"In this world, strength is not a gift… it is the price one pays to stay alive."
"Kara is the life energy that flows through all things. Some shape it to create, others to destroy… but all depend on it to survive."
*"When the breath of Kara fades, the heart stops beating, and the soul vanishes into the eternal shadow."
The sea wind blew over the tin roofs of the small port district. The cries of children, the splash of overturned buckets, and the steady rhythm of the waves marked the days in this forgotten corner of the Congo.
This was where Bum Darly lived, a fourteen-year-old boy with a proud gaze and a provocative smile.
"Hey, arrogant one! Give me your bread, or we'll smash your head in again!" a larger boy shouted, his fists already clenched.
Darly sneered, his hands in the pockets of his worn-out trousers.
"You'll have to come and get it, idiot."
The first punch was thrown immediately. Within seconds, Darly was pinned to the ground. He spat out a little blood, his face still mocking.
"You hit like tired fishermen…"
The children left him there, bloodied but still laughing, his dry laugh echoing between the shacks.
Darly never cried. It was his way of existing.
As evening fell, a soft light bathed the Bum family's home. His father, Leroy, and his mother, Maya, were checking the day's merchandise, her smile lighting up the room.
Leroy: (without looking up)
"In trouble again, Darly?"
Darly:
"It's nothing. They just don't like me."
Maya: (placing a tender hand on her son's shoulder)
"My heart… you don't need to be loved by everyone. Just be strong, but not cruel."
Darly: (looking away, embarrassed)
"I know, Mom…"
Leroy: (running a finger over a worn-out mesh)
"This one's almost done for. It won't last another season."
Darly: (stretching lazily)
"Then sell it for half price to that old grump. He'll complain, but he'll buy it anyway."
Leroy: (a faint smile at the corner of his lips)
"That's not how we do business, kid. Our reputation is all we have. A fragile net today is a lost customer tomorrow."
Darly:
"Or it's a customer who comes back to buy a new one next week. That's business, isn't it?"
His father shook his head, a mix of exasperation and pride in his eyes.
"You're too arrogant for your own good. One day, that mouth of yours will get you into real trouble."
Darly: (standing up, his smile widening)
"Not if I run fast enough."
He was like that. Impolite, with a self-confidence that bordered on insolence. It was his shell. In the port's alleys, his parents' success attracted jealousy like a flame attracts moths. The other children often picked on him. Darly never complained. He took the hits, and the next day, his smile was even wider, his gaze even more defiant.
The door to their modest home opened, and his mother stepped in. Her face lit up seeing them.
Maya:
"Stop bothering your father, Darly. And you, stop letting him get away with it. You two, I swear…"
She walked over to her husband and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"The nylon delivery has arrived at the warehouse. I'm going to check the quality before they close."
Leroy: (frowning)
"It's getting late. I can go tomorrow morning."
Maya: (with gentle firmness)
"And let those vultures sell us second-rate material? No way. I won't be long. Darly, don't burn the house down while I'm gone."
Darly:
"Promise. Only if I'm attacked."
His mother gave him a mock-stern look, then ruffled his hair before heading into the darkening alley.
"I'll be back soon."
The rain began to fall, a light drizzle that quickly turned into a downpour. An hour passed.
Darly:
"She's still not back."
Leroy: (setting down his tools, worry etched on his face)
"I know."
Silence fell, heavy, broken only by the drumming of the rain. Then, screams erupted in the distance. Screams of panic.
Darly's father grabbed a heavy wooden club leaning by the door.
"Stay here. Lock it."
But Darly was already behind him, his heart pounding. His smile was gone.
They stepped out into the pouring rain. The scene was chaotic. People were running in every direction, screaming. The smell of something burning mixed with the rain.
Near the warehouse, a shape lay under a tarp. Darly's father approached, his legs trembling, and lifted the cloth.
His wife's body. Lifeless.
He fell to his knees in the mud, a hoarse sob tearing from his throat.
