the tales of the Rings of Power and Destruction, but he’d always dismissed them as just that – legends.

“In the hand of one with as much hate in his heart as that boy,” Iwa continued, his voice grim, “I don't even want to know what he'd do with the Ring of Destruction… It’s not just about Edo anymore, Ren. It’s about everything.”

“Can Subject Zero hold them off?” Ren inquired, his eyes darting nervously behind them, half expecting the silent, masked figure to materialize at their heels.

“That single Oni is worth a thousand soldiers; they’ll be preoccupied, hopefully buying us time, and with any luck… dead,” Iwa replied, his voice hardening with a ruthless edge. He pushed harder, forcing his injured eye to focus on the path ahead. “Now come, we must hurry. I can’t fight back like this. Not yet.”

"You think you can just take from me?!" Shadowfang snarled, his voice raw, stripped bare by years of festering resentment and suppressed fury. The words spat from his lips were venomous, each syllable laced with a profound hatred that seemed to warp the air around him. "You stole everything! My name! My birthright! You will bleed for it, Iwa! Every last drop! For every breath you've taken, that should have been mine!" His eyes burned with a malevolent light, fixed on Iwa with an intensity that promised unspeakable pain.

Jao staggered, the wind ripped from his lungs as if a physical fist had slammed into his chest. Iwa, that infuriating Owaki, had unleashed a gust of pure, compressed air that sent Jao skidding back across the polished stone floor of the ancient temple. He tasted blood, the metallic tang coating his tongue as he fought to regain his footing. The air still thrummed with residual energy, a testament to the Owaki’s mastery of wind manipulation. Kaze no… Kaze no… The name of the Owaki wind art technique danced just beyond his grasp, a frustrating itch in his memory. Regardless, witnessing it firsthand was a chilling spectacle. If Iwa wasn't the architect of so much pain in his life, Jao might have even felt a grudging respect for the sheer power on display. But respect was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not for Iwa. Not for any Owaki.

"They're retreating!" Sozen’s sharp and urgent voice cut through the lingering whine of the wind. Jao blinked, clearing the stars from his vision. He saw it then – the backs of Iwa and his cohort disappearing through a crumbling archway at the chamber's far end. Cowards. The word snarled in Jao’s mind, a venomous counterpoint to the admiration he almost felt moments ago. He snarled aloud, adjusting his grip on Kuroi Ryu, the katana humming faintly in his hand, eager for bloodshed. He lunged forward, intent on cutting them down, on ending this now.

But his stride faltered, his momentum abruptly arrested by a chilling sensation that prickled at the edges of his awareness. It was as if the very shadows in the already dim facility had begun to stir, to coalesce with an unnatural purpose. Darkness pulsed from the deepest recess of the room, near the doorway. It wasn't just shadow; it was something denser, thicker, an absence of light that seemed to drink in the surrounding illumination. This mass of shadows writhed and knitted itself together, taking on a humanoid form.

As the inky silhouette solidified, an uncanny wave washed over Jao, a disorientation that was more than just surprise. Familiarity. It was the unsettling echo of something known, something buried deep within his own being. Deeper than likeness… it was an almost intrinsic recognition, like staring into a distorted mirror reflecting a fragmented piece of himself. His breath hitched in his throat.

“Sozen, after them!” Jao heard his own voice strained as he tried to shake off the strange paralysis that held him rooted to the spot. Then, with a surge of speed, the shadow figure moved. It vanished from its position by the altar, melting into the gloom, only to rematerialize with terrifying suddenness directly in front of Sozen. In its hand, a blade of solidified night pulsed, a weapon born of pure shadow aimed directly at Sozen's chest.

Jao’s eyes widened, his heart hammering against his ribs. Disbelief warred with a terrifying, intuitive understanding. Shadow manipulation was a skill not exclusive to him in Edo, but this… this was different. The way it moved, the sheer presence of the shadow… it was like witnessing a phantom limb, a horrifying extension of something deeply personal. No… it couldn't be.

“Sozen!” He roared, the adrenaline shattering the strange spell that had held him captive. Instinct took over. He shifted his grip on Kuroi Ryu, drawing back his arm in a swift, practiced motion. With a guttural cry, he flung the katana, the blade spinning through the air, an ebon blur against the encroaching darkness. Even as Kuroi Ryu hurtled towards the creature's head, Jao was already channeling his power, his body responding before his conscious mind could fully process the threat.

“Ephemeral Art: Silent Serpent Strike!” he bellowed, the ancient words resonating within the temple. His left arm began to shift, the skin darkening, the muscles contorting as if something alien was pushing from within. A viscous, dark naten, the essence of shadow itself, erupted from his flesh, solidifying and elongating into serpentine forms. Four shadowy serpents, each thick as a man's arm, lashed out, striking with impossible speed. They coiled around Sozen, intercepting the creature’s black blade mere inches from his flesh, their shadowy coils tightening, lifting Sozen bodily and flinging him back towards the relative safety of the entrance.

“Leave this to me! Go stop Iwa!” Jao shouted, his senses hyper-focused on the shadow creature, which now turned its attention to him. Its faceless visage radiates an unnerving stillness.

Sozen, scrambling to his feet, his face pale beneath the flickering torchlight, hesitated. “Be careful, Shadowfang,” he gasped, his voice laced with dread. “That thing… it’s an Oni, a Shi… created from gene alteration. I… I believe it’s a clone, born from your mother’s DNA.”

The words landed like a physical blow, confirming the insidious suspicion that had been gnawing at Jao since the creature’s appearance. The familiarity, the likeness… it wasn’t paranoia. He could feel it now, a grotesque echo – a twisted resonance of his mother’s presence and… something undeniably his own, woven into the fabric of this abomination. But Sozen was right. This thing lacked the Dankestu, the mark of a true Shadowkin. Iwa's earlier taunts about Jao’s pivotal DNA suddenly snapped into horrifying focus. This wasn't a perfected being but a crude, monstrous prototype.

A surge of cold fury replaced the initial shock. He would deal with it. Swiftly. He wouldn't allow this disgusting mockery of his bloodline to distract him from the true prize. He wouldn’t let Iwa slip through his fingers. Not with the Ring of Power so close.

“Go!” Jao commanded again, his voice ringing with steel, his serpents hissing and swirling protectively around him, ready to strike. “I’ll handle this… thing. Go get Iwa.” His eyes, burning with shadow fire, locked onto the Oni clone. This was personal now. And personal grudges, he always settled. One way or another.

As if by instinct alone, Subject Zero manifested a kunai of shadows with its free hand and parried the thrown blade, causing it to rise in the air, spinning lazily in the dim lab lights. Kuroi Ryu, Shadow Fang’s katana, hung suspended, a sliver of polished obsidian reflecting the chaos around it. In that instance, the shadow blade in Subject Zero's hand morphed, flowing like aqueous night, stretching and thinning until it was no longer a blade but a whip of pure darkness.

With a flick of its wrist, the whip lashed out, snaking around the still ascending Kuroi Ryu, gripping it with impossible strength. The elastic darkness skated back to its hand, retracting smoothly, bringing the formidable katana with it. The masked one stood motionless for a heartbeat, Kuroi Ryu held loosely in its shadowy grip. It turned the blade over, examining the intricate carvings on the hilt, the way the light devoured itself against the obsidian. An unnatural stillness descended over the creature as if some latent feeling buried deep within its body resonated with the ancient power emanating from the blade. It was drawn to it, not by conscious thought, but by something older, something primal, whispering from the heart of the weapon.

This moment of entrancement proved costly. There was a blur of movement from the doorway, a desperate lunge, and one of its quarry was gone and snatched away by Shadow Fang. Eliminate threats. Its orders replayed in its mind, a torrent of synthesized commands overriding any fleeting intrigue.

With a guttural growl that resonated not from the throat or vocal cords but from some more profound internal mechanism, Hound snapped back to lethal focus. Ava. It signed the first command, fingers moving in rapid, precise patterns, each gesture a syllable in a language of pure destruction. Then another, and another, a flurry of dark symbols etched in the air around its hand. As the final sign was completed, its right hand began to engorge, flesh seeming to swell and distort, the air around it shimmering with heat. A molten red glow bloomed within its palm, pushing outwards, growing into an orb of burning naten – raw, volatile energy. The heat was palpable, baking the remaining moisture from the air, sending wafts of rising wind through the room, stirring the dust motes that danced in the emergency lights.

It gripped the blazing orb tightly, the skin around its wrist and forearm cracking and charring, yet it showed no sign of pain, only relentless purpose. Its right hand ignited, not consumed by the flames, but infused, becoming a conduit for the burning naten, morphing into a configuration of living fire, a gauntlet of pure heat. Then, it was off a crimson streak against the grey concrete, bee-lining towards Jao, the one who had dared to snatch its quarry. It hopped off a wall with unnatural grace, launching itself forward, a blur of dark limbs and burning light. Then, it thrust its hand forward, and the blazing orb within it erupted.

It was not just an explosion but a focused, scorching torrent of blaze. The naten coalesced, stretched, and contorted mid-air, taking shape. A wingless dragon. A roaring, incandescent configuration of pure fire, its fiery maw gaping wide, aimed directly at Jao. The heat intensified, licking at Jao, singeing the edges of his clothes. He felt the raw power of it, the intent to consume utterly.

