Dust poured down the stone steps like a collapsing mountain.
Ajin and Jarot emerged into what remained of the Dahana training courtyard—only to freeze.
Fifteen silhouettes stood in perfect formation.
Fifteen killers.
Not soldiers.
Not mercenaries.
Bayang-Purwa.
The Shadow Purifiers.
But at the center of the formation stood a man different from the rest.
No wooden mask.
No cloth covering.
His mask was forged from black metal—curved, sculpted, sharp.
Shaped like the snarling face of a dragon.
Jarot's pupils shrank.
His breath hitched.
"That mask…" Jarot's voice trembled, torn between rage and terror. "That… THAT'S HIM! THE BASTARD WHO BURNED RINI!"
Jarot didn't move.
He erupted.
"GRAAAAA!!!"
He charged forward with the fury of a maimed beast—ignoring Ajin's outstretched hand.
"JAROT, WAIT—!"
Too late.
The Captain did not move as Jarot swung his cracked battle-axe with all his monstrous strength—
He only tilted his head.
Just a tiny fraction.
Jarot's killing blow sliced through empty air.
Before the shock even reached Jarot's face—
The Captain lifted his hand.
And tapped Jarot's chest with his palm.
Not a strike.
Not a punch.
A touch.
DHUG.
Yet the shockwave was monstrous.
"GUH—!!"
Jarot flew backward like a broken puppet, smashing through a toppled pillar, coughing blood as he collapsed.
Five ribs shattered instantly.
Ajin's eyes widened.
"JAROT!"
The Captain turned his masked face toward Ajin.
"One emotional traitor of Dahana," he said calmly, voice resonant behind the black metal.
"And…"
He stepped forward.
"…one runaway corpse from Rogo."
Ajin's blood boiled.
The crimson energy inside him surged, furious and unstable.
He activated his new technique.
"Tremor of Wrath!"
He launched forward, fist vibrating—pure destructive intent.
The Captain stepped sideways.
Not dodging.
Predicting.
Ajin's fist struck empty air—
DHUUM!
—a shockwave blasting dust across the courtyard.
"Fast," the Captain noted.
"But undisciplined."
He appeared beside Ajin.
Ajin barely registered movement when—
PLAK!
A casual backhand.
Ajin spun across the floor, bouncing off stone, blood spraying from his mouth.
Every bone in his body rang like struck steel.
His newly fused energies—Crimson Wrath and Steel Bane—shuddered violently.
"A newborn monster," the Captain said, brushing dust from his glove, "is still only a newborn."
Ajin forced himself up, teeth grinding.
"How…" he gasped, swallowing metallic blood, "how do you know about my power…?"
The Captain tilted his head.
"How do you think? We engineered it."
Ajin's mind blanked.
"What…?"
"You're a failed product," the Captain said flatly.
"Your body isn't stable enough to house two forbidden legacies. You'll explode from within before long. But—"
He gestured lazily.
"My men will end you before that."
The Captain snapped his fingers.
Fifteen Bayang-Purwa assassins moved at once.
Not running.
Flowing.
Ajin barely dodged a blade drawn across his throat.
Another slashed into his back—metal screeched against hardened skin.
KRENG!!
His steel-fused flesh held, but the impact forced him forward.
Jarot roared, trying to stand—
—but a spear struck his thigh, pinning him momentarily.
"JAROT, MOVE!"
Ajin ripped the spear away, but the assassins were relentless.
Two came from the left, three from the right, blades flashing.
This wasn't a fight.
This was execution.
Ajin parried one strike with his forearm—skin tearing—
Jarot grabbed an assassin and hurled him into two others—
Ajin kicked another away—
but both of them were bleeding, weakening—
And the Captain?
He simply watched.
Eventually, Ajin and Jarot found themselves pressed against the ruined courtyard wall, gasping for air, surrounded on all sides by black-clad killers.
The Captain walked forward leisurely.
He drew a blade.
It was pitch-black, slender, and humming with spiritual poison.
He stopped directly in front of Ajin.
He raised the blade to Ajin's throat.
"Goodbye, defector."
The blade began to descend.
Slow.
Certain.
Final.