The capital burned. Flames leapt from rooftops, swallowing homes and shops in a storm of orange and black. Smoke choked the skies, turning night into a hellish twilight. The streets were rivers of blood, bodies of soldiers and civilians scattered alike. Kingdom soldiers fought desperately, their swords flashing in the firelight, but Yoki's warband pressed them mercilessly. For every enemy that fell, two more of the kingdom's defenders were struck down. The cries of the dying mingled with the screams of children pulled from burning houses, a chorus of despair echoing through the city.
In the midst of this chaos, where the firelight cast long shadows, the Captain faced Yoki. His black uniform was torn and soaked in blood, his scarred arm barely steadying his sword. Every breath rattled in his chest, yet his stance did not falter. Across from him, Yoki towered like a beast of war, his massive axe gleaming red in the inferno's glow.
With a roar that shook the air, Yoki swung, the axe cutting down with the weight of death itself, aimed at the Captain's neck.
And then—
A deep, thunderous horn blared across the capital. The note thundered like the cry of a giant, rolling through every burning street and alleyway. The ground itself seemed to quake, and even the soldiers locked in mortal combat froze at its sound. Blades paused mid-swing, men gasped for breath, the horn's echo drowning all else.
Yoki halted. His axe froze inches from its mark, his grin twisting into frustration and amusement all at once. Slowly, he pulled the weapon back, his chest heaving as his eyes narrowed on the Captain.
"It is your lucky day," he rumbled, voice carrying like a beast's growl across the battlefield. His lips curled into a savage smile, his gaze gleaming with reluctant respect. "You are strong… but not strong enough to stand against me. I like that—even when you've lost, you refuse to bend. Stiff. Stubborn. Unyielding."
The axe lowered, heavy against the broken stones. Yoki's tone deepened, sharp as a promise: "I will leave today. But in the future, we will meet again. And on that day, I will kill you."
Ash swirled through the street as a presence stirred. From the smoke, a figure in white stepped forth. His face was veiled by a cloth mask, patterned in intricate medieval designs, hiding every feature but the faint glint of eyes beneath. His body was lean, his frame smaller than Yoki's bulk or the Captain's hardened form, yet there was something unsettling about his composure. His steps were slow, deliberate, untouched by the chaos. It wasn't raw strength that radiated from him—but control, precision, and the chilling calm of someone who believed the world itself was already in his grasp.
The Captain swayed, vision blurring, his sword arm trembling, but his will refused to break.
"Captain!" Oxel's voice tore through the smoke. He rushed forward, boots slamming into the blood-soaked stones, heart pounding with fear. His commander stood on the edge of death—again bearing the fight alone. Why does he carry all of this by himself? Why does he never let us share the burden? The thought seared through Oxel's chest as he drew closer.
His gaze shifted, locking on the figure in white. The air seemed to chill around him. This man was not stronger than Yoki, Oxel realized—but more dangerous in another way. Where Yoki was a monster of flesh and steel, this figure was something colder, sharper, like a blade concealed until the moment it strikes.
"Who are you?" Oxel demanded, his voice thick with suspicion.
The veiled man tilted his head. His words were calm, but edged like steel. "I am a man who will change the world… and kill all the useless people within it."
The battlefield seemed to darken at the sound of those words, the flames themselves bowing in silence.
Yoki's grin widened, and he turned to Oxel with savage pride. "This is our leader."
Oxel froze, disbelief flashing across his face. "Leader? You… following him?" His eyes narrowed, sharp with anger. "Why follow him? You're strong. Stronger than he could ever be. He doesn't even look half as strong as you."
For a heartbeat, Yoki said nothing. Then his laugh rumbled, low and harsh, like stone grinding against stone. His eyes gleamed with something more dangerous than strength—devotion. "You don't understand. He gives me what I crave. He lets me fight strong people. He gives me battles worth bleeding for." His grin sharpened into madness. "What more could I need?"
Oxel's stomach turned at the words. To him, loyalty was built on honor, on brotherhood, on trust. But Yoki's loyalty was something darker, rooted in bloodlust and the thrill of killing.
The veiled man's gaze flickered faintly beneath his mask, unreadable, but certain. He didn't need to answer for himself—Yoki's madness was enough.
And then—like smoke on the wind—they vanished. In the blink of an eye, both Yoki and the man in white were gone, disappearing into the shadows of the burning capital, beyond the reach of any pursuit.
The Captain staggered. His sword slipped from his hand, clattering against the stone. He swayed once, twice, then collapsed, his body crashing to the ground.
"Captain!" Oxel cried, surging forward, catching him before his head struck the bloodstained street. His hands trembled as he held his commander, his mind racing. Even now, with his body broken, the Captain's eyes had held that same unyielding fire until they finally closed.
Around them, the horn still echoed through the capital, mingling with the clash of steel and the cries of the dying. The kingdom's defenders continued to bleed in the streets, their lines crumbling as the fires raged.
And as the Captain's world faded to black, one truth settled over him—the capital was drowning in destruction.