Staying hot on his trail, Subject Zero pursued, its movements fluid and predatory, barely seeming to touch the ground as it propelled itself forward. It moved with impossible speed, a dancer of death in a burning ballet. Jao was fast and agile, but Subject Zero was a predator designed for killing. The clone plunged through the inferno it had unleashed, unafraid of the prospect of being scored by its own fires.

Not too far away from the battle, Iwa and Ren continued running, trying to swiftly reach the chamber where the ring of power was held, further beneath Taka No Kami.

"There, Ren, to the elevator quickly."

"Righ-"

But before they could reach it, a sweeping gale, like the wings of a mighty bird of prey, slammed into Ren, sending him crashing into a stone pillar. Iwa came to a sliding halt, turning back to find that it was Sozen who unleashed it. Iwa glared menacingly at his younger brother with a note of surprise. Sozen was more known for his ingenuity and intellect, but today, he was fighting with the heart of a warrior, like a man desperately seeking redemption for his horrid past mistakes.

The observation room echoed faintly with distant clashes, but the tension was a suffocating blanket in the corridor. Iwa’s gaze still tinged with a hazy film from the viper venom, remained fixed on Sozen.

“So the baby bird thinks himself a warrior?” Iwa sneered, his voice laced with mocking disbelief. “You think you can beat me, Sozen?” He took a step forward, the stone floor echoing under his boots. “Did you forget who taught you the basics of Kaze no Ugoki? Were you sleeping through those lessons, little brother, dreaming of your experiments while I bled for you in training?”

Wind continued to swirl around Sozen's hands, growing in intensity, mirroring the hardening resolve in his eyes. He stood firm despite the implicit threat in Iwa's posture. “Even the lowest born Owaki is forced to master Kaze no Ugoki…” Sozen countered, his voice steady, devoid of fear. “Besides, I’m no fool. Trying to beat you is suicide. Even when you're barely seeing straight.” He subtly gestured to Iwa’s still-affected eyes.

Iwa chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. “Then why do you foolishly pursue me? Have you truly no fear of dying by my hand?” He spread his arms wide, a show of arrogant invitation. “This is your last chance to step aside, Sozen. Let me pass, and perhaps… perhaps I can convince Father to be lenient. To see your… momentary lapse of judgment as just that.”

Sozen’s jaw tightened. Knowing it was a false promise. His father was known for many things; mercy and understanding were not among them. “I resigned myself to death long ago, Iwa. Once I realized how far from the pride the Owaki once held, we fell from.” He looked around the corridor as if seeing ghosts. “I wished to the gods that Shadowfang had killed me when he found me… but now, I have the chance.” He clenched his fists, the wind around them intensifying further, crackling with energy. “Not to redeem me, Iwa, don’t flatter yourself. But to set in motion the series of events that will finally see Edo free of the current Shinobi system’s vice grip.”

“And you think your action today, betraying us further, is some grandstanding path to redemption? Don’t make me laugh.” Iwa scoffed, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his katana. “You always were dramatic, Sozen. But this? This is just pathetic.”

Sozen’s gaze darkened, a shadow of pain crossing his face. “No… there is nothing I can do to atone for forcing a child to see his mother turned into a monster for a science project…” The words were barely a whisper, laced with self-loathing.

“A project you started, Sozen,” Iwa spat, his voice sharpening like steel. “We are this close, this fucking close to curing the withering! To become more than we ever were when our founder, Yashamaru, once walked this world.” He softened his tone slightly, a flicker of something akin to brotherly concern in his eyes, though it felt forced, calculated. “Join me, Sozen; this is your last chance to return to us… back to Father.” He extended a hand, palm open, towards Sozen.

Ren, groaning, pushed himself up from where he’d crashed against the pillar, his arm cradling his bruised side. He watched the exchange, a silent spectator to the bitter family drama unfolding before him, confusion etched on his face.

Sozen’s gaze wavered, not at Iwa, but inward. He saw a flicker of memory – a younger Iwa, laughing, ruffling his and Ren’s hair, breaking up a childish squabble with Kaito. Ren was a sobbing mess after Kaito’s teasing, and Iwa, the elder brother, had intervened, playfully roughhousing Kaito and Sozen until all three were in a heap, giggling. It was a simpler time. A time when brotherhood felt real before the weight of ambition and secrets crushed them. A time he would have given anything to return to… but that time was dead, buried under layers of betrayal and twisted ideals. He looked back at Iwa and saw not a brother but an enemy, a man who would as soon dissect him as look at him, all for the sake of power.

Sozen’s voice was low, resolute as he spoke, pushing back the ghost of that memory. “Our founder was entrusted with the future of Edo because Tero believed in his wisdom and slowness to anger and power… the answer is no.” He met Iwa’s gaze directly, unwavering. "Tero, the founder of the Shi, was who entrusted the other houses with the rings of power… and how did we repay that trust?” The wind whipped more fiercely around him. “By enslaving and mutilating his bloodline, hiding behind the justification, they deserved it because of Ain’s rampage.”

He inhaled deeply, the air filling his lungs, solidifying his resolve. “I won’t let you get away… Iwa. The answer is no. I will not stand by and watch you plunge Edo further into darkness.”

Iwa’s face, which had held a carefully constructed facade of brotherly concern, hardened into a collected scowl. The hand he had offered fell lazily to his side, all pretense of civility vanishing.

“Fine then…” Iwa shrugged indifferently, a chilling detachment settling over him. “I wanted to be the one to kill you anyway.” He melted into his own Kaze no Ugoki stance. The winds snaked around his legs. “Lord Zeroken will understand. Once I hand over the key to the Owaki's eternal prominence to his doorstep, a little brotherly squabble will be easily overlooked. In fact,” a cruel smile flickered across his lips, “he might even see it as a sign of my… decisiveness.”

Subject Zero's reflexes appeared to be far more refined than Joa anticipated;. At the same time, he scarcely expected the blade to cleave the head from his target; he couldn't have imagined it would have such seamless control over its arbiters to be able to form its weapons so swiftly, let alone respond to his attack with a parry. Then, to only have Kuroi Ryu wind up in its grasp. That was not part of his calculation; while he intended to use the attack as a distraction to free up its advance on Sozen, he didn't factor into it having an interest in the sword. What transpired next was even more concerning; Subject Zero seemed...enamored with it. Gazing at this creature, Jao could sense it was but a soulless husk, a meat sac of cells and bones, and yet...it seemed inevitably drawn to the black dragon blade. Regardless, his ploy had worked, and Sozen was able to escape the room and chase after Iwa.

Jao watched, breathless, as Subject Zero turned the legendary sword in its pale, blood-slicked fingers. It wasn't the gesture of a warrior appraising a weapon, but something…else. An unsettling fascination emanated from the creature, a silent, ravenous hunger in its non-existent eyes. Jao felt a cold dread solidify in his gut. His eyes could discern it held no soul, just a mound of flesh and stolen cells. Yet, there was an undeniable pull between this…thing and Kuroi Ryu, a magnetic attraction that defied logic, defied everything Jao thought he understood about the creation.

A flicker of movement at the periphery of his vision pulled Jao back to the immediate situation. Sozen, blessedly, had seized the distraction. The heavy door groaned open and then slammed shut with a resounding clang, pursuing Iwa and getting away from this horrifying spectacle.

He forced his attention back to Subject Zero, which now stood motionless, Kuroi Ryu clutched in its hand, its attention seemingly fixated on the intricate carvings along the blade's spine. "What…is this thing?" Jao breathed, the question half to himself, half to the oppressive, sterile air of the laboratory. The words tasted like ash in his mouth, each syllable a reluctant admission of a terrifying possibility. He knew the answer, he felt it in the marrow of his bones, a sickening confirmation of the Owaki’s desperate, power-crazed ambitions. But to voice it, to truly articulate the dread coalescing in his mind, felt like granting it legitimacy, like acknowledging the monstrous perversion the Owaki had unleashed upon the world.

Suddenly, the creature’s unsettling stillness shattered. Its focus, previously locked on Kuroi Ryu, snapped back to Jao. And then, it began to move, its hands blurring into a rapid sequence of gestures. No...it couldn't be.

"Wait, that's…" Jao’s eyes widened, disbelief warring with burgeoning horror. The hand signs and flowing intricate movement patterns were Ava. Not just any ava, those were the secret hand seals of the Shi clan. Or so, they were supposed to be. How…? His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rising tide of fear.

"Nestu…" The word escaped his lips, a strangled whisper. Even as he spoke it, the air around him shimmered and thickened. Blistering and scorching heat bloomed in the room, radiating outwards from Subject Zero with terrifying speed. It felt as if a miniature sun had ignited in the confined space. The creature’s fist, clenched and radiating an impossible heat, glowed with an incandescent, star-like intensity.

Jao felt sweat bead on his brow. This wasn't mere Nestu; this was a conflagration, a raging inferno barely contained within the creature’s unnatural form. He had to act and act fast. Panic was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He called upon the lessons etched into his being; the wisdom passed down through generations of Shi shinobi.

Fight fire with fire. The Nestu way is the instinct of most fire users. But Yin’s words, his grandfather’s gentle, wise voice, echoed in his memory: “In the battle of passion, he whose resolve burns brighter wins.” Resolve. Not just brute force but the unwavering will to command the flames, shape them, and become them.

