The sweet yet savory aroma hung heavily in the air, a contrast that hinted at something far more sinister beneath its surface. The sound of flesh being pierced reverberated through the room as sanguine ichor dripped slowly from the wounds, staining the cold metallic floor. The sharp point of a needle punctured the skin, stitching the torn body together—a rudimentary repair for a form that was never truly broken. No, this form was malleable, formless in its essence, shaped only by the dark arts that had cast him as a scourge upon the world. He was no mere mortal; he was an imitation, an abomination cast out from the infernal depths of Gehenna, forced into a vessel that mocked the frailty of human flesh.
His purpose was never clear, a cruel joke played by the fates, yet a path had awakened within his mind. It was a path steeped in vengeance, guiding him down a forked road where each step resonated with the echo of his wrath. The blood ceased its seeping, as the wounds knitted together, the stitches now superfluous, yet he left them in place. Time was a luxury he could not afford, especially in this realm where it moved too quickly, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
The needle dropped with a small, echoing clink on the floor as the tanned-skinned man rose to his feet. He stretched his arms, his joints cracking like the bones of the dead awakening from their slumber. Now that his vessel was mended, it was time to continue his pursuit, his goals etched into the very fabric of his being.
The sun, ever cruel in its relentless assault, blasted its scorching rays upon his skin. His powerful form was bathed in a mocking glisten, as if the heavens themselves were casting a spotlight upon his suffering, watching with gleeful delight. He cared not for their amusement, only for the searing light that irritated his freshly healed wounds, making the nearly invisible lacerations ache with renewed intensity. Shade was what he needed, and he knew where to find it.
He pushed open the doors to the inn, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a token of entry. Without a word, he tossed it onto the bar, the innkeep nodding in understanding as the man ascended the stairs, disappearing from view. His intent was to rest, to allow his mind to settle, but rest would not come so easily. Another annoyance was bound to manifest, as it often did, both literally and metaphorically.
The door to his chamber creaked open, and before he could step inside, he noticed an oddity. A sun-kissed creature stood before his mirror, seemingly entranced by its reflection. The stitched man went unnoticed, his presence a shadow that the short, dark-skinned boy did not perceive. The boy was lost in a trance, a self-made delusion that held him captive.
"Hey," the man growled, his voice low and rough, laced with irritation. Yet beneath the surface, there was a note of confusion. Why was this boy here? Why did he seem so oblivious to the fact that he did not belong? Had he stumbled upon this chamber by mistake, perhaps in a drunken stupor?
The man reached out, his grip tightening on the boy's shoulder, his patience wearing thin. "Wake," he commanded, his voice now carrying an authority that could not be ignored. A vein on the boy's arm pulsed and ruptured, the blood forcing its way through the skin with an unnatural pressure.
The haze lifted from his eyes, shattering the illusions that had veiled his perception. The boy had been adrift in a mirage, a conjured reality devoid of any true essence, not even his own. His mind had plummeted into the depths of a fabricated abyss, seemingly lost beyond recall, until a sudden crackle reverberated through the void of his consciousness. With that jarring sound, his awareness snapped back, and he found himself staring into the mirror, his reflection revealing none other than Yuga.
"Wrong room, kid." The stitched man pulled Yuga past him, tossing him toward the door with little care. He trudged to the wardrobe, selecting a random shirt and pulling it on with swift, practiced movements. He grumbled under his breath, his irritation clear as his eyes refocused on the stunned Yuga, who was slowly regaining his senses.
Before the man could enact any punishment, the innkeep appeared at the door, her expression one of worry. "I'm so sorry, sir. I should have brought him to his room myself," she apologized, her voice trembling with fear. She expected harsh discipline, perhaps even violence, but instead, the man let out a pained sigh.
"It's fine. Just don't let it happen again," he muttered, waving them away. The innkeep quickly ushered Yuga out of the room, closing the door behind them. She sighed in relief, her gaze softening as she realized she had escaped punishment. She led the confused Yuga downstairs, her demeanor shifting back to that of a cheerful innkeeper.
"What was all that about?" Yuga finally asked, his mind piecing together the events that had just transpired. He had seen the fear in the Linda's eyes, the relief that followed, but he still didn't fully understand.
