In a corner of the forest, the knights of House Goronda, their lion-and-grasping-hand sigils now stained with mud and fear, ran for their lives. Their disciplined formation had shattered into a panicked scramble. They had been escorting a precious, forbidden cargo—a massive iron birdcage containing a flock of Harpies, destined for the Count's private menagerie—when a crimson comet had fallen from the sky. It had moved with impossible speed, a blur of scarlet light that left bisected corpses in its wake.
"A demon! It's a demon!" one knight screamed, his voice cracking as he glanced over his shoulder. His last sight was a crimson arc of light, clean and precise, cutting through the world horizontally. Then, nothing.
A figure stood amidst the settling dust and carnage, the scent of ozone and blood thick in the air. He muttered to himself, his voice a low, focused hum: "They are in danger. I need to be quick!" He turned towards the massive cage, his form a silhouette of sharp, crimson angles against the sun.
Meanwhile, in the Hall of Whispers deep within Grimgar, Seiji was locked in a different kind of struggle. Spread across the obsidian table were intricate schematics drawn by Chief Ganz, detailing the transformation of their fortress into a true city.
"We are outgrowing our shell," Seiji stated, pointing to a map. "We are a sanctuary, but we are becoming a society. We need districts—residential quarters, market squares, academies, not just barracks and armories."
Riveria traced a delicate finger over a proposed grove. "The Elves can cultivate the upper caverns, using light-orbs to simulate the sun. We can grow food and medicinal herbs independent of the surface."
Logan grunted, tapping a section designated for a grand arena. "The Beastmen need space to hunt and train. This will serve as both a training ground and a place to settle disputes through controlled combat, as is our way."
Ganz pointed a thick, calloused finger at a complex network of pipes and forges. "The geothermal vents on the lower levels can power entire industrial sectors! We can create forges that never sleep, producing not just weapons, but tools, machinery, art!"
The debate was lively, a symphony of ambitious plans. They were no longer just survivors; they were founders. As Metera the Dryad spoke of weaving living wood into the stone to create self-repairing structures, a sharp, intrusive sound echoed in the sanctum of Seiji's mind.
[Existence resonance detected. Designation: Strizier. Orienting.]
Seiji's hand, which had been gesturing over a proposed aqueduct, froze mid-air. Strizier? The name was alien, yet the system's tone was one of recognition, not alarm.
His internal HUD flickered, overlaying his vision. A minimalist map appeared. A solid black dot, pulsing gently, was marked 'Vanguard'. And moving towards it at an incredible speed was a brilliant, aggressive red dot, marked 'Strizier'.
A person like me? The thought was both electrifying and terrifying. Another wielder of a system. A brother in power, or a rival?
He snapped back to the present. The leaders were looking at him, concerned by his sudden silence. "My apologies," he said, his voice tight. "An urgent matter requires my immediate attention. Chief Ganz, you have the floor. Proceed with the city plans as discussed. I trust your judgment."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode from the hall, the Vanguard armor flowing over his body in a wave of black and crimson. He became a blur, shooting through the tunnels of Grimgar and out into the open air, following the pull of the red dot on his internal map.
He arrived at a scene of recent slaughter. The corpses of Goronda knights lay in heaps, their deaths clean, instantaneous. In the center of the clearing sat a giant, ornate birdcage, neatly sheared in half as if by a laser. Inside, a flock of terrified Harpies huddled together. At their center knelt one who was clearly their leader. Her dress was a long, torn red silk, her form curvaceous and proud despite her plight. Platinum hair cascaded around shoulders that held a regal bearing even in captivity. Her wings, though folded, were magnificent.
Standing over her, a hand extended and glowing with a soft, healing light, was a figure with its back to Seiji. The armor was a striking, aggressive crimson, sculpted with sharp, aerodynamic lines and a wolf-like ferocity. A transparent black visor hid its face. At its waist was a katana, its hilt designed like a vermillion flame, the blade itself seeming to burn with an inner, scarlet light.
Sensing Seiji's presence, the healing light vanished. The crimson warrior stood and turned. The armor was now fully visible. Emblazoned on its chest was a symbol that made Seiji's breath catch: a stylized dragon, but unlike his own which coiled around a circle, this one coiled aggressively around a stark, white 'X'—an anti-war symbol, a direct counterpoint to his own emblem of unified protection.