Understanding dawned, sharp and clear as a honed blade. He didn't need to meet the inferno head-on with equal fire. Swiftly, his hands began to weave, mimicking the Ava Subject Zero had just displayed but imbued with a different purpose and intent. Each gesture and precise movement was a brushstroke in a tapestry of ephemeral art, an assertion of his lineage and mastery.

“Ephemeral art; Sinder style…”

The words rasped from his throat, cool vapor in the oppressive heat sucking the moisture from the air. He felt the latent power within him stir, a dark, simmering energy responding to his will. His palms ignited, not with the scarlet blaze of Nestu, but with a deep, smoldering naten, shadow fire, born of the nether serpent itself—an ashen blaze, fire infused with dark energy.

The dragon’s maw of fire, a vortex of pure heat and destruction, hurtled towards him. At the last possible instant, Jao lunged forward, meeting the inferno head-on. He braced, his muscles screaming against the sheer force of the heat, the agonizing pressure threatening to buckle his bones. But he held, his hands locking onto the very edges of the incandescent maw, fingers digging in as if grasping solid matter.

He wrestled against the inferno, feeling the skin on his palms blister and char under the unbearable heat, yet he refused to yield. This creature, this imitation, might wield fire, but it was a crude, uncontrolled force, a pale shadow compared to the refined mastery that flowed through his veins. It was a cheap imitation, born of stolen knowledge and twisted ambition. He, Jao, was the genuine article.

Tendrils of dark naten began to seep from his palms, intertwining with the searing Nestu, fortifying his ephemeral art, rewriting its very nature. His body shuddered, but he pushed through the pain, channeling every ounce of his will, every fiber of his being, into the desperate act.

“Extinguish!” The word ripped from his throat, a command, a declaration.

And then, something impossible began to happen. The awe-inspiring blaze, the scorching heat that moments ago threatened to consume him, began to recede, to flow inwards, drawn towards him like iron filings to a magnet. The dragon’s maw of fire, its very essence, was being absorbed.

Jao felt a searing, agonizing influx of energy flood his system, like molten metal coursing through his veins. He staggered, his vision blurring, but he held firm, clinging to the volatile power, stealing the very source of the creature’s being. Deprived of its lifeblood, the fiery avatar shimmered, flickered, and dissipated, leaving only wisps of smoke and the faint scent of ozone. His upper garments had been incinerated. Leaving the mural of battle scars on his body visible.

Jao stood panting, his body trembling violently, every nerve ending screaming in protest. The absorbed heat raged within him, a caged inferno threatening to tear him apart from the inside out. He could feel his veins throbbing, his skin radiating a dangerous heat.

Subject Zero did not halt its advance despite its technique being dismantled. With Kuroi Ryu in hand, it went straight for Jao's head to return the favor of the strike given earlier and aimed to sever his head from his shoulders.

“You like to play with fire?” Jao rasped, his voice raw, a thin thread stretched taut by pain and exertion. He could barely contain the stolen blaze raging within him, a thrashing beast clawing at the confines of his flesh. He was a vessel brimming with stolen power, on the verge of shattering.

He shifted his stance, forcing his ravaged body to assume the familiar lines of the Orochi Fist style. “Orochi Fist; Third Fang,” he muttered, channeling the ingrained forms, seeking the familiar comfort of practiced movements. He’d executed this stance hundreds, thousands of times. Yet, this time, it felt different. He wasn’t just channeling his own inner fire; he was wrestling with a stolen sun, a raging star trapped within his mortal shell.

The Urso branch of the Shi clan were masters of harnessing heat for physical augmentation, but this…this was on an entirely different scale. He couldn't afford to hesitate, to second-guess. He had to act to unleash this stolen power before it consumed him.

“Death Adder!” He roared, a primal cry of defiance and desperation. Aptly named such after the snake said to possess the fastest strike of all its kind. He focused the raging heat, pushing it downwards, channeling the stolen inferno into his legs. His muscles coiled, then unleashed, propelling him forward with the force of a meteor. He became a blazing comet, a soot-black streak against the dim emergency lights now flickering erratically around them.

The air warped around him, ripped apart by his speed and the sheer force of the contained fire. The image of a serpent, not the dragon he had absorbed, but a deadly viper, lashed out from his form, a manifestation of the concentrated power. He was lightning, thunder, and death incarnate.

He was upon Subject Zero in a heartbeat, his foot a blur of crimson fire aimed squarely at its head. This time, there would be no parry. This time, there would be no escape. He would drive the full brunt of the stolen inferno, the full force of his rage and desperation, into this monstrous imitation.

His foot connected—not with a thud but with an earth-shattering boom. The sound ripped through the laboratory, shaking the very foundations of the structure. The concussive force of the impact erupted outwards, tearing holes in the reinforced walls and sending debris flying in a lethal hail. The air seemed to buckle under the sheer power unleashed in that single, devastating strike.

His foot connected—not with a thud but with an earth-shattering boom. The sound ripped through the laboratory, shaking the very foundations of the structure. The concussive force of the impact erupted outwards, tearing holes in the reinforced walls and sending debris flying in a lethal hail.

Subject Zero tried to retaliate by cladding its forearms in naten hyper-compressed, but it simply could not hold the sheer force of Shadowfang's kick. Like the tirade of a blazing storm, Shadowfang's blow created a sizzling cavity that shattered and blew away half of Subject Zero's body. The residual concussive blow caused the wall behind him to cave in. The force of the blow knocked Subject Zero's mask clean off, revealing his face, which was nearly identical to that of Shadowfang.

Dust and debris rained down. Shadowfang stood panting, chest heaving, the serpent fire in his legs flickering and dying. The lab was eerily silent after the cataclysmic boom. He stared at the mangled form of Subject Zero or what was left of it. Half a torso lay amongst the rubble, the exposed flesh sizzling faintly where the fire had touched it. The mask, shattered and useless, lay a few feet away, revealing the face beneath – a face that could have been staring back at him from a mirror, a distorted reflection of his own, pale and gaunt but undeniably his.

A grim satisfaction settled over Shadowfang. It was over. He had done it. He had faced his monstrous twin and prevailed. He allowed himself a moment, just a breath, to savor the bitter taste of victory. He had survived.

However, moments later, just as he would celebrate his triumph, the corpse, Subject Zero, palpated, and a spillage of potent dark naten spewed out the massive gaping wound. A tremor ran through the mangled remains. Shadowfang’s heart slammed against his ribs. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was finished. It should have been finished.

Then, with a gruesome squelch, the exposed flesh began to writhe. The gaping wound pulsed, and a dark, viscous fluid, thick as tar and shimmering with malevolent energy – the potent dark naten – oozed out, not like blood, but like something being forcibly expelled. The air grew heavy, charged with an oppressive energy that prickled at Shadowfang’s skin.

The clone rose like a zombie from a tomb, its body bulging as flesh regenerated and reshaped, bones snapping and reforming yet never letting go of its blade. The mangled torso twisted, grew, and elongated. The skeletal structure beneath the rapidly reforming flesh shifted, becoming alien and serpentine. The human features contorted, stretched, and melted away.

Metamorphosing into a hulking serpentine behemoth.

Where moments before a humanoid form lay broken, now stood a creature of nightmare. Scales, the color of ash and slick with the dark blue naten, erupted across its regenerating hide. Its limbs thickened, becoming powerful coils. Once recognizably human, the head elongated into a monstrous snout filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. The blade, still clutched in a grotesquely swollen hand, now seemed insignificant in the grasp of this colossal serpentine horror.

The air crackled with dark energy. The already ravaged laboratory seemed to shrink in the face of this terrifying transformation. Shadowfang stared, not with fear, but with a cold dread that seeped into his bones. He had struck down a clone, but something far more monstrous and dangerous had been born in its place. The fight, he would realize with chilling certainty, was far from over. It had only just begun.
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Meanwhile, Iwa ripped through the air, his movements a brutal masterpiece of wind manipulation. Each strike, a fist or a foot, whistled like a miniature tempest, slamming into Sozen with bone-jarring force. This wasn't the controlled application of Kaze no Ugoki, the elegant dance of wind taught in the Owaki dojos. This was a staggering, swirling fury, an extension of Iwa’s savage will.

He knew Iwa’s brutality intimately he anticipated a struggle. Yet, anticipation was a poor shield against reality. Each impact sent tremors through his frame, a jarring counterpoint to the fluid movements he attempted to maintain. He twisted, parried, and dodged the foundational techniques ingrained in him since childhood, a desperate ballet against a whirlwind. But Iwa’s Kaze was not a textbook exercise; it was a chaotic improvisation, a whirlwind of angles and speeds infused with vulturine hunger.

A searing pain lanced through his ribs as Iwa’s heel connected with brutal force. A crack echoed in the corridor, the sound sharp and final. Sozen gasped, stumbling back, his hand flying to his side, feeling the jagged edges of fractured bone beneath his skin. He caught himself against the unforgiving metal wall, the cold seeping into his sweat-soaked back. Air burned in his lungs, each breath a painful reminder of his failing body. Iwa’s afterimages, phantom limbs of motion, danced mockingly before his eyes.