"Maya… no…"
He stayed there, prostrate, a broken man. Then, slowly, his grief hardened into an icy hatred. He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
"Who…?" he whispered, his voice broken but filled with a chilling menace.
Darly, standing back, watched his father collapse. He saw his mother's body. He saw the curious crowd.
A cold, clear thought cut through his mind: My father is broken. It's up to me now.
The responsibility, heavy and cold, settled on his shoulders. He walked over, placed a hand on his father's trembling shoulder, not to comfort him, but to lift him up.
His childhood had just died.
The news of Maya's death spread through the port like a black tide. An accident, the local authorities said, a robbery gone wrong. But Leroy and Darly didn't believe it for a second. They knew the jealousy that festered in the district, the silent hatred aimed at their small success.
Leroy: (his face hard, his eyes red)
"An accident… They take us for fools. It's one of them. I know it."
Darly: (his voice low, filled with a new venom)
"We'll find him."
The days turned into weeks, then months. Grief, instead of subsiding, festered into a corrosive obsession. The father and son changed. Leroy, once proud of his reputation, became paranoid and aggressive. He accused his neighbors, fought with old friends, his business crumbling in a spiral of alcohol and rage.
Darly shut down. The mocking smile was replaced by a mask of coldness. He no longer provoked the other children. He watched them. He spent his days wandering the alleys, hands in his pockets, listening to conversations, searching for a name, a clue, a lead. He learned to fight, no longer by taking hits, but by hitting back. Vicious, precise strikes. The frail boy was becoming a young wolf on the prowl.
One evening, six months after Maya's death, Leroy came home drunk, holding a man by the collar.
Leroy: (shouting)
"It's him! I heard him bragging at the bar! He said my wife deserved it!"
Darly: (stepping out of the shadows, a fishing knife in his hand)
"What did he say?"
The man, a simple, stupid, drunken fisherman, turned pale.
The Fisherman:
"I… I didn't say anything! Let me go!"
That night, they beat him. They left him unconscious in the mud. But it wasn't him. Darly knew it. The man didn't have that aura, that darkness he had sensed on the night of the tragedy. They had just become brutes, attacking ghosts.
Their reputation was destroyed. They were no longer the Bums, the respected merchants. They were the "crazy ones," the outcasts.
It was at that moment, when they had hit rock bottom, that the true culprit decided to show himself.
He was waiting for them in front of their house, a massive silhouette outlined in the night fog. His face was covered, but his red eyes gleamed with amusement.
The Man:
"I hear you're looking for a murderer. You're wasting your time on small fry."
Leroy and Darly froze. This was an energy they had never felt before. A pressure so intense it seemed to warp the air.
The Man:
"Your wife was a mistake. A simple distraction on my way. But your little investigation… it's starting to get annoying. The Burning Blood organization doesn't like people snooping in its business."
He drew a long, black sword from under his coat, its blade coursing with red veins.
"I was sent to close the case. Permanently."
Leroy stood in front of Darly.
Leroy:
"Darly… run."
Darly:
"Never."
The fight was brief. Terrifying. Leroy, for all his rage, was only a man. The Burning Blood parried his attack and cut him down with a single, fluid motion.
Darly:
"FATHER!"
The monster turned to him.
"One less."
Darly no longer felt fear. He felt nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. He picked up his father's fishing knife, the only inheritance he had left.
The Burning Blood:
"You want to try too, little one?"
Darly didn't answer. He lunged forward.
The Burning Blood disarmed him, broke his arm, then his leg, leaving him crawling in the mud. He crouched down, savoring his victory.
"You see? You are nothing. Your family is nothing. Your entire existence is just a footnote."
He raised his sword for the killing blow.
But in Darly's eyes, the emptiness had transformed. The hatred, the pain, the despair… it had all merged into a single thing. A pure will. The will not to die. The will to kill this man.
But despite this rage, Darly closed his eyes, waiting for the end.
The blow never came.
A crystalline, pure sound echoed in the night. Ting.
Darly opened his eyes.
A man stood between him and the Burning Blood. He had appeared out of nowhere.
