Hiroki inhaled, letting the lingering smoke and heat swirl in his lungs before releasing a measured breath. Around him, the air rippled with the aftereffects of his latest burst of speed. The vast warehouse space—doused in half-light from shattered lamps overhead—felt stiflingly hot, illuminated by the trails of crimson flame he had left behind. Some of the walls still flickered with dancing embers, like constellations in a sky of concrete and steel.
Despite his racing heart, Hiroki stood straight, body poised. An onlooker might say he was barely touching the ground, weightless, a marionette of living flame. His opponent stood a short distance away: the Perfect Worker clone, warped and monstrous in its own right, still burning with unnatural vigor from its “overtime mode.” Gone was the neat, corporate facade. Now, it was a silhouette of unnaturally lengthened limbs and distended features, every move accompanied by a distortion that bent and warped the air around it. Sparks of wild energy crawled across its contorted hands, as though the creature were pulling vitality from the very atmosphere.
High above them—perched on the remnants of a collapsed catwalk—stood K9. Clad in his usual black attire, he remained an impassive observer. His keen eyes tracked every exchange, analyzing, calculating. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of admiration for Hiroki’s prowess. He’s come a long way, forging his own method of arcane martial arts. But… is that enough against this unstable beast?
With a step that blurred into a flicker, the Perfect Worker rushed forward. Hiroki matched the speed, weaving aside, leaving streaks of flame in his wake. He reappeared behind the creature, foot already sweeping in a spinning kick. The moment his heel connected with the Perfect Worker’s side, an audible crack echoed through the space, the impact launching the monstrous figure several meters away.
“So fast,” K9 murmured. This new style of Hiroki’s—where he channelled all his arcane energy out into the environment, rendering himself temporarily weightless—gave him near-unmatched speed. Then, in those crucial moments of impact, he pulled the energy back into his limbs to strike with lethal force. A functional mastery of releasing and reabsorbing energy… K9’s gaze flicked to the Perfect Worker, now recovering from the blow. But that alone may not clinch victory. The Perfect Worker is still learning, adapting.
Hiroki snapped his fingers, calling upon the scattered flames around him. They leapt to him in a rush, coiling around his legs like fiery serpents. He twisted his body, preparing another burst. From across the littered floor—strewn with twisted remnants of desks, chairs, and collapsed shelving—the Perfect Worker snarled. The monster’s eyes were distended, glowing with something vile and hungry.
“The shift is ongoing,” it rasped, voice layered with an eerie stereo effect. “You are a trespasser on corporate grounds… this destruction is inexcusable…”
Its words trailed off into a hiss as it raised one elongated arm. The air around that limb shimmered; an unseen force siphoned the life from the surroundings, draining color from the patch of concrete under its feet, leaving it gray and brittle. Then, as if drawing power from that vital essence, the Perfect Worker’s muscles bulged, and it glowered with renewed might.
Hiroki tensed. So that’s how it’s refueling. He darted forward with an explosive start, embers scattering behind him. Just before colliding with the monstrous figure, he abruptly reversed polarity, pulling his flames back into his fists. A blazing left hook swept toward the Perfect Worker’s temple.
But the creature vanished in a distortion of space, reappearing behind Hiroki with a savage grin. Warped fingers raked forward, aimed at his unprotected back. Hiroki, sensing the shift at the last moment, twisted mid-air. It wasn’t enough to fully avoid the slash—his shoulder took a glancing hit that shredded part of his jacket and left a shallow gouge in the flesh.
He grunted, pain lancing through him. Faster than before. The Perfect Worker, fueled by whatever “overtime mode” was, moved with alarming agility. There was no time to dwell on it. Summoning a plume of flame from his right arm, Hiroki launched himself upward, flipping in an arc to gain distance.
“You’re strong,” Hiroki said, cradling his injured shoulder, fresh blood staining his sleeve. His voice held no bravado, just a calm acceptance of the situation. “But so am I.”
The Perfect Worker’s reply came in that same stuttering, inhuman drawl, layered with corporate jargon that seemed almost laughable under the circumstances. “Employee recognized… recommended… immediate termination!”
It lunged again, weaving through the leftover flames in erratic patterns, forcing Hiroki to retreat. Each time, the creature’s form glitched and stuttered as it siphoned more life from the environment, twisting in a swirl of blackish energy that clung to its frame. Hiroki landed on a high stack of toppled crates, the wood beneath his feet instantly catching fire from residual aura.
He inhaled deeply, letting the swirling heat bolster his next step. Focus. Release the energy… lighten my body… then pull the energy back when I strike. It was a delicate dance, one that demanded perfect timing.
CRACK.
The Perfect Worker tore through the barricade of crates as though it were nothing, forcing Hiroki to vault off the stack. He vaulted backward into open space, arms extended for balance, trailing embers. Mid-air, he twisted and launched a barrage of small, concentrated fire bolts. Each bolt crackled with condensed arcane heat, leaving trails of orange light in the gloom.
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The monster dodged three in quick succession, but the fourth clipped its shoulder. A burst of sparks illuminated the ragged suit that clung to its body, revealing glimpses of raw muscle and black-tinged veins pulsing beneath. The Perfect Worker snarled, the blow momentarily staggering it—but as it staggered, it pressed a hand to the floor, draining more life from the ground. The color bled away in a spreading circle, feeding into the creature’s twisted frame.
Hiroki’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s your game,” he muttered. He landed on a battered metal beam jutting diagonally from a collapsed roof section. Smoke curled around him, collecting in the high ceiling. If it keeps siphoning vitality, it’ll never get tired. But the more it does that, the more unstable it’ll get.