She smiled faintly, brushing off his concern. "Breakfast has already started. Why don't you go ahead and eat some, okay?" she suggested, her tone light and friendly. But Yuga wasn't so easily fooled. He had seen the look she gave him, the subtle fear that lingered just beneath the surface.
"Something's wrong. I can tell. Is that guy hurting you? If so, I can beat him up—" Yuga began, his voice filled with worry. But before he could finish, a familiar hand silenced him. It was the very same man he had just proclaimed to defeat.
"Ha, beat me up, huh? Funny," the man chuckled, his voice no longer rough and grating but smooth and calm.
He was dressed differently now, in a slim-fitting black dress shirt and dark gray slacks, a stark contrast to his earlier, more rugged appearance. He no longer exuded an aura of menace, but one of quiet strength.
Yuga, however, didn't notice the change. His instincts kicked in, and he immediately twisted his body, raising his leg for a high kick. The strike landed with a loud crack, the force of the blow reverberating through the room.
But it wasn't the man who was damaged. Yuga fell to the ground, clutching his ankle in pain. The man had simply stood there, unmoved, unfazed by the attack. He grinned, a look of amusement crossing his face.
"I like this runt. Linda, could you treat his wound? I've got business to attend to," the man said, his tone dismissive as he turned and walked into the back room, disappearing from view.
Yuga lay on the floor, his mind racing. He replayed the moment in his head, the way the man had stood there, taking the hit without flinching. There were so many opportunities for him to dodge, to counter, but he had chosen to stand his ground. Was it to prove a point? To show Yuga just how vast the gap between them truly was?
"Damnit, that guy's strong, isn't he?" Yuga muttered to himself, the realization hitting him hard. No matter how much it angered him, he couldn't deny the truth.
"Indeed, Sir Tomoki recently assumed ownership of the guild, a role demanding considerable strength and authority… Allow me to tend to this."
Linda, the innkeeper who had been at Yuga's side during the earlier confrontation, took hold of his foot and ankle with practiced hands. A sharp, audible snap resounded through the expansive inn as she skillfully repositioned his dislocated ankle, the sound quickly followed by Yuga's pained yelps echoing in its wake.
The sound of various profanities echoed through the rotting rafters of the inn, gradually fading into a muted murmur as the lively chatter and strumming of lutes joined in the collective hush. The patrons instinctively withdrew from Yuga's path, as if something unseen guided them away. As he scratched his head, Yuga's thoughts swirled. The receptionist at the guild hall had mentioned that an assessment was taking place today, and by sheer chance, he had met the guild master on the very same day. What were the odds? It felt as though the cards were stacked in his favor; all he needed to do was let them fall into place.
Since arriving in this strange world, Yuga had encountered bizarre individuals and even stranger circumstances, but perhaps Tomoki could be of use. If brute strength couldn't win the day, perhaps a battle of wits could. He stood up abruptly from the bar, startling Linda, the innkeeper, who dropped a bottle of ale with a gasp. Without a second thought, Yuga marched up the creaking staircase to the third floor. There, he found only one door—a massive pair of wooden doors, reinforced with iron bands and adorned with knockers shaped like a wreath with a snake coiled around it. Yuga snickered at the sight before clearing his throat and rapping on the door three times.
In a high-pitched, mocking tone, he called out, "Sir Tomoki, I've come to ask, did you pray today?"
Before waiting for a response, he lifted his foot and slammed his heel into the center of the doors. They burst open with a thunderous bang, and Yuga stepped inside, feigning an air of pity.
"Sorry about that," he added with a smirk. "I'm not a religious man myself, but the gods do say to respect thy mother. Women like Linda downstairs are hard to come by, so I'm here to kindly ask you to stop being such a colossal dickhead toward a woman."
Inside the room, the man who had intimidated both Yuga and Linda sat at a long, imposing wooden table. Along its sides were six figures, each cloaked and masked. The masks, crudely carved from wood, seemed freshly ripped from the trees, with bark still clinging to the surfaces. Each mask was unique, marked with symbols or scratches signifying numbers from one to six.
