Across the spaces between reality and uncreation, where sound, light, and language no longer existed—only meaning—two immense essences crossed paths.

  The Storyteller flared first, its presence a current of narrative threads stretching across timelines, weaving possibilities into inevitabilities. Every spark of creation shimmered in its wake, each one a story half-told, half-remembered.

  The Beast followed, slower but deeper, its essence heavy and primal. Its scent was that of ruin and instinct—raw existence without definition. When it moved, entire galaxies flinched.

  They did not speak—not in any way mortals or gods could comprehend. Their communication was a pulse of ideas, impressions so dense they could split galaxies if given form. To simplify it for lesser minds, it might have sounded like this:

  The Storyteller asked, “Are you tampering with my legacy?”

  And the Beast, unbothered, replied, “No. Are you writing one for me?”

  A ripple of irony flowed through the void. The Storyteller’s answer was a thousand possibilities collapsing into one:

  “I’ve chosen a new champion. The tale must continue.”

  The Beast’s amusement carried as a vibration that split the conceptual dark. “Be careful, word-weaver. The Golden Viper watches. Its gaze is a promise that never blinks.”

  The Storyteller’s threads shivered—half in laughter, half in defiance. “The Viper’s whims do not concern me. I only care that this narrative breathes.”

  Then the Beast offered one final impression:

  “Your champion plays in my field. I’ll use one of your pieces for my hunt.”

  To which the Storyteller responded with detached calm, “Do as you will. That pawn has already fulfilled its page. I have other scripts waiting.”

  Their essences drifted apart, fading from substance into pure concept, until even the memory of their exchange was little more than static in the architecture of reality.

  And far beyond them both, in the fractures between perception, the Golden Viper uncoiled—its slit eyes glimmering like suns made of deceit. It had heard everything. It always did.

  ————

  S?urtinaui dodged and leapt back, boots skidding across broken tiles. She had to get back to Kiera. Bebele was a traitor, and while Kiera was strong, the matchup wasn’t in her favor. S?urtinaui had already proven she was fast enough to strike him before he could react—but this katana-wielding woman was something else entirely.

  Relentless.

  She glanced at the severed arm. It wouldn’t regrow. Reattaching it would take time she didn’t have. Pain pulsed through her shoulder, sharp and constant, but she forced it down. She wasn’t ready to roll over and die. Not yet.

  The woman slid back and planted her feet.

  Stance Pulse.

  Ryun surged into the ground beneath her, anchoring her in place. Knockbacks failed. Forced movement meant nothing. Every step carried weight—every strike, crushing inevitability.

  She charged.

  S?urtinaui reacted instantly.

  Verdant Pounce.

  Ryun compressed into her legs and detonated. She vanished in a blur, reappearing above the woman. With only one arm, she brought her dagger down in a single decisive arc—an attack meant to split air, bone, and spirit alike.

  Steel met Ryun.

  The impact screamed through the hallway as the two forces collided, neither yielding.

  “Who are you?” S?urtinaui demanded.

  The woman smiled, calm even now, and raised her katana in salute. “You fight well. A fellow warrior.” Her blue eyes gleamed. “I’ll indulge you with my proper name. Yuna. The Blade of Light.”

  S?urtinaui exhaled slowly. “I’m S?urtinaui of Varics. And I don’t know why you want me—or the Occulted Moon—dead.”

  “Jack’s teammates,” Yuna replied immediately. “His friends.”

  Before S?urtinaui could respond, Yuna continued, voice hardening. “What you say doesn’t matter.”

  She shifted into another stance, Ryun humming through her blade.

  “He’ll feel a fraction of what we felt that day.”

  S?urtinaui nodded once.

  No need for words.

  Only one of them would survive this battle.

  They clashed again.

  Steel rang, sparks scattering, but S?urtinaui moved like a demon unleashed. Her footwork was erratic, predatory—lunging one moment, slipping aside the next, refusing every line of death offered to her.

  She wouldn’t die here.

  She wouldn’t be left to rot in this region, nameless and forgotten.

  Yuna’s Ryun flared.

  Aura Edge.

  Sharp, luminous energy coated her katana, extending its reach just enough to matter. The blade carved through the air—and through S?urtinaui’s Green Ryun dagger—slicing cleanly through her cheek.

