Far beyond the borders of Japan, another battlefield burned.
The earth had long forgotten its natural color.
Mud had become blood.
Smoke swallowed the horizon.
The remains of shattered tanks, collapsed fortifications, and fallen soldiers stretched for miles across the wasteland.
This was not a battlefield.
It was a graveyard still in the process of being made.
And it had been that way for three years.
A cold war.
One that refused to end.
High above the carnage, a military transport aircraft cut through the clouds.
Inside, over thirty young soldiers sat in silence.
Some checked their weapons for the tenth time.
Others stared at the floor.
A few quietly prayed.
None of them looked ready.
Because nobody was ever ready.
Not for war.
One young soldier clasped his trembling hands together.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."
His voice shook.
"Hallowed be Thy name."
The aircraft rumbled violently.
Outside, distant flashes of artillery illuminated the clouds.
Inside, fear sat beside every soldier.
"Thy kingdom come."
"Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven."
The young man's breathing became uneven.
"Give us this day our daily bread."
"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."
A few nearby soldiers lowered their heads.
Others silently listened.
"Lead us not into temptation."
"But deliver us from evil."
His hands tightened.
"For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever."
A tear slid down his cheek.
"Dear God..."
His voice cracked.
"Help us all."
"Amen."
Silence followed.
No one laughed.
No one mocked him.
Because every man aboard that aircraft had prayed the same prayer in his own way.
Some with words.
Some with tears.
Some with silence.
A soldier stood and saluted.
"Reporting in, Commander."
Standing near the rear ramp was Commander Uriel Barak.
A veteran of countless battles.
A man feared by his enemies and respected by his allies.
Yet at this moment, he looked less like a commander and more like a tired father.
"At ease," Uriel said.
The soldier relaxed.
"Squad Eight is fully armed and prepared for aerial deployment, sir."
"Good."
The soldier hesitated.
"Sir... the recruits are nervous."
Uriel glanced around the aircraft.
Shaking hands.
Pale faces.
Forced bravado.
Fear.
He understood it all.
"That's war," he answered quietly.
The soldier scratched the back of his head.
"Actually..."
His expression softened.
"I was hoping you'd speak to them."
Uriel nodded.
"Of course."
The soldier smiled.
"Thanks, Dad."
The words struck harder than any bullet.
Uriel froze.
The young soldier quickly returned to the others.
Leaving the commander standing alone.
For a moment, nobody could see his face.
Which was fortunate.
Because his eyes had begun to water.
He quickly wiped them clean.
Not now.
A commander could not cry in front of his soldiers.
Taking a deep breath, Uriel climbed onto the elevated platform near the center of the aircraft.
More than thirty pairs of eyes turned toward him.
Waiting.
Trusting.
Believing.
And suddenly every prepared word vanished from his mind.
"Soldiers..."
His voice cracked.
Damn it.
He cleared his throat.
"We've reached the drop point."
The aircraft shook violently.
Far below, war waited.
"You will soon descend into the battlefield beneath us."
He paused.
"The enemy continues to push our forces back."
His fists tightened.
"But you can change that."
A few soldiers lifted their heads.
"Those of you blessed with aerial drives will provide support for our forces below."
"This battle matters."
"This war matters."
"And we cannot afford to lose."
He stopped.
The speech sounded hollow.
He could see it in their eyes.
Fear remained.
Several soldiers still trembled.
One looked close to vomiting.
Another couldn't stop shaking.
Uriel's heart sank.
Then his eyes found someone.
Eitan.
His son.
Standing among the soldiers.
Unshaken.
Their gazes met.
And suddenly Uriel remembered why he was afraid.
Not of the enemy.
Not of death.
But of losing them.
Losing all of them.
Especially him.
Uriel inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
When he spoke again, his voice carried through the entire aircraft.
Firm.
Steady.
Certain.
"Listen well, young soldiers."
The cabin fell silent.
"Today, you march onto a battlefield where steel will clash, fear will test your hearts, and fate itself will judge your resolve."
No one moved.
No one spoke.
"I will not stand here and tell you that you must die for your country."
Several recruits looked up.
Uriel's gaze hardened.
"No."
His voice echoed through the aircraft.
"I stand before you and pray that you live for it."
Something changed.
The atmosphere shifted.
