The hall was silent, except for the faint drip of water from a cracked ceiling tile and the soft hiss of Ren's ragged breathing. The Grave of Blades had dissolved entirely, leaving scars across the concrete, remnants of shadows and steel scattered like memories.
Ren's chest rose and fell in a trembling rhythm. His golden eye watched, burning with helplessness. The fractured Oni mask clung stubbornly to half his face, its jagged horn fractured, its presence both a reminder of his potential—and his limitations.
He had no control here. None. Against Rei and Genrou, his abilities were useless. The shadows at his feet twitched weakly, hesitant, afraid, reflecting his own fear.
Rei moved first. The exiled heir's red-and-white mask gleamed under the dim lights, four jagged horns catching the faint glow. His footsteps were quiet, calculated, but each one carried the weight of a killer who had survived exile and thrived in blood.
"Grandfather," Rei said softly, voice smooth but laced with danger. "You should not have let me return."
Genrou's muscles tensed, his stance a mountain of controlled power. His eyes narrowed, measuring Rei like a blade testing the strength of another steel.
"You do not get to walk in here alive,"
Genrou said, his tone low, but heavy with the fury of decades. The Endless Blade was awake. The man who had survived countless mutations, battles, and betrayals was no longer a teacher, no longer a grandfather. He was a force of nature in flesh.
Rei's lips curved into a cold smile. "I expected no less."
Without warning, Rei's hands moved, shaping the air. Frost condensed instantly, chilling the hall; water droplets twisted midair, sharp and jagged as ice needles. A sudden heat followed, steam hissing as fire met cold. Temperature flickered violently, warping the air between them. The exiled heir's control was terrifying in precision.
The floor beneath Genrou cracked. Not shattered—shifted, warped by Rei's elemental strike. Fire licked along the surface, molten and hot; icy spikes erupted to counter, hissing and vaporizing instantly.
Genrou did not move back. His hand struck out, not to attack, but to redirect the energy, controlling the battlefield with the fluidity of decades of mastery. Flames curled around his forearm and evaporated midair; ice shivered under his palm, collapsing as if it feared him.
Ren's breath caught. He wanted to intervene—but his body refused. His shadows hung limply, barely coiling around him. He could only watch as the two titans of his bloodline clashed in a symphony of fire and ice, speed and precision.
Rei's eyes flickered under the mask. He struck again—this time with a wave of boiling water, explosive and scalding. Genrou countered by shifting his weight, deflecting the torrent into harmless cracks and steam. The hall shook with each impact. Dust rained down, and the smell of ozone and scorched concrete filled the room.
"You've grown," Rei said, almost admiringly, though his voice held venom. "But you are still weak, little cousin. Your shadow is worthless here. Your blood trembles before mine."
Ren flinched, feeling the weight of his insignificance. His golden eye flickered, the mask twitching. He wanted to fight, wanted to lash out—but every instinct screamed that this was beyond him.
Genrou's response was a single word: "Enough."
The old man lunged—not fast, not sudden—but with inevitability. Rei countered immediately, the temperature around his body flaring in a shockwave of heat and frost, water swirling like steel cables around his limbs. Every strike of Genrou's fists met Rei's elemental manipulation head-on, bending and warping the hall with kinetic precision.
Sparks of heat and shards of ice collided with walls, floor, and ceiling. A concrete pillar splintered, sending debris flying. Shadows of the past—the ghosts of the Soji bloodline—seemed to rise around them.
Ren's hands clenched the ground. Sweat and blood dripped down his temples. His shadows tried to respond, to aid him—but they could not. Only fear and awe filled him.
"You destroyed your own family," Genrou said, voice low and reverberating, a condemnation that burned deeper than any elemental strike. "You will not harm another soul of this bloodline while I live."
Rei's mask tilted slightly, eyes narrowing beneath the lacquer. "You speak as if the blood binds you," he said. "It does not. Power binds. Control binds. Fear binds. Only the strongest survive."
Then Rei advanced fully, elemental fury forming around him. Fire swirled around his fists, water curled like serpents at his feet, and the air around him froze and cracked, threatening to snap with the pressure of his mastery.
Genrou smiled grimly, raising his own fists. "We shall see, exiled one. We shall see."
The first collision was like a cannon blast. Fire hissed against fists, water vaporized midair, and the hall groaned under the force. Dust and debris fell like rain. The air was thick with tension, electric and oppressive.
Ren fell to his side, his shadow barely protecting him from falling debris. He could only watch as his family fought, a display of skill, will, and raw power that no human should witness.
Rei's next move was faster than thought—he spun, ice slicing through the air, water surging like living tendrils. Genrou ducked, countered, and a shockwave knocked dust into Ren's lungs. He coughed, choking, eyes watering.
The two combatants moved as though the hall itself obeyed them, each strike creating fire, frost, and swirling water, yet neither gaining a decisive advantage.
Ren felt panic rising—his shadows twitched feebly, useless, as if ashamed. He wanted to scream, to intervene, to unleash the half-mask inside him—but he could not. This battle was not his. He was powerless.
And then, amidst the chaos, Rei's eyes—masked yet golden beneath the lacquer—met Genrou's. Silence fell like a guillotine. Both men paused, acknowledging the other's mastery. Every strike, every elemental wave, every defensive move told the story of their history: betrayal, survival, dominance.
Ren realized the truth: this was not a fight to be won by either side. This was a reckoning, a duel that would leave scars beyond the battlefield, and he was simply a witness.
The air shimmered with heat, frost, and the scent of ozone. Shadows of the past and the power of the bloodline hung thick, waiting, threatening, but unresolved.
Ren's golden eye flared one last time. He whispered to himself: "I… I must survive. No matter what."
The two figures faced each other. Fire and ice, water and steel, blood and betrayal. The hall itself trembled under the promise of the next strike.
And then—
Everything froze.
The storm of elements, power, and blood was paused, suspended in time. The outcome remained uncertain.
The battlefield held its breath.
And Ren knew, deep in his bones, that the real war was only beginning.