Juro's leap from the high ledge was a plummeting comet of renewed purpose, leaving the bittersweet ache of Takeshi's revelation and wound behind. He hit the yielding, fleshy floor of the Plaza's central maelstrom in a crouch, the impact absorbed by the hungry stone, his twin axes, already whirling in his hands. The scene he rejoined was chaos incarnate.

Akuma stood at the vortex, a monolith of swirling void darkness, but the effortless dominance he'd projected earlier was fractured. He was besieged. Shiro, face a mask of agony and defiance, moved with desperate, unpredictable ferocity. His right arm, encased in the grinding void leather brace, hung mostly useless, but his left wielded a jagged shard of black ice like a dagger, lunging in suicidal bursts, forcing Akuma to swat him away with contemptuous blasts of void energy that sent him sprawling but never silenced his ragged curses. His Polaris scar spat weak, erratic amber sparks, each pulse visibly costing him excruciating pain.

Kuro was a storm contained by frost and corruption. He fought not with Shiro's desperation, but with a chilling, volatile control over the invasive cold fire consuming his right arm. Tendrils of sickly blue energy lashed out unpredictably, sometimes as shields intercepting void blasts, sometimes as disruptive waves of soul numbing cold aimed at Akuma's senses, making the Void Knight snarl in annoyance as his void energy momentarily sputtered. Static visibly crackled around Kuro's head, a halo of torment, and his storm grey eyes blazed with feral determination, his movements hampered by the dead, icy drag of the corruption now visibly pulsing near his heart. His monstrous shadow writhed violently on the floor beside him.

Ryota was the crumbling bedrock. Blood poured freely from the horrific wound Volrag's void tainted blade had left in his gut, steaming as it hit the cold floor before vanishing. His face was grey, etched with agony, yet he stood, leaning heavily on Starbreaker. The massive axe's Polaris light was a guttering candle flame, but Ryota channelled the last dregs of his legendary fury into devastating, ground shaking slams onto the Plaza floor Each impact sent shockwaves rippling through the organic stone, geysers of black ichor erupting, momentarily destabilizing Akuma's footing and forcing him to expend energy maintaining balance. He fought like a dying bear protecting its cubs, every movement a testament to sheer, stubborn willpower fuelled by the memory of Kaya and the sight of the twins still fighting.

Haruto was the cold, relentless engine. His aristocratic composure was back, a mask of glacial focus clamped over the raw wounds Akuma's psychological torture had inflicted. The image of his flayed father was buried deep, locked away behind walls of analytical ice. His Polaris dagger was a needle of contained stellar fury, its light a focused, searing white. He moved with lethal geometry, a silent predator weaving through the chaos created by the others. He exploited every micro opening Shiro's desperation created, every fraction of distraction Kuro's disruptive cold caused, every tremor Ryota's impacts sent through Akuma's stance. He didn't roar; he calculated. He darted in, a precise thrust aimed at a seam in the void plate at the hip, forcing a parry. He disengaged instantly as a void blast meant for him vaporized the space he'd occupied a heartbeat before, already circling, his obsidian eyes scanning for the next flaw, the next vector of attack. He was the pivot, the anchor, the silent, deadly metronome driving the discordant symphony of their assault.

The assault was potent, but fragmented. Shiro's wild lunges often clashed with Ryota's broad sweeps, forcing the Old Star to pull a blow. Kuro's waves of disruptive cold sometimes washed over Haruto's intended path, forcing the Architect to adjust his lethal angles with a flicker of icy annoyance. There was no seamless coordination, only desperate, overlapping pressure, each fighter driven by their own pain and purpose, united only by the target.

And it was working.

Akuma deflected, parried, vaporized debris, swatted Shiro away, absorbed Kuro's psychic chills, and stabilized against Ryota's quakes. But he was no longer the effortless executioner. His void energy, while still devastating, flickered erratically around his gauntlets. His movements, though still terrifyingly fast, lacked their former, gliding precision. He had to work. He had to react. Beneath the horned, cracked helm, faint, rapid puffs of vapor escaped, he was panting. The absolute cold radiating from him felt strained, less pervasive. A faint sheen, almost imperceptible, glistened on the obsidian plate at his temples, sweat.

