Cazram's eyes are a mix of madness and pleasure, as if all this destruction were music to his ears. Adrenaline explodes through my veins, sharpening everything — the smell of dust rising from shattered concrete, the muffled sound of distant alarms.
We move. Too fast for normal eyes. Each punch is like a thunderclap. Our fists collide with such force the air itself vibrates. His mechanical arm hits my jaw and sends me staggering back a few steps. The metallic taste of blood spreads in my mouth. I spit on the ground.
I look up.
Cazram is already airborne, fist cocked, ready to crush me. I leap back at the last second — his blow hits the ground, shattering the concrete like wet paper.
"Damn," I mutter, feeling bits of stone fly past me. "Have you always been this bad at controlling your strength, or is it just today?"
I twist mid-air and land a kick to his chin. Cazram spins like a top and crashes into the rubble. I don't wait. I launch forward with both feet and drive my right heel into his head.
But he grabs my foot.
"Son of a—"
I'm yanked back violently. He starts spinning me and slamming me into the ground — once, twice, three times. Each impact is a symphony of pain. The world becomes a blur. I feel like a ragdoll in the hands of a hyperactive child.
With a quick move, I bend my leg and strike him with a sharp kick to the back of his neck. The grip weakens. I break free.
I flip and land on my feet, still trembling. I crack my neck. My whole body protests, but my eyes stay locked on him.
"Okay, you've got strength," I exhale, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, "but you still don't have rhythm."
Cazram smiles — the kind of grin someone wears when they're enjoying the chaos.
He charges again. I hurl myself to the side, spinning in the air as he barrels past and smashes into the wall behind me. The concrete splinters in a grotesque web of cracks.
He turns — too late.
My fist drives into his stomach with a dull thud, followed by a swift uppercut to the chin. The blow lifts him off the ground. I vanish from in front of him and reappear behind in a flash of motion. I sweep his legs out from under him. His body rises slightly, unbalanced, and I finish with a kick to the back that launches him like a projectile.
Cazram flies nearly four meters before crashing into the asphalt. Involuntary rolls. Dust. A beat of silence.
I snap my fingers. My gauntlets are still glowing, dissipating kinetic energy. I feel the weight of blood pulsing through my arms. The heat of battle. That cruel clarity that only comes when you're one step from death.
"First dance, huh…" I murmur with a faint smirk, staring at the wreckage where he landed. "Let's see if you can handle round two."
Cazram rises, face scratched, eyes blazing with rage and wild excitement. He looks like a beast just awakened — but me? I just take a deep breath and begin to remove my white coat, now stained with soot and dust. I roll up my sleeves and tie the coat around my waist, unrushed.
The wind kicks up the dust around us. The sun peeks through clouds of smoke, casting shadows at strange angles. In the tense silence, I start swaying from side to side, shoulders loose, feet light. The movement flows naturally, like a forgotten dance.
"What the hell is that…?" Cazram frowns.
I give him a half-smile, almost teasing.
He charges.
The moment he steps into range, my body's already in motion. I lift my leg with pinpoint precision and strike the center of his face with a clean, dry kick. The impact is so sharp you can hear the snap. Cazram stumbles back, reeling.
"What?!" he shouts, confused, hand to his face. "What kind of kick was that?!"
"Capoeira," I reply with a slight grin.
Before he can regain balance, I spin fluidly and land another spinning kick to the side of his head. The sound is muffled but clear — the kind of sound that breaks pride. He's thrown back, feet skidding on the asphalt.
I cartwheel to the side, never breaking rhythm. Body still in motion, relaxed, but ready to kill.
"Where the hell did you learn that?!" Cazram growls, now more irritated than surprised.
I snap my fingers and roll my shoulders as if I'm warming up.
"Like I'd just hand over my resume for free," I say, raising my hand in a beckoning gesture. "Come on. I'm just getting started."
The look in his eyes shifts. Now he gets it — I'm not just another guy he can toy with. I'm the kind of problem that leaves scars on your soul.
A metallic roar cuts through the skies. The sound of rotor blades slices through the heavy morning air, announcing the arrival of a black helicopter descending slowly through clouds stained orange by the rising sun. Its spotlight flares to life, blinding me as the beam hits me square in the face.
Instinctively, I raise my arms and turn my head, shielding my eyes from the brutal brightness.
The wind from the rotors kicks up dust, scatters debris, and flaps my jacket tied around my waist. The noise is deafening. One of the goons leans out from the side of the helicopter and tosses down a rope ladder, swinging in the air like a living serpent.
Cazram cracks his neck, that damned crooked smile still on his face.
"Well, well… my ride's here," he says, grabbing the ladder with one hand. "The Empress sent for her loyal dog. What an honor."
"So you're still serving Nix…" I mutter, narrowing my eyes. "Just curious when she'll decide you're not useful anymore."
Cazram just laughs — a deep, almost deranged sound that merges with the slicing roar of the blades.
"Our next round's for later, Kronos. Hold onto that rage. You'll need it."
The helicopter starts to rise, lifting Cazram with it, like Hell itself came to retrieve one of its sons.
I take a step forward and point at him, voice steady even though my heart's pounding in my chest.
"Go on, run, you coward. But hear this: next time I see you, you'll pay for what you did to Kiyomi. And for every life you sold like cattle. You're filth, Cazram. A sick freak."
He lifts his face, hair whipping in the wind, and smiles with unsettling calm.
"Can't wait for round two."
