The air in the cinema lobby felt suddenly cold. Akos froze. His fingers twitched at his sides. A thin layer of sweat broke across his forehead. The blue glow of his Infinity Eyes flickered once, then dimmed.
He stared across the hall.
Mikaro stood there in a black monk's robe, one hand locked around a hostage's throat. The posture, the slight tilt of the head — it was all too familiar. Mikaro met his gaze calmly, without hurry.
"Good evening, Tasaku," he said through the microphone, voice even. "It's been a while."
The words landed like a slap. Akos's throat tightened. For a second the lobby blurred, and another voice cut through — younger, laughing.
"Yo, Akos! Why are you sitting like that? Come on, we've got a mission. A devil took a kid… You really gonna sit this one out?"
Akos's jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Flashback – Tokyo Private High, Training Grounds
Rain hammered the ground, mixing with blood and mud. Flames still licked the ruined walls behind them, casting flickering orange light over the wreckage.
Mikaro stood motionless at first, eyes wide, staring at the limp body of their classmate in Akos's arms. Then something broke in his expression.
"he shouted, voice cracking over the roar of the rain. He started running toward Akos, boots splashing through puddles of red water. "Leía! What happened? Tell me what—"
He skidded to a stop just meters away. A flash of lightning lit up Akos's face clearly for the first time — the blood on his hands, the hollow exhaustion in his eyes.
Mikaro's face crumpled in shock. His knees buckled. He fell forward onto the wet ground, palms slapping the mud.
"…Tasaku?" The name came out broken, almost childlike. "What… what did you do?"
Akos looked down at the body he was carrying, then back at his friend. His voice was barely a whisper, drowned by the storm.
"I'm sorry… I was late."
The rain kept falling, washing everything away except the silence between them.
Present – Cinema Lobby
Akos lifted his head slowly. His right hand rose, fingers shaping into the familiar stance. The tip trembled.
Mikaro glanced at the hostage, then back at Akos. Without a word, he squeezed.
A wet crunch. The man's body jerked once and went slack. Blood sprayed across the white screen in a messy arc. The corpse dropped to the floor with a dull thud.
But the body didn't stay human for long. Dark veins bulged under the skin, bones cracked and shifted, and in seconds what had been a man twisted into a snarling devil — red eyes glowing with fresh hunger.
Akos's arm stayed raised, but his finger wouldn't steady.
Inside his head, everything fractured at once. Not him. Not like this. The memory of Mikaro's shocked face in the rain crashed against the calm eyes staring at him now.
Mikaro let the microphone fall. It clattered loudly in the silence.
"I always knew you'd be the last one standing, Tasaku," he said quietly, almost sadly. "But look at you… even the strongest breaks when the people he trusted become the monsters he hunts. Funny, isn't it? How we both ended up here."
He turned and walked away into the theater exit, leaving faint red footprints behind him.
The only sound left was the slow drip of blood from the stage. Tap… tap… tap…
Akos's eyes burned. "Even you…" The words slipped out flat, barely a whisper.
He closed his eyes for half a second. When he opened them, the blue glow had returned — weaker, unsteady, but there. The tremor in his hand faded. No hesitation left. Only purpose.
He extended his middle finger. A small crimson sphere formed at the tip. It fired with almost no sound.
The newly born devil's body convulsed. A wet splat echoed through the lobby. Blood and chunks splattered the wall. One eye, still wide with surprise, rolled across the floor and landed inside a forgotten popcorn bucket, settling among the white kernels.
People in the mall froze. A choked gasp escaped someone nearby.
Akos didn't look. He simply pushed the nearest person aside with the back of his hand and started walking. His hair fell over his eyes. His face showed nothing.
He stepped out of the mall into the cold night. A policeman passed close by and shivered, but Akos kept going, hands deep in his pockets, eyes on the pavement.
Behind him, inside the mall, the eye in the popcorn bucket stared blankly after him.
Akos walked down the sidewalk with slow, heavy steps, eyes fixed on the ground. He didn't look at anyone. When people came toward him, he bumped into their shoulders without slowing down or apologizing. Some turned to stare. Others whispered. Akos didn't notice.
