Akashi crossed the city like a racing cara.
The skyline thinned as concrete blocks gave way to long, low structures and darkened stretches of land that no one bothered to illuminate. Neon disappeared. The air changed. Less heat, more wind. The city's noise fell behind him in layers—sirens, engines, voices—until only the sound of air tearing past his ears remained.
Twenty minutes, That was all it took.
He landed soundlessly on the edge of a warehouse roof and stopped moving.
Ahead of him, the land dipped and widened, opening into something that did not belong to the city. A different geometry took over—clean lines, wide exclusion zones, deliberate emptiness. Roads too wide for civilian traffic. Fences that did not look decorative, nor symbolic. Everything was built with function in mind, and nothing invited curiosity.
The base did not announce itself with arrogance.
Multiple layers of fencing surrounded the compound, each one serving a different purpose. The outermost perimeter was tall but unremarkable, a steel mesh reinforced with concrete pylons and crowned with coils of wire that caught moonlight like frost. Motion sensors dotted the ground between posts, half-buried, nearly invisible. Beyond that lay a dead zone—bare earth, intentionally flattened, offering no cover and no forgiveness.
Further in, another wall rose, this one solid, angular, and thick enough to swallow sound. Watchtowers stood at measured intervals, their silhouettes breaking the horizon line with quiet authority. No floodlights swept the area wildly. Instead, illumination came in controlled arcs, overlapping fields of white that left no blind spots but also no excess.
Akashi smiled.
Vehicles moved inside the compound with regulated precision—transport trucks, armored carriers, jeeps—each following invisible paths, never hesitating, never deviating. Personnel flowed between buildings in small groups, uniforms blending into the environment, helmets tucked under arms or worn with practiced ease. Nothing about them suggested panic. Nothing suggested uncertainty.
Akashi crouched at the edge of the roof, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly as he took it all in. His red hair fluttered faintly in the wind, the city lights now far behind him. From here, the colossal tree was not visible, but he could feel it anyway—a pressure at the edge of the world, like a hand resting lightly on the planet's spine.
Cameras tracked the perimeter relentlessly, lenses adjusting with mechanical indifference. Infrared, thermal, motion-based systems layered over one another like overlapping senses. Anti-vehicle barriers lined the main access roads, retractable teeth of steel embedded in concrete. Guard posts were reinforced, bulletproof glass angled to deflect rather than resist.
Structures buried far below the surface, shielded against bombardment, seismic shock, perhaps even things no doctrine officially acknowledged yet. Japan's largest military installation did not advertise its depths, but it didn't deny them either.
Akashi exhaled slowly.
"Not bad," he said, genuinely impressed.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders once, like someone preparing for a stretch rather than an intrusion into one of the most protected sites in the country. Somewhere below, a patrol changed shift. Radios crackled softly. A gate opened, then closed again.
The base continued its quiet vigilance, unaware—
Akashi leaned forward.
Then stepped into the air and fell toward the walls.
Akashi cleared the wall without effort.
Gravity reclaimed him only for a moment. He dropped inside the perimeter, boots brushing the air, coat fluttering once before settling as he landed in a crouch on packed earth. No alarm sounded. No floodlights snapped on. The base did not yet know it had been breached.
Ten meters away, under the dull glow of a pole-mounted lamp, a lone soldier sat slouched in a folding chair beside a military transport vehicle. The engine was off, the hood still warm. A laptop rested on the man's thighs, its screen filled with static-heavy camera feeds from the outer perimeter. His helmet was pushed back, chinstrap undone, eyelids heavy.
Akashi straightened and walked closer, hands in his pockets, footsteps barely disturbing the dust.
"Yo."
The word landed softly.
The soldier jolted upright so fast the chair scraped backward. His hand flew instinctively to his sidearm, eyes wide as they locked onto the figure standing far too close, far too casually, inside a restricted zone.
Red hair. Unfamiliar clothing. No uniform. No insignia.
"—Sir?" The word came out uncertain, reflexive. "Uh… can I get your badge and identification?"
Akashi tilted his head slightly, considering him.
"No," he said. "Where's your commander?"
