A twisted smile. That smug posture. It was him. The member of Nighthawk. A brother-in-arms.
"Doji…?" Tsuki's voice barely escaped her throat.
His eyes locked on hers with nothing but malice. No guilt. No hesitation. He gave her one last mocking wink—then stepped back through the portal as the chaos unleashed.
Memento soldiers rushed in. Civilians screamed. Maro appeared from the headquarters, diving straight into the carnage.
Maro's blue flames surged in elegant arcs, disintegrating squads of APC infantry.
Danzo followed suit, spreading his paper-made runes over the battlefield.
Nighthawk sprinted in from the flank—rage on their faces. They'd been betrayed too.
Still, it wasn't enough. From within the portal… came something worse.
A presence so dark it chilled the Solena itself.
A grotesque, towering figure emerged—black hair tangled, crimson eyes glowing, muscles twitching with blood-soaked tension.
Maro froze—his flame faltered for just a moment.
"...Chaze," he muttered, voice low.
Chaze cracked his neck, eyes scanning the battlefield like a painter admiring his canvas.
"Ahh… Zimala," he said, breathing in the blood-filled air. "Been a while. That Doji boy turned out useful after all."
His grin widened unnaturally.
"And now, this district returns to its rightful owners."
APC troops surged forward again—until Chaze raised a hand. They stopped.
With a sudden blink, he vanished.
In a flash, he reappeared in the center of the plaza—holding a child.
A little girl. No older than six. Her dress dusted with ash and her eyes wide in horror.
Chaze's blade—formed of solidified blood—rested at her throat.
"Let's skip the foreplay." He tightened his grip. "Maro. Surrender now… or I paint this city with her blood."
Time seemed to freeze itself. Civilians gasped. The image of a Zimala child held hostage—by the very regime sworn to protect them—rippled through the onlookers.
Maro's eyes trembled and his voice cracked. "All forces… stand down."
"Sir, no—" Tsuki started, stepping forward.
"Enough." Maro's voice thundered. Final and devastated.
Weapons lowered. Memento soldiers stood still, stunned. Some trembled, others whispered in disbelief.
I didn't think they'd stoop so far... holding an enemy hostage, sure. But an innocent little girl?
Chaze's blade tickled the girl's neck. Tears were forming at her eyes.
"Good. Good," he purred. "Now, all of you—gather in the center. Don't be shy."
As they hesitated, he raised a hand, forcing the girl to scream as the blade pricked her neck.
They obeyed. Memento's proud warriors stood in a circle… helpless.
"Now," Chaze continued. "We know the rumors. The whispers. The fear. The Ghost of Alden."
He spat the name with mock reverence.
"Supposedly the strongest ability user in existence."
He leaned in, grinning.
"And according to our little traitor, he's here. Right now. Watching."
Judgment Squad exchanged glances. Tsuki's eyes widened.
The Ghost? The one from the posters? The one with the mask and the glowing aura? Here?
Even the citizens—who once feared the Ghost—began looking around, hoping he was real.
"So," Chaze bellowed, "Ghost of Alden. Show yourself. Face and all."
Silence.
"No? Still want to play pretend?" He chuckled darkly. "Fine. Let's count. When I finish, and you still haven't revealed yourself… the crowd gets obliterated. And after that… the girl. Now."
"Five…"
Tension surged.
"Four…"
Sweat trickled down foreheads. Memento soldiers clenched fists, powerless.
"Three…"
Tsuki's hand twitched, preparing a shadow pulse.
"Two…"
Maro placed a hand on her wrist. His face… strangely calm.
"One…"
Maro turned. His eyes met a man standing just behind the squad.
Maro gave the faintest of nods, and the figure exhaled before returning the gesture.
"Zero."
Tsuki braced to watch the horror unfold, reluctantly restraining herself from using a shadow. She couldn't, it would cost more people they're lives.
Chaze raised his blade—and the world held its breath.