Ren flicked the blood off his blade, watching the cyber warrior collapse in a heap. He took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the arena. "How many are left?" he asked, his voice tense with adrenaline.
Suzaku stood beside him, his gaze scanning the battlefield. “Ninety, give or take. The weaker ones are falling fast. It won’t be long before the real monsters start showing their fangs.”
Ren nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Good,” he muttered. “The sooner this ends, the better.” He turned back to the fight, catching a glimpse of movement in the mist swirling across the arena. Before he could react, something slammed into him, sending him skidding across the ground.
He rolled to his feet, shaking off the impact, and glared at his attacker. A slim, small figure emerged from the mist, moving with an eerie grace. Dark purple hair spilled out from beneath a dragon-shaped mask, and his presence seemed to suck the warmth out of the air.
Suzaku’s breath hitched. “That’s not good,” he murmured, his usual calm slipping into something closer to fear.
Up on the balcony, Takeda’s eyes widened as he watched the newcomer. “So, the Syndicate decided to put him forward after all,” he said, his voice low.
Shin Tetsujin, standing next to him, tilted his head slightly. “Interesting. That one could be trouble, even for your men.”
Takeda’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Trouble is an understatement. That fighter—he’s the Wraith. If he’s here, then the rest of them are in grave danger. Even yours.”
Shin Tetsujin remained unfazed, a faint smile curling his lips. “All the better, Takeda-san. A competition of this caliber requires the threat of death. It purifies the soul, don’t you think?”
Takeda didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he watched the arena below.
Ren tightened his grip on his sword, eyeing the Wraith. “I can take him,” he muttered, more to himself than to Suzaku.
But before he could make a move, Suzaku stepped in front of him. “No, you can’t.” With a swift motion, Suzaku set his hands in the ground and shouted. “Ice Style: Ice Wall!”
The air chilled instantly as a thick wall of ice erupted between them and the Wraith, glistening under the harsh arena lights. Suzaku turned to Ren, his voice urgent but calm. “That’s the Wraith. We can’t fight him—not yet. Our best chance is to survive this round and face him later, when we’re stronger and less exposed.”
Ren frowned, his instincts urging him to fight, but he nodded. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “But if he comes through, we’re not running.”
Suzaku gave a grim smile. “Agreed. But for now, we retreat.”
The two of them backed away from the ice barrier, keeping their eyes on the mist. But then, something sparked within the fog—a flicker of energy, sharp and electric, crackling with lethal intent.
The Wraith stepped forward, his palm outstretched, a ghostly light gathering in his hand. He pressed it against the ice wall, and the surface began to hiss and melt, steam rising as the ice turned to water.
Ren’s heart pounded as he watched the Wraith slowly advance, unyielding, unstoppable. “Suzaku…”
“I know,” Suzaku whispered, his mind racing. “We need to move—now!”
As the ice barrier continued to disintegrate, they turned and sprinted deeper into the arena, the sound of crackling energy echoing ominously behind them.
The Wraith, unfazed and expressionless behind his dragon mask, continued his slow, deliberate pursuit, the last remnants of the ice wall dripping away like the sands of an hourglass.
----------------------------------------
Kenshin crouched next to the broken body of his comrade, his fingers trembling as he reached for the chest holding the scroll. His thoughts were a whirlwind of guilt and regret, the image of Akira’s water blade slicing through the air replaying in his mind. He had dodged, yes, but the blade had continued its deadly arc, cutting his partner down in a single, fluid motion. The man had been a fellow Shinto Samurai, someone Kenshin had trained with, fought alongside, trusted. He hadn’t expected him to die—not like this, not so soon.
"It should’ve been me, brother" Kenshin whispered, his voice breaking. He hesitated, staring at the chest. What good is moving on if I can’t save the people beside me?
But before he could make a decision, a sudden rush of air and movement pulled him from his thoughts.
Ren and Suzaku raced past him, their faces grim. Suzaku glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes widening as he spotted Kenshin. “Watch out!” he screamed, his voice raw with urgency. “Get out of there!”
Kenshin jerked upright, instinctively raising his blade as he followed Suzaku’s gaze. Emerging from the mist, the Wraith moved with terrifying speed, his dark purple hair and dragon mask giving him the appearance of a specter. Kenshin felt a chill run down his spine but forced himself to stand firm. He was a samurai—he would not run.