The soldier's confusion hardened into alarm. His fingers wrapped around the grip of his pistol, drawing it halfway from the holster as his stance widened, training kicking in despite the absurdity of the situation.
"Sir, step back," he barked, voice rising. "Get on the ground. Now!"
Akashi sighed.
"Ah. This again," he muttered. "Can we not skip this?"
The soldier finished drawing his weapon—
—and then it was gone.
One instant the pistol existed, the next Akashi's hand closed around it mid-motion. Metal screamed as his fingers tightened. The frame collapsed inward like foil, the barrel folding, the slide crumpling. In the same motion, he twisted his wrist and let the ruined weapon drop to the ground in fragments.
The entire exchange took less than a blink.
The soldier stood frozen, mouth open, hand still shaped as if holding something that no longer existed.
Behind him, boots struck pavement.
A patrol.
Twenty soldiers moved in a loose column between two long barracks buildings, rifles slung or carried low, night-vision units clipped to helmets. They stopped as one when they saw the scene: the destroyed weapon at the man's feet, the unknown red-haired figure standing inside their base.
For a fraction of a second, no one moved.
Akashi looked up.
His smile widened.
Then he ran.
Sprinting. Only three of them managed to react fast enough to bring their rifles up from carry position. Fingers tightened on triggers—
—but Akashi was already among them.
He drove his fist into the ground.
STRIKE.
The earth buckled outward from the point of contact, a compressed shockwave tearing through soil and concrete alike. The front line of soldiers was lifted off their feet as if yanked by invisible cables. Bodies flew backward, rifles spinning from their hands, helmets snapping loose as the pressure hit them chest-first.
Dust erupted upward in a violent column. Windows rattled across the compound. Vehicles rocked on their suspensions. Several soldiers hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from their lungs before they even realized they were airborne.
The base woke up.
Alarms screamed to life in overlapping layers—perimeter breach, internal disturbance, unidentified hostile. Floodlights snapped on in coordinated arcs, slicing through the darkness. Doors slammed open. Boots thundered. Voices barked commands over radios already choking with traffic.
"Contact! Inside the perimeter!"
"Sector C compromised!"
"Armored response moving!"
Akashi straightened slowly as soldiers scrambled to regain their footing. His coat settled around him, dust sliding from the fabric as if it refused to cling.
From deeper within the base, engines roared to life.
Military vehicles burst from garages—armored personnel carriers, light tactical trucks, jeeps with mounted weapons swiveling as gunners locked into position. Tires screamed against concrete as they formed blocking lines between buildings. Troops poured from barracks in full kit now—helmets secured, rifles shouldered, optics glowing faintly.
Command structure snapped into place with brutal efficiency.
Captains shouted coordinates. Sergeants dragged stunned men to cover. Majors relayed orders from hardened command rooms buried beneath layers of reinforced earth. Somewhere underground, screens filled with live feeds of a single red-haired figure standing calmly amid the chaos.
Akashi rolled his neck once, listening to the soundscape shift—boots, engines, radios, the subtle whine of weapons powering up.
He looked around, eyes bright.
"Oh," he said quietly, almost pleased. "Now we're getting somewhere."
Tower Gunner – "Hostile inside the perimeter! Weapons free!"
A Type 96 WAPC roared into motion, engine snarling, turret-mounted M2 heavy machine gun swiveling down toward Akashi. The gunner didn't hesitate.
The night exploded.
12.7mm rounds tore through the air in a solid stream, pulverizing the ground, shredding barriers, ripping sparks from steel.
Akashi stood still.
The bullets hit the invisible boundary around him and died.
Each round flattened, liquefied, splashed outward like rain against glass. The shockwave distorted the floodlights, bending their beams into warped halos.
Akashi stepped forward.
Akashi – "You're still aiming at where I was."
The WAPC's suspension screamed as Akashi kicked the ground.
The shockwave lifted the armored vehicle sideways, all eight wheels leaving the ground. It slammed into a communications mast, folding steel and electronics into a collapsing heap.
Infantry surged.
Komatsu LAVs deployed from the hangars, rear ramps slamming down as squads poured out, boots hitting concrete in practiced rhythm. Soldiers dropped to knees behind Jersey barriers, Type 20 rifles braced, optics lighting up.