“Is that all you’ve got, brother?” Iwa’s voice sliced through the air, laced with cruel amusement. His form was a shifting blur, a predator toying with its prey. “You speak of setting Edo free… yet you cower before my Kaze? What can you possibly hope to achieve against me?”

Sozen spat a mouthful of blood onto the polished floor; the crimson stain a stark mark against the lifeless stone. A grimace, etched with pain and defiance, twisted his features. “My… Kaze… is… different… from yours, Iwa.” He forced the words out, each syllable a struggle. He delved deeper within himself, reaching beyond the superficial gales that Iwa so expertly commanded. He sought the recessive currents, the subtle whispers of wind woven into the very essence of Edo, a legacy, not a weapon. He remembered his mother's stories, tales shared by lamplight, of the wind deity, an ethereal hawk whose blessing flowed through the Owaki bloodline. This wasn't just a fighting style; it was a heritage, a protector, not a destroyer.

Iwa scoffed, circling him like a shark scenting blood. “Different? We both learned at the feet of the same masters. You were always weak, Sozen, more at home with dusty scrolls than sharpened steel. You buried yourself in theories while I honed my Kaze into a blade.”

“You mistake control for mastery, Iwa,” Sozen retorted, his voice strained but steel-edged. “You wield the wind, but you do not understand it. It is not a tool to be grasped, but a force to be guided.” He pushed himself off the wall, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs, standing taller than his battered body should have allowed.

Iwa lunged again, a sweeping kick arcing towards Sozen’s head, a move that would surely end it. But this time, something shifted. Sozen moved with a sudden, unexpected fluidity, an almost liquid grace. He didn’t meet the raw force of the kick head-on. Instead, he yielded and flowed around it, like water around a rock, using the very momentum of Iwa’s attack against him. He stepped inside Iwa’s guard, a fleeting, almost impossible opening in the storm of blows, and he struck in that sliver of opportunity. A focused burst of Kaze, not a sweeping gale, but a precise, concentrated force, exploded from the heel of his palm, aimed directly at Iwa’s solar plexus.

Iwa grunted, the blow sucking the wind from his lungs. Surprise, a flicker of genuine shock momentarily clouded the venomous haze in his eyes. He stumbled back, hand clutching at his chest, momentarily disoriented.

“Ingenious… for a bookworm,” Iwa spat, recovering quickly, the surprise morphing back into contempt. The wind around him intensified, the air crackling with energy as it swirled faster, sharper, becoming a visible vortex of compressed air, a raging storm within the sterile corridor. “But parlor tricks won’t save you, Sozen. You merely delay the inevitable. Zeroken’s vision is at hand. We will rise above the Shi, above Tero’s failed legacy. We will claim our rightful place at the apex of Edo.”

“Rightful place earned through treachery and murder?” Sozen countered, his voice rising, fueled by righteous anger. “Through poisoning children and turning families into monsters? That is the ‘prominence’ you so eagerly embrace?” The image of the disfigured faces of the Shi children flashed through his mind, the innocent victims of Iwa and Zeroken’s ambition.

Iwa’s face hardened, the contempt replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve. “Sentimentality is a weakness we cannot afford. Sacrifices are necessary. The Withering… it is a disease, Sozen, a plague threatening to consume us all. You cling to sentimental notions of ‘honor’ while Edo crumbles!”

“Edo is crumbling because of you, because of the Owaki’s insatiable hunger for power!” Sozen stepped forward, ignoring the throbbing pain, the sting of his wounds. “Tero established the Houses to distribute power, to ensure balance. We have twisted that legacy into a power grab, a desperate scramble for dominance. The Owaki are tearing Edo apart from within.”

He gathered the wind around him, but not as a weapon, not as a whirlwind of offense. It was a calm, focused stillness, a deceptive tranquility that spoke of immense, contained power—a breath held before the storm breaks. “You speak of sacrifice, Iwa? Then let me be yours. Let my death be a testament to your chosen path, a warning to those who follow Zeroken’s madness.”

Iwa laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed off the sterile walls. “You truly believe your death will change anything? You flatter yourself. You’re just an obstacle, Sozen, a misguided fool standing in the way of progress. And obstacles… are meant to be removed.”

Iwa lunged, a raw, unrestrained attack, the full force of his Kaze unleashed. But this time, Sozen was ready. He wouldn’t try to match Iwa’s strength, speed, or fury. He focused on the flow, the subtle shifts in air pressure, the invisible currents that connected everything. He moved like water, yielding and flowing, redirecting Iwa’s attacks, weaving through the storm of blows with an uncanny, almost serene grace.

He was not stronger, not faster, but he was… wiser. He fought not with brute force but with understanding. He fought not just for himself, but for Edo's soul, for the memory of the brother he had once known, the brother now lost in the pursuit of twisted ambition. And from that resolve, a strength bloomed within him, a strength that surprised even himself.

BOOOMM!!!!

The corridor shuddered. The force of a distant explosion rippled through the floor, a shockwave that vibrated even the obsidian walls. Both brothers faltered, a confused glance passing between them. Then, a voice crackled in Iwa’s ear, distorted and urgent through a hidden comm-device.

“S-sir, Subject Zero was fatally wounded, the street of regeneration… cellular structure… out of whack… transformed, sir.”

“So be it; let the monsters kill each other.” Iwa’s response was curt, dismissive, but beneath the cold facade, a flicker of panic started to ignite. Subject Zero. The pinnacle of their cloning program, an Oni enhanced, twisted, infused with serpent mutagen, capable of unimaginable regeneration. It was supposed to be invincible, a walking engine of destruction. More than that, it carried Ain's inheritor's genetic coding. Even without a Danketsu, it should have been more than a match for a simple Shi Mut. Could that boy… could he truly be that powerful?

“You seemed worried, brother; your control isn’t so absolute now, is it?” Sozen mused, a grim smile playing on his lips. He saw the subtle shift behind Iwa's eyes, the thin veil of composure cracking.

“Time to die…” Iwa’s voice was dangerously hollow, devoid of all emotion except a chilling resolve.

Sozen took a ragged breath, every muscle screaming, every bone aching. He focused the last dregs of his energy, his desperation, into a single, calculated gamble. Iwa launched another devastating kick aimed at his head, a move meant to shatter bone and end it all. Sozen didn’t block. He didn’t dodge. He channeled his Kaze no Ugoki not as a defense but as misdirection. He exhaled a concentrated burst of wind – inwards.

It was a reckless, almost suicidal maneuver, using the wind to pull himself into Iwa’s attack rather than away. But it was precisely that impossible move, that utter unpredictability, that threw Iwa off balance. The force of Iwa’s kick, aimed where Sozen should have been, met only empty air. Sozen, propelled forward by his own wind, closed the distance, a blur of motion, ducking beneath the killing strike.

He was inside Iwa’s guard now, dangerously close, in the heart of the storm. But this close-quarters combat, in a space too confined for Iwa’s sweeping Kaze, was Sozen’s only chance. Not to defeat Iwa – that was beyond him now – but to accomplish his final task. He raised his hands, not to strike Iwa, but to the massive stone pillar beside the concealed elevator. With the last vestige of his strength, he unleashed a concentrated blade of wind, slicing through the pillar's base with impossible precision.

The stone groaned, then cracked. Dust and debris rained down as the pillar began to topple, falling directly in front of the elevator doors, a massive barrier of stone and rubble. Ren, who had edged closer, drawn by the escalating conflict, narrowly scrambled out of the way just as the pillar crashed down with earth-shattering force.

Iwa’s face contorted with incandescent fury. With a guttural roar, he lashed out. A brutal knee slammed into Sozen’s gut, the force of which, for this particular instance, defied human bounds. The force was colossal, nearly instantly fatal. At that moment, Sozen realized his brother had been holding back. Sozen was launched upwards, crashing vehemently against the ceiling before plummeting face-first to the cold, unforgiving stone floor. Darkness began to creep around the edges of his vision, corridors of Taka No Kami fading into an encroaching black.

"This...is as far as I can go...Shadow....fang"

Dust and debris rained down. Shadowfang stood panting, chest heaving, the serpent fire in his legs flickering and dying. The lab was eerily silent after the cataclysmic boom. He stared at the mangled form of Subject Zero or what was left of it. Half a torso lay amongst the rubble, the exposed flesh sizzling faintly where the fire had touched it. The mask, shattered and useless, lay a few feet away, revealing the face beneath – a face that could have been staring back at him from a mirror, a distorted reflection of his own, pale and gaunt but undeniably his.

As the flames of his arbiter dissipated, the temperature in the room slowly started to return to normal. The debris field laid bare the grotesque tableau of their battle: twisted metal, shattered stone, and, at the center of it all, the mangled form of Subject Zero. Jao approached cautiously. And then he saw it—not just the mangled form, but the face, what was left of it. These weren't just vessels. They were…copies. Imperfect and twisted, but possessing a horrifying semblance of what they were based on. Now, he felt a faint, spectral pull – a whispered connection to Subject Zero, a distant resonance of shared shinobi blood. It was disgusting, grimy, a violation of everything sacred. And yet, there was a perverse ingenuity to it, a sick kind of genius. They were playing with the very essence of life, twisting it into monstrous parodies.