  Yuna followed up instantly.

  Blade Echo.

  S?urtinaui dodged the first slash by instinct alone—only for the delayed afterimage to tear through the space she’d just vacated, missing her throat by inches.

  Too close.

  S?urtinaui exhaled.

  Breath of the Dying Wood.

  Green Ryun poured from her lungs in a long, controlled breath. The air thickened, turning heavy and damp, like a forest choking on decay. The hallway warped. Shadows bent at the corners of vision. Weaker minds would have broken outright—but Yuna only slowed, her movements momentarily cautious, as if something unseen circled her.

  That hesitation was enough.

  Warden’s Maw.

  Green Ryun surged outward like living vines from the fog—serpent-thick tendrils snapping around Yuna’s wrist and blade mid-swing. The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat as the Ryun locked her in place—

  Then crushed down like a closing bear trap.

  Yuna snarled as blood sprayed, her footing breaking for the first time.

  But she didn’t panic.

  Her aura condensed to a razor point, and she slashed downward with pure intent. The Ryun bindings split apart in a violent surge, severed cleanly as if reality itself had been cut open. She staggered back, wounded—but still standing.

  S?urtinaui didn’t pursue.

  She stopped.

  Predator’s Patience.

  She went utterly still.

  For a few agonizing seconds, she held her breath. Green Ryun compressed within her, coiling tighter and tighter, sharpening into something lethal and inevitable. Her heartbeat slowed. Pain dulled. Everything narrowed to Yuna alone.

  It was a gamble.

  If Yuna struck first, she would die.

  But if these few seconds were enough—

  S?urtinaui opened her eyes.

  And moved.

  ———

  Several floors above S?urtinaui’s fight, Caroline was locked in her own war—one fought in sparks and flame.

  The hallway around them was collapsing in real time. Support beams groaned. Floor panels cracked. The floor tilted just enough to make every step uncertain, every mistake fatal. Firelight pulsed through the smoke.

  Kana moved first.

  Blazing Flicker

  She vanished in a short burst—too fast to track cleanly—reappearing near Caroline with a flame-coated dash that carved a searing line across the ground. The trail hissed and burned behind her, a trap laid mid-motion, forcing Caroline to either retreat or step into fire.

  Caroline didn’t retreat.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Her eyes sharpened, tails flaring behind her like a crown of wrath.

  “Foxsigil Clawrush!”

  Each tail burned with its own distinct flame, and they lashed forward together—sigils spinning, rotating, locking into place like gears made of fire. The flames twisted into a massive claw formed of blazing symbols, snapping toward Kana with predatory precision.

  Kana barely slipped out of the grab, skidding across the broken hallway as the claw slammed into the floor hard enough to crater it.

  Caroline didn’t give her time to breathe.

  Two of her tails shifted—crackling as their fire turned sharp, electric-blue.

  She thrust them forward like spears.

  “Electric Sigil Stream!”

  Twin lightning streams detonated out of her tails, ripping through the air in screaming arcs. The blast hit Kana dead-on, launching her backward through smoke and debris.

  Kana crashed hard, tumbling across shattered flooring as the hallway shuddered again—another section collapsing somewhere nearby.

  Caroline stepped forward through the falling dust, tails burning brighter.

  She wasn’t letting Kana get up twice.

  She vanished in a blur of heat.

  “Trickfire Teleport!”

  Her body swapped places with one of her tails—its burning sigil flaring bright as it took her position—while Caroline reappeared a few meters away, boots skidding across fractured tile. Where she’d been standing, a flame trap bloomed silently.

  One second.

  Then—

  It erupted.

  Kana snapped her head toward it just in time to feel the heat surge at her back, but she was already moving.

  “Hah! Too slow!”

  She hurled a Ryun-made orb forward with a vicious grin.

  “Spark Bomb!”

  The fireball burst midair, splitting into dozens of embers that scattered like angry fireflies. Each one stung on impact—little bites of heat meant to distract, blind, and burn.

  Caroline clicked her tongue and swept her tails across the air.

  “Tailflame Bloom!”

  A fan of fire petals exploded outward in a heart-shaped spread—almost cute, almost playful—until it detonated and turned the hallway into a furnace. Sparks and petals collided, chewing at the air between them.

  Both of them took damage. But heat resistance kept it manageable for both sides.