Up on the catwalk, K9 shifted his stance, arms folded. A half-smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, keep pushing it, Hiroki,” he mused under his breath. “Overload that thing. If it drains too much, it’ll self-destruct.” But even as he said it, K9 recognized the danger: a cornered creature—especially one with near-limitless power—was lethal.
The Perfect Worker charged again, leaving afterimages behind it as it flickered in and out of physical space. The warehouse floor crackled underfoot, drained of its color. This time, Hiroki didn’t run. Planting his feet with deliberate precision, he let a swirl of flame dance around his right leg. At the last second, he manifested a blazing arc across his foot, and reabsorbed it in one vicious motion, channeling that power into a spinning kick.
Their limbs met in a blur—Hiroki’s flaming shin colliding with the Perfect Worker’s distorted arm. A shockwave blasted outward, toppling crates and scattering debris. Sparks lit the gloom like fireflies. Hiroki felt the reverberation in every bone, pain flaring up from his injured shoulder. But the Perfect Worker reeled backward, arm trembling from the force of Hiroki’s strike.
“Enough!” the creature barked, voice dripping with static. “OVERTIME… EXTENDED.”
A rancid energy frothed around the monster’s chest, spitting arcs of black lightning. Hiroki caught a glimpse of the wall behind the Perfect Worker: it was now dull and lifeless, as if the color itself had been stripped away, leaving only a gray husk. The monster inhaled, and the swirling negativity around it condensed into a single roiling sphere.
“Die.”
It thrust its arms forward, unleashing a beam of crackling void-like energy. The air wailed under the immense pressure. Hiroki’s eyes widened in alarm. He forced his battered body to move, flinging himself sideways in a scorching dash, but the beam scraped past him, ripping a deep furrow in the ground. Concrete shattered like glass, sending shards and pulverized dust skyward.
He landed in a crouch, coughing as debris clogged the air. That would’ve vaporized me if I hadn’t moved. His body felt heavy—too many bursts of arcane energy had begun to take their toll. He needed a bigger push, a single decisive strike.
Summoning fresh resolve, Hiroki channeled his remaining energy. The stench of scorched ozone clung to his nostrils as he gathered every last ember from the environment. The lingering sparks of his previous attacks rushed to him in streams of orange light. They formed a flickering aura around his entire body, making the air crackle with static electricity.
“You want a final clash, buddy?” Hiroki hissed, voice rough. “I’ll give you one.”
As Hiroki squared off against the Perfect Worker, Takeshi sprinted in their direction, intent on joining the fray.
“Takeshi, to your left,” Umbral’s voice rang out inside his mind. Instinctively, Takeshi glanced sideways—and caught sight of a flicker in the darkness. A figure dashed past, shrouded in wispy arcane smoke.
He recognized that aura instantly: K9. Or at least a duplicate of him, Takeshi realized, noting how the figure’s energy coiled like phantom mist around a lean silhouette. With an amused tilt of the head, K9 stepped out from the shadows, two black hounds at his side. Their eyes gleamed a menacing red in the gloom.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you interfere,” K9 announced calmly. The hounds paced near his legs, muscles taut beneath inky pelts.
Takeshi came to a halt, eyeing the summoned beasts warily. “You,” he said, voice edged with annoyance. “I could sense your presence everywhere. Do you make a habit of stalking kids in your free time?”
“Not particularly,” K9 responded, casual. He gave a faint shrug, then added, “But when a bunch of younglings show exceptional talent, I’m obligated to pay attention—just as grass is obligated to lie beneath the sky.”
Takeshi scoffed at the metaphor. “Jeez. And here I thought I was the stuffy one.”
K9 merely shrugged again, spitting out a toothpick onto the ground before fixing Takeshi with a measured stare. “You can’t help them,” he said. “You’re not allowed to interfere.”
“And why is that?” Takeshi asked, tilting his head in a mock quizzical fashion. Then, as if the answer came to him in a flash of obviousness, he continued, “Oh—right. You’re with the Obsidian Hand. Edgy, brooding Soul Smiths of the night. You lot think the world ought to be stuck in some archaic era where people challenge each other to death duels for brushing shoulders in the street, something painfully dull like that.”
K9 offered a small nod and a smirk. “Well, when you phrase it like that, it does sound rather embarrassing. But I assure you, we take our work very seriously.” His tone was almost playful, but Takeshi caught the lethal undercurrent beneath the words.
“I’m sure you do,” Takeshi said, voice cool.
“It is serious,” K9 repeated—this time without a trace of levity. The atmosphere shifted ominously. Around him, the shadow hounds seemed to inhale the darkness, their forms swelling. A dense fog of black mist rolled out, covering the ground in a malevolent haze. A hint of alarm flickered in Takeshi’s eyes; he could feel the power radiating from K9 and his summoned beasts, an instinctive awareness that any rash movement might prove fatal.
“For too long,” K9 continued, “we Soul Smiths have been forced to operate in secret, limiting our true potential, yielding to the whims of the talentless.”
Takeshi arched an eyebrow. “So this is about Soul Smith rights? That’s new.” Truth be told, he had always imagined the Obsidian Hand to be a band of drama-addicted nihilists, not freedom fighters or moralizers.
K9’s lips twitched, confirming Takeshi’s suspicion. “It’s not so grand,” he said with a dismissive wave. “I just want a world unrestrained, one where the strong thrive—my idea of fun. And if chaos reigns? So be it.”
Takeshi exhaled, his posture remaining perfectly upright. A slow, sardonic smile spread across his face. “Of course,” he said softly, a trace of scorn dancing on his tongue.
In the silence that followed, the dark fog swirled around them, and the shadow hounds bared razor-sharp teeth. Takeshi stood perfectly still, calculating distances and possibilities. Whether K9 was a clone or the real deal, the danger radiating from those beasts was undeniable.