“Why did you warn him?” Ren asked between breaths, a puzzled frown on his face as they continued running. “He’s not one of ours.”
Suzaku let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. “He might make a good distraction. If we’re lucky, he’ll keep the Wraith busy long enough for us to figure out our next move.”
Ren snorted at the thought. “Cold, even for you, Suzaku.”
“I prefer practical,” Suzaku retorted, his tone clipped. “We don’t have the luxury of mercy in this tournament. Especially not with him on our tail.”
But the banter died in Ren’s throat when he saw who was blocking their path. Ginrei Tetsujin stood before them, his posture relaxed, a bored expression on his face. His long, silver hair flowed like liquid metal, and his eyes, sharp and calculating, settled on Ren with mild interest.
“Ren,” Ginrei said, his voice carrying a subtle edge of mockery, “Long time no see. Still hanging on to your grandfather’s sword, I see. How quaint.”
Ren’s grip tightened on his blade, his knuckles turning white. “And you, Ginrei, still pretending you’re above it all? Some things never change.”
Ginrei’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Why would I change? The game remains the same, year after year. The only difference is how many corpses it leaves behind.”
He turned his gaze to Suzaku, the smile fading. “And you, Suzaku. I hear your clan still clings to the Silent Order. Can’t be much left of it now, though. When will you admit it’s time to let go?”
Suzaku’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “We survive. That’s more than can be said for those who underestimated us.”
“Survive?” Ginrei’s tone was mocking, his eyes cold. “Or merely delay the inevitable?”
Suzaku didn’t respond, but the tension between them was palpable. Ren’s hand hovered near his sword, ready for anything. He knew Ginrei was powerful, but something about Suzaku’s silence unnerved him.
Behind them, the Wraith reached Kenshin. The mist that trailed him seemed to pulse with a life of its own, swirling ominously around the nimble samurai. Kenshin steadied his breath, his grip tightening on his katana. The Wraith pulled a nunchaku from behind his back, the weapon gleaming in the dim light.
Kenshin let out a nervous laugh, trying to mask his fear. “A nunchaku, huh? Didn’t think I’d see one of those here.”
The Wraith tilted his head slightly, saying nothing. His silence was more intimidating than any threat.
With a shout, Kenshin lunged at the Wraith, his blade cutting through the air in a series of precise, deadly arcs. “For my brother!” But the Wraith moved like water, his body twisting and flowing around each strike with an almost supernatural ease. The nunchaku whipped through the air, countering Kenshin’s attacks with brutal efficiency. Each strike landed with bone-crushing force, driving Kenshin back, leaving him battered and bleeding.
Desperate, Kenshin summoned the last of his chi, channeling it into his katana. The blade gleamed with ethereal light as he swung it in a wide arc, aiming to cleave the Wraith in two. But the Wraith’s nunchaku met the katana with a metallic clang, the force of the blow disarming Kenshin. His sword flew from his grasp, clattering to the ground several feet away.
The Wraith paused, his dark eyes narrowing behind the dragon mask. He seemed to study Kenshin for a moment, as if deciding whether the samurai was worth finishing off. Then, without a word, he launched into a spinning crescent moon kick, his foot connecting with Kenshin’s chest with devastating power. Kenshin hit the ground hard, gasping for air, his vision swimming.
At the same time, Ren and Suzaku found themselves locked in a standoff with Ginrei. With a lazy gesture, Ginrei activated his mind-altering technique, Sea of Darkness. The world around Ren and Suzaku dimmed, their vision blurring as countless human eyes began to materialize around them, staring, unblinking, into their very souls.
“What... what is this?” Ren muttered, his voice shaky as the eyes seemed to bore into his mind, dredging up memories and fears he’d long buried.
“Ginrei’s favorite trick,” Suzaku replied, his voice tense. “He likes to make you question your own sanity before he strikes. Don’t let it get to you.”
Ren gritted his teeth, trying to shake off the unease that crept into his thoughts. “Easy for you to say. You always were the calm one.”
Suzaku chuckled softly, though there was little humor in it. “Calm? No. Just used to staring into the abyss.”
Ginrei watched them with a detached curiosity, his eyes flickering with a hint of amusement. “You’re both stronger than you look, I’ll give you that. But strength isn’t enough to survive in this world.”
“Is that why you hide behind parlor tricks?” Ren shot back, forcing himself to ignore the growing sense of dread. “Afraid to face us head-on?”
