“Are you certain this is the course you want to take?”
The question emerged directly inside his mind. Nomine’s lips never moved from that bloodstained expression of absolute zero. Only his eyes conveyed anything resembling emotion —a terrible, severe and tense anticipation.
Neon’s nerves screamed like live wires, menacing to burst into flames just how the fire continued to spread around them. His arms strained just to hold Nomine’s blade from advancing, but it was clear that if they were locked like this, it was only because Nomine allowed it. Something that could change at any moment, without warning.
“I could ask you the same.” He decided to play the same game as that murderer, channeling his words through their mental connection. Indignation tincted his words, louder than common sense. “This time you crossed a line I can’t just forgive.”
Nomine’s expression didn’t change. He showed no surprise, nor guilt, nor the faintest flicker of remorse. As if this outcome had already been included in the calculated risk since who knew how long.
“Fine.” There was no anger there, just acceptance. A resignation that made all of this feel even worse. “Suit yourself.”
Perhaps his heart would’ve sunk further into a bottomless pit of disappointment, of grief, but Nomine moved faster than he could process his emotions.
The disengagement was fluid. Too fluid, like water running through the gaps of his fingers rather than the explosive violence Neon had braced himself for. In consequence, he stumbled clumsily into the empty space left behind by a Nomine whose exact motions he never had any hope of tracking fully.
Only the barest glimpses of his graceful blade remained in the periphery of his eyes, now aiming for the line of his throat exposed by his broken defense.
Sheer survival instinct seized control. Blocking was impossible from this position. There’d be no point attempting to emulate any kind of fancy swordwork —he would sooner cut his own neck trying to pull it off.
So he simply leant fully into the stumble, transforming it into a duck while he dissolved Black Metal to free the landing. It was far too close for comfort, feeling even the currents of air made by Nomine’s blade whistling past his skin. But those stolen inches bought him another turn of combat.
The descending slash that followed was something Neon gambled on more than really predict. He re-summoned the katana horizontally across his shoulders, gripping it like one would do with a yoke rather than a weapon to wield. Just one strong enough lift…
Impact. Nomine’s Black Metal bounced off Neon’s as the two unbreakable blades met, though his muscles objected to the poorly received force that drove him further down onto one of his knees.
He’d be sore in the morning. If he ever got that far.
What mattered now was that this unorthodox fighting —that was probably working on Nomine out of novelty than anything else— had stalled long enough for Teitai to crash into the fray.
She lunged at Nomine with feral, unthinking recklessness. All the violence of a rabid animal and zero finesse. Her fists blazed with Light Infection marks, leaving streaks of white in the smoke-choked air, each strike loaded with enough fury to shatter bones.
Against anyone else, it might’ve worked. An overwhelming onslaught of unhinged knuckles that left no room to breathe, let alone counter. But Nomine navigated her assault with minimalist efficiency, dodging everything. He didn’t block. Didn’t need to. And without touches, Light Infection’s threat was completely neutralized.
Or that would’ve been the case, if Neon hadn’t been equally eager to throw himself at him.
Not like he caught Nomine by surprise. The veteran’s blade had already been repositioned to impede him way before Neon had even finished rising back to his feet. Juggling multiple opponents seemed to be nothing but another Wednesday for him, acting way ahead of the two rookies.
But there was something Nomine had overlooked. Unlike any regular old sword, Neon could unmake Black Metal whenever the hell he wanted.
The katana vanished mid-swing, leaving Nomine’s defensive posture to clash against nothing. In that fractional window of imbalance, Neon allowed momentum to carry his empty hands, and then he grabbed. His arms locked around Nomine’s wrist and elbow, like a koala finding purchase.
Fighting him blade-to-blade was stupid, and he never played to lose. Who gave a shit if he looked stupid? If he had to use every scrappy, backhanded trick his brain could improvise?
Something flickered across Nomine’s expression then. It was a passing flicker, but it was certainly there. Annoyance. Neon —rookie and certified imbecile— had managed to tether him down, briefly as it could be.
And yet… He just held on. Clung to him like if that was enough. Neon couldn’t bring himself to actually hurt him in a way that mattered. That bridge remained unburnt, trembling but intact inside his adrenaline-flooded chest. Teitai had no such reservations.
Her boot connected with Nomine’s stomach in a devastating snap-kick, folding him forward as a lotus sigil bloomed across his torso. Teitai’s fingers immediately flashed out in its direction.