Captain – "Suppressive fire! Box him in!"
Fire came from every angle.
Akashi disappeared again.
He reappeared behind the firing line, hand already inside a soldier's chest rig.
Akashi – "No flow."
The armor imploded. The soldier collapsed silently.
Akashi spun, backhand snapping out.
A helmet split at the seam. The body flew backward into a fuel truck hard enough to dent its side.
A soldier lunged with a bayonet.
Akashi caught the rifle mid-thrust.
He twisted.
The barrel bent into a U-shape.
Akashi drove his knee into the soldier's chest, launching him across the concrete like discarded equipment.
A Komatsu LAV fired its 25mm autocannon.
The shell screamed toward Akashi—
He jumped.
The round detonated against a hangar wall, turning steel into shrapnel. Akashi landed on the LAV's hood, crouched low, fingers digging into reinforced armor.
Akashi – "Better engineering."
He pulled.
The engine tore free.
Fuel lines snapped. The vehicle collapsed forward, frame screaming as its own mass betrayed it.
From above, a sniper fired.
The round struck Akashi's head.
Bullet shattered.
Fragments rained outward, embedding into walls and vehicles. Akashi didn't blink.
Akashi – "That was closer."
He leapt upward.
He landed sideways on the wall of a barracks, boots finding purchase where none should exist. His coat fluttered, fabric snapping in the wind, red hair whipping against the night sky.
Below, soldiers stared.
Akashi pushed off.
He fell into them like gravity had decided to cooperate.
He struck the ground again.
This time the explosion caved inward.
Vehicles lifted, then slammed down. Antennas snapped. Windows imploded. The control tower shuddered.
Inside command vehicles, monitors filled with static.
Major – "He's dismantling the perimeter—redirect armor!"
Akashi walked through the smoke.
Bullets struck him directly now.
They shattered.
Fragments sprayed outward, embedding into concrete, bodies, metal. Akashi moved through it all, unmarked.
Akashi – "You keep mistaking effort for power."
He stepped onto a burning vehicle, looked around at the chaos—the failed geometry, the broken machines, the people trying desperately to impose meaning.
Akashi turned his back.
The base responded the way institutions always did when meaning collapsed—by adding mass. Sirens overlapped into a continuous metallic scream as floodlights intensified, generators pushing harder, drawing power from deeper reserves. Barracks doors burst open in sequence rather than panic, squads spilling out with upgraded loadouts, heavier vests, night-vision optics snapping down over eyes already narrowed by disbelief. Command channels stacked with voices over one another, orders tripping over corrections, maps updating.
Akashi moved through it without urgency.
Rounds stitched the ground around him, tracer lines carving geometry that tried to predict where he would be. He stepped between them. simply walking where the idea of impact failed to arrive. A squad advanced in bounding overwatch, textbook-perfect spacing, one knee down, two rifles up, one covering the rear. Their movements were clean, drilled into muscle memory by years of repetition. Akashi passed through the space they were protecting, hand brushing a rifle stock, fingers tapping a helmet, his coat whispering as he went by.
Squad Leader – "He's inside the formation—!"
The sentence never finished. Akashi turned once, heel grinding into the concrete. The pressure explode outward. The ground bowed inward like wet clay, soldiers collapsing toward a center point that did not exist, bodies slamming together in a violent convergence before being thrown apart again, armor cracked, breath expelled in a single shared sound.
Akashi exhaled.
From the far end of the compound, engines roared with a different pitch. Not transport. Not patrol. The sound was deeper, armored, deliberate. Two Type 10 main battle tanks rolled into view, active protection systems humming, turrets already tracking. Their presence changed the rhythm of the base; infantry pulled back instinctively, creating space, lines bending around the sheer assertion of weight. Thermal sights locked onto Akashi, painting him white-hot against the cooling asphalt.
Tank Commander – "Target acquired. Range two hundred. Fire."
The first shell crossed the distance faster than sound.
Akashi raised one hand.