"If you must fight, then fight with courage."
"If you must bleed, then bleed with honor."
"Fight for the people waiting beyond these battlefields."
"Fight for the mothers who raised you."
"Fight for the fathers who placed their hopes upon your shoulders."
"Fight for the brothers and sisters waiting for your return."
The soldiers listened.
Every word.
Every breath.
Every heartbeat.
"And when this war is over..."
Uriel's voice softened.
"Return home."
A recruit lowered his head.
Another clenched his fists.
"Return with scars."
"Return with laughter."
"Return with tears."
"Return with stories."
His eyes became glassy.
"Tell future generations about the friends who stood beside you."
"Tell them about the fear you overcame."
"Tell them about the price paid so they could inherit tomorrow."
"Let them know your names."
"Let them know your courage."
"Let them know that when darkness came..."
His voice thundered.
"You stood your ground."
The aircraft shook again.
Yet no one looked away.
"So go forth."
"Not as children sent to die."
"But as guardians of tomorrow."
Uriel lowered his head.
"And may the day come when every one of you walks back through those gates once more."
Silence.
Then one final sentence.
Not from a commander.
Not from a soldier.
But from a father.
"Return, young blood of my motherland."
His voice trembled.
"And may we meet again beneath a peaceful sky."
The roar of the aircraft engines filled the silence.
One by one, the soldiers leapt from the rear ramp and disappeared into the clouds below.
No hesitation.
No turning back.
Just faith.
Faith in their training.
Faith in their comrades.
Faith that they would somehow survive the hell waiting beneath them.
Soon, the cargo bay grew quiet.
Empty.
Only two figures remained.
A father.
And his son.
Uriel watched the final soldier disappear into the sky before turning toward Eitan.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The commander looked at his son.
The father looked at his child.
And the fear he had spent years hiding finally surfaced.
Eitan smiled.
"That was a good speech."
Uriel's jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't be here."
"And yet here I am."
"You told your mother you were applying for art school."
"I lied."
The answer struck like a bullet.
Uriel stared at him.
Then another.
And another.
Until all the frustration, fear, and helplessness he had buried erupted.
"DO YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE?!"
The entire aircraft seemed to shake with his voice.
"You applied nine times!"
His fists trembled.
"Nine times, Eitan."
"Nine times I rejected your application."
His voice cracked.
"And then you went behind my back and applied through another commander."
His breathing became uneven.
"Why?"
Silence.
"Why didn't you just give up?"
Eitan simply smiled.
Not arrogantly.
Not mockingly.
Just sadly.
As if he had expected the question.
Uriel felt tears gathering in his eyes.
Damn it.
Not now.
Not in front of him.
But they came anyway.
Eitan lowered his gaze.
"Dad."
His voice was gentle.
"When you became a soldier..."
A small smile appeared.
"You became the pride of the family."
Uriel clenched his jaw.
"That was different."
"Why?"
"BECAUSE THERE WASN'T A WAR!"
The words exploded from him.
"There wasn't a battlefield waiting to kill me."
"There weren't thousands dying every day."
"There wasn't a chance I'd never come home."
His voice grew quieter.
"You had a dream."
His eyes shook.
"You wanted to become an artist."
"What about that?"
"What about your future?"
"What about your mother?"
"What about your brother?"
The tears finally fell.
"What about me?"
Silence.
For the first time, Eitan's smile faded.
He looked toward the floor.
Then back at his father.
"You know..."
His voice was calm.
"All my life I've looked up to you."
Uriel froze.
"I loved hearing stories about your missions."
"I loved hearing how brave you were."
"How you always ran toward danger when everyone else ran away."
A weak laugh escaped him.
"But every time I heard those stories..."
He lowered his head.
"I felt disappointed."
Uriel's heart sank.
"Disappointed?"
Eitan nodded.
"Because I thought you deserved a stronger son."
The words hit harder than any enemy attack.
A stronger son.
A better son.
A braver son.
How many years had he carried that burden?
"And now..."
Eitan smiled again.
"I just wanted to make you proud."
Uriel couldn't stop crying anymore.
His shoulders shook.
His vision blurred.
Then he took a step forward.
"Eitan."
His voice barely escaped his lips.
"I was always proud of you."
The young soldier froze.
Uriel's tears continued falling.
"You never had to earn that."
