The blades rise.
Hundreds of them. Thousands. Most of them forged from human metal. Each one singing with embedded hate and fear.
They block out what little light filters into the city. Turn the sky into a wall of death oriented toward me.
And I snarl.
The sound that comes out of my throat isn't human. The voices are screaming so loud I can barely think. Can barely process anything except the overwhelming need to destroy. Their chorus so thunderous it lost any semblance of coherence.
My mind races. What do I do? How do I survive this?
There are too many blades. Too much metal. Even with my enhanced speed, even with the Fearmonger pushing my perception to its limits, I can't dodge them all.
I'll be shredded. Reduced to ribbons of meat and bone scattered across this platform.
And then...
Then a smile splits my face.
Savage. Wild. The grin of something that's lost its grip on sanity and doesn't care.
Because I realize something. Something beautiful in its simplicity.
I don't need to dodge.
I can just... take it.
The entity that brought me back, one of the gods or whatever the fuck it is
gave me a gift. Forced the Regenerator to activate. Turned me into something that refuses to die.
So what's a little pain?
What's being impaled by a thousand blades when I'll just heal from it? When the golden light will knit me back together no matter how thoroughly I'm destroyed?
the only thing that matters is killing the masked fuck floating in front of me.
The logic is insane. I know it's insane. Some distant part of me some fragment of Ayato Daath that still exists beneath the madness is screaming that this is suicide. That even the Regenerator must have it's limits. That I'm about to learn what those limits are the hard way.
But I don't care.
I'm not Ayato right now.
I'm just a machine.
Everything else every strategy, self-preservation, basic survival instinct—has been burned away by the voices. By the madness. By the overwhelming need for violence that consumes every thought.
I am death incarnate. I am divine fury given form.
I stand there on the ruined platform. Arms spread. Head thrown back. Chest heaving.
My clothes are shredded. Barely more than rags clinging to my body. Soaked in blood—mine, Teleb's, the civilians caught in our rampage. My skin is visible through the tears, marked by brands that glow faintly. And around me radiating from my body like a halo golden light flickers and dances. The Regenerator's power made visible.
My eyes must be terrifying. I can feel them burning. Violet flames dancing in the irises, fed by the Fearmonger's power. The golden light of the Regenerator reflecting in them, creating an unholy mixture of colors that no human eyes should hold.
To some, I must look like a demon.
To others, A God.
The sound splits my ears.
Not the whistle of incoming blades. Something else. Closer. A wet, meaty crack of bone breaking followed by—
I turn.
My enhanced perception makes the movement instantaneous. One moment facing Teleb and his blade storm. The next scanning the platform behind me.
And I see her.
A woman. Tall. Dark-skinned like polished mahogany. Beautiful in a way that suggests strength rather than delicacy.
But broken.
One of her arms hangs at a wrong angle. The bone visible through torn flesh. Protruding at an angle that makes my stomach twist even through the madness. Blood streams down her side. Her face is battered. Bruised. One eye swollen shut.
She appears across the platform from me. Just... there. Like she materialized from nothing.
My eyes narrow. Calculation cutting through the frenzy.
New enemy? Another Midnight Rose member? Who?
And then movement. Fast. Impossibly fast.
Another figure in a pink robe. Another obsidian mask—this one intact, unmarred. A Midnight Rose member I haven't fought yet.
They appear out of nowhere. Literally. One moment empty space. The next—
Their leg is already extended. Already connecting with the broken woman's back in a kick that makes the air boom.
The woman is launched. Not thrown. Not pushed. Launched like a bullet from a gun. Her body becomes a projectile moving at speeds that blur the air.
Toward me.
My body reacts before conscious thought catches up.
My arm moves. Leaves an afterimage in its wake. So fast the motion itself becomes visible as a distortion in reality.
I catch her by the throat.
Her momentum transfers into my grip. Into my arm. Into my entire body. The impact should send me flying backward. Should break my wrist. Should shatter bone but it doesn't
I absorb the impact. Let it flow through me. Plant my feet and stop her dead.
She dangles from my grip. Light. Surprisingly light for someone her size. Like her density has been altered somehow.
My fingers tighten around her throat instinctively. Crushing. Ready to snap her neck and discard her corpse.
The voices howl in approval.
My eyebrows raise. Some distant part of my brain noticing something off. Something wrong with this picture. Do I know this woman?
I snarl. Force words through the madness. Through the voices screaming in my head.
"Who. Are. You."
The woman's eyes.. or eye, since one is swollen shut widens. Shock. Awe. Fear.
All three emotions bleeding across her battered face as she stares at me.
At this blood-soaked nightmare holding her by the throat. At the golden light haloing my body. At the violet flames in my eyes. At the savage grin still splitting my face.
And she speaks. Voice strained. Choked by my grip. But clear enough.
"Ayato. Sir. It's me. Imara."
The words don't register at first. The voices too loud. The overwhelming need to kill everything in my path too all-consuming.
Imara? Do I know her?
The voices are right. Kill her. End her. Move on to the real target.
But her eyes. That expression. The way she's looking at me isn't the look of an enemy. It's...
Fear. Yes. Definitely fear. But not the fear of someone facing an opponent.
The fear of someone facing their own ally and realizing that ally doesn't recognize them anymore.
"Imara?" The word comes out cold.
My grip on her throat loosens. Just slightly. Just enough to let her breathe.
She nods frantically. Desperately. "Yes! Yes, it's me! Imara! From the academy! We are in helix together!
The voices screech in fury.
I look at her more closely.
"You're..." The words come slowly. Painfully. Like dragging them through broken glass. "...Helix?"
She nods again. Relief flooding her features. "Yes! Yes, Helix! We thought you were dead!
The voices are still screaming. Still demanding I kill her. Kill everything. Finish what I started.
But they're... quieter? No. Not quieter. Just being drowned out by something else.
Confusion.
Because I don't know what to do with this information. Don't know how to process it through the madness.
She's Helix. My squad. My... friend? Do I have friends? Did I used to have friends?
Everything before the resurrection is fragmented. Scattered like broken glass. I remember dying. Remember pain. Remember the entity and the choice and the price. And some distant story that seemed important.
I look at Imara dangling from my grip. At her broken arm. Her battered face. The fear in her eye.
And I feel... nothing.
No connection. No recognition beyond the intellectual understanding that yes, this person is apparently someone I know. Someone I used to care about?
The voices have consumed that part of me once more. The part that cares. The part that feels anything except rage and bloodlust.
My mind—what's left of it—tries to categorize her. Slot her into a framework that makes sense.
And comes up empty.
Because I can't think beyond the next kill. Can't plan beyond the immediate violence. Can't process anything that isn't directly related to destroying Teleb.
"Get. Away." The words force themselves out. Harsh. Guttural. Not a suggestion. A command.
I release her. Let her drop. She stumbles, catches herself despite the broken arm.
"Ayato, what..."
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" The roar that comes out makes her flinch.
"I'm busy," I snarl. Not looking at her. Already turning back toward Teleb. Toward the blade storm that's still hanging in the air. Toward the only thing that matters.
"You're not... you don't..." Imara's voice is small. Shocked. Like she's seeing something she can't comprehend.
And maybe she is. Maybe she's seeing what I've become. What the resurrection made me.
Half-Mortal, the voice called me.
The Midnight Rose member who kicked her—they're still there watching the scene with a posture of amusement.
I turn my full attention back to Teleb. To the blades. To the violence that's about to consume everything.
Imara calls out something behind me. A warning? A plea? I don't know. Don't care. Can't afford to care.
Because the blades are finally launching.