The madness of Akari's declaration echoed through the ruins, leaving Shingin and the others paralyzed with fear. A suffocating dread filled the air, seeping into every crevice, tightening their chests and dampening their backs with cold sweat. The oppressive silence that followed was broken only by the soft, anguished sobs of Usagi, whose tear-streaked face seemed to pierce through everyone's hearts like a blade.
Riyugi finally broke the silence, her voice trembling so much it was almost inaudible. "Shingin… aren't you going to save Usagi?"
Shingin's gaze fell into an abyss of indecision. His fingers unconsciously tugged at his sleeve, the weight of his hesitation anchoring him in place. "Worry about her," he'd once said—but now, those words felt empty and meaningless. The oppressive chill of his own fear rendered him immobile, drowning him in the torment of his own inadequacy.
Myouka's eyes burned with frustration. Her tone was sharp, cutting through the tension: "Shingin, if you don't act now, Usagi has no chance against those lunatics!" Her usual gentleness had been replaced by a desperate urgency, every word a plea to act before it was too late.
Yahageshii snapped, his voice loud and bitter. "Do you even hear yourself?! Those maniacs are way beyond us! We wouldn't last a second against them, let alone save her!" Even his usual brashness had wilted under the sheer magnitude of terror, leaving behind only a reluctant, trembling pragmatism.
But Riyugi was unrelenting. She ignored Yahageshii's protests and fixed Shingin with a steady gaze. "Shingin, are you going to save her or not?"
Shingin's silence was deafening. He couldn't meet Riyugi's eyes. His indecision clawed at him, each heartbeat an agonizing reminder of his helplessness.
Myouka stepped forward, her determination shining through. "They're unarmed now! This is our chance! Don't you see? We can win!" Her words carried a spark of hope, but it flickered precariously against the overwhelming dread that loomed over them.
Yahageshii spat bitterly, "Win? Against them? You've lost your mind." But even as he spoke, his hands clenched into fists, betraying the internal battle he fought against his own instincts.
Riyugi, undeterred, declared with a chilling resolve, "Fine. Myouka and I will save her ourselves."
Shingin's heart raced. "You're insane! You're walking to your deaths!"
Riyugi's expression hardened, her voice cold. "So what if we are? Two more bodies won't make a difference, right?"
Before Shingin could respond, the sound of metal scraping against stone filled the air. Their heads snapped toward the source, and they saw it: the weapons scattered across the ground began to move, as if puppets on invisible strings. Each clink and clatter reverberated like a death knell, drawing an invisible boundary of doom.
The weapons circled around Akari, their ominous dance centered on him. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, and suffocatingly precise. The sheer display of power erased any illusion of safety.
Shingin's legs trembled. He was struck by a chilling realization—this wasn't just a warning. It was a demonstration, a cruel exhibition of their insignificance.
Under the pale moonlight, Akari's voice rang out, tinged with icy amusement. "Brother, those little kids… are you going to kill them too?"
Akari's grin widened, his expression a grotesque mixture of cruelty and amusement. His words dripped with malice as he replied, "Not now, Akane. Killing them now would be boring. Let them live. Give them a few years to grow stronger. Then, when they think they have a chance… we'll crush them."
As their figures disappeared into the darkness, the sound of laughter echoed back—sharp, mocking, and unrelenting. It was a melody of despair, a reminder that even as the ruins grew silent, the shadow of their tormentors lingered, suffocating and inescapable.
The ruins were still. The moonlight reflected faintly on the cold ground, the only witnesses to the torment left behind. Riyugi clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Shingin's mind raced, drowning in the echoes of guilt and fear. And in the suffocating silence, the weight of their failure pressed down on them, crushing what little resolve they had left.