Before Seiji could form a word, the warrior spoke, its voice filtered but hauntingly familiar. "You're their comrade, right?"
The accusation was a spark to tinder. The crimson warrior drew his flaming katana in a single, fluid motion and lunged.
Seiji's instincts took over. He met the charge, his own armored fist deflecting the first slash. The impact was jarring, a clash of two fundamentally similar yet opposing forces. Where have I heard that voice?
The battle was a whirlwind. Strizier was a master of the blade, his style a beautiful, deadly dance. He was faster, more focused. His katana moved like liquid fire, each strike aimed with lethal precision. Seiji relied on his versatility, shifting forms rapidly. He used OOO's Latoratar speed to match the blitzing attacks, the clang of their collision ringing through the forest. He shifted to Kiva's Dogga Form to block a devastating overhead slash, the hammer materializing just in time to absorb the blow that cracked the earth beneath his feet.
He tried Agito's Trinity Form, unleashing a storm of energy, but Strizier weaved through it, his crimson form a phantom, his katana cutting through the elemental attacks with focused slashes that dissipated them. This was not a brawler; this was a duelist.
"Checkmate," Strizier stated, his voice calm and final.
He held his katana aloft. It glowed with an intense, bloody light. He drew a perfect, burning circle in the air with its tip, and then, with a shout of pure force, launched a vertical slash. A wave of crimson energy, shaped like a giant, burning 'X', shot towards Seiji.
The air itself seemed to tear. Seiji sensed imminent destruction. There was no time to dodge. [Access: Kuuga Titan Form.] His aura thickened, turning a stony, dark purple. He crossed his arms, bracing for impact.
The 'X' slammed into him. It didn't cut; it erased. It pushed him back, his feet gouging twin trenches in the soil. The energy scoured his armor, the Titan Form's legendary defense the only thing preventing him from being cleaved in two. He skidded to a halt, his arms smoking, the Titan Form's aura flickering out from the strain.
Strizier was already advancing, katana raised for the finishing blow. In that moment, trapped between the memory of a familiar voice and the reality of this crimson executioner, the pieces clicked into place. It was a childhood lilt, deepened by years but unchanged in its core cadence.
"Stop, Tsurugi!" Seiji shouted, his voice raw, the Vanguard helmet retracting to reveal his face. "It's me! Seiji!"
The crimson warrior froze, his killing stance faltering. The flaming katana lowered a fraction. There was a long, tense silence, broken only by the panicked chirps of the Harpies.
Then, Tsurugi spoke, a single, coded word, a fragment of a game they had invented as children. "Cross: Checkmate."
Seiji's heart soared. He responded with the countersign, his voice cracking with emotion. "Circle: Target."
Another beat of silence, and then, from both of them, a burst of loud, incredulous, joyous laughter. It was a sound utterly alien to the scene of carnage around them. The Vanguard armor fully dissolved, revealing Seiji. Across from him, the crimson armor flowed away like receding fire, revealing a young man who was his mirror image.
He had the same facial structure, the same height and build. But where Seiji had calm blue eyes and messy black hair, this young man had intense, fiery red eyes and a shock of silver hair. It was Taidosen Tsurugi, his twin brother.
They stood for a moment, just staring, the years of separation melting away in the sheer impossibility of the reunion. Then they closed the distance, not with a formal bow, but with a fierce, back-thumping hug that spoke of a bond that divorce and distance had never broken.
After pulling back, grins still splitting their faces, Seiji gestured to the scene. "A bit of a dramatic way to say hello, little brother."
Tsurugi's red eyes sparkled with familiar mischief. "You always taught me to make an entrance, big brother." His expression then grew somber as he glanced back at the Harpy leader, who was watching them with wide, astonished eyes. "But I had to be quick. They were in danger."
Seiji's gaze followed his, his mind already whirring with the implications. Another system wielder. His own twin brother. The coincidence was too vast to be random.
"Tsurugi," Seiji said, his voice low and serious. "What happened? How are you here? And what… what is that power?"
Tsurugi took a deep breath, the levity fading from his face, replaced by the grim focus Seiji had seen in the warrior. "It's a long story, Ani. It started about a month after you and Dad left…"