Ginrei’s smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating look. “You misunderstand me, Ren. This isn’t about fear. It’s about control. And right now, you’re in my world.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Elsewhere in the arena, Charlotte and Hana finished off the last of the capoeira-style fighters, reducing the number of remaining combatants to 80. The sudden shift in the battle’s tide caused the Wraith to pause, his nunchaku raised for a final strike against Kenshin. But before he could deliver the finishing blow, a voice rang out across the arena.
“Enough.”
Shin Tetsujin appeared beside Ginrei, his presence commanding immediate attention. “The round is over.”
Ginrei let out a small, irritated sigh, releasing his technique. The Sea of Darkness evaporated, and the eyes that had plagued Ren and Suzaku vanished, leaving them dazed but relieved. Ginrei, however, looked slightly annoyed, as if the interruption had spoiled his fun.
“Always so punctual, Shin,” Ginrei said, his tone laced with disdain.
Shin’s expression didn’t change. “We all have our roles to play, Ginrei. Now, follow the rules.”
“This isn’t over,” Ginrei murmured smiling, his gaze lingering on Ren and Suzaku before he turned and walked away.
Ren exhaled slowly, feeling the tension drain from his body. “I swear, Suzaku, one day I’m going to wipe that smirk off his face.”
“Get in line,” Suzaku replied dryly, his eyes still watching Ginrei’s retreating form. “But we’ll need more than just bravado if we’re going to take him down.”
Akira, watching from the shadows, felt his heart clench with fear. He had witnessed both Ginrei and the Wraith in action, and the sheer power they wielded was terrifying. How can I face them? he wondered, his confidence shaken. I only survived because I managed to grab the scroll and escape... but that won’t be enough next time.
He thought of the Water Sage, the one Xiaoyu had mentioned, and made a mental note to seek him out after the round. He needed more power—much more—if he hoped to stand a chance in the battles to come.
Shin Tetsujin stood tall at the center of the arena, his presence commanding as his voice boomed across the silent battlefield. “In one week, at midnight, the next round of the tournament will commence. The nature of that round, along with its rules, will be disclosed in due time. Until then, prepare yourselves.”
His words reverberated through the air, carrying an ominous weight that hung over the remaining fighters. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, each participant moving with the gravity of what had just transpired. Akira, his body still tense from the recent battle, began to make his way toward the exit. But a gnawing unease clung to him like a shadow, whispering that something far worse awaited in the coming round.
Xiaoyu, watching from a higher vantage point, scanned the arena with sharp eyes. The floor was strewn with the remnants of the fierce combat—fighters lay scattered, some barely clinging to life, others motionless, their lives snuffed out. The green-uniformed guards moved among them, collecting the fallen with a clinical detachment, loading the bodies into metallic containers that sent a chill down Xiaoyu’s spine. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
What’s really happening here? Xiaoyu wondered, her hand tightening around the amulet Lady Mei had given her. She knew her mission—help Akira advance in the tournament and keep tabs on Satoshi. But the sight before her stirred something deeper, a sense of obligation to uncover the truth behind the disturbing practices she was witnessing.
“Xiaoyu,” Satoshi’s voice drew her attention. He stood nearby, his expression dark as he watched the grim proceedings below. “What do you think happens to the fighters who don’t make it? The ones who can’t fight anymore?”
Yamada, standing beside Satoshi, crossed his arms, his gaze distant. “It’s not pretty. Some of them… they take their own lives when they can’t fight anymore. Others try to go back to their clans, but from what I’ve heard, the bodies never make it home.”
Satoshi turned to Yamada, frowning. “But why? What’s the point of keeping the bodies?”
Yamada hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. “I know a guy—a bit of a conspiracy nut. He’s been digging into this tournament for years. Says there’s something sinister going on with the bodies, something the higher-ups don’t want anyone to know about. But he’s been laying low lately, probably because he’s getting too close to the truth.”
Xiaoyu’s interest sharpened. “Can you tell me more about this guy? Where I can find him?”
Yamada glanced around warily, then nodded. “Not here. Too risky. But I’ll give you the info later, when we’re somewhere safer.”
As they made their way out of the arena, Akira fell into step with them, his mind still replaying the earlier battle. But something ahead caught his eye, causing him to freeze in his tracks. A woman in a delicate kimono walked past them, her brown hair flowing softly over her shoulders. A small deer tattoo was visible on her neck. Beside her, moving with an almost ethereal grace, was the Wraith.