"Persistent fucking gnats!" Akuma's voice resonated, but the cosmic indifference was fraying, replaced by sharp annoyance. He backhanded a chunk of black ice Shiro had hurled, shattering it mid air. " You accomplish Fucking NOTHING!" He unleashed a wider blast of void energy, forcing Ryota to brace behind Starbreaker and Haruto to flow backwards like smoke, but the effort cost him. The void orbs above his fists pulsed weakly.

The Plaza itself reacted to the escalating fury. The diseased yellow runes etched into the walls and floor pulsed with increasing intensity, throbbing like infected hearts. The air thickened, heavy with the reek of ozone, void ichor, freezing blood, and the cloying fungal stench of the mountain's core. The weeping pillars seemed to drip faster, their black tears sizzling where they landed. The fleshy floor undulated more violently, as if excited by the spilled life force and unleashed energy.

Haruto saw it. The micro second opening. Ryota had just landed another destabilizing slam, his roar of effort ending in a wet cough. Akuma shifted his weight minutely to compensate, his void gauntlet swinging to intercept a wild lunge from Shiro. His right flank, for a fraction of a heartbeat, was exposed, the vulnerable seam where the void plate met the flexible under armour at the back of the elbow.

Haruto didn't hesitate. He didn't roar a challenge. He simply flowed. Exploiting the ripple from Ryota's impact and the distraction of Shiro's attack, he became a shadow propelled by cold vengeance. His Polaris dagger, blazing with focused stellar fury, struck not with brute force, but with the lethal precision of a surgeon's scalpel. He didn't aim to kill; he aimed to wound. To prove the invincible could bleed.

SHINKKKK!

The sound was sharp, alien. Not the clang of metal, but the crackle of negated energy and the sizzle of seared void matter. Haruto's dagger didn't pierce deep; Akuma's reflexes were still too fast. But the Polaris edge, superheated by Haruto's contained rage and stellar power, scored the seam. It sliced through the intricate void forged links, searing the unnatural material beneath.

A single droplet, thick and black as crude oil yet shimmering with internal, sickly light, welled from the shallow gash. Void ichor. It clung to the edge of Haruto's dagger for a nanosecond before sizzling and vanishing into vapor.

The effect was instantaneous and profound. Akuma recoiled as if physically scalded, a sharp, guttural sound escaping him, not a roar, but a gasp of pure, shocked agony. His star pupils, fixed on the tiny, already vanishing wound on his gauntlet, flared with an intensity that banished the Plaza's gloom for yards around. But it wasn't just surprise or pain reflected in those cosmic voids.

It was fear.

The shallow burn was nothing. A gnat's sting against a god. But the sight of his own essence, the sacred ichor of the void touched, spilled by mortal hands… it was an obscenity. An impossibility that cracked the bedrock of his invincibility. And through that crack flooded not the void's cold indifference, but the chilling, absolute terror of King Ryo Oji.

Memory: The Obsidian Throne Room. Not now, years past. A failed Inquisitor, one of Akuma's own subordinates, knelt before the dais, trembling. His crime? Allowing a single Polaris defector to escape a cleansing. Ryo hadn't roared. He hadn't even risen from the throne. He'd simply gestured with one blood ringed finger. Temple Surgeon Kaelthar stepped forward, his fingers holding instruments not of healing, but of exquisite deconstruction. The screams… they hadn't been brief. They'd echoed for hours, a symphony of failure conducted with clinical precision. Ryo's eyes, cold voids reflecting the victim's agony, had never left Akuma's face throughout. A silent lesson: Failure is not an option. Failure is pain. Failure is erasure.

The memory slammed into Akuma's consciousness with the force of a void singularity. The phantom scent of burnt stardust and terror filled his senses. The agonized screams echoed in his mind, merging with the fading sizzle of his own spilled ichor. He saw Ryo's eyes in his mind, boring into him, promising an eternity of meticulously crafted agony for this… this insult. This proof of weakness. The fear wasn't of Haruto, or Shiro, or Kuro, or Ryota. It was the soul deep, paralyzing terror of the Butcher King's retribution.

Akuma froze. Not a tactical pause, but a full body paralysis born of absolute dread. The swirling void energy around his gauntlets flickered wildly, sputtering like a dying star. The Plaza's runes pulsed violently, bathing his rigid form in jaundiced light. His star pupils remained wide, fixed on the insignificant scorch mark on his armour, but seeing only the flayed flesh and Ryo's merciless gaze. The invincible Void Knight stood exposed, not by a mortal wound, but by the crushing weight of his master's shadow.