  Caroline felt the scorch crawling across her shoulder, heat seeping into skin. Kana’s hair singed at the ends, her aura flickering in frustration. The corridor groaned again—metal screeched, dust rained from above—like the ship itself couldn’t take much more of this.

  Yet Caroline still didn’t go all out.

  Kana was strong, sure—but Caroline had options.

  And being level 295 was a pretty nice boost.

  Kana screamed and unleashed a barrage, tossing sparks and flame-orbs in rapid succession, laughing through the chaos like she was enjoying every second of it.

  Caroline answered with raw foxfire, streams of heat slamming back into Kana’s assault.

  They clashed.

  Over and over.

  Fire tearing fire apart.

  Lightning chewing through flame.

  Their auras shredded, rebuilding, and shredding again.

  Kana’s eyes burned wild. “You’ll die for Aika and Miyu!”

  Caroline frowned mid-cast. “I have no idea who they are!”

  Kana snarled, stepping into the smoke like she wanted to bite. “This is for them! Jack's gonna pay!”

  Caroline’s flames surged hotter. “Then take it up with him!”

  Kana’s grin twisted. “Oh I will. Haruki’s going to kill him slow. Real slow.”

  Caroline’s eyes sharpened. Her tails flared. “Jack’s a lot of things.”

  She leaned forward, voice calm—almost amused.

  “But weak isn’t one of them. Especially after his new upgrade.”

  Kana froze for half a beat, irritation crawling into confusion. “Upgrade?”

  Caroline smiled.

  She didn’t answer.

  She let it hang there just long enough to be cruel.

  Kana’s face tightened. “You—”

  Caroline shrugged innocently.

  Kana snapped.

  Her aura ignited brighter, rage feeding it like gasoline.

  Flashflame Counter.

  The moment Caroline’s next blast grazed her, Kana erupted into a burst of heat and light—white-hot, blinding and painful. Caroline’s vision flared and blurred for half a second.

  Enough time for Kana to close distance.

  Firestarter Aura.

  Kana’s flames intensified, wrapping tighter around her body. Her resistance to heat spiked. Her strength surged. The more furious she got, the brighter she burned.

  Caroline blinked through the attack, exhaling like she was bored.

  Then she smirked.

  “Tailflame Bloom.”

  A tail whipped forward—fire petals blooming again in that deceptively sweet heart-shaped spread.

  Kana roared and burned through it, forcing her way forward with brute heat and anger—

  Only to realize, too late…

  It wasn’t aimed to stop her.

  It was aimed to place her.

  Caroline had set it up at the last second.

  Kana turned—

  And Caroline was already in motion, all six tails lifting like a halo of judgment.

  “Ultimate Move: Sixfold Vortex.”

  The sigils ignited one by one—rings of foxfire and lightning spiraling into a vortex that swallowed the hallway’s oxygen. The air itself screamed as the vortex condensed into a concentrated beam, six elemental rings rotating inside it.

  Kana dug her heels in, aura roaring brighter, flames swelling around her like armor as she charged her own power in response.

  The collapsing corridor shook.

  Dust and debris fell like ash.

  And the two of them stared each other down through the haze—both locked in, both determined to end this.

  ———

  Outside the ship, the explosion from Caroline and Kana’s battle finally erupted—violent and loud enough to rattle the entire structure. Shards of metal and chunks of scorched plating blasted outward into the night, raining down like burning hail.

  Haruki’s smile faltered.

  Jack’s didn’t.

  “Looks like your team didn’t hold up to snuff.” Jack’s grin widened as he shifted his stance. “Shame, shame.”

  “Shut up,” Haruki snapped, voice tight. “They’re fine.”

  Jack laughed under his breath and slipped sideways, narrowly dodging another strike as the air snapped where the attack had been.

  “Wanna bet they’re not?” he sneered.

  Haruki was about to snap back—

  Too late.

  Impact.

  The white submarine–jumbo jet hybrid slammed into the earth with a deafening roar, the collision shaking the land. Metal screamed. Air detonated. Using the distraction Jack punched Haruki’s chest like a fist from a god—

  And his body launched.

  He tore through stone, ripped across a mountain like a skipping rock, tumbling end over end until—finally—he stopped right before the gold wave.

