[Dream World: Tomaka Squad]
The air itself began to hum, thickening with the scent of ozone and cracked stone. At the center of the pressure, Taro's green aura erupted from him not like a flame, but a raging tide. With every pulse from the ring on his finger, the energy swelled, distorting the light around him and making the very ground tremble. It was a beacon of pure fury, visible for miles, a silent, screaming challenge to the heavens.
Words were ash in his mouth. His jaw was a locked vise, his throat tight with a pressure that had no need for sound. Every synapse, every fiber of his being, was consumed by a single, white-hot imperative: Kill Him.
From the rooftop, a laugh sliced through the heavy air—a sharp, mocking sound that didn't belong. "Haha... Woah!" The Watcher spread his hands, a performer welcoming his audience. "Look at you, having your little rage moment. It's a classic, really. Villain kills my friend, I get angry, power up, and beat the bad guy... Is that the script in your head?" He clicked his tongue in mock pity. "Sorry to tell you, kid, but reality doesn't work like tha—"
The sentence died, severed not by a word, but by action. Taro's boot hammered into the earth. The cobblestones didn't just crack; they vaporized into a cloud of dust and shrapnel. The green aura, now a cocoon of incandescent rage, crawled up his neck and licked at his jawline. In a blur of motion, he settled into a low stance, his Reibone humming in resonance. Then—CRACK!—not a sound, but a vacuum of it, collapsing as he vanished. He reappeared in a microsecond, blade sheathed in annihilating green light, aimed not to wound, but to erase.
The Rooftop Watcher didn't flinch. He didn't even shift his weight. As death closed the distance, his only movement was the slow, deliberate curl of his lips into a knife-slash of a smile. TING! The sound was absurdly small, a chime in a storm. A single, open-handed slap met the Reibone's edge, deflecting it with a casual flick of the wrist. The impact sent a numbing vibration up Taro's arm, a silent, physical taunt meant to crush his spirit.
It failed. Taro's breath hitched, not in despair, but in renewed fury. He flowed instantly into another swing, the aura around his blade flaring brighter, sharper. This time, when it met the Watcher's palm, the air shattered into a shower of emerald sparks. Another parry.
"Don't you see?" the Watcher's voice was a low, bored drone. "This is simply usele—"
THUD! A concussive impact against the back of his skull.
CRUNCH!A shockwave against the back of his knee.
WHOOM!A blast of force into his sternum.
SNAP!A violent parry against his forearm.
Taro was a storm of pure, relentless motion. There was no pause, no breath, only a continuous, deafening symphony of violence. Each strike landed with the force of a meteor, sending out concentric rings of pressure that flattened the surrounding barracks and twisted the very air. The ground for dozens of miles trembled as if in the throes of an earthquake. Stone walls turned to dust, training dummies to splinters, the very landscape being systematically and precisely erased.
And then, a moment of stillness. A crack in the composure.
The Rooftop Watcher had taken a blow.