Oh. Wait…
Neon realized it too late. By the time he tried to scramble away, the Light Infection mark had already ignited. Heat slammed into him in a searing wave, violent enough to compress his eardrums painfully inwards.
He felt Nomine’s hand pushing him away, but it was secondary to the shockwave that took both of them next. Neon’s body tumbled through the exploded soil, rolling until the motions finally ceased.
When he pushed himself up on shaking arms, all he could make out were strands of smoke where his once-partner had once been. Admonishing Teitai could come after he confirmed what had happened to Nomine.
Was it foolish hope or dread that he felt, during those few suspended seconds? He couldn’t tell, and got no time to decide before a hand parted the encroaching flames and smoke like a curtain.
Pushed back, Nomine’s silhouette was now framed by a wall of living fire that should’ve consumed him whole. The inferno licked hungrily at him, casting his flowing blue-black hair into shades of molten, raven amber.
And in there, he simply stood. Impervious and unholy.
Was he immune to everything!?
The veteran’s eyelids closed for three seconds. Maybe less. After that came just… A sigh. Whatever irritation he might’ve felt dissipated like mist, replaced by that abominable emptiness. When Nomine’s silver gaze returned, it fixed directly on Neon with an intensity that made his instincts scream to look away.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
To run.
But that wasn’t an option anymore, was it?
“Okay. I’ve had enough.” The mental voice slithered through his consciousness softly, carrying a pedagogical quality that made his skin crawl worse than any threat could. Nomine was calm. Even now. “Let’s make this a learning opportunity for you.”
Nomine’s attention shifted to Teitai, whose entire body tensed up as the original Black Metal angled towards her. Electric blue light threaded along the katana’s surface, climbing through its wielder’s frame in a ghostly azure that Neon had witnessed before. Deconsecrate.
“Pay close attention to what happens next, 157.”
Just one strike from this skill had been enough to send Soreisan —a veteran just like Nomine— running away with his tail between his legs. And here was Teitai, coiling up as if any preparation could help her tank it. Panic spiked through Neon’s chest. Letting Deconsecrate reach its mark wasn’t an option.
He conjured his copy of Black Metal back into his hands right as Nomine’s form dissolved into afterimages. All that remained was to beg he was fast enough. Pray that the unbreakable part of the dark blade’s description meant what it promised.
The exact motions escaped him. Fear and adrenaline were far too consuming. Throwing himself back onto Nomine’s path remained terrifying. Yet he achieved it, somehow. It was strange.
Should’ve he truly been able to? Had he gotten that much better at navigating these nerve-wracking conflicts? In such a short time? That was too good to be true. Way more believable was that Nomine allowed him to intercept this new slash of his blade.
And intercept it he did.
Their collision was so strong that Neon’s arms couldn’t fully take it, the recoil almost sending his weapon flying out of his grip. But he refused to let go. Even if it took everything from him, even if it made his muscles catch fire from the immense pressure, he forced both their blades into another deadlock.
He understood it then. Bravery wouldn’t cut it. There was no stopping an attack he couldn’t yet understand.
The pain that flooded his organism was incomprehensible. There was no wound, no visible point of entry, yet he still felt those electric needles burrowing into him. It wasn’t a sharp sensation. Wasn’t burning either. Wasn’t anything his nervous system had a definition for.
It was like every cell and molecule in his body began writhing in anguish. Like if his very composition was being rewritten by a very, very hostile code, giving instructions to every cell that contradicted what his body knew about itself.
Muscles seized in spasms rippling outwards in waves of agony that refused to relent. One of his knees buckled, and only the rebellious impulse from a hand prevented him from falling flat on his face.
Was he still breathing? Maybe. Even of that he couldn’t be sure anymore. Neon tried to scream. To shout the suffering dismantling him alive… But his vocal cords had collapsed. Clamping. Suffocating. All that emerged was a strangled wheeze that died before it could become sound.
“Neon!”
Who was that, Teitai? Yeah. Had to be. Those heavy boot-stomps couldn’t belong to Nomine. Through the haze, Neon forced his eyes to focus, finding that his once-partner had casually stepped back, blade resting against his shoulder as if this fight had already concluded.
Before he could distinguish from any emotion, another wave of paralyzing agony shot through him, brought along by Teitai’s hand resting on his arm.
“Are you—”
“This again? We already won, Neon.” Nomine’s actual voice interrupted the Ashen Bloom survivor. He sounded amused. “There’s no need to play pretend anymore. Your plan turned out just like you said it would.”
Neon felt his stomach sinking beyond any physical suffering. Nomine wasn’t one for jokes, and this was in poor taste even by his standards. Was he serious, then? No. No fucking way. Who’d be stupid enough to believe…
Beside him, Teitai’s entire body went rigid at the suggestion, her fingers digging painfully into him as they tightened. The shift was palpable, dangerous, making a shiver run through Neon’s spine. It was the first time those indigo eyes looked his way with this degree of ferocity.
His lips parted to deny the lies, to scream the truth, but no voice came out of them. All they managed to do was tremble, involuntarily lending more weight to Nomine’s claims.
This was so cruel. So impossibly cruel…
“Oh, right. You did mention that before, back in that miserable burrow.” Nomine’s fingers snapped with mock recollection. “That you needed to land the final blow yourself and get some experience. Level up that skill of yours. It makes sense now.”
The smile that stretched across Nomine’s sullied features felt… Malicious, yes, but also profoundly empty. The kind of expression worn by someone who employed words as yet another weapon. Someone who had long forgotten if there was anything beneath all the pretenses.
It would’ve been sad, if not for the path of atrocities he chose to walk upon.
“Once she trusts you, she won’t expect the backstab when it counts the most. That’s your strategy, isn’t it, you cunning bastard?”
>> “Since you’re doing your utmost to stand in my way, I’m not going to care about what happens to you. Just like you didn’t care when you allowed 190 to hit me multiple times. Didn’t appreciate that.” He gestured towards Teitai with his free hand, as if making some magnanimous offering. “So, go ahead.”
>> “Do your worst. I won’t interfere.”
Neon couldn’t even muster the determination required to glare at him. Not anymore. The agony had drained him to a dull, pervasive ache —or maybe his capacity for anger and disillusionment had finally maxed out. All he did was turn towards Teitai, towards the war waged behind those severe features as she processed Nomine’s poison.
Grief. Rage. Desolation. They all fought one another in a mask that refused to cry for all that was lost. And beneath them all, just sincere, devastating hurt.
But… Something shifted then. The tension eased from her shoulders all at once, and she extended an open palm down his way.
Relief washed through Neon in a dizzying rush, stealing a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. He grasped her hand and let her yank him upright. Painful, yet he still lifted his eyes with hope. Hope that common sense had triumphed. Hope that she understood him well enough not to—
Her fist slammed into his face.
The punch snapped Neon’s head with enough force to collapse his senses. He followed suit soon enough, crashing back into the ground for what felt like the hundredth time. Dirt pressed against his cheeks, mixing with the warmth flooding from his nose in thick streams of red.
More pain radiated through his skull in nauseating pulses, but above the deafening ringing of his ears, above even the devastation brought by Teitai’s mistrust… One crucial detail crystallized with terrifying clarity.
Light Infection, its cold sting blooming menacingly across his bruised skin.
Robbed of speech, Neon’s eyes widened through the dimming white blurring his vision, letting him catch fragments of Teitai’s expression. Severity hadn’t abandoned her gaze, though something else now blended with it —hesitation.
Yet her arm still rose. Her fingers still stretched in his direction to form the already familiar command call for his execution.
So this was it. His second chance at life, squandered in a fake jungle. Brought to an end by someone who might’ve been a friend, in other circumstances. The irony tasted worse than his blood.
Neon didn’t look away. He wouldn’t cower from these final moments. His gaze locked with hers through the haze, feeling something settling inside his chest. It wasn’t resignation. Not quite. More like… Acknowledgement. She’d had it rough. It had been a long night. He understood it, even as it killed him.
His eyelids narrowed, trying to hold at bay all the fear and resentment within him to replace them with the closest thing to forgiveness he could offer.
A different blur of motion sliced between them, the glistening flash of a dark edge passing through with such impossible speed that it felt like a glitch in reality. Instead of his head exploding, it was Teitai’s forearm that separated from her elbow in a sickeningly clean cut.
The severance happened so fast that not even her blood could react, much less Neon. All he could do was stare, in shock, bearing witness to the excruciating fate unfolding before him.
Teitai’s lips moved to form a bereaved, but peaceful smile that held no more anger. Her eyes closed, maybe in exhaustion, but it looked closer to relief. Relief from not having crossed a threshold that could never be undone.
And then the guillotine wind moved again. Uncaring. Uncompromising. Before her severed limb could finish its descent, Teitai had already been decapitated.