Jao’s breath hitched. He knew of the Owaki’s depravity and had witnessed their callous disregard for life firsthand. He'd seen glimpses of their twisted farms, their obsession with power at any cost. But this? This was a new level of violation, a desecration that chilled him to the bone. He had dismissed these Oni as mindless puppets, flesh golems animated by the Owaki’s desperate ambitions. But looking at Subject Zero, the faint, almost imperceptible echoes of his mother and the traitor in its features, he realized the truth was far more sinister.

A shudder wracked Jao's body, not from cold but from revulsion and searing, white-hot anger. If they could do this with placenta, what horrors would they unleash if they ever got their hands on his Dankestu? Only Sozen’s desperate intervention had prevented that catastrophe. The Yaarou being here, the creators of the Sunless Ritual, couldn't have meant anything good, and now he wouldn't have had to find out.

"Fuck..."

He exhaled a heavy sigh. He was just grateful it was over and could now focus on crushing Iwa once and for all. His body had already begun to repair itself, soothing the aching, muscled, and blazed tension with each breath. He resolved to restrive his sword and head over to help Sozen while he still could. However, as he neared the corpse, it suddenly began to lead them to life. Black ichor, viscera, and putrid naten spewed from it. Its contorted and muddling body eventually reshaped into a hulking snake-like terror nearly 10 feet tall. Its scales glistened with an otherworldly hue reminiscent of Jao moonlight-cut flesh. Yet the creature's underbelly was layer in obsidian blackness. He stumbled back, mainly caught off guard by the clone's sudden transformation. This...this was far worse than he had thought. What manner of heinous science could cause something like this...

"You gotta be fucking kidding me…" Jao choked, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. The behemoth turned its eyeless head towards him, a sense of predatory hunger radiating from it, and then, with surprising speed for its bulk, lunged. Despite its transformation, it still clung to Kuroi Ryu.

Then, Jao felt it. A powerful surge, a resonant thrumming emanating from Kuroi Ryu. It was as if the dragon spirit within the blade had finally stirred, awakened by the monstrous touch.

“You awaken me again, boy – wait… what is this?” A voice, ancient and resonant as grinding mountain stones, echoed in Jao’s mind. It was the black dragon, Kuroi Ryu’s soul.

The dragon’s essence probed the creature, analyzing the unnatural emptiness that clung to his blade. "It… reeks of Ain's… but lacks the breath, the cursed chi… a shell. A hollow, defiled incarnation.” Disgust dripped from the dragon's mental voice.

“You have no right to wield me, apparition!” Kuroi Ryu roared within Jao's mind, its force making him stagger.

Then, from Subject Zero’s monstrous palm, a plume of pure Void Pyre erupted, black flames laced with the spectral grey of bone ash. Kuroi Ryu, in an act of furious rejection, engulfed the creature. But these were no ordinary flames. They didn’t consume; they entombed. The monstrous flesh hardened, the regenerative healing factor abruptly silenced as the creature was encased in agonizingly slow-setting stone, a grotesque mural frozen mid-roar.

“Looks like you pissed him off. For what it’s worth, I'm going to kill the guy that did this to you." Jao muttered, regaining his footing and walking cautiously toward the petrified statue of the clone. The stone hand holding Kuroi Ryu crumbled, turning to black dust. Jao instinctively reached out and caught the blade before it fell, the black dragon’s voice echoing in his mind, still vibrating with outrage.

“That a beast dared touch me! The utter disrespect!”

“Had you lent me your power from the start, this could have been avoided,” Jao retorted, sheathing Kuroi Ryu at his hip.

“Snarl, you are undeserving… but that… thing was an abomination, an affront even to the memory of my adversary.” A grudging tone crept into the dragon’s voice.

“Well, the guy who made that thing is just outside that door, trying to escape and make more of them. I will stop him… and I need the Void Pyre… properly this time."

Silence descended from the dragon, a pregnant pause filled with ancient contemplation.

"Or I could just make you…" Jao began, a challenging edge to his voice.

“Do not patronize me, boy,” Kuroi Ryu snapped back. “We both know the strain it would cause you after dealing with that… husk. Your opponent would crumble you before you even reached him."

“Heh… got me there,” Jao conceded, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Temporary truce then?”

“Very well,” the dragon conceded, with an air of ancient weariness. “I shall grant your request… this one time. For the honor of Ains, not for you.”

It was then, and only then, that Kuroi Ryu truly awakened. The obsidian steel of the katana hummed with a malevolent, ashen glow, dark smoke swirling around the hilt. Then, the blaze erupted. Not with heat, but with pure, soul-searing darkness. The Void Pyre coalesced along the black dragon’s blade, the embers within the flames pulsing with the palpable presence of the ancient dragon himself.

Jao turned towards the doorway, the burning blade casting dancing shadows on the ruined walls. He emerged into the adjacent chamber to find just what he expected: Iwa Owaki, frantically trying to clear rubble from a fallen pillar, desperation etched on his face. A few feet away, sprawled amidst the debris, lay Sozen. Battered, bleeding, but alive. He had thrown himself in the path of Owaki’s escape route, buying Jao precious seconds.

It didn't erase Sozen's past or absolve him of his sins. But that he had risked his life, truly risked it, for Jao showed a flicker of something…honorable, where Jao had only seen cowardice. Cowardice that now clung to Iwa, who was scrambling to escape, to flee back to the ring of power.

“IWA OWAKI!” Jao’s voice ripped through the ruined chamber, a thunderous declaration that demanded attention and reckoning. Iwa froze, sensing the staggering presence of the black flame, that chilling aura of death and ancient power. He slowly turned, his eyes widening in terror as he saw Jao standing in the doorway, wreathed in black fire, Kuroi Ryu blazing in his hand like an ebon avenger.

Sozen, hovering on the precipice of oblivion, weakly turned his head, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “Ja-…” he rasped, his voice a threadbare whisper.

Jao didn’t break stride, didn't even glance down at Sozen. Yet, as he stepped past him, heading directly for Iwa, he spoke, his voice low but carrying the weight of mountains. “Good work… Sozen… leave the rest to me.”

The words landed like a benediction, a final absolution. The crushing weight of guilt, the burden of his past actions that Sozen had carried for so long, seemed to lift, replaced by an unexpected peace. A faint smile touched his lips, and his final breath escaped with a sigh, content and strangely serene.

Jao didn't smile. He’d been holding back for years, a tightly wound spring of controlled rage. Even through this ordeal, even seeing his mother’s face twisted into a monster, he’d fought to maintain control, the Nether Serpent’s hunger clawing at his mind, barely held back by the tech inhibitors. All for this. For this singular, poetic encounter.

He leveled Kuroi Ryu at Iwa, the Void Pyre burning with predatory intensity. “I won’t be holding anything back.”

“Well played…brother.”

It wasn’t a compliment, not really. It was the grudging admission of defeat on a minor front, a skirmish lost in a larger war Iwa refused to concede. Sozen, sprawled unceremoniously on the polished stone floor, had played his final hand, and played it with a cold, calculated brilliance that was both infuriating and, if Iwa were honest, disturbingly admirable.

The crimson welt on Iwa’s cheek throbbed, a burning reminder of Shadowfang’s treacherous serpent. The venom effects faded, but the scar would linger, a permanent testament to his momentary lapse in focus, a direct consequence of Sozen’s interference. Iwa ground his teeth, his dark eyes snapping towards the boy. Shadowfang. He stood there, seemingly unfazed, Kuroi Ryu thrumming with an unsettling heat in his grip. Iwa had anticipated a broken boy ravaged by the encounter with Subject Zero. At the very least, marred further, weakened. Instead, Shadowfang stood, almost… transformed. Seeing the black blade in his hands brought a fresh wave of icy anger. His eyes flickered back to Sozen's still form. That black blade...He hadn’t paid it any mind before, dismissing it as just another trinket Sozen had acquired in his clandestine dealings. He’d been so focused on Sozen’s own capabilities, his potential for manipulation and disruption, that he’d missed the true purpose of the weapon. It wasn't for Sozen. It was for him. For Shadowfang. Three times now, Sozen had turned his own plans against him. Three times, he'd used Iwa’s own assumptions, his own blind spots, to gain an advantage for… this upstart.

Then, he saw it. Not just the blade but the fire licking up its obsidian surface. Not mundane flame, but a swirling vortex of blackened fire, a hungry darkness given form. Kuroi Ryu wasn't just a sword; it was a conduit, a vessel for something ancient and terrifying. it was a conflagration contained, a malevolent bonfire held in Shadowfang’s hand. Iwa’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he truly registered the weapon. The Black Dragon Fang. Fables from forgotten histories surfaced in his mind, legends of Ains, the tyrant serpent lord, and the heinous weapon he wielded.

“The Black Dragon Fang?” Iwa murmured, the condescension in his voice now laced with a tremor of something else – apprehension? “You found the blade of Ains? I suppose… you’ve proven your mettle as the Serpent Heir after all. Standing there a near spitting image of the Mad Serpent Lord himself.”

A condescending smirk, thin and brittle as ice, stretched across Iwa’s face. It was a mask, a desperate attempt to regain control of a situation spiraling out of his grasp. He couldn’t let Shadowfang see the unease gnawing at him, the cold tendrils of fear tightening around his heart. “It seems…our crossing was inevitable after all….no matter, neither of us can turn back now.”