And then, like a black stain against the sky, the helicopter vanishes into the light of the rising sun.
I stand there in silence. The dust still dances around me. The sound of the helicopter fades until it becomes just an echo in the chaos left behind. The metallic taste of rage still lingers on my tongue.
This was only the first act.
The next one… will be personal.
---
The elevator doors slide open with a metallic hiss. The smell of concrete and industrial disinfectant still clings to the walls. The floor is quiet, almost calm — but not the good kind.
I step out, cracking my neck to one side, then the other. Shoulders, arms… my whole body begging for a reset after another damned mission. My footsteps echo heavily down the corridor — until something makes me stop.
Kiyomi is there, leaning against the wall, one hand gently gliding across the cold surface, like she's mapping the world with her fingertips. Her gray tail rests on the cold floor, moving in slow waves. Her ears, always alert, twitch slightly at the sound of my boots approaching.
"Kiyomi," I mutter, adjusting the coat on my shoulders. "I'm going to take a shower and if you're still alive by then, I'll make your coffee myself."
"Alright, Sirius," she replies.
I freeze mid-step in the hallway.
My head turns slowly. Did she just…?
I glance at her, unable to believe what I heard.
"Wait… you spoke?"
She hesitates. Then she turns her face toward me, her eyes still clouded but full of life.
"Y-yes…" her voice is soft, like she's waking from a long dream. "My voice came back last night. But… my vision still hasn't."
For a moment, everything slows down.
My eyes trace every feature of her face. The pale skin, the parted lips, the timid glow beginning to emerge where there was only silence before.
I take a step toward her, and a crooked smile — one of those rare, almost forbidden ones — escapes without permission.
"This is… damn, this is amazing, Kiyomi."
She lets out a short laugh, almost voiceless, but full of meaning.
"I thought you were going to say something stupid."
"I thought so too." I make a small gesture with my hand, as if brushing off the impulse. "But today… you deserved something real."
She touches her throat, as if still feeling the vibration of her own voice. A subtle tremor runs through her fingers. Her vulnerability… it's magnetic.
"It still feels strange," she murmurs, "like it's borrowed."
"No." I step a little closer, letting my presence envelop hers. "That voice was always yours. It was just waiting for the right moment to come back."
She lifts her head, eyes unfocused but steady. Her tail shifts behind her, restless, as if reacting to what she can't see.
"So… is that coffee still on the table?"
I chuckle softly.
"That depends. If you can stop making me emotional for five minutes, I might even fry an egg to go with it."
She smiles. That way of hers — soft, almost feline. Warm and sharp at the same time.
"Challenge accepted."
---
After the shower, I walk to the kitchen in a white hoodie, the hood down over my shoulders and my hair still damp, dripping lightly down my neck. The scent of soap still clings to me, blending with the coffee beginning to warm the air.
Kiyomi is already seated at the table. Same chair as always. Her gray tail curled at her feet, her body relaxed, but her senses alert. Even without sight, she moves through the house as if every wall, every corner, were an extension of her own body. She memorized everything… or learned how to feel it.
"So, what's it gonna be today?" I ask as I walk to the counter and grab a frying pan.
"Hmm… you've never asked me that before." Her voice glides gently, with that slightly teasing tone that's been appearing more often.
"Well, you've never spoken before either." I smirk slightly, cracking the eggs onto the counter. "Besides, I need to call Lyra. She'll want to know how you're doing."
"Can't you keep that little secret until tomorrow?" She crosses her legs under the table, her tail swaying lazily behind her. "I want to enjoy this moment… just the two of us."
I turn my head, surprised.
"Huh?"
She smiles — and it's not an ordinary smile. It's the kind of smile from someone who's been holding the winning cards since the start of the game. Kitsunes…
"I thought you were the quiet type… maybe sweet." I try to hide the discomfort with a crooked, forced smile.
"And I thought you were smarter." She taps her fingers on the table's wood surface, her short nails making a rhythmic sound. "But if you want to keep underestimating me, that's fine by me."
"Tsk… great. Now you've got a sense of humor too."
She tilts her head, ears following the motion. "By your spiritual aura… I can feel you. Sirius… or should I call you Kronos? Hmm… I think Sirius suits you more. The sun's still in the sky, after all."
My body freezes for a second.
"Kiyomi… how do you know…?"
She breathes in deeply, as if savoring the doubt in the air before answering.
"Did you forget?" Her smile returns, softer now, almost sweet. "Even blind, I can feel. It's a special ability of Kitsunes… we don't need eyes when the whole world vibrates around us. Aura, intent, emotion. It's like everything dances in silence."
For a moment, I even forget about the coffee.
"…Thank you," she says suddenly, her voice lower now. Sincere. "For that day. For saving me."
I turn my back, relighting the stove.
"No need to thank me." I speak like someone trying to hide something in their voice. "It was just another mission. A job like any other."
"Oh, sure…" she replies with a smirk. "Just another mission, with a touch of heroism and a dramatic rescue at the end."
"Very dramatic," I mutter, stirring the eggs in the pan.
"Now…" her voice shifts tone. Slower. Warmer. Dangerous. "How about you tell me some of your little secrets, darling?"
I freeze. Literally. The pan hisses from the heat, but my hand doesn't move.
This Kitsune…
She's nothing like I imagined. And something tells me I'm stepping into a game where, for the first time in a long while, I'm not the one setting the rules.
And the worst part?
Some part of me… is curious to see how far this goes.