The figure with a single scratch on their mask wore a white robe that sparkled like sand on a sunlit beach. The fabric shimmered with every movement, reminiscent of waves washing over the shore. The hood concealed their face, revealing only an earring fashioned from the kingdom's currency. Their mask, carved from pale driftwood, had delicate, wave-like carvings that mirrored the flowing patterns on their robes.
The second figure, whose mask bore two scratches, was cloaked in black with golden trim, the ends of the sleeves and edges tinged with dark violet. The robes were rich in texture, woven with threads of gold that formed intricate patterns resembling coiling serpents. The mask, as if the wood had been dipped in gold, gleamed with a metallic luster, its surface engraved with serpentine designs that seemed to slither across the mask's face. The eyes were shadowed by a deep hood, adding to the figure's mysterious aura.
The third figure's mask resembled a skull, though it was only half-formed, the wood dyed an earthy green. They were garbed in robes of deep forest green, the fabric coarse and lined with mossy textures, as if they had been pulled from the heart of a dense woodland. Trinkets and jewels—small stones, leaves, and shards of glass—were embedded in the mask, their number corresponding to the four marks etched into the wood. Their attire was adorned with similar trinkets, each one dangling from the hem of the robe or sewn into the sleeves, producing a faint jingling sound with every movement.
The fourth figure wore a mask that was simple yet sinister, with two eye holes and an oval shape. The lower half was carved with sharp, tooth-like details, painted a deep black. The mask's base was a dark, charred wood, its surface rough as if burnt by fire. The figure's clothing matched the mask's ominous appearance—a black robe made of a thick, heavy material that absorbed the light. Red stitching, the same shade as the three lines on the mask, ran along the seams, forming jagged, fang-like patterns around the collar and cuffs.
The fifth figure, marked with five scratches, was shorter than the others. They wore a robe of dark, earthen brown, the fabric coarse like burlap, with patches of leather sewn into the elbows and shoulders. The mask was crafted to resemble the face of a bird, with a beak-like protrusion and small, beady eye holes. The wood was rough and unpolished, and the mask seemed to merge with the robes, as if it were part of the figure's face rather than a separate piece. Feathers were sewn into the hem of the robe, their color matching the dull brown of the mask, completing the avian appearance.
The final figure, marked with six scratches, wore a mask that covered their eyes but left the lower face exposed. The mask was carved to resemble a snarling wolf, with sharp teeth and fur-like etchings around the edges. The wood was painted a deep, shadowy gray, almost black, and the figure's robe matched this feral appearance. It was a thick, fur-lined garment, the hood pulled low over the face, with wolf fur trimming the sleeves and hem. The robe was fastened with a belt made of braided leather, adorned with the teeth and claws of various beasts, giving the figure an imposing aura.
As Yuga entered, the masked individuals turned in unison, their movements eerily synchronized. Number two, her voice calm and relaxed, spoke first, revealing herself to be a woman.
"Who might this person be, Guild Master? Perhaps a new member of your ranks?" number two asked.
"Just a little troublemaker I'd dealt with prior; my apologies for cutting this short but, this might require my attention again." he said softly.
Tomoki stood up with a loud creak, the chair sliding back against the hardwood floor. His dress shoes caused an echo as they made contact with the floor beneath them, a rhythmic tapping as his controlled movement led him towards the door, ushering Yuga out of the room.
Tomo grabbed him by the hood of his jacket. "Let's go. You're gonna be a headache to deal with."
Hours later
.
.
.
A towering structure that dominated the heart of the capital city. This arena, known as the Seraphic Pinnacle, was a symbol of both glory and violence, a place where the desperate fought tooth and nail for survival, money, or the faintest glimmer of fame. Time had passed since the two men left the inn and descended beneath the massive colosseum. Above their heads, the dull roar of the crowd reverberated through the stone walls, a continuous hum of excitement and bloodlust as combatants clashed on the sands above. In the dim room below the arena floor, Tomoki moved slowly, his eyes drifting over the array of weapons that lined the walls.
The space was cramped, the air thick with the scent of iron and sweat, the remnants of past battles clinging to the room like a bad memory. Swords, axes, and spears—some pristine, others scarred and worn—hung like trophies. Tomoki's hand brushed against the cold steel of a broad sword before stopping at a massive, spiked mace.