About twenty-five years old, he wore a simple and elegant traditional Japanese outfit. His hair was deep black, and on his forehead was a strange mark resembling dark roots. He carried no weapon.
He had stopped the sword's blade with two fingers.
The Burning Blood stumbled back a step, stunned and furious.
"Who are you?! Where did you come from?!"
The mysterious man did not answer him. His calm gaze fell upon Leroy's body, then on Darly, broken on the ground. A flicker of sadness crossed his eyes.
The Mysterious Man: (in a soft voice)
"You have done enough harm here."
**The Burning Blood:** (roaring with rage)
"I'll kill you!"
He lunged forward, his sword wreathed in Black Kara. The mysterious man didn't move. He simply raised an open hand.
The Mysterious Man:
"Celestial Kara: Extreme Embrace."
He didn't shout it. He whispered it, like a secret.
Thousands of white light filaments, as thin as hair, burst from his palm. They did not seek to strike, but to entwine. They wrapped around the Burning Blood, his limbs, his sword, his neck.
The monster froze, trapped in a cocoon of pure light. His Black Kara was smothered, siphoned, neutralized. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His body began to disintegrate, turning into dust and ash that was scattered by the wind before it could even touch the ground.
In seconds, nothing was left.
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of the rain.
The mysterious man turned to Darly. He knelt, his expression full of gentle compassion.
The Mysterious Man:
"Don't be afraid, little one. I'm sorry I was late. I can no longer do anything for your parents…"
He paused, his gaze filling with deep empathy.
The Mysterious Man:
"…but I can still save you."
He held out his hand.
The Mysterious Man:
"So, take my hand and follow me."
Darly looked at the outstretched hand. Then he looked at the man's face. For the first time in months, he saw not pity or contempt, but a promise. The promise of a future.
Slowly, his good, trembling hand rose and took the stranger's.
A faint smile appeared on the mysterious man's lips.
[Transition – Back to the Present]
The night wind swept through the silent ruins. The ashes of what was once Johan, Number 5 of the Burning Blood, had scattered, leaving no trace of the cataclysmic battle that had just taken place.
Duck and Danky walked in silence on the path back to the Zenith hideout in Goma. The tension of the fight had subsided, replaced by an atmosphere heavy with unasked questions and unspoken lessons. Danky, for his part, was still in shock from his master's display of power. It wasn't strength; it was something else. Absolute mastery.
It was Duck who broke the silence, his calm voice a sharp contrast to the memory of the past violence.
Duck:
"He bet everything on a final attack that consumed it all. That's a loser's fight."
Danky turned to him, surprised.
Duck: (continuing, his gaze fixed on the horizon)
"A true master doesn't destroy the board to win. He just takes the king. 'Fracture' didn't destroy his energy; it simply broke the link between him and his Kara. That's the difference between a scream and a command."
They arrived at the hidden gates of the hideout. They had barely crossed the barrier when a nervous figure rushed toward them. It was Pierre, the Astroforge from the infirmary, his face pale and covered in sweat.
Pierre: (his voice trembling)
"Master Duck! I… the Kara fluctuations… that was you! I can't cover for you anymore! Master Hana is going to kill me!"
Duck patted him on the shoulder with a casualness that contrasted with Pierre's panic.
Duck:
"Don't worry, Pierre. Just tell her the duck went for a little digestive walk."
As Duck walked away, Danky, his mind still haunted by Johan's flashback, called out to him.
Danky:
"Duck… That name… Shiro Takahashi. What do you know about him?"
Duck's pace slowed. His posture, usually so relaxed, stiffened imperceptibly. His tone, for the first time, lost all trace of irony.
Duck:
"Shiro Takahashi… is a ghost. A ghost who likes to create monsters and watch them fight."
He turned halfway, his gaze under the mask seeming to fix on a point far beyond Danky.
Duck:
"For now, stay away from him. He's not in your league yet."
Then he walked away, hands behind his head, completely relaxed, whistling like the boss he is.
END OF CHAPTER 18
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