For a moment, neither moved.
Neither spoke.
The only sound was the distant roar of the engines.
Then Eitan laughed.
A small laugh.
The kind a child gives after finally hearing something he needed his entire life.
Slowly, he walked forward.
Then stood before his father.
Straight-backed.
Proud.
He raised his hand in a salute.
"My name is Eitan Barak."
His voice rang through the empty aircraft.
"Son of the great Commander Uriel Barak."
A grin spread across his face.
"And I am heading into battle."
Uriel stared at him.
Then wiped away his tears.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The commander inside him stood once more.
He returned the salute.
"And I am Commander Uriel Barak."
A faint smile appeared.
"Father of the brave soldier Eitan Barak."
For a moment, they simply looked at one another.
Father and son.
Both smiling.
Both pretending this wasn't goodbye.
Eitan grabbed his parachute.
"Well."
He turned toward the open ramp.
"I should get going."
Before he could leave, a hand stopped him.
Uriel stepped forward.
Then gently pressed his forehead against his son's.
The gesture was ancient.
Older than either of them.
A farewell passed down through generations.
Uriel closed his eyes.
"Shuv elai, dam mi-dami."
Return to me, blood of my blood.
Eitan's smile softened.
"Ken, Abba."
Yes, Father.
The two separated.
Eitan walked toward the edge of the aircraft.
The battlefield waited below.
Death waited below.
Yet somehow he felt lighter than ever.
Just before jumping, he looked back one final time.
Then placed his hand over his heart.
"Dedicate your heart."
Uriel blinked.
Then laughed despite the tears still on his face.
"You and your brother watch too many cartoons."
Eitan groaned.
"It's not a cartoon, Dad."
A grin appeared.
"It's anime."
Then he jumped.
The wind swallowed him.
And for the first time since becoming a commander...
Uriel Barak prayed.
Not as a soldier.
Not as a leader.
But as a father.The sky roared around him.
Cold wind slammed against Eitan's face as he descended through the clouds.
Below him, war stretched to the horizon.
Explosions lit the battlefield.
Columns of smoke clawed their way toward the heavens.
The thunder of artillery never ceased.
For a moment, Eitan simply stared.
This was it.
The battlefield his father had spent years fighting upon.
The battlefield that had taken thousands.
The battlefield he had willingly chosen.
A smile appeared on his face.
Then he bit down on his thumb.
Blood flowed.
Crimson symbols spread across his arm as his Drive awakened.
The air around him trembled.
A burst of force erupted from beneath him.
His descent accelerated.
Like a spear thrown from the heavens.
Enemy soldiers looked upward.
Their expressions changed instantly.
Fear.
"E-Enemy aerial support!"
"Incoming!"
Too late.
Eitan crashed into the battlefield.
BOOM.
The impact shattered the ground beneath him.
Dust exploded outward.
Several enemy soldiers were thrown from their feet.
Without hesitation, Eitan surged forward.
One soldier.
Two.
Five.
His movements were swift.
Precise.
Every strike carried enough force to send armored men flying.
The battlefield swallowed him.
Gunfire.
Explosions.
Screams.
Yet Eitan continued advancing.
Forward.
Always forward.
Toward the enemy command position.
Toward victory.
Toward tomorrow.
Far away, hidden among the ruins of a collapsed building, a sniper observed the battlefield through his scope.
Patient.
Silent.
Waiting.
His crosshairs drifted across the chaos.
Then stopped.
Locked onto a single target.
Eitan Barak.
The young soldier continued running.
Unaware.
The sniper exhaled.
A finger tightened around the trigger.
Click.
The shot rang out.
A single bullet cut through the battlefield.
Faster than sound.
Faster than thought.
Faster than regret.
For a brief moment, Eitan felt something.
A strange calm.
His mother's smile.
His father's laughter.
The warmth of home.
And his little brother.
Probably sitting on the couch.
Probably watching anime.
Probably arguing with their mother.
A small smile appeared on Eitan's face.
Maybe when this war was over—
The bullet struck.
His thoughts ended there.
Silence.
The battlefield continued without him.
The war did not stop.
The guns did not stop.
The world did not stop.
One young soldier had vanished from it.
And yet no one knew.
Not yet.
Not his comrades.
Not his brother.
Not his mother.