He bent down, lifting it effortlessly despite its heavy bulk, running his fingers over the jagged metal with a distant expression, as if remembering something. Then, without a second thought, he tossed it back into the pile with a loud clang, the mace rattling against the other weapons.
Tomoki's gaze lingered on Yuga, his eyes narrowed with a sharp intensity that might fool anyone into thinking he was furious. But behind that hardened expression wasn't anger—it was curiosity. Who was this idiot who'd barged into his office, interrupted his meeting, and demanded to join his guild? Anyone bold enough to kick down his door and throw threats in his face had to be more than just another fool with something to prove. There had to be more to Yuga than met the eye.
Tomoki exhaled softly, the sound barely audible, before raising a hand to his forehead. With a slow, deliberate motion, he ran his fingers back through his hair, pushing it away from his face. His reddish-brown dreads and braids, thick and intertwined, shifted behind his ears, revealing his full face for the first time. As the light caught him, the scars became impossible to ignore. Across his neck and collarbone, crisscrossing stitches held patches of skin together like a grotesque quilt. Thin metal sutures gleamed under the light, running jagged paths along his throat and clavicle. Despite the patchwork-esque appearance, his skin remained evenly tanned and smooth, as if the stitches were added for mere effect rather than for repairs.
Tomoki raised his hand again, this time bringing it to his mouth. With a casualness that belied the strangeness of the act, he bit down on the flesh of his thumb, drawing a bead of blood. The droplet that formed wasn't ordinary—it glowed, a vibrant crimson that pulsed and throbbed as though it had a life of its own. As the blood gathered, it didn't fall; instead, it stretched out, forming a thin, sinewy strand that shimmered with an otherworldly energy. The color deepened, brightening into a violent, electric red that seemed to spark in the air, its glow almost blinding in the dim room.
As Tomoki stood there, still and composed, something eerie began to shift in the air around him. At first, it was subtle—a faint shimmer of red creeping away from his small wound, like smoke drifting into the breeze. The blood, thin and thread-like, seemed almost fragile as it coiled into the space around him, suspended in the air like gossamer threads of life. They moved with a strange elegance, splitting and winding outward.
Then the change quickened. The fragile strands darkened, thickening with each heartbeat, swelling with purpose. What once looked like mere threads began to twist and pull at themselves, transforming into sharp, needle-like spikes. Each spike formed as though it had a mind of its own, hanging in the air around him, glistening with the promise of violence. The air buzzed faintly with tension as the number of spikes grew—first five, then ten, then far too many to count—each one a razor-thin weapon that seemed invisible to the naked eye. But it didn't stop there.
The needles began to ripple, reshaping and stretching, as if the blood itself was alive and restless, eager to become something more. The spikes expanded, curving and sharpening into wicked, gleaming blades. These weren't simple constructs of blood anymore—these were weapons, deadly and precise, each one honed to an edge sharper than steel. And they floated around him in a slow, deliberate orbit, forming a whirling barrier of crimson wrath.
Not a word was spoken between the two men, but the air was thick with intent. Yuga stood across from Tomoki, their eyes locked, reading each other in silence. Tomoki's lips curved into a small smirk as he readied himself. Yuga raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of goggles, the lenses round and reflective. He slipped them over his head, the strap tightening across his hair as he adjusted them into place. Next, he shrugged off his shirt. The fabric hit the floor with a heavy thud that echoed through the room, making the cold stone shiver beneath their feet.
He cracked his knuckles, each pop ringing out in the silence. His legs bent into a low stance, fists rising to cheek level as his muscles tensed, ready for the fight. The room fell into an unnatural quiet—so quiet you could hear their breathing slow, their focus sharpening. And then, they moved. In a blink, both men disappeared, reappearing in the center of the room, fists already ready to fly. Their forearms collided with a bone-rattling crack, the force shaking the walls and floor. The sound reverberated like a gong, the weight of their power felt in every corner of the room. Neither one gave an inch, their bodies locked in place, strength meeting strength in a deadlock.
As the wheels of destiny spin unceasingly, each moment births a new story, only to let it fade away. In the dance of equivalent exchange-
IT'S A SHOWDOWN
Of fates.