Akira’s breath caught in his throat as an immense pressure washed over him, like a tidal wave threatening to pull him under. The Wraith’s presence was suffocating, yet… there was no chi, no energy radiating from him—just an overwhelming sense of danger. It was as if the very air around the Wraith was distorted by his mere existence.
“Who… who is she?” Akira whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Xiaoyu noticed his unease and followed his gaze. “Her? Oh, that’s Rika—the Wraith’s handler, that is what I heard from people around me here. She’s always with him, but no one knows much about her.”
Yamada, overhearing, nodded in agreement. “They say she’s the only one who can control him. Not sure if it’s true, but they seem inseparable.”
Akira forced himself to breathe as the pair passed by, neither of them sparing him a glance. He felt insignificant, like a speck of dust in the face of a storm. “They didn’t even notice me…” he muttered, a bitter edge to his voice.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Yamada said, his tone half-joking, half-serious. “You don’t want the Wraith’s attention. Trust me on that.”
As they continued walking, Yamada led them to a black sedan waiting outside. The ride back to the hotel was subdued, each of them processing the day’s events. But Yamada soon broke the silence, turning to Satoshi with a grin.
“So, Satoshi,” Yamada began, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Ever heard of the underground fighting rings on this island? If you’re looking to make some quick cash, you might want to check them out.”
Satoshi raised an eyebrow. “Underground fights? You know about those?”
Yamada chuckled. “Used to be a guard at Kage Ryu, for the Tengu Clan. Made a decent living on the side in those rings before… well, before things went south for me. Lost my chi abilities after a bad fight. But the rings are still going strong.”
“Sounds like a good way to get killed,” Satoshi remarked, though there was a hint of interest in his voice.
Yamada shrugged. “Life’s a gamble, right? Besides, the seafood here is to die for. I can recommend a place if you’re interested.”
They arrived at the hotel, and Yamada parked the car. Before they got out, he turned to Xiaoyu and handed her a folded piece of paper. His expression was serious. “This is the info on that conspiracy guy. But be careful, okay? I don’t want to get involved, but you seem like a nice girl. Don’t get yourself in too deep.”
Xiaoyu accepted the note with a small smile. “Thank you, Yamada. I appreciate it.”
Yamada nodded and drove off, leaving the group at the hotel entrance. As the car disappeared down the street, Xiaoyu tucked the note into her pocket, feeling a mix of anticipation and trepidation.
Later that night, as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Xiaoyu retreated to her traditional Japanese room. She waited until she was certain the others were asleep before sitting cross-legged on the tatami mat. Closing her eyes, she focused her chi, forming a nearly invisible barrier around her, ensuring her privacy before reaching out to Lady Mei.
The connection was immediate, and Lady Mei’s presence filled her mind. “Xiaoyu,” came the familiar voice, smooth but laced with authority. “Report.”
“Akira did well today,” Xiaoyu began, her tone measured. “But… I’m worried. The competition is getting fiercer, and I’m not sure if he can keep up.”
Lady Mei’s silence was heavy, thoughtful. “If Akira dies or loses, we have contingencies. Plan B is already in place.”
Xiaoyu frowned. “The modified green blood? It’s too dangerous. If you use it, you’ll be risking everyone’s safety.”
Lady Mei’s laugh was cold, dismissive. “I didn’t get to where I am by playing it safe, Xiaoyu. Risks are necessary. Besides, if Akira falls, the green blood will be our best option.”
Xiaoyu bit back a retort, knowing it would be pointless. “There’s something else,” she said instead. “I think I have a lead on what happens to the bodies of the deceased fighters.”
Lady Mei’s voice softened, but there was a warning in her tone. “Be careful, Xiaoyu. Your primary objective is Akira. Uncover what you can, but don’t let it distract you from your main mission.”
“I understand,” Xiaoyu replied, her resolve firm. The call ended, and she opened her eyes, feeling the weight of her dual missions pressing down on her.
The next afternoon, Akira woke up groaning as he stretched, every muscle in his body protesting. His mind was still clouded with doubts from the previous day, and his thoughts kept drifting back to the Wraith and his mysterious handler. He found Satoshi already awake, sitting on the balcony with a bottle of sake in hand.
