Chapter 25: No Way Out
The corridor pulsed with red light and the stench of ozone.
Kyle ran, boots slamming against the floor, every breath a knife in his chest. His vision blurred at the edges, his Chi flickering erratically — too much spent, too fast. Behind him, the Akaname’s tongue scraped along the walls, a wet, metallic hiss that echoed like a blade being sharpened.
Kotomi was just ahead, her hospital gown torn, her aura dim but steady. She glanced back, eyes wide. “It’s gaining on us.”
“I know,” Kyle rasped.
They turned a corner — and nearly collided with a squad of Men in White.
“Targets acquired!” one shouted, raising his rifle.
Kyle didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, katana flashing, deflecting the first volley of bullets. Kotomi dropped low, sweeping her leg to knock two of them off balance. The others scattered, shouting into their comms.
Then the Akaname arrived.
It didn’t slow.
Its tongue lashed out, slicing through one of the soldiers mid-sentence. Another was yanked screaming into the ceiling. Blood sprayed the walls.
Kotomi flinched — but not from the violence.
A sound pierced her mind.
Not the gunfire. Not the screams.
Something else.
A voice.
Faint. Warped. Like a scream underwater.
She staggered, blinking. “Did you hear—?”
“What?” Kyle shouted, parrying a blade.
She shook her head. “Nothing. Keep going.”
The Men in White turned their weapons on the creature.
It didn’t care.
Bullets pinged off its armored hide. It swatted them aside like flies. One grunt fell to the ground, crawling backward. He raised his pistol, firing wildly.
The Akaname’s tongue snapped forward.
Kyle moved.
He threw himself between them, his katana raised. The tongue struck — a whip of muscle and steel — and Kyle caught it mid-swing, blade sparking as it carved a shallow groove into the floor.
The grunt stared, wide-eyed.
Kyle didn’t look back. “Run.”
The man bolted. The others followed.
The Akaname hissed, tongue retracting with a wet snap. Its eyes locked onto Kyle and Kotomi — the only ones who hadn’t fled.
It smiled.
Kotomi stepped beside him, panting. “It’s not going to stop.”
Kyle nodded. “Then we keep moving.”
They ran again — through a shattered lab, past overturned tables and shattered glass. Kyle’s legs screamed with every step. His Chi was burning too fast, too hot — not just from the fight, but from the constant effort of dulling the pain in his missing arm.
Kotomi glanced at him — and winced.
The voice was back.
Clearer now.
A man’s voice, distorted and distant: “Please… help me…”
She stumbled, catching herself on the wall.
Kyle noticed. “You okay?”
She nodded quickly. “Just—keep going.”
They reached a wide chamber — a former testing hall, now half-collapsed. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling. The Akaname’s footsteps echoed behind them, slow and deliberate.
Then it stopped.
Its tongue lashed out — not at them, but at a support pillar.
It wrapped around the concrete, pulled.
The ceiling groaned.
Then collapsed.
Dust and debris rained down, sealing the exit behind them.
They were trapped.
The Akaname stepped through the dust, tongue twitching, eyes gleaming.
Kotomi’s fingers brushed her hair ornament. It pulsed faintly — and the voice surged again, louder now, raw and pleading.
“Let me go…”
She gasped.
Kyle turned to her. “What is it?”
She looked at him, pale. “I think… I think it’s screaming.”
He frowned. “The Akaname?”
She nodded slowly. “There’s someone calling inside it.”
Kyle’s grip tightened on the katana.
The creature hissed.
Kotomi raised her hands, her aura flaring to life.
Kyle stepped forward, blade drawn.
“Guess we have no other choice but to fight,” he said.
Part 2
The Akaname struck like a storm.
Its tongue lashed out, carving a trench through the floor where Kyle had stood a heartbeat earlier. He rolled, came up swinging, and met the creature’s plated forelimb with a clang of steel. Sparks flew. The katana vibrated in his grip, nearly torn from his hand.
Kotomi darted in from the side, her magical girl form flaring to life — jade light trailing from her staff as she launched a burst of energy into the creature’s flank. It staggered, but didn’t fall.
It never fell.
Every blow they landed was shallow. Every dodge cost them more breath. The Akaname adapted — faster, smarter, its tongue now striking from impossible angles, its limbs moving with surgical precision.
Kyle’s Chi was fraying. His balance was off. His missing arm throbbed with phantom pain, and the katana felt heavier with every swing.
Kotomi’s barrier flickered as the tongue slammed into it. She cried out, stumbling back.
Kyle turned to her. “We can’t keep this up.”
She nodded, panting. “Then what?”
He hesitated.
Then lied.
“I’ll hold it off. You go find Masayuki.”
Her eyes widened. “What—?”
“Just go,” he said, already stepping forward. “I’ll buy you time.”
“Kyle—”
He didn’t look back.
He charged.
The Akaname saw it coming.
It didn’t flinch.
Its tongue shot forward — not from above, but from below, bursting through the floor like a serpent. Kyle saw it too late.
This is it, he thought. No way to dodge.
Then—
A blur of jade.
Kotomi slammed into him, knocking him aside.
The tongue grazed her side, tearing through fabric and skin. She cried out, tumbling with him across the floor.
They landed hard.
Kyle scrambled up, grabbing her shoulders. “Why—why didn’t you run?!”
She was crying.
Not from pain.
From something else.
And then she gasped — sharp, sudden — as if something had pierced her mind.
“It’s louder now,” she whispered.
Kyle blinked. “What is?”
She clutched her ornament. It pulsed against her palm.
“The voice. It’s screaming.”
Kyle frowned. “The Akaname?”
She nodded, eyes wide. “It’s not just a monster. There’s someone inside. A man. He’s begging.”
Kyle froze.
“What’s he saying?”
Kotomi’s voice trembled. “He’s saying… ‘Please… let me go… I didn’t want this…’”
The Akaname shrieked — not in rage, but in pain.
Kyle turned toward it, sword still raised.
But now, for the first time, he hesitated.
***
The Akaname loomed in the dust, tongue twitching, limbs flexing, its body steaming with Chi and rage.
But it didn’t move.
Not yet.
Kyle knelt beside Kotomi, his hand pressed to the wound on her side. Her blood was warm against his palm. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but her eyes were locked on something far away — not the monster, not the room, but something deeper.
“Kotomi,” he said, voice cracking. “We have to move.”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she whispered, “He’s still screaming.”
Kyle froze.
She clutched her ornament — the jade pin now glowing with a steady, pulsing light. “It’s not just noise. It’s a voice. A man’s voice. He’s trapped inside.”
Kyle stared at her. “You mean the Akaname—?”
She nodded. “It’s not just a monster. It’s someone. Someone who didn’t want this.”
The ornament pulsed again — and Kyle felt it.
A flicker of sound, like a memory not his own.
“Please… let me go… I don’t want to hurt anymore…”
It hit him like a wave — not just the words, but the emotion behind them. Terror. Regret. Agony. A soul twisted into something monstrous, screaming beneath the surface.
Kyle staggered back, the katana trembling in his grip.
“I don’t know if I can,” he whispered. “I’m struggling to protect you—”
He looked at her.
She was crying again — not from pain, but from something older. Something deeper.
“Why do you always do this?” she asked. “Why do you keep trying to die for everyone else?”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” she said, voice rising. “You think you’re only worth something if you’re bleeding for someone else. But that’s not what I need.”
He stared at her, stunned.
“I don’t need a shield,” she said. “I need you. Alive. Right here together to save someone begging to be saved.”
The Akaname shrieked — a sound of pure anguish, not rage.
The ornament in Kotomi’s hand flared — and the Sunbreaker answered.
The katana pulsed with violet light, its edge humming. The two energies — Chi and magic — twisted together, spiraling in the air between them.
Kotomi reached for him.
He took her hand.
Their auras merged — jade and violet, sorrow and strength — and the blade ignited with a brilliance that filled the room.
The Akaname recoiled, shrieking.
But they were already moving.
Together.
One breath.
One step.
One strike.
The blade sang.
And the scream was silenced.
***
Silence.
The Akaname’s body lay still, its limbs twitching once, then falling limp. The fused light of Chi and magic faded from the blade, leaving only the quiet hum of the Sunbreaker in Kyle’s hand.
Kotomi knelt beside the creature’s remains, her hand resting gently on its chest — or what was left of it. The plating had cracked open, revealing something beneath. Not flesh. Not bone.
But a face.
Human.
Just for a moment.
A man’s face, eyes closed, mouth parted in a final breath of peace.
She whispered something — a prayer, a name, maybe just a thank-you — and closed his eyes with trembling fingers.
Kyle stood behind her, silent.
Then—
A slow clap echoed through the chamber.
Sharp. Mocking.
“Well done Subject KL-3,” a voice drawled. “Truly. A masterpiece of misplaced mercy.”
They turned.
A figure stepped from the shadows, boots crunching over broken tile.
Nanashi.
His coat was pristine. His smile was not.
Kyle raised the katana. “How do you know that?”
“You really are like a stubborn cockroach,” he said, voice like silk over broken glass. “Commander Shiraishi told me about you,” he looked at Kotomi, eyes narrowing— “I should have killed him when I had the chance”
Kyle raised the katana. “He knew about me.”
Nanashi spread his arms. “Of course he knew. That Majin was a prototype because of his genius. A soul-bound weapon. A man who begged for death, and we gave him purpose.”
Kotomi’s voice shook. “You turned him into a monster.”
Nanashi’s smile sharpened. “We turned him into a tool. Just like you were supposed to be.”
He snapped his fingers.
Somewhere above, something shifted — a groan, a hiss of pressure.
“You think this was the only one?” Nanashi said. “You think this was the end?”
He leaned in, voice low and venomous.
“This was the beginning.”
