The safehouse was quiet. Just beyond its reinforced walls, the world still burned—sirens wailed in the distance, neon screens flickered over ruined rooftops, and the black drones of Mishima's Black Helix scoured the streets like vultures.
But inside, all was still.
Blaze sat on the edge of a metal cot, shirtless, bandages wrapped around his ribs and shoulder. Sweat clung to his skin. His breathing was shallow, uneven. A med-drone hummed beside him, beeping occasional diagnostics as it adjusted the regeneration gel over his side wound.
He didn't care.
He wasn't thinking about the pain.
He was thinking about Genji.
About the Spire.
About the fire he couldn't control anymore.
The door slid open with a hiss. Genji stepped in, his jacket still damp from rain. His eyes met Blaze's across the room—quiet, searching.
"You should be resting," Genji said.
Blaze scoffed. "You sound like Xao Min."
Genji crossed the room and leaned against the far wall. The silence between them stretched, brittle as glass.
"She was right," Blaze muttered after a while. "You could've told me about Juliet's plan. About the risk. About how deep it went."
"I didn't know she'd turn on Kirika like that," Genji admitted. "None of us did."
"That's not what I mean." Blaze stood, ignoring the sting in his ribs. "You keep carrying this war on your back like it's yours alone. But this isn't just your fight."
Genji didn't flinch. "You're right."
Blaze shook his head. "No. I don't want an apology. I want honesty."
Genji tilted his head.
"You're the fire, man. The damn phoenix. Everyone looks at you like you're the chosen one. Even when I'm bleeding beside you, it's your name they chant." Blaze's voice cracked. "Do you know what that feels like?"
The words hung between them.
Genji straightened. "You think I want any of this?"
Blaze's fist tightened. "No. But you don't see what it's doing to us. To me."
There was something raw in his tone—something that hadn't surfaced since their earliest days training together in Naomi's shadow dojo. Back when they were just two hot-headed kids trying to master flame strikes and shadow counters.
Genji exhaled, stepping forward. "Then show me."
Blaze blinked. "What?"
"Spar with me. Like old times. Strip away the titles. No Mishima. No phoenix. Just us."
Blaze's eyes narrowed.
"You serious?"
Genji shrugged off his jacket and cracked his neck. "I need to feel where we stand. Not through words. Through movement."
A slow smile crept onto Blaze's face. "Damn it, I missed this."
They stepped into the courtyard behind the safehouse. Rain still drizzled from the torn sky, soaking the stone floor. Puddles reflected the distant fires and searchlights. The air crackled—not just with electricity, but tension.
The two stood across from one another, bare-chested, soaked, silent.
Then they moved.
Blaze struck first—fast, low, a sweeping hook that feinted into a spinning kick. Genji deflected it with his forearm and countered with a palm strike to the ribs, pulling it just enough to avoid hitting the wound.
"Don't go soft," Blaze growled.
Genji's lips twitched. "Didn't plan to."
The spar escalated into a flurry—Blaze's brawler style, raw and instinctive, crashing against Genji's disciplined Phoenix form, all flowing steps and redirection. It was beautiful. Brutal. Honest.
They moved in rhythm only brothers-in-arms could know—every punch a story, every block a confession.
Genji ducked under a knee strike and swept Blaze's legs, sending him crashing down. Blaze rolled to his feet with a wince, laughing.
"You still cheat with that low sweep."
"You're still open to it."
Blaze charged again, unleashing a rapid flurry of jabs, mixing feints and real blows. Genji absorbed them, letting the momentum build until—
CRACK!
A headbutt from Blaze broke the rhythm. Genji stumbled back.
"Dirty," he muttered, rubbing his brow.
Blaze grinned, breath heavy. "Told you. No soft hits."
They circled again.
Then Genji pivoted sharply, channeling Phoenix Blood through his legs—Red Thunder: Spiral Fang—a kick that twisted with fire through the rain. Blaze caught it with crossed arms and flew back into a wall, the stone cracking behind him.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then a groan.
And laughter.
Blaze slid down the wall, coughing, and then let himself fall into a sitting position, legs splayed.
"I'm... okay," he panted. "Mostly."
Genji offered a hand.
Blaze took it.
He pulled Genji down beside him.
Both of them sat in the rain, bruised and bleeding, but laughing like idiots.
"You really don't hold back," Blaze said, eyes skyward.
"I could say the same."
A pause.
Then Blaze added, softer, "I'm not mad about being second-best. I just… I need to matter too. Not just in the shadow of your fire."
Genji nodded slowly. "You do. You always have."
Blaze glanced at him. "Then don't carry this war alone."
Genji smiled.
"Not anymore."
Thunder rumbled far off. The rain kept falling.
And under that gray sky, two warriors sat shoulder to shoulder—not leader and follower, not myth and mortal, but brothers.
They'd been broken. Betrayed. Burned.
But they still had each other.
And soon, they'd have their revenge.
---