The team saw it. The sudden, absolute stillness. The wild flickering of his power. The unmistakable aura of terror radiating from him. The opening was vast. Yawning.

Akuma's paralysis was a seismic shift in the Plaza's oppressive reality. The swirling void energy around his gauntlets sputtered like dying coals, the cosmic terror of Ryo's retribution momentarily freezing the titan in place. His star pupils, wide and unblinking, reflected not the desperate rebels before him, but the flayed spectre of his own failure and the Butcher King's merciless gaze.

The opening wasn't merely vast; it was catastrophic.

Juro struck first. He didn't roar; he arrived like a silent avalanche. Landing from his descent, he channelled the desperate energy of his reunion with Takeshi, the fury of betrayal transformed into protective fury, into a single, devastating overhead chop with his right axe. The axe head, trailing icy vapor, slammed down onto Akuma's flickering void aura just above his left pauldron.

KRACKKKK!

The impact wasn't clean. It was the sound of reality fracturing under immense, focused pressure. Juro's axe didn't penetrate the armour, but the force, amplified by Akuma's stunned immobility and the destabilized void energy, drove the Void Knight down onto one knee. The Plaza floor yielded with a wet squelch beneath his armoured boot. Void ichor, thick and shimmering, leaked from the cracked horn on Akuma's helm, steaming where it hit the cold stone. The physical blow landed, but the psychological impact was deeper. The invincible monolith had been forced down.

The freeze frame shattered into hyperkinetic violence. The team, galvanized by Juro's impact and Akuma's visible vulnerability, surged forward. Their attacks remained individual expressions of their pain and power, but now threaded with a savage, unspoken understanding: Press. Now. Break him.

Shiro screamed, a raw sound born equally of agony in his grinding wrists and desperate fury. He lunged towards Akuma, not away, acting as the chaotic, irresistible bait Juro's arrival had made possible. He hurled himself at the kneeling titan's flank, the jagged ice shard in his left hand aimed not to kill, but to distract, to enrage. Akuma's void gauntlet snapped up instinctively, swatting him aside like a fly. The impact sent Shiro skidding across the fleshy floor, a fresh wave of white hot agony detonating from his fused bones, but he'd drawn the reaction.

Kuro saw the opening Shiro's sacrifice created. He didn't attack physically. He focused. Ignoring the glacial fire chewing towards his heart, the static drilling into his skull, he channelled the invasive, soul numbing cold radiating from his corrupted arm. He didn't unleash it as a wave; he projected it as a hyper focused lance of absolute zero terror, aimed directly at the fractured psyche exposed by Haruto's wound and Juro's blow. It was the psychic equivalent of pouring liquid nitrogen onto a raw nerve, the nerve of Akuma's fear of Ryo.

Ryota , bleeding, dying, found a final reservoir of tectonic fury. Kaya's memory burned bright. "FOR THE NORTH!" he bellowed, the sound tearing from his ruined lungs. He didn't slam Starbreaker on the ground this time. He hauled the massive axe back, its guttering Polaris light flaring with sacrificial intensity, and brought it around in a brutal, two handed horizontal arc aimed not at Akuma, but at the largest, most violently pulsing diseased rune on the obsidian wall directly behind the staggered Void Knight. Starbreaker's ancient edge, infused with the last embers of Ryota's light and will, connected. The rune didn't just crack; it exploded in a shower of foul, phosphorescent yellow shards and gouts of steaming black ichor. The Plaza screamed. The very fabric of Akuma shuddered violently.

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Akuma flinched. Not just from Kuro's psychic ice pick stabbing his fear centres, but from the violent disruption Ryota caused to the Plaza. His void aura flickered wildly, momentarily thinning. He started to raise his gauntlet, perhaps to vaporize the dying Old Star, but then…

He saw him.

Standing just behind Ryota, coalescing from the shadows thrown by the exploding rune, was King Ryo Oji. Not a memory this time. A hallucination, vivid and horrifying. Ryo stood, clad in his blood coloured velvet robes, his face shadowed deep within his cowl, save for his eyes, cold, infinite voids filled with crushing disappointment and the promise of excruciating retribution. His lips didn't move, but the words vibrated directly in Akuma's skull, layered with the wet screams of the failed Inquisitor from his memory: "Weakness. Disgrace. Did you think failure would be tolerated? Did you think your pain would be quick?"

Akuma gasped, a ragged, distorted sound. His defensive posture faltered. The void shield protecting his core, already strained by Juro's blow and Ryota's disruption, flickered visibly, becoming translucent, unstable.

Haruto saw it. The Architect's mind, cold and precise despite the buried horror of his father's fate, calculated the vectors, the pressure points, the exact moment of maximum vulnerability. He didn't need to speak. He simply moved. A blur of obsidian and focused starlight, he flowed past Juro, who was already drawing back for another crushing blow, and past Kuro, whose corrupted arm pulsed with agonizing effort. Haruto's Polaris dagger, blazing with white hot intensity, wasn't aimed at armour. It was aimed at the flickering, weakened epicentre of Akuma's void shield, directly over the spot where his own earlier strike had drawn ichor.

Simultaneously, sensing Haruto's lethal intent, Shiro pushed himself up from the floor, ignoring the grinding shriek threatening to shatter his arm entirely. With a guttural cry, he channelled every ounce of his defiance, his love for Aki, his bond with Kuro, into his Polaris scar. A weak, sputtering helix of amber light erupted from his palm, not an attack, but a desperate, agonizing distraction, aimed directly at Akuma's face, forcing the Void Knight's star pupils and his hallucinating mind to snap towards the sudden light, away from Haruto's approach.

Akuma reacted instinctively, swatting at the amber helix with his gauntlet. The distraction worked. For a critical microsecond, his focus shifted from the crumbling shield protecting his core.

Kuro, sweat freezing on his brow, static distorting his vision, saw Haruto's trajectory and the shield's flicker. He didn't have finesse left. He had raw, corrupt power. With a roar that was half pain, half defiance, he shoved the invasive cold fire raging in his arm outward. Not a wave, but a concentrated blast of disruptive entropy, aimed like a battering ram at the same unstable point in the shield Haruto targeted. It wasn't elegant. It was brute force chaos meeting Haruto's surgical precision.

Haruto struck.

His dagger, a needle of contained stellar annihilation, met the weakened nexus of Akuma's void shield at the exact moment Kuro's disruptive entropy slammed into it from the other side.

KRACKKKK BOOOOOOM!

The sound was cataclysmic. Not just energy detonating, but the sound of an absolute defence shattering. Akuma's void shield didn't flicker out; it exploded inwards. Jagged shards of solidified darkness, sharp as obsidian razors, flew in all directions, vaporizing inches from the rebels but lacerating Akuma's own armour. The concussive force wasn't outward, but inward, a violent implosion of negation.

Akuma was hurled backwards. Not with grace, but like a puppet with its strings cut. He crashed into the obsidian wall beneath the shattered rune Ryota had destroyed, the impact spider webbing the dark stone. His obsidian armour, pristine for so long, was now visibly cracked. Fissures ran across his chest plate and pauldrons. Void ichor, darker than night, wept from the cracks and from the wound on his gauntlet. His horned helm was askew, revealing a glimpse of pale, sweat slicked skin beneath, contorted in a rictus of agony and absolute, palpable terror.

He didn't rise immediately. He slumped against the wall, one gauntleted hand pressed to his cracked chest plate, his breath coming in ragged, distorted gasps that echoed unnaturally in the sudden, stunned silence. The fear wasn't just in his mind anymore; it radiated from him like the Plaza's cold, a suffocating aura of dread visible in his trembling limbs, his wide, horrified star pupils fixed on nothing, seeing only the hallucinated King and the promise of unimaginable punishment. The mask of the implacable Void Knight wasn't just cracked; it was shattered, revealing the terrified servant beneath.

Corvin watched from the deeper shadows near a weeping pillar, his void stone ring pulsing with a slow, resonant thoom. He hadn't intervened directly, but his presence was a silent pressure, his earlier words to Haruto a catalyst now bearing bloody fruit. His unseen gaze swept the scene: the shattered shield, the cracked Void Knight, the bleeding but unbowed rebels, Shiro clutching his ruined arm, Kuro swaying from corruption's toll, Ryota leaning heavily on Starbreaker, blood pooling beneath him, Juro poised for the next blow, Haruto standing over his strike, dagger still glowing. This wasn't just survival. This was defiance incarnate. Proof, Corvin thought, the concept cold and sharp in his analytical mind. Irrefutable evidence. The beast bleeds. The throne can be shaken. He filed the observation away, a crucial piece for the hidden game. The fruits of rebellion were bitter, stained with pain, but they were real. Nyxara would need to see this.

The Plaza of Screams held its breath. Akuma's vulnerability hung heavy in the air, thick with ozone, blood, void ichor, and the crushing weight of a tyrant's imagined wrath. The fight wasn't over, but the balance of power had irrevocably shifted. The Void Knight was wounded, terrified, and cornered. The next move would decide everything.

The silence after Akuma's shield imploded was deafening, thicker than the Plaza's ichor laden air. He slumped against the cracked obsidian wall, a broken monolith. Void ichor wept from fissures in his once impervious armour, steaming where it met the hungry floor. His breath rasped, a distorted, mechanical wheeze echoing the Plaza's dying groan. But it was his eyes that held the true horror. His star pupils weren't focused on the battered rebels closing in; they were fixed on a point just beyond Haruto's shoulder, wide with a terror so profound it radiated outwards like a physical chill, making the very air prickle.

He saw him again...

King Ryo Oji stood there, not as a memory, but as a living, breathing nightmare woven from Akuma's unravelling psyche. The Butcher King's blood coloured robes seemed to drink the jaundiced light of the pulsing runes. His face remained shadowed, but the eyes, infinite voids of absolute, disappointed malice, bored into Akuma's soul. A cruel, silent smile played on lips Akuma couldn't fully see but felt, promising an eternity of meticulously crafted agony. Ryo didn't gesture; his mere presence was the indictment, the sentence, the executioner's axe poised.

"Failure," the hallucination breathed, the word slithering directly into Akuma's fractured mind, layered with the phantom screams of all those he'd seen Ryo flay for lesser transgressions. "My finest blade… blunted by gutter sparks. Did you think your borrowed power made you indispensable? Did you think your suffering would be quick?"

Akuma flinched as if physically struck. A guttural, animalistic sound tore from his throat, pure, distilled fear. His void energy, flickering erratically around his cracked gauntlets, suddenly flared with violent, uncontrolled fury. It wasn't an attack; it was a spasm of terror.

"NO!" Akuma shrieked, his voice cracking, losing its cosmic resonance, becoming raw and human in its desperation. He lashed out wildly, not at the rebels, but towards the hallucination of Ryo. A torrent of unstable void energy erupted from his right gauntlet, vaporizing a section of the fleshy floor where the phantom king stood. "I WILL NOT FAIL! I WILL CLEANSE THEM!"

His terror had mutated into a berserk, defensive frenzy. He whirled, star pupils darting wildly, seeing Ryo's mocking visage flickering behind Juro, then beside Ryota, then superimposed over Haruto's cold, advancing face. His attacks became a terrifying blend of fleeting, lethal precision, remnants of his Void Knight training, and wild, panicked swings fuelled by the desperate need to appease the tormentor only he could see. He fought the ghosts in his mind as much as the rebels before him.

The team pressed the advantage, but the cohesion born of Akuma's initial vulnerability frayed under his unpredictable, terror fuelled onslaught. He was a wounded, cornered beast, lashing out with claws of pure negation. Juro's axes met void energy that was now thick, viscous, and lashing like angry tendrils. Ryota, barely standing, used Starbreaker as a crutch more than a weapon, deflecting blasts that came from impossible angles. Kuro's disruptive cold waves seemed less effective against the raw, chaotic output of Akuma's fear.

Then, Akuma saw Ryo's face within his own swirling void aura, a brief, horrific superimposition of the Butcher King's shadowed visage over the raging dark energy. It taunted him, sneering.

"TOO FUCKING SLOW!" the phantom Ryo hissed.

Akuma snarled, a sound of pure, unhinged rage. In that moment of redirected terror, he saw an opening, not a tactical one, but a gap born of Ryota's agonizing stumble. Pure, desperate ferocity took over. Ignoring Haruto's calculated advance, ignoring Juro's incoming blow, Akuma focused every shred of his fear charged power into his left gauntlet. Void energy condensed into a single, brutal hammer fist of pure negation, aimed at Ryota's exposed, blood soaked flank.

The impact was sickening. Void energy met ravaged flesh and bone. Ryota didn't cry out; the breath was blasted from him in a silent, bloody spray that froze instantly in the air. He was lifted off his feet, thrown backwards like discarded armour. Starbreaker flew from his grip, its guttering light winking out as it clattered across the fleshy floor, coming to rest near a weeping pillar. Ryota hit the ground with a final, heavy thud, unmoving, a dark stain spreading rapidly beneath him. The Old Star had fallen.

The sight momentarily froze the others. Their advantage, hard won through blood and pain, evaporated like smoke. Akuma, panting, void ichor streaming down his cracked armour, stood amidst the swirling darkness radiating from him. The terror was still there, a visible tremble in his limbs, but it was now fused with a terrifying, unhinged triumph. He had struck back. He had appeased the phantom King, if only for a second. His star pupils, wide and bloodshot, fixed on the nearest target: Shiro.

Shiro stood frozen, not just by Ryota's fall, but by a wave of fresh agony lancing from his Polaris scar, a sympathetic echo of the Old Star's final blow. He was vulnerable, exposed.

Akuma moved. Not with grace, but with the lurching speed of pure, fear driven instinct. His right gauntlet shot out, wreathed in sputtering, unstable void energy, aimed not to kill, but to silence, to crush, to erase the nearest spark of defiance. It closed the distance to Shiro's throat in a heartbeat.

Simultaneously:

Haruto, cold fury overriding the shock of Ryota's fall, was already in motion. His Polaris dagger, blazing like a captured fragment of a dying sun, was raised high, aimed with lethal precision at the crack in Akuma's back plate. He was a fraction of a second from releasing the killing thrust.

Juro, roaring in defiance, was mid swing, both axes, carving twin arcs of fury towards Akuma's head and side. His axes were a heartbeat from connecting.

Kuro, the static around his head a visible storm, his corrupted arm pulsing with agonizing blue light, was gathering the invasive cold fire for a final, desperate blast, knowing it might unmask him completely.

Corvin, in the shadows, his void stone ring pulsed not with anticipation, but with a sharp, warning thrum. The game was reaching its precipice.

Akuma's gauntlet was inches from Shiro's throat. The unstable void energy hissed, promising annihilation. Shiro's amber eyes widened, reflecting the oncoming darkness. Haruto's muscles tensed to strike. Juro's axes descended. Kuro's corrupted energy reached its peak.

Then, it hit them.

Not a physical blow. Not a void blast.

Pure, incandescent agony.

It erupted inside Shiro and Kuro's minds simultaneously, a psychic detonation of such intensity it felt like molten lead being poured directly onto the raw nerves of their consciousness. It wasn't pain from their wounds, or the corruption, or the grinding braces. It was alien, searing, and utterly consuming. A silent scream tore through their shared mental space, a vision of such profound, terrifying wrongness that it bypassed sight and sound, etching itself directly onto their souls with white hot agony.

Shiro gasped, his hand flying to his head, the movement towards his throat forgotten. His Polaris scar flared violently, amber light sputtering erratically. He staggered, vision swimming not with tears, but with the searing afterimage of the unseen horror. Kuro cried out, a raw, choked sound. The static around his head flared white hot, the blue luminescence in his corrupted arm surging chaotically as the invasive cold fire recoiled from the psychic intrusion. He doubled over, clutching his temples, his storm grey eyes squeezed shut against the internal inferno.

No one else saw it. No one else felt it. To Juro, Haruto, Corvin, and the hallucinating Akuma, Shiro and Kuro simply… faltered. Froze mid action, expressions contorted in silent, inexplicable torment at the worst possible moment.

Akuma's void gauntlet closed the final inch.

It didn't connect with flesh. The unstable energy surrounding it touched Shiro's throat.

Silence.

Not the absence of sound, but a sudden, crushing pressure that swallowed the hiss of void energy, the rasp of breath, the drip of ichor. The Plaza's runes blazed a violent, bloody crimson, casting the entire scene in a hellish light. Haruto's killing thrust hung, arrested by the sudden, agonized paralysis of his targets and the shocking proximity of Akuma's strike. Juro's axes halted mid arc. Kuro's gathered energy flickered and died as he fought the internal cataclysm. Akuma himself seemed momentarily stunned by the contact, his star pupils reflecting the crimson rune light and the frozen terror on Shiro's face.

In that frozen tableau of horror, pain, and interrupted vengeance, the searing agony in Shiro and Kuro's minds coalesced into a single, silent, devastating phrase, branded onto their consciousness amidst the molten lead pain:

ECLIPSE VISION ALGOL

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