  He rolled away from the wave and his eyes blazed.

  And his past came flooding back.

  Earth.

  Before Requiem.

  Before power.

  Back when he’d been Alex Foster.

  He remembered the day he was isekaied into this world with the girls—like fate itself had cleared its throat and pointed at him.

  This is your story.

  Aika had orange-haired, bubbly, the kind of girl who sparkled like she ran on sugar and sunbeams—always laughing, always charging forward like the world couldn’t hurt her.

  And Miyu… the quiet one. The mysterious healer with soft pink hair and a habit of whispering ominous things in her sleep, like she was hearing a future no one else could.

  In the manga My Love Life Is a War Crime!, the protagonist protected them.

  He was that protagonist.

  This was his story.

  And he would get revenge.

  This world demanded strength—

  So he would give it strength.

  ———

  Jack watched as a massive pillar of silver energy erupted into the sky, purple lightning surging through it like veins of wrath. The glow split the clouds and painted the battlefield in white and violet.

  Jack smiled.

  “The power of friendship again,” he muttered, almost fond.

  His own aura flared—yellow and blue surging up his body like layered storms.

  Haruki rose, staring across the ruined terrain at Jack as if he’d finally seen the true final boss.

  His lips curled into something between admiration and hatred.

  “I’ll give you an A+ level performance…” Haruki said, voice low.

  Then he shook his head, correcting himself like that wasn’t enough.

  “No. Scratch that. S+.”

  Jack chuckled. “You’re still grading me? Even now?”

  Haruki floated forward, silver energy boiling off him. “You’ve been playing around this whole time. Talking. Posturing. Like you’re narrating your own fight.”

  Jack spread his arms a little, as if to say: obviously.

  “Of course I let it go on this long.” Jack’s smile sharpened. “I’m the main character.”

  Haruki’s eyes widened a fraction—

  Jack vanished.

  Yellow-blue aura detonating around him as he surged forward, closing the distance with murderous speed.

  And then he struck.

  Jack and Haruki went back and forth for two brutal, breathless exchanges—two protagonist's ego colliding in real time.

  Jack fought like he was reading the fight ahead of it happening, weapon after weapon unfolding from his arsenal in seamless transitions. A blade became a spear. A spear became a chain. A chain became a floating ring of cutting edges that moved without his hands even touching them. Every time Haruki unleashed a new burst of Limit Breaker-enhanced aura, Jack took it, survived it by a hair—then his aura rippled like a mirror catching sunlight. He absorbed the pattern. The intent. The emotion behind it.

  And then sent it back in ways that were almost disrespectful—twisting Haruki’s own force into clever angles, redirecting it into traps, turning raw destruction into style. It wasn’t just copying. It was ownership. Like the moment Haruki showed him something, Jack’s body decided: mine now.

  But Limit Breaker was no joke.

  Haruki’s strikes weren’t “strong.” They were catastrophic—devastating land-eraser blows. Whole slabs of earth peeled up and detonated. Mountains cracked. The sky split with pressure. And now it got worse, because Jack had stacked his own Limit Breaker on top of everything else, his aura rising in layered colors as the fight stopped being about strength and started being about concepts. Time warped at the edges of his movement. Fear crawled into the air. Dread sat on Haruki’s lungs like a weight. Jack carved weapons out of those ideas—blades that made the world feel late, spears that made the body hesitate, floating constructs that hunted on instinct.

  Haruki answered with violence so overwhelming it tried to drown the entire scene. They clashed—weapon to aura, aura to fist, fist to blade—back and forth until the shockwaves rolled for miles and miles like a drum beat that refused to end.

  Haruki finally landed a few clean hits.

  A knee to the ribs. A palm strike that cratered Jack’s side. A follow-up that split his lip and sent him skidding.

  Jack spat blood, grinning anyway.

  Because even hurt, even bleeding, he looked thrilled.

  Like this was the part of the story he’d been waiting for.

  They flashed into hand-to-hand—then back into weapons—then into aura again, the battlefield screaming under them, power surging so violently it felt like the world itself was watching.

  Two protagonists.

  Fighting for the right to be the one that exists when the narrative moves forward.

  Haruki floated back as Jack’s arsenal spun and released spiraling star-blades, each one twisting like a comet with murder on its mind. The air shrieked as they curved toward him from different angles—some high, some low, some moving like they had minds of their own.

  Haruki’s aura surged.

  Beams of silver shot outward, widening into hungry arcs that consumed the star-blades mid-flight, melting them down into glittering vapor. He didn’t even flinch. He just kept rising—higher, higher—until he hovered in the open sky like a judgment waiting to fall.

  Then he brought his hands together.

  A sphere of power formed between his palms.

  And it kept growing.

  Growing.

  Growing—until it looked like a miniature star, compressed into a single point.

  Jack stared up at it like a kid watching fireworks, grinning wider by the second.

  “Oh! Oh!” He laughed, delighted. “You wanna do a beam clash!”

  Jack raised one hand toward the heavens—fingers twisting through a sharp sequence of motions, clean and confident, like he was signing a death certificate in the air. His aura flared yellow-blue, and behind him his entire arsenal rotated into formation—

  A galaxy of weapons.

  Blades and rings and spears and floating constructs spinning in slow orbit, shimmering like starlight caught in a hurricane.

  He snapped his arm forward, pointing straight at Haruki.

  Haruki angled down, locking onto him.

  Both of them aimed.

  And fired.

  Two beams detonated out at once—silver versus yellow-blue—colliding midair with a violent scream that warped the sky. The impact punched the air outward in expanding rings, flattening trees, shredding stone, and turning the ground beneath them into a widening crater as the pressure hammered reality like it hated it.

  Haruki’s eyes bulged with effort as he poured more in.

  More.

  More.

  The beam thickened, swelled, screamed louder—trying to erase Jack through sheer force.

  Jack just smiled… and matched him.

  His beam intensified, his aura climbing higher like a second heartbeat awakening inside him—power stacking, adapting, owning the moment.

  The shockwaves became constant now, not bursts—continuous violence, pushing the world away from them. The crater below deepened until it looked like something had bitten into the planet.

  Haruki’s teeth clenched. His whole body shook.

  Jack didn’t shake at all. His grin sharpened.

  “…Okay,” Jack said casually, voice almost bored. “This was long enough.”

  His eyes flicked up like he was grading a performance.

  “A+… or whatever you said, my guy.”

  Then his smile turned.

  A slow, sinister curl…

  “But your part is over.”

  Something shifted.

  Not just power—authority.

  Jack’s beam changed. The color deepened. The shape became cleaner, more absolute, like the universe had decided to stop debating and start concluding.

  Haruki’s eyes went wide.

  His beam started to lose.

  Not because he was weaker—

  Because Jack was done letting him compete.

  The silver light buckled, compressed, and then shattered as Jack’s beam swallowed it whole.

  Haruki’s throat tightened. Tears welled without permission as the overwhelming force rushed toward him, drowning the sky, drowning his story.

  His last thought wasn’t rage.

  It wasn’t hatred.

  It was small.

  I hope the girls escaped.

  And in that final instant, Haruki understood the truth he’d been refusing since the day he arrived in Requiem—

  He truly wasn’t the protagonist.

  That burden…

  Was too much to bear.

  ——

  “HAHAHAHA!” Jack laughed as Haruki’s aura finally faded into nothing, the silver pillar collapsing like a dying star. “Well… that wasn’t so bad.”

  He rolled his shoulders once, like he’d just finished a warm-up.

  “My first rival in the dust.”

  The crater below still smoked. The air still trembled. But the fight was over.

  Jack turned—

  And froze.

  Something was moving toward the wrecked ship.

  Fast.

  Purposeful.

  His eyes narrowed, locking on through the drifting debris and fractured hull plating.

  Givena.

  Jack’s aura flickered, and he lifted a hand—ready to fire, ready to erase her before she could even speak.

  Then—

  The page in his pocket hummed.

  Not lightly.

  Not like a warning.

  Like an order.

  Jack’s fingers paused mid-air. His expression shifted, just slightly, as if something inside him had been yanked by a chain.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled the page free.

  Read it.

  And the moment he did… the edge in his stance dulled.

  His hand lowered.

  Not because he wasn’t capable.

  Not because he was afraid.

  Because what came next wasn’t a battle.

  It was a conclusion.

  And Jack—despite everything he’d done tonight, despite all the power he carried, wasn’t meant to be the one to bring it.