After a few blocks, he stopped in front of a tall building he remembered from years ago. He looked up at it for a moment, then entered.
He climbed the stairs in silence. When he pushed open the door to the rooftop, a sharp cold wind hit him. It pushed his hair back for a second before it fell over his eyes again.
Akos walked to the edge and stood there, hands in his pockets. Below him, Tokyo stretched out in a sea of lights — neon signs, car headlights, glowing windows. Everything looked small and distant.
He stood completely still, face cold and empty. The faint blue glow in his eyes had almost disappeared.
There was nothing left to feel.
As Akos gazed over the city, his eyes settled on South Tokyo. A massive fire raged in the distance, bright orange flames clawing at the night sky.
He drew a slow, deep breath. A thin cloud of cold air slipped from his lips and dissolved into the wind.
The wind eased into a gentle, steady rhythm. Below, the lights of Tokyo continued to glow, cold and indifferent.
Akos stepped right to the edge of the rooftop, hands sliding back into his pockets. He stood motionless, staring down at the burning district.
From his right, a black bird with glowing red eyes landed silently on the railing. It tilted its head and fixed its gaze on him. Akos narrowed his eyes, staring back.
Behind him, the rooftop door creaked open.
"Leía," Ruka called softly. "What happened?"
Akos turned his head slightly. A small, weary smile touched his lips.
He stepped down from the edge and walked toward her.
"Nothing serious. Just a little mess." He gave her shoulder a light tap. "The only thing that matters is that you're okay."
Ruka studied his face for a moment, then spoke quietly.
"Akos… stop pretending you're fine. You keep acting like the cold, unbreakable guy who tells everyone everything is okay — but you're not."
Akos exhaled slowly and looked away.
"Let's not do this right now. I don't want to stay stuck here. We have too much to do."
Ruka's voice stayed calm, but there was clear worry in it.
"I'm worried. The Sword Fire is attacking across all of Tokyo."
Akos kept his eyes on the distant flames for a few seconds.
"That doesn't bother me," he said quietly. "What bothers me is that the day I've been waiting for has finally arrived… the day we meet again."
Ruka called softly. "What happened?"
Akos didn't answer.
Ruka waited a moment, then spoke again, more urgently.
"What do you mean by that?"
Still no reply.
"Akos!"
He continued to stare at the distant flames, ignoring her completely.
Ruka stepped closer and grabbed his shoulder, turning him toward her.
"Tell me exactly what you mean by that!"
Akos looked at her with his usual calm expression. He slowly raised his hand and gently placed it on top of her head.
"Don't worry about me," he said quietly. "Tell me… how is Vanessa doing right now?"
Ruka let out a small, frustrated sigh.
"…She's working really hard. She said she needs more time to wake up all the sorcerers from the fake world. It might take hours."
Akos gave a small nod, his voice low and steady.
"Take all the time she needs. When she's ready… we'll be there."
In another building not far away, a figure walked slowly across the rooftop.
He wore traditional Japanese battle attire in pure, ghostly white. A long, flowing hitatare-style jacket hung loosely over his frame, its wide sleeves fluttering slightly in the wind. Beneath it, he had on a dark hakama, the pleated trousers tucked into white tabi socks and waraji sandals. Thin strips of white cloth were wrapped tightly around his forearms and shins, resembling old battlefield bandages.
A blood-red sash was tied around his waist, the only splash of color against the pure white. Over his left shoulder rested a weathered white haori with faint black patterns resembling swirling flames. His long black hair was tied back in a messy topknot, with several loose strands dancing in the wind.
It was Devil's End — Sakoura Rolight.
A disgusting, wide smile stretched across his face, baring his teeth. His eyes glowed with a sickening yellow light.
He stopped at the very edge of the rooftop, placed one foot on the ledge, and lifted his head. Raising his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the wind, he stared directly at the building where Akos stood.
A low, mocking laugh escaped his lips.
"Are you ready, holy child?" he said with a twisted grin. "We meet again."