Chapter Ten: They Asked

Floating above an unfamiliar landscape, the faint hum of the portal closing behind them, Yozora and T.LAC hovered in silence for a moment. The weight of their mission pressed down, but T.LAC broke the quiet with a smirk. “It’s been a while, Zora. How about we cut loose on Jezebel, yeah?” His hand rested casually behind his head as he hovered effortlessly, the smile on his face full of anticipation.

Yozora, though, was already analyzing the situation. His mind ran through countless scenarios, fully aware of their capabilities. I wonder if T's still as good a shot... He stopped himself from finishing the thought. No, don’t even think that. He’s never missed.

Breaking his train of thought, Yozora addressed his friend, "T, how much Hindo can you access right now?"

T.LAC chuckled, lowering his hand. "Bro, you asking if I have enough shots?" His grin widened. "Look, it’s about to rain. I can make arrows from the raindrops if I have to. I’ve got plenty in the tank."

But his expression sobered slightly as he looked at Yozora, concern flickering in his eyes. “The real question is if you’ll be okay. You’re used to drawing way more Hindo from your Toro, and now... you’re stuck at five percent.”

Yozora felt the anger rise again—anger at what his parents had done to him, how they had sealed away his true power. It gnawed at him like a constant weight. His expression, however, remained cold and unreadable. "Don’t worry about me," he said flatly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

T.LAC saw right through it. He could always tell when Yozora was faking, but he knew there was nothing he could do to change how his friend felt. Instead, he nodded. “Alright, Zora. I’ve got your back.”

"Use Kakusu to conceal your Toro," Yozora instructed. "I’m going to make some noise. When all eyes are on me, find Mara and get her out. I’ll handle the rest."

T.LAC’s expression shifted to one of focus as he activated Kakusu, his Toro vanishing from sight, blending seamlessly into the environment.

Yozora, now fully focused, took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he whispered a single name, "Star Gazer." In an instant, the obsidian Scythe materialized in his hand, its blade humming with raw, celestial energy. At the same time, his clothes transformed—his school uniform morphing into a sleek, jet-black suit adorned with a flowing trench coat. His eyes, glowing like distant stars, locked onto the compound below.

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Without hesitation, Yozora kicked off midair, as though pushing off an invisible wall, sending him hurtling forward at breakneck speed. The sheer force of his movement caused the air behind him to warp, evaporating the clouds in his wake. His Scythe pulsed with power, and he activated its ability.

"Star Gazer’s Fumi—Form Four: Spectral Slash."

He swung the Scythe, and a black slash tore through the sky, star clusters twinkling within the arc of the attack. The slash ripped through the compound below with terrifying precision, the structure crumbling as the power of the Spectral Slash carved a gaping hole through its core.

As the compound erupted in chaos, Yozora hovered above, watching as alarms blared and soldiers scrambled. His cold gaze never wavered—he was the storm, and the only goal in his mind was to rescue Mara.

"Now, T," Yozora thought to himself. "It’s your turn."

Smoke billowed high into the air, thick and acrid, mingling with the wailing alarms that echoed across the compound. The pounding of soldiers' boots grew louder as they rushed to the scene, some gasping for breath, others groaning in pain as they struggled to hold on, their comrades succumbing to wounds from the earlier chaos. Through the haze of battle, Yozora descended, landing with a soft but deliberate thud in the heart of the compound.

His eyes glowed with a cold, almost demonic light, cutting through the smoke as he strode forward with purpose. The weight of his presence was suffocating, his scythe Star Gazer humming with deadly energy in his hand. He walked through the smoke like a specter of death, his voice low and filled with wrath.

"Where is she? Where is Jezebel?" His demand echoed through the compound, laced with menace.

With a swift slash from his scythe, the smoke parted, revealing a sight that would make any normal person hesitate—hundreds of combatants, armed to the teeth, standing in formation, their faces set with grim determination.

Yozora's lips curled into a cold smile. "Give me Jezebel, and I may show mercy. But if you wish to test me..."His eyes burned brighter as he raised his scythe. "I shall grant you all death."

In that instant, the soldiers made their choice. They charged.

The first combatant, a soldier wielding a sword, lunged forward with a powerful swing aimed directly at Yozora. But Yozora, faster than the eye could track, caught the soldier’s wrist mid-attack, pulling him in and driving an elbow into his stomach with brutal precision. The man crumpled, his breath leaving him in a gasp.

Another combatant charged from the side, but before he could strike, Yozora spun with a perfect roundhouse kick, the force snapping the man’s neck with a sickening crack. The soldier collapsed, his body hitting the ground before he had a chance to cry out.

A squad of soldiers, realizing the futility of close combat, fired rockets at Yozora. The missiles tore through the air, but Yozora backflipped gracefully, dodging the projectiles with ease. Before the rockets could even hit the ground, he dashed into the air, his movements so swift he appeared to blur.

"Form Two: Harvest," Yozora whispered.

With a wide, sweeping slash Star Gazer unleashed a deadly arc of energy that cleaved through the soldiers like they were nothing more than stalks of wheat in a field. The energy from the scythe disintegrating them on contact, their bodies dissolving into dust as they were caught in the wake of Yozora's attack.

The combatants fell one by one, their numbers rapidly dwindling, yet Yozora’s expression never changed—cold, emotionless, and unrelenting. He moved with surgical precision, each strike of his scythe deliberate and lethal. The battlefield was quickly reduced to a graveyard of ash and debris, the remains of those foolish enough to challenge him scattered like dust in the wind.

"Where is Jezebel?" Yozora growled again, his voice carrying through the eerie silence that followed the slaughter. His grip tightened on the scythe, his patience running thin.