The clash between Yuga and Tomoki was a battle of raw strength and precision. Locked in a fierce struggle, their muscles strained as they tried to overpower each other, neither willing to back down. Their grips tightened, their bodies rigid as they leaned into the contest, seeking any advantage. Yuga, sensing a fleeting opportunity, broke the deadlock. He wrenched his forearm free from Tomoki's grasp and, with a sharp twist of his hips, drove his knee toward Tomoki's ribs with brutal intent.
However, instead of the satisfying crunch of bone, a sharp metallic ring echoed through the air. A small, shimmering square of hardened blood had materialized just inches from Tomoki's torso, absorbing the full impact of Yuga's attack. The square floated there, solid and unwavering, as if mocking Yuga's efforts. Tomoki's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. With a flick of his wrist, the square of blood softened, transforming back into a liquid that splattered against Yuga's pants leg. The dark crimson stain spread quickly, soaking into the fabric, and Yuga instinctively flinched.
Snarling in frustration, Yuga grabbed at the leg of his pants and tore the blood-soaked fabric away, revealing his bare skin beneath. He barely hesitated before spinning on his heel, launching a powerful back kick aimed directly at Tomoki's solar plexus. The floating spikes of hardened blood that hovered around him reshaped themselves in an instant, forming a thin, nearly invisible wall between Yuga's foot and their target.
The moment Yuga's foot connected with the barrier, Tomoki twisted his fingers. The blood barrier morphed, sprouting razor-sharp edges that punctured the sole of Yuga's foot, sending searing pain shooting up his leg. Yuga hissed in agony as the blood began to seep from his foot, feeding Tomoki's control over the crimson spikes. Realizing he was at a disadvantage, Yuga quickly retreated, hopping on one foot as he examined the wound on his heel. Blood trickled down, pooling beneath him as he glared at Tomoki, who stood unscathed, his control over the blood growing stronger with each passing second. Yuga's mind raced—he needed a new strategy, and he needed it fast. Yuga positioned himself into a strange stance raising one leg and his fists in unison and in an instant Tomoki closed the distance, his palm pressing against Yuga's stomach winding him as he bounced against one of the four stone walls.
Yuga's body jolted as he attempted to flee but instead was met with an elbow straight to the jaw before he was grabbed by his throat and dragged along the side of the wall. Tomoki then grabbed him once more and tossed him into the various racks of weapons. The large rumbling of stone caused the ceiling to shift and dust to fall creating a thick cloud from his attack. Taking a moment, Tomoki would sigh before a faint glimmer whizzed past his cheek, a thin line of blood beginning to grow.
His gaze pointed downwards as he pressed two fingers against the cut and noticed the crimson fluid he then turned around to look towards the wall behind him and saw a longsword pierced through the gaps in the stone. As Tomoki casually turned around, it seemed he hadn't noticed that the thick cloud of dust had completely dissipated. In its place stood Yuga, now holding an armful of various weapons. The quiet of the room was shattered by the sudden loud clatter of metal as Yuga let the pile drop, causing Tomoki eyes to squint from confusion.
His eyes widened just in time to see a blade hovering mere inches from his face, its tip threatening to pierce his eye. But it was stopped, suspended in place by the swirling blood that orbited his body. The dark crimson liquid hardened, forming an impenetrable barrier just before the weapon made contact.
Without a moment to waste, Yuga moved, flipping through the air in a blur. He launched a barrage of weapons—knives, swords, and axes—all in rapid succession, his form a whirlwind of motion. Six different weapons sliced through the air, all aimed directly at Tomoki. Each one was swiftly deflected or halted by the same blood that danced protectively around him, the crimson tendrils snatching the weapons mid-flight and tossing them aside effortlessly.
As the last of the weapons fell to the floor, Yuga seized a short spear, gripping it tightly as he charged forward. His feet pounded the stone ground, closing the distance between him and Tomoki in an instant. With a sharp thrust, Yuga aimed the spear directly at Tomoki's chest, the point of the weapon streaking towards his ribs. However, Tomoki was quicker. He leaned just enough to the side, his body moving with an almost unnatural fluidity, and with a single swift motion, his fist slammed into the wooden shaft of the spear, shattering it into splinters.
