The city lay shrouded in a disquieting silence. It was late at night, and the streets were almost deserted, lit only by the occasional flickering lamppost. The air smelt of dampness, of wet concrete, as though rain had passed only hours before. Each step of Crimson Spark echoed against the cobblestones like a solitary drumbeat, pacing out the tension that hung thick in the air. He knew this night would not be like the others. He felt it in his skin, in the electricity humming around his hands.
Then, a voice cut through the calm.
"Look who we have here…"
Crimson froze. From the shadows emerged a female silhouette, her stride light yet assured. The dim light caught the gleam of her blue hair and, above all, that demonic smile that made his teeth clench. Her eyes radiated mockery, as though the whole affair were nothing but a game.
"Miyako…" He pronounced the name with contained rage, each syllable laden with rancour.
She tilted her head theatrically, as though greeting an old friend.
"Missed me? I suppose you did… after all, how long did you spend searching for the killer of your beloved Isamu?"
Crimson's heart quickened. He refused to show weakness, but the mention of Isamu struck his chest like a thunderclap. He stepped forward, eyes locked on her.
"Say it to my face. Was it you? Did you kill him?"
Miyako laughed, a sharp sound that echoed through the empty street. Raising a hand to her lips, she feigned surprise.
"Still doubting? Yes, it was me. What did you expect to hear? A lie to soothe your conscience?" Her lips curved further. "I killed him… and I regret nothing."
The hero felt his blood boil. Sparks began to crackle around his hands, red lightning illuminating the darkness with fleeting bursts. The vision of Isamu—his comrade, his friend through countless battles—fallen at the hands of this woman, fused with the image of her deranged grin as she taunted him.
"Miyako…" His voice trembled with fury. "Tonight, you will not escape. I will stop you here, and you will pay for what you've done."
She stepped back lightly, tilting her head as though gauging the current surging from him.
"Oh, how dramatic. But no, Crimson… that isn't in my plans. In my plans, there is only one thing."
Her smile twisted into something dangerous, her eyes locking on him with cruel brightness.
"To kill you."
The lightning flared more violently around his frame. There was no room left for dialogue, no space for compassion. The confrontation had begun.
Crimson Spark wasted no more time. The tension erupted in a flash as he unleashed the first bolt. The scarlet projectile tore through the night like a caged thunderbolt, casting the narrow street walls in momentary brilliance. Miyako spun on her heels with feline grace, and the strike smashed into a lamppost, sending sparks flying before the light sputtered out.
"Is that all?" she mocked, her silhouette framed in the gloom.
Crimson gave no answer. His gaze swept the street with surgical precision. He knew fighting here was dangerous: houses, windows, families asleep just behind the walls. Every bolt had to be calculated, directed at emptiness, away from innocent lives.
Miyako stepped back, fingers brushing the submachine gun slung across her back. In one swift motion, she drew it and levelled it with both hands, the twin barrels glinting under the faint light.
"Let's see if you can dodge this, hero."
The harsh crack of gunfire split the night. Crimson hurled himself aside, trained reflexes keeping the hail of bullets from tearing into him. Silver flashes struck the walls instead, chunks of concrete exploding into dust. The metallic roar mingled with the electric hiss of his bolts in counterattack.
He noticed something strange: some bullets left no ordinary marks. Instead of simple impacts, they emitted a dark pulse, a hum that prickled his skin. He recalled the warning from an informant, veiled yet chilling: "She has bullets that cancel powers… if only for a few seconds."
One of those cursed rounds… Was that how she had done it? Was that how Miyako had killed Isamu?
The thought cut through him like a blade. His friend—nearly indestructible—reduced to a vulnerable target thanks to those bullets. Crimson's jaw tightened. The memory did not weaken him: it ignited him.
In the chaos, Miyako vanished. The echo of her boots dissolved, leaving only the resonance of her laughter drifting in the dark.
"Come on, hero! Where's all that fury you promised? Afraid to shoot blind?"
Crimson closed his eyes briefly. He drew a deep breath. Electricity slithered around him like crimson serpents, poised to strike. He could not lose control; every shot had to be measured. He spun and fired into a patch where the air seemed to ripple. Concrete shattered, followed by an unseen chuckle—he had been close.
"I like this…" Miyako's whisper floated from somewhere in the alley. "Not as easy as you thought, is it?"
A whine cut past his ear. Crimson was a heartbeat too slow: a bullet grazed his cheek, drawing a line of blood. He touched his face, incredulous. The heat of the cut burned—but worse was the truth it confirmed: those bullets could wound him.
Miyako's laugh rang louder.
"Oh, how sweet! The great Crimson Spark… bleeding."
He breathed deeply. His rage swelled, but so did his resolve. That woman would not leave this night alive.
Her laughter ricocheted from wall to wall, as if born from every corner at once. Invisible, she danced light and mocking, a phantom revelling in the terror she wrought. Crimson turned slowly, his eyes glowing with suppressed fury, lightning crackling across his body, casting fleeting flashes like miniature storms.
"Do you know what amuses me most?" Miyako's voice brushed his ear, too close, like a whisper in the dark. "That Isamu screamed before he died. You weren't there to see it… or hear it."
Crimson clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms until pain bit back. Each word was poison, a reminder of the void Isamu's death had left behind.
"Shut up."
She laughed, this time her cackle rolling the length of the street, magnified by echoes.
"Oh no. I won't shut up. You want me to be the monster, don't you? Then look at me. Listen to me. Isamu was strong, very strong… but they all fall in the end. Just like you will."
In her mind, voices twined with her own delight:
"Don't let him breathe, Miyako. Finish him. He's weak."
"Make him pay for what he took from you."
She smiled—though no one could see it.
"Do you know the best part, hero? Every time I look at you, I see your eyes filled with pain. A pain I caused. Me!"
