The battlefield was a scene of chaos and destruction. Kaito had just taken down two Ghost tanks, their smoldering wreckage scattered across the battlefield. The loss of these tanks was a significant blow to the Ghost forces, and for a brief moment, the rebels seemed to have the upper hand. Kaito, bloodied but unbroken, stood amidst the carnage, rallying his men to continue the fight.
The destruction of those tanks had not gone unnoticed.
On the outskirts of the battlefield, a man in a dark suit stood up, his aura menacing and cold. This was no ordinary soldier—his presence alone commanded fear. As he rose, the soldier next to him, who had been watching the battle with equal intensity, made a fatal mistake. "Hiriko," he muttered, addressing the man.
The moment the name left the soldier's lips, Hiriko turned with a snarl, his hand shooting out to grab the soldier by the collar. He lifted him effortlessly off the ground, his eyes blazing with fury. "Never say my real name in the open again,".
Hiriko hissed, his voice low and dangerous. The soldier, now wide-eyed with fear, nodded rapidly, struggling to breathe as Hiriko's grip tightened.
After a tense moment, Hiriko released the soldier, who stumbled back, gasping for air. The rage in Hiriko's eyes didn't fade; instead, it seemed to fuel him as he turned his attention back to the battlefield, where Kaito stood like a beacon of defiance.
"Let the children play," Hiriko had said before, dismissing the fight as beneath his concern. But now, with those tanks destroyed and the battle turning against his forces, he could no longer stand idly by. "No more games," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with contempt.
Without another word, Hiriko began his march toward the battlefield. Each step was deliberate, his aura darkening with every pace. The air around him seemed to tremble, and the few Ghost soldiers near enough to sense his approach quickly moved aside, their faces a mixture of fear and respect.
Kaito, still in the thick of battle, felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. It was as if the very air had grown colder, heavier. He turned, his instincts screaming a warning, and spotted Hiriko moving toward him with unnerving speed. This wasn't just another Ghost soldier—this was something far more dangerous.
Kaito braced himself, tightening his grip on his sword. He had faced countless enemies, but the aura emanating from Hiriko was different—darker, more powerful. "Stay back!" Kaito ordered his men, his voice sharp. "This one's mine."
The rebel soldiers nearby exchanged uneasy glances, recognizing the threat in Hiriko's approach, but they obeyed Kaito's command, falling back slightly, though their weapons remained at the ready.
Hiriko closed the distance between them in seconds, his movements fluid and almost inhumanly fast. As he neared, Kaito could see the twisted smile on his face—a smile that sent a chill down his spine.
"Kaito," Hiriko said, his tone mocking. "I thought you'd be smarter than this. You should have run while you had the chance."
Kaito didn't respond. His focus was entirely on Hiriko, reading his movements, preparing for the attack he knew was coming. He had fought stronger opponents before, but Hiriko was different—there was something deeply unsettling about him, something that went beyond mere skill.
In an instant, Hiriko lunged forward, his speed blinding. Kaito barely had time to react, raising his sword just in time to block the first strike. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through his body, nearly knocking him off his feet. Hiriko's strength was monstrous, far beyond what Kaito had expected.
But Kaito wasn't one to back down easily. With a grunt of effort, he pushed back, swinging his sword in a wide arc aimed at Hiriko's midsection. Hiriko dodged the strike with inhuman agility, his movements almost too fast for the eye to follow.
"You're outmatched, Kaito," Hiriko taunted, effortlessly avoiding another strike. "This is what happens when you defy the Ghosts. You were always a fool."
Kaito ignored the taunts, focusing on the rhythm of the fight. He knew he couldn't let Hiriko get inside his head. He launched another series of attacks, his sword a blur of motion as he aimed for Hiriko's vital points—his neck, his heart, his legs. But each time, Hiriko evaded the blows, almost as if he were toying with Kaito.
"You think you can protect them?" Hiriko sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're just delaying the inevitable. They'll die, and so will you."
Kaito gritted his teeth, refusing to let Hiriko's words shake his resolve. He adjusted his stance, preparing for another attack. He had to find a way to break through Hiriko's defenses, to land a decisive blow before it was too late.
But Hiriko wasn't done yet. He moved with lightning speed, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His fist connected with Kaito's chest, sending him sprawling backward. The force of the impact was staggering, and Kaito felt the air rush from his lungs as he hit the ground hard.
"You're weak, Kaito," Hiriko whispered, standing over him. "Just like the rest of your pathetic rebellion."
Kaito struggled to rise, his body screaming in protest. But he forced himself to his feet, his grip on his sword tightening. He wouldn't give up—not now, not ever. He had too much to fight for.
With a roar, Kaito charged at Hiriko, his sword aimed at the man's heart. But Hiriko was ready. He sidestepped the attack with ease, grabbing Kaito by the wrist and twisting it sharply. Kaito's sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground.
In one swift motion, Hiriko slammed Kaito to the ground, pinning him with a boot to the chest. Kaito gasped, pain radiating through his body as he struggled to breathe.
"You can't win this," Hiriko said coldly, drawing a long, wickedly sharp knife from his belt. "It's over."
Kaito's vision blurred as he fought to stay conscious. But even as the darkness closed in, he refused to look away. He stared up at Hiriko, his eyes filled with defiance. "You… won't… win…" he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Hiriko laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "Win? I've already won."
With that, Hiriko plunged the knife into Kaito's chest. The pain was instant and overwhelming, tearing through Kaito's body like fire. His breath hitched, his vision darkening as he felt the life draining from him.
As the blood pooled around him, Kaito's thoughts drifted to the people he had fought so hard to protect. Rika, Tomoki, Anya, Lukas… he had sent them away to keep them safe, to give them a chance to survive this madness. But now, as he lay dying, he could only hope they were far away from this nightmare.
With great effort, Kaito forced his eyes to focus on Hiriko, who still loomed over him, the knife slick with his blood. "Hiriko…" Kaito's voice was weak, trembling with pain and sorrow. The name slipped from his lips, filled with a mix of sadness and regret.
Hiriko's eyes widened at the sound of his name. For a moment, his expression faltered, replaced by something darker, more conflicted. He took a small step back, pulling the knife free from Kaito's chest with a sickening squelch. "What did you say?" Hiriko demanded, his voice hardening, but beneath it, there was a flicker of something else—something vulnerable.
Kaito's breath came in ragged gasps, each one more painful than the last. His hand, slick with blood, reached weakly for Hiriko, not in aggression but in a silent plea. "I wish… we'd never fought… back at Gen 1 camp…" His voice cracked.
The effort of speaking taking what little strength he had left. His eyes, glassy with pain, filled with tears—not of fear, but of the loss of something that had once been important.
Hiriko recoiled as if Kaito's words had struck him harder than any weapon ever could. He stared down at Kaito, his mind racing back to memories he had long buried. Memories of a time before the Ghosts, before the war had turned him into the monster he had become. There had been camaraderie, friendship even, between them once.
"It's the past," Hiriko muttered, more to himself than to Kaito, as if trying to convince himself that those memories no longer mattered. He shook his head, but the look in his eyes betrayed him—there was doubt there, hesitation that hadn't existed before.
Kaito, feeling his life slipping away, managed a weak smile. It was bitter, laced with the weight of unspoken regrets. "Take care of them… please…" His voice faded to a whisper, barely audible, but the words carried a heavy plea.
Hiriko clenched his fists, his mind a whirlwind of anger and confusion. He had come to this battlefield to crush the rebellion, to stamp out the last remnants of defiance against the Ghosts. Yet, as he stood over Kaito, the dying man who had once been a comrade, he found himself faltering.