The moment Yurei’s laughter faded into the darkness, Lemon did not hesitate.

  “NOPE—!” the spirit wood lemming shrieked.

  In a flash of vivid green light, he vanished, diving headfirst into a collapsed cellar entrance. He twisted his tiny body with impossible flexibility, squeezing through the jagged gaps between broken stones.

  “Heroic retreat!” Lemon whispered to himself, peeking from the shadows of the debris. “Very heroic!”

  Above ground, the street was swallowed by shadow. Every building loomed like a silent sentinel, its broken windows reflecting the faint glow of Yurei’s eyes. The air itself seemed to pulse, heavy with the essence of something not alive.

  Rhen Calder exhaled slowly, drawing the shadows into the steadiness of his breath. His stance was calm, deliberate. Pale light shimmered off Masamune, his sword humming faintly in response to the malevolent energy.

  “Akitsu,” Rhen said without shifting his gaze, eyes locked on the drifting figure. “Whatever it is—don’t let it touch you.”

  Akitsu Shouga’s nod was quiet but firm. Fingers gripped the cloth wrapped around Joyeuse, sliding it free. The blade beneath gleamed like condensed dawn, catching the faint light of the ruined street.

  “I won’t,” Akitsu replied calmly. “But I doubt it will be that simple.”

  Yurei floated forward, its feet never touching the cracked cobblestones. The shadows clung to it like a cloak, writhing and twisting unnaturally.

  “So fragile,” it whispered, a voice like silk brushing over broken glass. “So… alive.”

  Rhen’s jaw tightened.

  “Ghost,” he said, low and steady, and the word felt like an invocation.

  The world shifted.

  Rhen’s body phased. Chest, legs, head—everything except his right arm—slipped into a non-interactive state. The street passed through him as if he were no more than air, ephemeral and unbound.

  But his arm remained solid. Masamune remained real.

  He lunged.

  The blade cut through the shadows, tearing into Yurei’s form. For the first time, the entity recoiled.

  A high-pitched, shrill sound filled the air—not pain, but recognition.

  “…Ah,” Yurei murmured, voice soft as wind through dead trees. “You walk beside existence.”

  Rhen’s teeth gritted. “And you don’t belong in it.”

  He struck again. Masamune tore through the black mist, carving chunks away that should have ended the fight. But the darkness simply reformed, swirling and knitting itself back together.

  Akitsu moved.

  He darted forward, daggers slicing through the air in a rapid cross, faster than thought, faster than fear. But they passed through Yurei like fog dissipating in sunlight.

  “Useless,” Akitsu clicked his tongue.

  He reversed his grip and raised Joyeuse, letting the blade shine.

  “Then let’s test something else.”

  The moment the blade ignited, light erupted—not fire, not magic, but pure brilliance. A flash brighter than the sun exploded outward, flooding the street, bouncing off shattered rooftops and broken windows.

  For an instant, Yurei screamed.

  The shadows recoiled violently. Spirit silhouettes dissolved, scattering like ash on a gust of wind.

  Rhen shielded his eyes. “It works!”

  Akitsu pressed forward. “It disrupts its form!”

  But the glow faded.

  Yurei remained. Its outline flickered briefly, like a candle in a storm, then stabilized.

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  “…Light,” Yurei said softly, almost fondly. “How nostalgic.”

  Akitsu froze, unease tightening in his chest. “…What?”

  Then Yurei vanished.

  Rhen’s instincts screamed.

  “Behind—!”

  But it was too late.

  Yurei reappeared beside Akitsu, one hand plunging through his chest—not into flesh, but into essence itself. Akitsu gasped as his body convulsed, fragments of light flickering from him like fireflies caught in a storm.

  Rhen lunged, phasing fully, aiming to strike from the other side—but his arm phased incorrectly. Masamune passed through empty air.

  Yurei’s other hand reached out—and touched Rhen’s solid arm.

  Rhen’s eyes widened.

  “…Shit.”

  Cold poured into his veins. Not physical cold—existential cold, the kind that gnaws at the marrow, the soul itself.

  “You phase around the world,” Yurei whispered, voice gentle, almost tender. “But your soul still exists within you.”

  Rhen tried to pull free. Too late.

  Black tendrils wrapped around him, winding tight, squeezing not his body but his very essence.

  Akitsu dropped to one knee, coughing—not blood, but fragments of his own light, scattering into the street like sparks in rain.

  “…Rhen,” Akitsu muttered, voice tight with fear. “Get back—!”

  Rhen forced words past his teeth. “Akitsu—run!”

  Akitsu’s laugh was weak but laced with determination. “You’re one to talk.”

  Yurei raised both hands. The street went utterly dark.

  “Your resistance is admirable,” it said, calm and measured. “But you are not enough.”

  The tendrils tightened.

  Rhen felt it—the flicker of memories, faces blurring, the power of Ghost unraveling uncontrollably. His sense of self, his very soul, began to slip.

  “…So this is how it ends,” he murmured.

  Yurei leaned closer.

  “No,” it corrected gently. “This is how you are consumed.”

  The world shattered.

  Akitsu felt himself falling—not downward, but inward. Light vanished. Sound ceased. Reality itself seemed to fold.

  Then—water. Black, mirror-like water stretched endlessly, reflecting nothing. Akitsu gasped, finding himself seated upright on a small red island, its surface cracked and dry.

  Floating above the obsidian water were petals. Each glowed faintly, drifting lazily, like fragments of something long lost. Instinctively, Akitsu counted.

  “…Ninety.”

  A slow, deliberate clap echoed across the emptiness.

  On the right side of the island, a humanoid demon leaned back, arms resting behind its head. Horned, lean, skin like dark stone, eyes glinting with amused intelligence.

  “Welcome back,” the demon said lazily. “You took longer this time.”

  Akitsu’s gaze sharpened. “…You.”

  The demon smirked. “Still alive. Still interesting.”

  “Did it take him too?” Akitsu asked, voice low.

  The smile softened, just slightly.

  “Yes.”

  Silence fell. The petals drifted. Akitsu stared into the black water.

  “So this is the end?”

  The demon chuckled. “That depends,” it said. “On whether you plan to stay dead.”

  Akitsu’s eyes narrowed. “…Tell me.”

  The demon leaned back further, the grin widening.

  “Ninety petals,” it said. “You know what that means.”

  Akitsu closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath.

  Somewhere far away, in the oppressive dark, Lemon trembled, clutching his tail. Whispering into the void:

  “…Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead…”