His voice was deliberately low and measured, trying to project an authority he was rapidly losing. But even to his own ears, it sounded strained, less confident than he intended. The air crackled with unseen energy, the oppressive weight of Kuroi Ryu’s presence pressing down. Soul searing. That’s what the stories claimed it could do. And in Shadowfang’s hand, bathed in that unholy flame, it felt like a palpable threat. Where had he found such a weapon? This wasn’t some random trinket; this was a relic of terrifying power.

He studied Shadowfang, every muscle in his body tensing. Dankestu User. Just a glance, a fleeting moment of unguarded eye contact, and it could be over. Fatal. He needed an edge, any advantage he could muster. Focus. He drew upon the very air around him, inhaling deeply, feeling the wind spirits respond to his will. Naten gathered, swirling, whispering promises of power. With each breath, a miniature gale formed around him, unseen, unheard, yet tangible, a force he channeled into his arms, into his stance.

“You stand there as if you are superior,” Iwa spat, the words fueled by a mixture of fear and righteous indignation. "Do you think your actions, your vindication by slaughtering the Owaki, is some just cause? That you are better than us with the blood of the others on your hands?” Slipping into his Kaze no Ugoki style, Iwa shifted his weight, his limbs flowing into the fluid, deceptive movements of the wind’s dance. The gathered currents around him intensified, their velocity and strength multiplying, a vortex of controlled fury waiting to be unleashed.

“You should be grateful!” Iwa’s voice rose, echoing in the cavernous space, fuelled by the ingrained dogma of Edo. “Had it not been for the Owaki, the Edolan council would have seen all of your kind purged! We gave you a chance to use your cursed bloodline to benefit Edo! We clothed you when the world would’ve left you bare; we fed you when they would’ve left you to starve… the least you could do… the least you could do is serve as the base for Edo’s change!” His face contorted in a mask of fury, his self-righteousness bordering on hysteria. He launched himself backward, a swift, practiced movement, widening the distance between them. He couldn’t wait for Shadowfang to make the first move. With that blade, with that Dankestu gaze, hesitation could be fatal. “Ephemeral art; Kaze no Ugoki, gouging talon!”

Iwa’s hand moved, a fluent, circular motion in the air. The winds, obedient to his will, responded instantly. The air in front of him buckled, contorted, coalescing into a focused vortex of slicing winds. It was a vacuum of lethal force, a miniature tornado of invisible blades, designed to rip and tear. The pull of the Gouging Talon was immense, like a natural cyclone, eager to devour anything in its path and eviscerate it into nothingness. He unleashed it, a howling torrent of wind aimed directly at Shadowfang, a preemptive strike born of fear and a desperate need to wrest back the advantage. He wouldn’t underestimate him again. Not the monster, standing there in the heart of the storm, wreathed in black flame and holding the blade of a mad king. This was no longer a game. This was a fight for survival.

Jao's face was a sculpted mask of indifference, a shield against Iwa’s verbal assault. He heard the pronouncements of Edo justice, the righteous indignation dripping from Iwa’s tone, but they landed like dust on stone. The dogma, once revered, now tasted like ash in his mouth, a bitter reminder of the gilded cage they’d all been raised in. In the end, Jao began to see that Iwa was just another slave to the former Shinobi edict. He knew the truth behind the polished veneer, the rot beneath the surface of their 'benevolence.'

Iwa’s hand moved, a fluid circle sketching power in the air. It was a gesture ingrained in him since childhood, a whisper to the wind. The corridor responded, the air itself shuddering. Before Iwa, the atmosphere warped, twisting into a contained cyclone. Dust and pebbles danced in its nascent vortex, a miniature maelstrom of invisible blades forming in the vacuum's heart. The Gouging Talon, he called it. A weapon of pure wind, designed to flay flesh and pulverize bone. The pull was palpable, a hungry maw eager to devour.

"Justice?" Jao's voice, when it finally broke the charged silence, was a low growl, unexpected in its composure. It resonated with the hum of Kuroi Ryu, cutting through the gathering whine of the wind like a blade through silk. His voice was unnaturally calm, a stark contrast to the tempest brewing around Iwa, laced with an undercurrent that made the hair on Iwa's arms prickle.

Darkness bloomed from within Kuroi Ryu’s blade. Writhing tendrils of black fire that licked up the katana’s length. They danced across the black metal, not consuming it, but embracing it, amplifying its inherent darkness. Jao’s grip tightened on the hilt, his knuckles white from the strain of his grip. The air around him shimmered, not with wind-born dust, but with rising heat, the smell of ozone now wrestling with the richer, smokier scent of burning shadow.

Then, it came – a laugh. A ragged, disbelieving sound that started low in his chest and erupted into a sneering cackle. "Heh...ha...hahahaha!" The laughter was swallowed by the rising crescendo of Iwa’s winds, yet it was undeniably there, echoing in the hall like a discordant note. Rusted chains, remnants of earlier restraints, seemed to faintly glow black before crumbling to dust, the petrifying flare of the Void Pyre radiating outwards. Very few things could elicit laughter from Jao anymore, laughter that wasn't laced with pain. But the sheer hypocrisy of Iwa standing there, mouthing words about justice, struck him as profoundly, darkly, comedic.

"This isn't some noble crusade, and I am far from a holy knight." Jao’s voice deepened, the flames mirroring the darkening timbre, the guttural edge sending a shiver down Iwa’s spine despite the thrumming adrenaline in his veins. This wasn’t the sanctimonious warrior Iwa expected. Jao...was the manifestation of karma, a cosmic response to the actions and choices of the Owaki family.

The Gouging Talon roared to life, spitting outwards, a cone of invisible death racing towards Jao. The wind blurred vision, making the cavern walls waver, the sconce lights flicker wildly. But for Jao, the storm was not an obstacle, but an invitation. He didn’t need to see the individual wind blades; he would feel them, and they would burn. He closed his eyes his senses heightened to super human heights. He detect the flows of the blades, it would be impossible to doge or deflect them all but evasion wasn't his aim. He tightened his grip further on Kuroi Ryu, feeding the black flames with his will, his rage. The instant the first razor edge of wind kissed his skin, instead of bracing against the onslaught, Jao yielded. He released the rooted stance, the naten, that had anchored him, and surrendered to the storm's violent pull.

He began to spin. Not against the Gouging Talon, but with it, a terrifying dance within the heart of the tempest. The black flames erupted outwards, a whirling vortex of ebon inferno, shielding him, consuming the invisible wind blades before they could bite. It was a breathtaking, terrifying spectacle – a storm within a storm, fire riding the gale. He was a vortex of darkness within Iwa’s vortex of wind, closing the distance with impossible, unsettling speed. Iwa’s meticulously crafted technique began to unravel. Jao’s unexpected maneuver disrupted the Gouging Talon's focused energy, causing it to spasm, to become erratic. Panic flickered in Iwa’s eyes. Instinct took over. He slammed his foot against the cavern floor, unleashing a desperate burst of wind, a raw, untamed gust meant to propel him skyward, a frantic attempt to escape the whirling darkness closing in. He felt a searing heat graze his leg as he was launched upwards, a near miss that made his breath hitch in his throat. .

Kuroi Ryu cleaved through the air where Iwa had stood moments before, What was left in it's wake was not the rising temperature of flame but a mural of stone, Sozen body a shattered promise of the fate that awaited any touched by the Void Pyre. Iwa slammed into a higher ledge, scrambling back, his carefully constructed offense in ruins. He looked down at Jao, who stood in the dissipating wind vortex, Kuroi Ryu still wreathed in black fire. The image solidified in Iwa's mind: cold, implacable power radiating outwards, a predator unburdened by morality or doubt. This...this was the face of power.

"This is a collection of the blood debt the Owaki owe, and soon, the Yaarou...but more importantly this is about freeing my family." Jao’s head lifted, his gaze locking onto Iwa, the black flames in his eyes mirroring the inferno consuming his blade. "I will not rest until the lands revere the Shi once more. But not as the rampaging beast you would have the world believe we are."

A chilling glint settled in Jao's gaze, unwavering, absolute. It extinguished the naive spark of hope that had dared to flicker in Iwa’s chest. He had clung to the delusion, that he was superiors to Jao as Shinobi, in resolve. But as he glared down at him he realized Jao was beyond anything he could've speculated. He was no mere Shinobi. This was something warped and reforged in darkness, tempered by unimaginable pain, and fueled by a burning, all-consuming need for retribution.

"The age of the three great families has ended. In its place, something else shall rise." Jao finished, his voice echoing in the cavern, the declaration resonating with a chilling certainty. He raised Kuroi Ryu, the black flames roaring higher, casting grotesque, dancing shadows across the facility walls, across the intricate machinery humming softly in the recesses. Iwa saw not just a weapon, but a symbol. A promise of a new era of not just Shi dominance, born from the ashes of betrayal and suffering. But an Era in which Jao would ascend but what he would become, chaos? Order?

"The very definition of what they have cursed Shinobi to be, to represent… I will burn away. And from its soot, Edo will evolve. But before that…" Jao took a slow, deliberate step forward, the black flames licking hungrily at the cavern air. "I’m going to slaughter every single Shinobi heir… starting with you. Iwa."