Crimson inhaled deeply. He knew what she was doing: trying to break him from within. His discipline, his years of training, everything was being tested tonight. He could not lose his head… yet her words throbbed like blades.
A scarlet bolt seared into a wall, leaving a gaping fissure. Another shattered a lamppost, plunging the street deeper into darkness. Crimson was firing blind, chasing her voice. Rubble piled on the ground, dust and smoke choking the air.
"There you are!" Miyako mocked, unseen in the shadows. "Destroying the city like a tantrum-ridden child. I love it. Go on, wreck it all. What will you do, arrest the walls, Crimson? Or does your code not apply when you're angry?"
He dropped his gaze, wrestling for control. Each word was a needle pushing him to the brink. He thought of the families in those houses, of children sleeping only metres away. He could not allow the fight to consume everything.
Then another burst of gunfire thundered. Bullets peppered the ground at his feet, one of them buzzing with that sinister pulse, draining his power for a heartbeat. It was enough to chill him.
"That's how she did it… that's how she killed him."
Still unseen, Miyako twisted the knife with her words.
"Want to know the look on Isamu's face when I fired the last shot?"
"ENOUGH!" Crimson roared, unleashing a bolt that obliterated a building's corner. Bricks exploded, fragments raining down. The crash was so loud that windows shattered in neighbouring homes.
Miyako's laughter danced with the sound of splintering glass.
"That's it. Let it out. That rage, that pain. It's all I want from you."
His heart pounded like a war drum. He teetered on the edge of losing all control. His breath came ragged, his lightning grew erratic, flashing like a crimson storm.
Meanwhile, Miyako basked in it. Invisible, she felt herself mistress of the stage, a puppeteer tugging at the strings of a desperate hero.
"Tear him apart," the voices urged.
She, smiling unseen, whispered:
"Almost."
Another flash split the street. This time, Crimson's bolt struck true. Miyako barely had time to react: the surge hit her left arm, flinging her back like a rag doll. She crashed hard against the pavement, pain searing her flesh like fire.
Her invisibility shattered. Her form emerged from the smoke and rubble: blue hair dishevelled, jacket torn and dust-stained, blood trailing from scorched skin.
Crimson advanced with steady steps, his gaze burning like a scarlet sun.
"It's over, Miyako."
Still on the ground, she began to laugh. At first a hoarse murmur, then louder, until her cackling filled the ruined street. She rose slowly, clutching her wounded arm, and fixed him with that twisted smile that so enraged him.
"Well played, hero. But it changes nothing. Isamu is still dead. Want me to repeat it? He's dead!"
The words cut straight to his heart. Crimson clenched his jaw, lightning coursing wildly across his body, ready to strike again. For a moment, he stood on the brink of a line he could never uncross. He could end her here. One final strike, and she would be gone forever.
But something stopped him. Perhaps his training, perhaps the shadow of the code that had guided him all his life. Even so, fury consumed him.
"You don't understand what you've done. You don't understand the monster you've become."
Miyako tilted her head, as if hearing a compliment.
"Monster? Of course. They all say that. But you're not here to judge me… you're here because you hurt. And I am the cause of that pain."
Crimson's breaths came heavy, her words fanning the flames in his chest. He stepped closer, a hand crackling with energy.
"I will stop you, even if I have to drag you to prison by the hair."
She smiled, bloodied, staggering slightly.
"Try it. But remember—lock me up as you like… Isamu will never return."
His fists tightened. For the first time in years, he felt his code falter. She was not just a villain to be stopped: she was the living embodiment of the loss haunting him night after night. That mingling of hatred and duty was breaking him apart.
The air vibrated between them. Crimson Spark stepped forward, raising his arm, energy surging in his palm, the asphalt trembling underfoot.
Miyako watched him, panting, bloodied, her grin still etched across her face. She did not move, did not even try to dodge. She seemed to savour the moment, the golden glow heralding her end.
"Goodbye, Miyako," said Crimson, his voice rough, cracked with anger and grief.
The bolt never struck her.
A shadow intervened, swift as a dark flash. The impact rang out, diverting the discharge into a nearby wall, which exploded into rubble.
Crimson staggered back, startled. Before him stood a man with dishevelled hair and a razor-sharp gaze. His arms had transformed, clad in hardened wood, roots twisting like living muscles.
"Who—?" Crimson began, but never finished.
Katsuo lunged forward with a roar, his bark-clad fist slamming into the hero's chest. The blow was brutal: Crimson flew several metres before crashing into a parked car. Metal crumpled with a screech, sparks flaring.
Miyako, still on the ground, burst into broken laughter.
"You took your time, Katsuo. I was starting to get bored."
The young man did not answer at once. He held his guard, eyes locked on Crimson as the hero rose slowly, coughing, eyes burning like embers.
"You shouldn't lower your guard so easily," Katsuo said at last, without looking at her. "You nearly died just now."
Miyako wiped blood from her lip and smirked.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I knew you'd come."
"I didn't come to save you," he replied grimly. "I came because this has gone too far. You're making too much noise, Miyako."
Crimson watched them, breath steaming with every exhale.
"So you can't face me alone?" His voice dripped with scorn, echoing among the ruins. "So cowardly, you need your allies?"
Miyako turned to him, smiling with that madness that haunted him.
"Cowardly, me? No, Crimson… this is strategy." Her voice dipped into a venomous whisper. "And tonight, it will be your end."
Katsuo glanced at her sidelong, sensing something darker in her tone than before.
Crimson clenched his fists, lightning flaring anew, ready to resume the fight.
The wind swept through the wreckage, carrying Miyako's laughter, echoing through the street like an omen.
That night, beneath a sky heavy with clouds and thunder, the three of them knew: there would be no turning back.
One of them would not see the dawn.