Undeterred, Yuga used the momentum from the shattered weapon to flip once more, his body twisting in mid-air as he sent a powerful kick toward the crown of Tomoki's head. Tomoki's reflexes were sharp—both arms came up instantly, blocking the kick with a solid thud. But Yuga wasn't finished. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he lunged forward, launching a rapid combination of strikes: a straight jab, followed by another, and then a vicious cross-hook aimed at Tomoki's jaw.
Each strike was met with the same red armor—Tomoki's blood moved as if alive, swirling and hardening into a gauntlet that caught Yuga's fist mid-punch. With a quick twist of his wrist, Tomoki trapped Yuga's hand, his grip unyielding. Then, in one swift, seamless motion, Tomoki's free hand touched Yuga's chest, open-palmed. At that moment, time seemed to freeze for Yuga. A sudden wave of force exploded from Tomoki's hand, hitting Yuga square in the chest with an attack that felt like being hit by a sledgehammer.
Yuga's vision went black for an instant, his body weightless as he flew backward, his breath knocked from his lungs. He smashed into the stone wall of the room with a sickening thud, the impact leaving cracks in the stone. Gasping, Yuga clutched his chest, struggling to steady his breath as pain rippled through his body. Tomoki, his hand now a tightly clenched fist, stood motionless, his eyes still locked on Yuga with an unreadable expression.
"You're weaker than I thought." Tomo said. Yuga struggled with an almost mocking but stifled laugh. Yuga then said.
"You're not so hot yourself, you could use some awareness."
Suddenly yuga vanished once more before appearing behind Tomoki. His body above his head his fist brought back as a slight grin appeared on his face. However just as he was about to send another attack as if in slow motion he moved. Tomo's scarlet eyes simply ever so slightly moved his head then followed and with an unamused look he simply sent a back hand directly towards Yuga's jaw sending him into another wall. However this time Tomo followed through almost as if instantly he appeared where yuga had been placed face first into a wall.
He then grabbed Yuga by the back of his throat and raised him out of the man-shaped crater in the wall and bashed his face into it continuously. Tomoki then let go of Yuga and his body seemed to go limp and just before he got too far away Yuga had grabbed his wrist and slithered around his body sitting himself on Tomo's shoulders. Tomo, seemingly pissed, dropped to the ground, his head hitting Yuga right in his stomach and winding him once more.
He then stood up as Yuga cursed through gasping for breath, raising his foot he sent his foot into Yuga's stomach before raising his hand and almost as if by order a sword made from blood summoned itself into his palm. Tomoki spun the blood-forged sword in his hand, the crimson blade cutting through the air with a soft, liquid hiss. Each movement was seamless, the weapon shifting as naturally as if it were part of him. With a smooth flick, he pointed the blade at Yuga, the blood gleaming darkly in the low light.
Then, in an instant, the blood sword shimmered and dissolved into the air, becoming invisible. Tomoki's hand still moved with expert precision, as if the weapon remained in plain sight. Yuga knew it was there, hidden but lethal, adding a dangerous tension to every move Tomoki made.
"Let's wrap this up. I have places to be, y'know?" A malevolent grin ensnared Tomoki's image, the room darkening in a crimson red mist. His hand appeared larger, as if it was an inescapable grasp ready to eliminate its prey. Yuga was paralyzed, unable to move, no amount of his willpower able to grant him movement. His very body refused to take action, as if it was being locked in place by a greater power.
"What is this-?" Yuga's vocals were sealed, incapable of speech any longer. His vision began to fade, a fuzzy red filter covering his eyes. The words he wished to speak were silenced, his body feeling drained. He could no longer see, he could no longer feel. His senses were no longer dull, they simply ceased to be.
And then he opened his eyes, the bright runic lights invading his vision from above. He blinked away the groggy feeling, looking around the unfamiliar room in a haze. It was then that he noticed Tomoki, who sat on the opposite end of the room, an open book in his hand.
"Welcome back. I might have overdone it, so I'll formally apologize for that." Tomoki's words were followed up with a faint chuckle, showing amusement of what he'd done.
"Don't worry, I returned all your blood. Can't overwork you if you're dead, right?" The book snapped shut, Tomoki's crimson eyes shifting up to scrutinize Yuga. He'd wanted to see what the boy was capable of via this sanctioned fight, and after he'd decided he'd seen enough, he ended the fight swiftly. It was as simple as that.