Iwa could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage, a frantic drumbeat against the symphony of chaos unfolding before him. Before him was Jao. He faced many shinobi during his day. Warriors forged in the fires of rigorous training, honed by years of deadly missions. Warriors crafted from the stuff of legends whispered in hushed tones around crackling fires. But what he was witnessing from Jao was something that purely defied logic. It wasn't just raw power, though the boy radiated that in waves that shimmered visibly in the stagnant air of the hallway. It was more than mere skill, although Jao moved with an unnerving, fluid grace that belied his youth, like water finding the path of least resistance, only that resistance was Iwa’s very attacks. His very being, his very essence, was… disruption. Cacophonous insurrection made flesh. It was as if he embodied change, a force tearing at the fabric of the established order. Defiler of fate, devourer of order… he was the Antithesis given form.

Shinobi, Iwa knew intimately, were masters of espionage, proficient in the subtle art of deception. Illusion and misdirection were their bread and butter, their greatest weapons. Seeing through the veil and recognizing the lie was the key to survival in their shadowy world. But as he watched Jao and felt the weight of his presence, Iwa saw not even the slightest fracture in his resolve. There was no performance, no façade, just the raw, untamed current of something fundamentally different. The words Jao spoke, each one landed with the force of a physical blow, not just on Iwa’s ears, but on his very soul as if his pronouncements became universal concepts, laws of the world bending to his will. At least, that was what the crushing weight of his convictions felt like to the Owaki heir’s own shaking confidence.

"Damn you!" Iwa wailed from above, his voice cracking with rage and fear. He twisted in mid-air, the wind whistling past his ears despite the lack of open sky, narrowly avoiding Jao's ingenious method of withstanding his Gouging Talon. The boy hadn't countered or dodged in the way any trained shinobi would. As if the attack itself was an inconvenient breeze, he could simply step around. This skill, no, this inherent nature, it was unpredictable, untraceable. As if nothing he was or could throw at this boy would suffice. Had he truly underestimated the Shi to this severity? If this boy truly was Ains reborn in the flesh, at his young age to be this skilled, Ain himself must have been a terror indeed.

Panic flared as he saw it. The scathed fabric of his sleeve, where the black flame had touched, was hardening, turning grey and brittle. Petrifying. He ripped the sleeve away, tearing at the expensive fabric like a cornered animal caught in a trap. The purplish hue of his skin beneath was stark against the normal flesh of his hand, a ghastly bloom spreading rapidly. The withering. It was spreading faster, the encroaching tide of a wasting disease that gnawed at his life force, threatening to consume him entirely. He had one year, maybe less. One year to prove himself worthy, to secure the Owaki legacy, to justify the blood he had spilled. His brother’s blood. The memory, sharp and bitter like bile, fueled a desperate surge of defiance. Pride, twisted and desperate, wouldn’t let him break. He was Iwa Owaki, heir to the eldest shinobi bloodline, and he would not be undone by this… anomaly.

"Kaze no Ugoki… Forbidden technique," Iwa choked out, his voice strained but firm despite the tremors of fear that ran through him. He drew upon the ancient arts of his clan, the secrets whispered only to the eldest sons, the forbidden winds themselves. "Airless Void!"

The winds obeyed Iwa’s desperate call. They howled around him, though no wind should have existed in this sealed corridor, then converged, not in a destructive gale, but in a terrifying vacuum. The very air around Jao began to vanish, drawn inward, towards Iwa’s outstretched hands. A dome of invisible force formed, expelling all air from its confines, trapping Jao within a suffocating prison of nothingness. His intention was brutally simple: to crush and suffocate the Shi heir, a last-ditch effort, a desperate gamble to stand against the rising tide, the inevitable change Jao represented.

Jao struggled, his movements jerky and desperate as the air was stolen from his lungs. He clawed at his throat, his eyes widening in panic, reflecting the invisible dome tightening around him, the pressure mounting, crushing him from all sides. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps that offered no relief. As he neared unconsciousness, the world tilting and fading into a dark abyss, a voice, ancient and resonant like the grinding of tectonic plates, echoed in the deepest recesses of his mind. Kuiroi Ryu.

"…feed the blade…give me your blood…ultimate resonance…"

The words were fragmented and ethereal, yet laced with a raw power that cut through the encroaching darkness, a primal instruction resonating within his very bones. Blood… blade… flame… —he understood, instinctively, without conscious thought. Ain became the Void Pyre by feeding his own blood to the blade. Doing so, the voice whispered, caused the flames to grow unimaginably more potent, temporarily allowing him to embody the black dragon flame—a resonance of sorts, a terrifying unity of man and inferno.

With a surge of desperate will, fueled by the primal instinct to survive, Jao held up Kuiroi Ryu. The familiar weight of the blade in his hand was a grounding force in the swirling chaos of oxygen deprivation and encroaching oblivion. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the searing pain in his starved lungs, and sliced a deep gash across his palm. Dark blood welled, dripping freely onto the obsidian surface of Kuiroi Ryu, each drop seeming to hiss and vaporize as it made contact.

The reaction was instantaneous and violent, a sudden eruption that shattered the suffocating stillness. The black coals scattered across the ground erupted, flaring into life with renewed, ravenous intensity, no longer embers, but hungry spirits unleashed. The black flames writhed and pulsed, no longer contained to the room's edges, but flowing outwards, engulfing Jao, not with burning heat, but with an almost ethereal cold fire that sent shivers down his spine. He became a silhouette against the inferno, a figure wreathed in living darkness, the void consuming him and becoming him simultaneously.

Then, with a roar that tore loose from his soul, a primal scream fueled by desperation, ancient power, and the agony of his burning lungs, he shot forward. He was no longer a boy caught in a trap, but a projectile of pure, chaotic flame, tearing through the airless dome like mere paper, the vacuum offering no resistance to his infernal passage. The suffocating pressure vanished as instantly as it had appeared, replaced by the roaring inferno that was not just around him, but now was him, his very being. Covered in black flames, he seemed like a haunting flaming wraith, an embodiment of death itself, a nightmare made real.

"You're... a devil..."

He moved with inconceivable speed, closing the distance to Iwa in a heartbeat. His hand, now wreathed in black fire that flickered with an unnatural cold light, shot out, clamping around Iwa’s throat with bone-crushing force. The petrifying blaze licked at Iwa’s exposed skin, the purplish flesh turning to stone under the Void Pyre’s touch. But before it could completely consume his body, rendering him a statue mid-scream, Jao’s Endless Art flared to life, a counter-current, a paradoxical life force to the encroaching petrification, a twisted form of preservation.

"Oh… how long I've waited for this…" Jao rasped, his voice a guttural whisper that seemed to resonate from the flames themselves, a voice not entirely his own. The devilish violet gleam of his Dankestu Mugen flared in his eyes, pushing back the engulfing black, a pinpoint of malicious consciousness within the inferno. His pupils dilated, becoming hypnotic voids, swirling vortexes of violet energy that pulsed with an inner light. The Delirium pulsed outwards, washing over Iwa, paralyzing his senses, locking him in place, a puppet on strings of violet light invisibly binding him, his terror amplifying the effect.

Then, Jao’s gaze began to draw Iwa’s soul from his body. He could feel it, a chilling tendril of violet light extending from Jao's eyes, piercing his very essence, tugging, pulling, and stealing the core of his being. It was agonizing and terrifying, a violation beyond physical pain. Iwa’s eyes widened in absolute, unadulterated terror, reflecting the violet vortexes that were his undoing as he felt himself being emptied, his life force draining away into the abyss of Jao’s gaze, leaving behind only a hollow shell. Jao consumed it, the abyssal hunger within him satiated, at least for the moment, just as the last vestiges of Iwa’s flesh became cold, unyielding stone.

"Long live the Denkoushi..."

Releasing his grip on the now petrified corpse of the Owaki heir, Jao watched with a detached curiosity as it shattered into broken pieces on the charred ground below, the sound like the crumbling of ancient ruins worn away by time and neglect. He stumbled back, the black flames receding, drawn back into himself, coalescing back into Kuiroi Ryu held loosely in his hand, the blade now humming with a sated power.

He could feel an influx of raw and potent power surging through him, the abyssal hunger within him sated… for now. But he knew the cycle, the brutal price of such immense power. Once the digestion process started, once Iwa's soul fully integrated with his own, he would be incapacitated and vulnerable for a number of days, lost in the swirling echoes of another’s life. He had mere hours before that debilitating wave hit him. He needed to be swift. He looked around, and the Owaki brother, Ren, was gone. He must have escaped while the others battled, a rat scurrying from the flames. No matter, while he hoped for a three-for-one meal, he would have to be satisfied with two of the four Heirs being gone, they would join their brothers soon enough.

The door to the corridor boomed with loud bangings, the Owaki grunts, predictably enraged, trying to get through. Jao could feel the pull of his ultimate prize waiting just beyond the elevator. Ironically, Iwa's burst of wind attack was kind enough to force the rubble that had previously prevented escape to be moved, clearing a path forward. Jao entered the elevator, eventually reaching the room where he could feel the ring, its presence throbbing like another heartbeat within his chest. It was filled with artifacts, the gaudy spoils that the Owaki had collected over the years, stolen remnants of forgotten power and lost glory. But in its center, displayed on a velvet cushion under a spotlight, the prize of all prizes, the reason for all this bloodshed, waited.

