The air in the colony was heated to its limit. On one side—the furious duel between Kagetori and the ghost of his past; on the other—the clash of two elements embodied in warriors. Raidou and Inazuma. Ice and Thunder.
Inazuma didn't just attack. He was lightning incarnate. His fists and legs, wreathed in plasma, left bluish trails in the air, and every strike was accompanied by a deafening crack that tore space. He laughed, a wild, unbridled laugh merging with the roar of his own attacks.
Raidou was his complete opposite. He made no sound. His movements were just as fast, but silent. He didn't dodge—he parried, his icy palms and forearms meeting blows with dull thuds, momentarily covered in a web of cracks that immediately healed. He didn't yield in speed, but his style was different—not a furious onslaught, but ruthless, precise efficiency. Every block was calculated, every counterstrike—a short, sharp burst of kinetic energy freezing the air in its path.
"YES!" roared Inazuma, dodging an ice needle shot from Raidou's finger. "THAT'S the pressure! You're not as boring as that red-gold peacock!"
Raidou didn't answer. His icy eyes analyzed. He saw: brute force was useless. This savage fed on chaos. He had to turn his own strength against him.
He retreated a step, and at that moment, with the crackling sound of shattering crystal, dozens of ice mirrors arose around Inazuma. They didn't just reflect light. They reflected the very essence of Inazuma's Kokuro.
"Cheap trick!" Inazuma howled and released a sheaf of lightning.
The effect was devastating. The lightning, hitting the mirrors, didn't scatter. It multiplied. Reflected dozens of times, it created a hellish cascade of energy inside the icy sphere, which crashed back onto Inazuma. He roared in pain and fury, his body flooded with his own power.
"BASTARD!" he screamed, and for the first time, his voice held not just rage, but savage, genuine anger.
That's when he activated his technique. "Eye of the Storm."
The air trembled and howled. A giant spiral of leaden clouds pierced by lightning formed over the entire colony. All Kokuro in the zone, except his own, shook, distorted, and blurred. Techniques lost form, energy flows snapped.
This surge of chaos also hit Pseudo-Sorato. For a moment, his perfect control over the body faltered. The connection with the thousand Scars in "Yami-No-Hara" gave a microscopic delay.
That instant was enough for Kagetori.
Akira, watching their battle out of the corner of his eye, saw it. Kagetori was no longer blinded by rage. His golden eyes burned with the cold fire of concentration. He read the slightest flaw in the ghost's defense, caused by the "Eye of the Storm." He didn't shout, didn't name a technique. He simply vanished and appeared before Pseudo-Sorato, his fist, clenched into a golden clump of pure, undistorted will, already smashing into the offender's jaw.
The blow was deafening. Not physically, but energetically. Pseudo-Sorato was flung back, truly shocked for the first time in the entire fight. A spasm ran across his face, and for an instant, something alien flashed in his violet eyes—not pain, but the fury of the Organizer himself, whose game had just been disrupted.
Meanwhile, Raidou, ignoring the chaos of the "Eye of the Storm," made his next move. He didn't create more mirrors. He raised his hand, and from the frost condensed around him, with a quiet, ominous ring, a staff materialized. It wasn't just ice. It was crystallized absolute temperature. A Bo Staff of Eternal Ice. Long, perfectly smooth, emitting an aurora borealis glow.
Inazuma, who had just recovered from his own reflected lightning, saw it. His wild grin returned.
"Ooh! Changing tactics? Excellent!"
He tore a clump of plasma from his own energy trail, which solidified in his hand into a crystalline lightning-blade.
And the dance began.
This wasn't a battle. It was a cinematic symphony of destruction. Raidou spun his icy staff with unflappable grace. Every movement was a measured, lethal ballet. The staff traced wide, devastating arcs in the air, leaving trails of frost that froze the very air.
Inazuma parried with the fury of a hurricane. His lightning-blade was the embodiment of chaos—it didn't slice; it exploded space in its path. He attacked with inhuman speed, his blows raining down, each with a thunderclap.
Ice and Thunder collided with deafening roars. The lightning-blade bit into the staff, and the ringing was like a thunderclap frozen in crystal. Shards of ice and clumps of plasma flew in all directions, blasting the ground beneath their feet.
Raidou advanced. His attacks were irresistible, like the movement of a glacier. He broke Inazuma's mad pace, imposing his own, relentless and cold. The staff traced the most complex trajectories, sometimes piercing the defense, barely grazing the samurai's head, sometimes dropping low, forcing him to leap back from an exploding ice wave.
Inazuma retreated, but his laughter didn't cease. He was enjoying it. Every successful parry, every chance to counter—it was all the greatest thrill for him.
"YES! YES!" he shouted, blocking another crushing arc of the staff. "THAT'S IT! NOW THIS I GET!"
But in his eyes, besides excitement, a spark of respect ignited. He had met someone who could not only withstand his speed but answer with the same, soul-chilling force. Their dance was an apocalypse in miniature, and neither intended to yield. The battle was only truly beginning.