And not the father still waiting for his return.
---
Hours later.
The image spread across televisions worldwide.
A reporter stood before a sea of refugees.
Exhausted faces.
Hungry children.
Families carrying what little remained of their lives.
The war had stolen everything else.
The reporter adjusted her microphone.
Behind her, thousands continued their journey west.
"Standing behind me are refugees fleeing the ongoing conflict."
Her voice remained professional.
But her eyes betrayed exhaustion.
"For three years, the war between Israel and Iraq has continued to claim lives and displace countless civilians."
She gestured toward the crowd.
"The people you see behind me are not soldiers."
"They are mothers."
"Fathers."
"Children."
"Ordinary people forced to pay the price for decisions they never made."
The camera slowly panned across the refugees.
A crying child.
An elderly man supported by his grandson.
A mother carrying an infant.
The reporter continued.
"With no end to the conflict in sight, many experts now fear the war could continue for another year."
"A year these people simply cannot afford."
She paused.
Looking directly into the camera.
"The question being asked across the world remains the same."
"Do the leaders of these nations hear the cries of their own people?"
"If they do..."
"When will they act?"
Silence.
The wind blew across the refugee camp.
Then came the final question.
The one everyone was thinking.
The one nobody could answer.
"And where are the Seraphim?"
The camera crew exchanged uneasy glances.
The reporter lowered her gaze.
For the first time, her professionalism cracked.
Just slightly.
A tired sigh escaped her lips.
"God help us all."
The broadcast ended.
But the war continued.
Deep beneath the Tokyo Church, a reporter's voice echoed through a mounted television.
"...and perhaps the question weighing most heavily on the minds of those affected by this war is this."
The camera zoomed in.
"Where are the Seraphim?"
The reporter lowered her head.
A weary sigh escaped her lips.
"God help us all."
The broadcast ended.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Anytime you're ready, old man."
Every recruit turned.
At the center of the underground training grounds stood two men.
Elias Vortigern.
Ren kurosawa.
Neither moved.
Yet somehow the atmosphere felt heavier.
Dangerous.
Like standing between two storms waiting to collide.
Ren sighed.
"Don't go pulling that ALL Drive nonsense on me."
Elias smirked.
"Of course not."
Then his eyes shifted toward Kageyama.
"Watch carefully."
A grin appeared.
"And see for yourself how weak you are."
Kageyama's eye twitched.
The next moment—
Both men vanished.
BOOM.
The sound came before anyone realized they had moved.
A shockwave exploded through the training grounds.
Several recruits lost their footing.
Others instinctively covered their faces.
"What the hell?!"
"I didn't even see them move!"
The recruits desperately searched the arena.
Nothing.
Then—
BOOM.
Another collision.
The air split apart.
Two figures appeared for less than a second before disappearing again.
Staff against fist.
Skill against skill.
Monster against monster.
The frightening part?
Neither had activated their Drive.
This was simply their base form.
Elias swung his staff.
Ren slipped beneath it.
Ren countered.
Elias blocked.
Both vanished again.
The recruits could only follow the destruction left behind.
Cracked walls.
Shattered stone.
Air pressure powerful enough to sting their skin.
And they weren't even serious.
Finally, the two separated.
Landing on opposite sides of the arena.
Both smiled.
"CELL DRIVE."
Power exploded outward.
The temperature instantly changed.
One side of the arena became unbearably hot.
The other strangely cool.
The pressure alone forced several recruits backward.
Then came a technique every combatant recognized.
Flash Step.
A single movement.
A single step.
A speed so great it left only afterimages behind.
The recruits watched dozens of Eliases and Rens appear throughout the battlefield.
None of them were real.
The actual battle was taking place somewhere far beyond their eyes.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The sky above the arena trembled.
Elias struck.
Ren blocked.
Ren countered.
Elias retaliated.
Neither gave ground.
Neither surrendered an inch.
Eventually Elias slammed his staff downward.
The impact forced Ren from the air.
Yet Ren landed perfectly.
A grin spread across his face.
"Damn you, Elias."
Elias merely smiled.
Then his staff expanded.
Larger.
Longer.
Until it was large enough for him to stand atop.
The recruits stared.
The ground shook.
Then shook again.
And again.
At first they thought it was part of the fight.
Then the walls rattled.
The lights flickered.
The entire city trembled.
An emergency broadcast echoed throughout the church.
"This is an emergency broadcast."
The recruits froze.
"At approximately 14:37 local time, a massive magnitude 8.4 earthquake has struck off the eastern coast of Japan."
Several jaws dropped.
No.
That wasn't an earthquake.
That was them.
"Residents in coastal areas are ordered to evacuate immediately."
The announcement continued.
Yet nobody was listening.
Every recruit stared at the two men standing in the center of the arena.
The source of a natural disaster.
A warning siren suddenly erupted.
WARNING.
WARNING.
CODE RED.
ALL RECRUITS EVACUATE THE TRAINING GROUNDS IMMEDIATELY.
Nobody moved.
Nobody could.
The beauty before them was too overwhelming.
Elias laughed.
"Ready to take it to the next level?"
Ren cracked his neck.
"Anytime, boi."
Both smiled.
"WILL DRIVE."
The world changed.
Flames erupted around Elias.
Golden and crimson.
Wild and majestic.
Across from him, an invisible dome of compressed air surrounded Ren.
The pressure distorted the space around him.
Reality itself seemed to bend.
Then the metal walls began to melt.
Several recruits screamed.
The steel wasn't burning.
It was reverting.
Returning to its raw molten state.
The training grounds were literally unable to withstand their presence.
The recruits stood mesmerized.
Amazed.
Terrified.
And then Kageyama spoke.
"They're beautiful."
Nobody laughed.
Because everyone agreed.
Amane swallowed.
"Wait."
She looked toward Ren.
"Didn't he say Drive Zero could fight opponents like this?"
Onizaki blinked.
"What?"
"And Touka couldn't even use his Drive."
Silence.
Then realization struck.
The entire room went cold.
"They fought monsters like these..."
"...every day."
Kageyama's fists tightened.
Crack.
The handle of one of his daggers shattered in his grip.
For the first time, he understood the gap between himself and the legends he admired.
Meanwhile—
The floor began turning red.
Molten.
Liquid.
"LAVA!"
The recruits finally panicked.
"RUN!"
They fled moments before the doors melted completely.
Back inside, Ren laughed.
"This brings back memories."
Elias opened his mouth to answer.
Ren vanished.
The next second he appeared directly before him.
Two fingers pressed together.
Snap.
BOOM.
Compressed air exploded outward.
Elias was blasted from his staff.
"That annoying technique."
Ren grinned.
"It's a nameless technique passed through my family for generations."
He raised his hand.
"It'll remain nameless until someone strong enough earns the right to name it."
Elias scoffed.
"Annoying."
The giant staff instantly shrank.
Then flew back into his hands.
Ren leapt away.
Too late.
Elias was already there.
Their weapons collided.
Shockwaves erupted.
The lava sea beneath them exploded.
Both warriors exchanged dozens of blows while falling through the air.
Then Ren smiled.
A dangerous smile.
His fist stopped inches from Elias.
Elias' eyes widened.
"You wouldn't."
Ren's grin widened.
"Watch me."
One-inch punch.
BOOM.
The impact distorted the air itself.
Even Elias was forced backward.
Then he sighed.
"This has gone on long enough."
The temperature skyrocketed.
Heat flooded the arena.
Elias vanished.
Reappeared behind Ren.
And struck.
The blow sent Ren crashing downward.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Until—
BOOM.
The arena shook.
Ren hit the ground.
Then looked upward.
And froze.
Above him floated every drop of lava within the arena.
Compressed.
Gathered.
Forged.
Into a colossal staff.
A weapon large enough to crush a building.
Elias stood at its peak.
One hand raised.
The victor already decided.
"It's over."
Silence.
Then Ren laughed.
"Yeah."
The giant staff dissolved.
Both men released their Drives.
The pressure vanished.
The flames disappeared.
The wind calmed.
And what remained of the training grounds looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster.
Elias stretched.
"You got serious near the end."
Ren shrugged.
"If I wanted you dead, you'd know."
Both men laughed.
Then Ren looked around.
The arena was empty.
"...Where did the brats go?"
A pause.
Then Elias burst out laughing.
Ren sighed.
"OI!"
His voice echoed through the halls.
"GET BACK HERE!"
And somewhere in the distance, terrified recruits began running even faster.