“Afternoon, Akira!” Satoshi called out, grinning as he took a long drink. “I was just thinking—we should head to the beach, man! Summer’s here, the sun’s out, and there are bound to be some cute girls around. What do you say?”
Akira blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Seriously? We’re in the middle of a death tournament, and you’re talking about… picking up girls?”
Satoshi shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, we could die tomorrow. Might as well enjoy today while we can, right?”
Akira shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yep,” Satoshi agreed, raising his bottle in a mock toast. “But that’s why you keep me around.”
Akira sighed, unable to suppress a chuckle. The tension of the previous day lingered, but Satoshi’s carefree attitude was infectious. Maybe a break wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Fine,” Akira said, giving in. “But you’re buying the drinks.”
Satoshi grinned. “Deal.”
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the beach, Akira and Satoshi strolled towards a quaint restaurant nestled near the shoreline. The gentle sound of the waves crashing against the sand provided a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Xiaoyu, having excused herself for some personal errands, left the two of them to enjoy a rare moment of normalcy.
Inside the restaurant, they settled at a table with a view of the ocean, the soft murmur of the surf blending with the clinking of cutlery and the occasional laugh from other diners. The aroma of fresh seafood and savory broth filled the air, a welcome distraction from the tournament’s harsh realities.
Akira took a sip of his tea, the warmth soothing his nerves, and then turned to Satoshi, who was busy twirling noodles with practiced ease. "You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something," Akira said, trying to keep his tone casual. "Why did you really go against the Zhao family and drag me into this tournament? What’s your game here?"
Satoshi paused mid-twirl, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl. He sighed deeply, setting the chopsticks down and leaning back in his chair. “You want the truth, huh? Alright. I’ve been tangled up in shady deals for years. Not exactly the life I imagined when I started. The Zhao family… they were a different beast. That green blood they wanted—it was dangerous. Not just in terms of what it did to people, but how it could tip the scales of power.”
Akira frowned, a question lingering. “But we fought those green blood ninjas in the Zhao family warehouse, and they didn’t seem that strong. Wasn’t it supposed to be more… potent?”
Satoshi shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “Those were a watered-down version. The real stuff—what I'm planning to supply to Takeda, the leader of the Shinto Samurai—is far more potent. The kind of thing that could change the balance of power. And if that happened, there would be chaos. All of us could get caught in the crossfire, and believe me, there are already enough rumblings of open conflict between the clans of the Silent Order.”
Akira’s gaze drifted to the waves crashing against the shore, contemplating the implications. “So, you’re saying things could get worse?” Akira asked, his brow furrowing.
“Way worse,” Satoshi replied, leaning forward. “The Tetsujin clan is growing too powerful for comfort. The other clans are resentful, and they’re whispering about open conflict. This tournament, it’s not just a showcase of strength—it’s like a simmering pot of war. Adding the green blood into that mix would be like throwing a grenade into a crowded room.”
Akira stared out at the ocean, the rhythmic waves reflecting his turbulent thoughts. “It sounds like a warzone out there. How am I supposed to survive this tournament if things get even more chaotic?”
Satoshi shrugged, his gaze following Akira’s. “The same way we all do—by adapting and getting stronger. You’ve got the spirit, Akira. Just remember, everyone here is fighting for their own reasons. Some to prove themselves, some for survival, and some to change the world. Find your reason, and let that drive you.”
"Tournaments like this… they’re like a warzone, but without the formal declaration. All the clans use these events to test each other, flex their muscles, see who’s on top.” Satoshi said calmly.
Akira considered this, his mind racing through the possible consequences. The ocean’s waves seemed to mirror the turmoil in his thoughts, each crest and fall a reminder of the unpredictable nature of his situation. He knew he needed to be stronger, to not just survive but thrive in this brutal competition.
Satoshi, noticing Akira’s pensive expression, offered a sympathetic grin. “Don’t let it get to you too much. You’re doing well so far. Just keep your head in the game and don’t let the chaos around you distract you. It’s a tough world, but you’ve got the skills to handle it.”
Akira nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Satoshi. I’ll keep that in mind.”
As they finished their meal, Akira’s thoughts remained with the waves, contemplating his path forward. The tournament had revealed more than he’d expected, and the road ahead promised to be even more treacherous. He needed any advantage if he was to survive and keep his clan line alive.
They left the restaurant, the sun setting over the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink.