The battle raged on.
Within the shattered ruins of the vault chamber, Dazai fended off Mard Geer's advancing foot soldiers. Two came from behind, blades drawn, while another pair charged head-on. In a fluid motion, he leapt into the air, arms outstretched.
"Cold night, isn't it?" he said, smirking. "Let's warm it up."
From his palms, flames erupted—not the typical reds and oranges, but a deep, undying blue. The searing heat devoured the soldiers mid-strike, reducing them to ash. As Dazai landed gracefully, a blur cut through the smoke—Mard Geer, his dagger flashing.
Dazai shifted just in time, but the blade kissed his side, drawing a thin line of blood.
Tch... too slow, he thought.
He caught Mard Geer's arm, their eyes locking. For a split second, Dazai's grip tightened—and his forearm began to petrify. But before the effect could spread, Mard Geer drove his knee into Dazai's stomach and kicked him across the chamber. Dazai crashed into the rubble near a cracked column.
Another wave of soldiers emerged from the smoke.
Groaning, Dazai sat up and wiped his mouth. "Ah… so that's how it is. Duplication? No wonder that first version of you felt off."
He sprang to his feet, weaving between the approaching soldiers like a phantom. Mard Geer stood back, watching from behind the crowd of his own copies. Dazai charged, fists flying—targeting the soldiers' mana points with surgical precision. Then, ducking low, he slammed his fist into the floor.
The stone fractured.
Mana-forged spikes erupted from the cracks, impaling several soldiers. Mard Geer clapped slowly, stepping forward.
"Impressive," he said. "But I never said they were duplicates."
He smiled darkly.
"They are me. And I am them. Every part of me is composed of atoms—my ability allows me to replicate myself so long as a single atom remains. They don't copy me... they are me."
Dazai's eyes widened slightly at the implication. Then, with a weary breath, he laughed—low and dry.
---
Meanwhile, in the grand ballroom...
The guests were long gone. Blood stained the marble, and shadows danced across broken chandeliers.
Akatsuki stood alone at the center, surrounded by assassins and more Mard Geer copies. His dual daggers gleamed in the candlelight. He inhaled softly, steadying himself.
The shadows moved. All at once, they attacked.
In a blur, Akatsuki vaulted toward the ceiling. While airborne, he flung several kunai—not at the attackers, but at key angles around the room. One assassin raised an icy spear to strike—only to pause as he caught a glint of silver thread attached to the kunai.
Akatsuki's fingers tugged.
The wire retracted in a flash, slicing through the air—and several skulls. Blood spattered across the walls. Akatsuki landed lightly, panting, his daggers at the ready.
A sudden gust passed him.
He turned just in time to see Dazai stumble into the room, coughing and bloodied. Akatsuki chuckled.
Dazai pointed upward, shouting hoarsely, "Romeo—above you!"
Akatsuki's eyes snapped up. An assassin descended blade-first. He sidestepped the strike, caught the assassin's wrist, and drove a boot into his ribs—sending him crashing into the wall.
Dazai dusted himself off and joined Akatsuki, standing back to back.
Akatsuki grinned. "Didn't think I'd hear that old name again. Now I miss our world. So… having trouble with Mard Geer? And yes, I do mind the sarcastic questions."
Dazai sighed as he watched Mard Geer emerge from the smoke again. Across from him, the lead assassin faced Akatsuki, blade drawn.
They exchanged glances, then a fist bump.
"Don't die," Dazai muttered with a faint smile.
Akatsuki chuckled. "Yeah... don't die."