"There it is...ou-...." He reached out, his hand lingering inches over the protective case. Even from here, he could feel the ring's allure drawing him closer, its presence a palpable force ebbing in tandem with his very heartbeat, as if it had been waiting for him, and him alone, all this time.

"My Legacy, my birthright."

The echoing silence in the laboratory starkly contrasted with the tempestuous battle that had just concluded. Jao Shi stood over the broken form of Iwa Owaki. The Shinobi, renowned for his mastery of wind, lay defeated, his breath stolen by Jao's relentless assault. Iwa’s wind techniques, once a swirling terror, had been rendered insignificant against the sheer force of Jao's arsenal. Vengeance, cold and absolute, finally tasted sweet. But the war wasn't over. Not while the promise of power lingered in the air, whispering of a hidden prize. Jao straightened, his dark eyes scanning the laboratory, a chaotic mess of shattered glass and sparking wires, until they landed on it – the Ring of Power; Subjugation. Encased within a reinforced glass cylinder, it pulsed with a malevolent energy that resonated deep within Jao’s bones. The legend paled in comparison to the real deal. Power. Absolute. Precisely what he needed.

A thick pane of reinforced glass encased it, humming with protective enchantments. But enchantments were just obstacles to be overcome, not walls to halt Jao Shi. His fist, calloused and scarred, descended upon the glass. It spider-webbed, then shattered with a resonant crack, shards falling like crystalline tears to the cold floor. As Jao reached in, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the ring, an invisible force seized him. It wasn't physical, but a relentless pull inward, spiraling him through the fabric of reality, plunging him into the swirling chaos of his own mind.

He landed on unstable ground, the landscape of his mental realm a desolate expanse of jagged obsidian and swirling crimson skies. He was adrift, suspended in a swirling vortex of colors that defied description, an interior landscape coalescing around him.

Before him materialized a figure of dark energy, humanoid but alien, its head shaped like a crescent moon, a single massive eye glowing with an inner light like embers. "Ains?" The Djynn spoke, its voice a resonant hum that vibrated in Jao’s very bones. "Is that you, Ains? Finally, it's been boring as hell---what, huh?"

Annoyance furrowed Jao's brow. This was the second time now, did he look so much like Ains? He opened his mouth to speak, but the Djynn, Chikara, recoiled slightly, its glowing eye narrowing, scrutinizing Jao. Confusion flickered within its burning gaze. “No… you are… different. But the essence… the taint… Aphosis…” A realization dawned, a chilling understanding that resonated with malevolent glee in Chikara’s voice. “You… you are the vessel. The next bearer, that dreaded snake...”

Before he could question, Chikara’s demeanor shifted. The horror melted away, replaced by a seductive allure. “Don't be so defensive… You misunderstand. This is an opportunity. I am Chikara, born from the very essence of aphosis. I can guide you. Surrender yourself to me, allow me to merge with you, and power beyond your wildest imaginings will be yours. Together, we can reshape the very fabric of this world.” Images flooded Jao’s mind – armies bowing before him, worlds trembling at his name, power unlimited and absolute.

Temptation flickered, a dark ember in his soul, but Jao’s resolve was forged in the fires of relentless training and bitter loss. He had clawed his way to strength, earned every drop of sweat and blood. He would not surrender himself, not to any entity, Djynn or demon. He met Chikara’s fiery eyes with a gaze as cold and sharp as obsidian. “I need no bargains, Djynn,” Jao stated, his voice resonating with an unwavering confidence. He raised his hand, the Ring of Subjugation gleaming darkly on his finger. “I already possess all the power I require.”

As if summoned by his defiant words, a tremor ran through the mental space. The colors swirling around them intensified, darkening and swirling into a vortex of abyssal black. An oppressive presence descended, silencing Chikara's seductive whispers. From the swirling darkness, a form began to coalesce—immense, serpentine, scales of midnight, and eyes like twin voids that drank all light. It was Aphosis's essence that slithered awake, eyes resting on his discarded child.

"D-damn you! Even if you devour us all, the Nether serpent will consume you too, just as it did Ains!"

A silent snarl ripped through the mental plane as the colossal serpent turned its attention to Chikara. Before the Djynn could react, the Aphosis lunged, its shadowy jaws engulfing Chikara in a single, horrifying chomp. Chikara's light flared briefly, a desperate gasp of energy, then was swallowed by the encroaching darkness.

"Ahh Chikara, my petulant boy, time to return...Good job...vessel"


The serpent rippled, its form momentarily distorting, then settling, darker, more potent than before. The essence of Chikara, birthed from the Aphosis, was now reabsorbed, feeding its progenitor. And with that consumption, Aphosis, by extension, sank deeper into Jao’s being, its chaotic energy surging through him, intertwining with his power, amplifying it, twisting it. The shift was immediate and visceral. Jao felt his Dankestu Mugen surge with newfound potency. His very essence was amplified, twisted, and infused with the chaotic power of the ancient entity.

His body, back in the physical world, reacted violently. Veins pulsed black beneath his skin, and dark energy crackled around him. His endless art, his soul-stealing gaze, roared to terrifying new life. It wasn’t just an art anymore but a force of nature. The endless night within him deepened, expanded, and sharpened into frightening focus. He could feel the power of subjugation surging through him, not just from the Ring, but emanating from his very being. He looked at the Ring in his hand, then clenched his fist. He didn't need it. The Ring was now a mere conduit. He was the source. That was when he began to understand the truth of the rings. They were just vessels, place holders for APhosis's former power. But what caused them to be created in the first place? A voyage of thought for another time.

His Dankestu Mugen had evolved. It was no longer an indiscriminate curse. He could control it. He could choose who felt its soul-shattering weight, who would be spared, and who would break. The chaos within him was no longer just a wild lashing force – it was structure reborn.

He stepped back into the upper levels of the laboratory, the sterile white halls once again teeming with Owaki grunts. They snarled, weapons raised, their loyalty absolute, or so they thought. Jao’s gaze swept over them, his eyes now burning with an inner darkness that eclipsed even the gloom of the lab. He didn’t need to speak, didn't need to raise a hand. His very presence radiated command. He let his hair fall back to reveal all his new, frightening gaze.

“Kill each other,” he uttered, his voice a low, resonant command that bypassed their minds and struck directly at their will. “All of you… except… You five there.” He pointed to a handful of bewildered Owaki, their faces etched with confusion, but their bodies already responding to the unshakeable order. “You will free the Shi Shinobi held captive. Set them up with escape pods with these coordinates. Do it now.”

The transformation was instantaneous and horrifying. The Owaki turned on each other with savage ferocity. Blades flashed, guttural cries echoed in the sterile halls, and blood splattered against the pristine white walls. They slaughtered each other without hesitation, without remorse, their fanatical loyalty twisted into a horrifying self-destruction. The chosen five, their faces pale with shock, obeyed without question, scrambling to unlock the cells where the Shi Shinobi were imprisoned.

A dark smirk played on Jao’s lips. Power. This was true power. The raw, untamed force that bent wills and shattered minds. He reveled in it, in the gruesome ballet of carnage he had orchestrated.

He returned to the observation chamber, the air thick with the stench of corrupted flesh and despair. His mother, twisted and contorted by Iwa’s heinous experiments, was still suspended within the grotesque apparatus. Her once vibrant eyes were now clouded, her human form warped into a mockery of life. Pain resonated from her like a physical wave.

Jao approached, his heart a cold, heavy weight in his chest. “Mother,” he whispered, his voice thick with grief. “...know that...that I..i'm sorry.” Tears welled in his eyes, a rare display of emotion in this heart of darkness. “I wish… I wish things could have been different.”

He knew there was no cure, no solace he could offer her in this twisted form, save for one. He focused his Dankestu Mugen, channeling not destruction but creation, illusion. He wove a tapestry of thoughts within her mind, a vision of a sun-drenched hillside, of laughter, of a simple life where they were mother and son, whole and happy. He showed her a life unburdened by war, clan rivalries, and monstrous experiments.

A faint smile touched his mother’s distorted lips as the vision faded. A fragile yet transparent telepathic whisper brushed against his mind: “My little sun...bean”

He closed his eyes, steeling himself, tears forming, but he would not let them fall, and then with a single, swift strike of his katana, he severed the life support systems of the chamber. His mother’s monstrous form slumped, finally still.

As he turned to leave, one of the dominated Owaki grunts stumbled into the chamber, blood still dripping from his sword. “Master Jao… the Shi… they are free. The escape pod is heading to the coordinates you specified, sir.”

Jao nodded, a grim satisfaction settling in his soul. Enough was enough. He raised his hand, drawing upon the chaotic power of Aphosis that now pulsed within him. Dark energy coalesced, swirling around him like a living storm, intensifying the crimson glow of the sky outside.

“Let this abomination fall,” he murmured, unleashing the gathered power into the gravity mechanism that held the floating island aloft. With a groan of protesting metal and rending stone, the island shuddered, its artificial gravity faltering, then failing. The world tilted, the laboratory groaning around him as the floating fortress descended to the jagged peaks below.

Jao didn’t wait for the crash. He strode towards the hangar, his every step echoing with dark purpose. An Owaki fighter jet, sleek and black as night, awaited him. He climbed into the cockpit, the controls responding instantly to his will. As the island plunged towards its doom, a roaring inferno blossomed in its wake. It was time...time for him to return home.