The kinetic round struck his palm and stopped. The impact flattened space around it, a distortion like heat haze frozen mid-air. The shell deformed, peeled, then disintegrated into a rain of incandescent fragments that burned out before touching the ground.
Akashi looked at his hand, flexed his fingers.
Akashi – "That was cool!."
The second tank fired.
Akashi stepped forward as the shell arrived and pushed. against the projectile, The round veered sideways, tearing through a maintenance hangar, the explosion collapsing steel beams and sending a plume of fire into the night. Akashi was already moving, closing the distance in a blur that turned the hundred meters between him and the tanks into a suggestion.
He jumped.
The ground cratered beneath the launch.
He landed on the first tank's turret, boots denting composite armor. The machine shuddered, stabilization systems screaming as the sudden mass registered. Akashi crouched, fingers sinking into the turret ring, and twisted. Metal shrieked, the turret tearing free of its housing, hydraulic lines snapping like veins. He lifted it and dropped it aside with disinterest, the impact flattening a nearby armored personnel carrier.
The second tank reversed, engine whining, turret tracking desperately upward.
Akashi kicked.
The tank slid backward as if the ground had lost friction, plowing through barriers, crushing sandbags, finally slamming into the base of a watchtower hard enough to shear it in half.
Above them, rotors thundered.
Two AH-64D Apache helicopters swept in low, Hellfire missile pods swiveling, chain guns already spinning up. The air itself vibrated under their presence, dust and debris spiraling upward in violent halos.
Apache Pilot – "Weapons hot. Engage!"
Missiles streaked downward, exhaust trails painting white scars across the sky.
Akashi looked up.
He jumped into them.
The first missile detonated against nothing, its blast swallowed, folded inward. The second he caught by the nose and threw, redirecting it into the side of a fuel depot. The explosion lit the base like artificial sunrise, fire climbing skyward, shockwaves rippling through buildings.
The chain gun opened up, 30mm rounds tearing through space.
Akashi moved along the stream, stepping on the bullets as if they were stones across a river, each impact ringing hollow and useless. He reached the helicopter, grabbed the nose, and pulled. The Apache's forward momentum collapsed; rotors clipped the ground, blades shattering, the aircraft cartwheeling into the dirt in a bloom of flame.
The second Apache tried to climb.
Akashi was already above it.
He dropped straight down through the rotor assembly, the blades disintegrating around him, and landed on the cockpit canopy. He tapped it once.
The glass imploded.
The helicopter fell.
From the distant runway, engines howled at a pitch that cut through everything else. Two F-15J fighters screamed into the sky, afterburners igniting, tearing toward the base with brutal speed. Their presence dwarfed everything before it, the assertion of national power made audible.
Air Controller – "Eagles inbound. Clear airspace!"
The jets rolled, lining up their approach, targeting systems painting Akashi as a singular anomaly amidst the wreckage. Precision-guided munitions armed, calculations adjusting for a target that refused to behave.
Akashi stood in the open.
He looked very small.
The bombs fell.
The ground ceased to exist.
A pillar of fire and force erased the center of the base, shockwaves racing outward, flattening structures, throwing debris kilometers away. The night sky flashed white, then orange, then blackened with smoke.
When the fire thinned, something stood at the center of the crater.
Akashi brushed dust from his shoulder.
He stepped forward, out of the smoke, eyes reflecting the burning remains of vehicles, the shattered logic of escalation. Soldiers who remained stared, weapons lowered without permission, bodies refusing orders their minds could still issue.
Akashi walked past them.
Not one followed.
Above, the jets circled, pilots silent now, instruments struggling to reconcile readings that made no sense. Below, the base lay broken, every increase in force having only clarified the same result.
Akashi tilted his head, as if listening to something no one else could hear.
Then he smiled again—
Private soldiers—barely past training—stood frozen in the open, rifles hanging half-raised, fingers numb on triggers that suddenly felt ceremonial. Their helmets reflected fires they could not understand, eyes darting between burning vehicles and the man walking through the wreckage as if the world had simply failed to inconvenience him.
Private (18), whispering – "That… that's not possible. That's a person."
Nearby, a corporal screamed orders that no one followed. His voice cracked, not from fear alone, but from the realization that authority meant nothing here. Rank insignia felt like costume jewelry in the presence of something that did not acknowledge hierarchy.
Corporal – "Reform! Reform the line! You're soldiers, damn it—!"
No one moved.
Akashi stepped over the twisted remains of a radar dish, boots crunching glass and gravel, coat fluttering lightly despite the absence of wind. His posture remained relaxed, almost casual, as if this were a stroll interrupted by poor weather rather than a collapsed military installation.
Sergeant First Class, bleeding from the scalp, staggered backward, eyes wide – "I've seen tanks burn with men still inside. I've never seen someone walk through it."
Another explosion sounded in the distance—not from Akashi, but from a fuel line finally giving up. The fireball illuminated a group of engineers crouched behind a collapsed command vehicle. One of them laughed. A thin, hysterical sound.
Engineer – "We're dead. We're all dead. This is how it ends."
Lieutenant, voice shaking but sharp – "No. No—look. He's not killing us."
The lieutenant had noticed something the others hadn't.
Akashi wasn't pursuing.
He wasn't chasing the soldiers who had dropped their weapons and were now running—some limping, some crying openly, some shouting prayers that tangled together into nonsense. He didn't look at them at all. His attention drifted instead to the shapes of destruction, the way buildings had folded, the angles of impact, the physics bending around his presence like a tired suggestion.
Akashi – "Hm."
A group of conscripts broke into a full sprint toward the outer fence, boots slipping on debris, panic overriding formation and pride alike. One stumbled. Another hauled him up. None of them were struck. None were followed.
Captain, staring in disbelief – "Why isn't he killing them?"
Major, kneeling beside a shattered command console, answered hollowly – "I have no ideia."
Above them, the sky had gone strangely quiet. No more aircraft. No more orders. Just smoke drifting upward in slow, lazy columns, as if even fire had lost urgency.
Akashi paused near the center of the base, turning slowly, taking it all in. His eyes reflected scenes that would live in other men's nightmares for decades—burning hangars, overturned armored vehicles, a control tower reduced to a broken stump. And yet his expression held no malice. No triumph.
Only mild interest.
Akashi – "You brought everything you had."
He sounded almost appreciative.
Akashi – "That's ok i guess."
A medic crouched beside a wounded soldier, hands slick with blood, voice barely above a whisper – "Is he… is he even breathing?"
The soldier on the ground stared up at Akashi, pupils blown wide.
Wounded Soldier – "He's not angry. That thing can't be human"
Akashi began walking toward the exit of the base, stepping over a fallen gate, moving past abandoned rifles and shattered vehicles. His presence no longer triggered gunfire. The soldiers who could still stand made themselves small, pressing against walls, hiding behind rubble—not because they thought it would help, but because instinct demanded something.
General Staff Officer (late 40s), watching from behind a collapsed bunker, murmured – "This will be classified. Buried. Denied."
His hands trembled.
General Staff Officer – "And it still won't matter."
Near the outer edge of the base, one man remained standing.
He was older—early fifties. Uniform torn, shoulder bleeding, posture rigid through sheer stubbornness. His face was lined not just by age, but by years of command, by decisions that had sent others into danger while he remained behind maps and screens.
Colonel – "Monster…"
His hand shook as he raised his pistol.
Colonel – "You don't belong in this world."
The shot rang out.
Akashi did not turn.
The bullet passed through the space where his head had been, slicing only air. He stepped aside without breaking stride, the movement so minimal it felt insulting.
Akashi stopped.
He turned his head just enough to look back.
Akashi – "Hm."
In a single step, he was in front of the colonel.
The man didn't even have time to flinch.
Akashi tapped his chest with two fingers.
The colonel was lifted off his feet and thrown backward, skidding across the ground until he struck the remains of a concrete barrier and went still—not dead, but broken enough to remember this moment for the rest of his life.
Akashi looked down at him.
Akashi – "You chose wrong."
He turned away again.
No one followed.
Behind him, soldiers slowly emerged from hiding.
Some fell to their knees.
Some vomited.
Some laughed quietly, unable to stop.
All of them watched the same thing:
A single man walking away from the largest military installation in the country.