The military vehicle came to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust. As the group stepped out, they were met with a sight that seemed impossible for an underground facility.
It was a massive, sprawling open area. Huge, jagged rocks were scattered across a landscape of cracked, dry earth. A few lonely trees stood like sentinels in the distance, their leaves unnaturally still in the stagnant air. The entire place felt battle-worn—scarred by deep craters and scorched earth, as if a thousand wars had already been fought here. In the dead center stood a single, sturdy two-story house, looking out over the wasteland.
"So… we're here?" Takashi asked, his eyes scanning the perimeter for threats.
"Yes. This is the place," Nanami replied calmly, stepping out and closing the door. "Everyone, get out."
Kento hopped out, immediately stretching his arms with a loud yawn. "Finally! What are we waiting for? Let's start the training already."
Xiaolong's eyes sparked with a competitive fire. He adjusted his stance, a confident grin spreading across his face. "Yeahhh, let's gooo!"
Sami, however, was looking at the ceiling—or rather, the lack of one. The vastness of the cavern made her feel small. "Such a huge area… underground. How is it even possible to build something like this in just a few days?"
"This wasn't built in a few days," Nanami explained, his voice echoing slightly. "Long ago, beneath Kyoto, construction began on a massive emergency shelter. It was designed for a worst-case disaster—a place where the population could be brought to safety. A lot of these structures were already in place. The engineers are simply upgrading them now to handle the current crisis."
Sami nodded slowly, the logic clicking into place. "Oh, I see. I was wondering how a project this scale could be finished so fast."
The training began almost immediately. The air, once still, was soon filled with the sounds of crashing stone and crackling energy.
Xiaolong moved toward a small pond. With a fluid, rhythmic motion of his arms, he pulled a massive volume of water into the air. He didn't just move it; he compressed it. The liquid twisted and hardened, taking on a crystalline, stone-like density. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he launched the pressurized water like a cannonball.
CRACK!
A massive boulder fifty yards away exploded into pebbles. Xiaolong exhaled, his control effortless.
On the other side of the field, Sami was having a much harder time. She stood surrounded by massive stones, her hands trembling as she forced them into the air. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. She sent the large rocks flying high into the sky, then desperately grabbed smaller stones, hurling them upward to collide with the larger ones.
The impact shattered them, but as the fragments rained down, she had to focus intensely to catch them mid-air and lower them gently to the ground.
"Ahh… why does it feel so hard for me?" Sami panted, her knees shaking. "I was using it much better in the jungle… why can't I focus?"
Nearby, the most violent clash was taking place between Takashi and Kento.
Takashi was a blur of motion. Using his superhuman speed, he leaped between rock formations, throwing heavy stones at Kento from every conceivable angle.
"Too slow!" Kento yelled. He didn't even move. He simply raised a hand, and sharp bolts of thunder struck the incoming rocks, vaporizing them into dust before they could touch him.
Kento smirked, his eyes glowing with static. He pointed his fingers like a gun, launching lightning-infused strikes toward Takashi. Takashi dodged effortlessly, his feet barely touching the ground. While in a dead sprint, Takashi suddenly veered toward one of the few standing trees. With a roar of effort, he gripped the trunk and ripped it straight out of the ground.
Using the tree like a massive club, Takashi charged. He swung the trunk with full force, the weight and speed creating a localized gale. Kento didn't dodge in time—he took the hit head-on and was sent skipping across the dry earth like a stone on water.
Kento crashed into a rock pile but flipped himself upright instantly. He looked disheveled but thrilled. "Hah… I'm not that easy to defeat. Don't take me lightly!"
Kento thrust his hands forward. Thin, whip-like lines of pure electricity shot from his fingertips, slashing through the air. Takashi dived to the side, but the tree trunk he had been holding was sliced into perfect, cauterized pieces.
Takashi stood his ground, his breathing steady. "I'm not taking it easy. If I were, I wouldn't be fighting you like this."
High above on the rooftop of the central house, Dr. Ishimiya and Nanami watched the display in silence.
"Their Phore abilities are incredible," Ishimiya remarked, adjusting his glasses. "They are evolving faster than any records suggest."
Nanami nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yes… if all four of them—including the boy in the hospital—fight together, they could easily wipe out almost any threat we've seen."
Ishimiya stayed quiet for a moment, watching a bolt of Kento's lightning illuminate the cavern. "What do you think, Nanami? Are Soul Reapers the only enemies… or is there something bigger out there?"
Nanami's expression turned grim. His voice dropped to a serious, mature tone. "That's the biggest mystery. But my instincts tell me there's a much greater enemy out there. This? The Soul Reapers? This is just the beginning of something much darker."
Ishimiya looked out over the training ground, a chill running down his spine despite the heat of the battle below. "Yeah… I feel the same."
While the teenagers pushed their limits in the underground facility beneath Kyoto, the scene shifted far across the cosmos to a place where the sun never rose.
This was a dark world—a planet untouched by humanity. The atmosphere was thick with a cold, violet haze, and the landscape was a jagged nightmare of obsidian spires and barren plains. This was the home of the Fourth Grade Soul Reapers. Millions of them swarmed the surface like insects, their mindless shrieks echoing through the thin air.
At the heart of this desolate world stood a colossal castle. It was a monolith of shadow, carved from the very bedrock of the planet. Outside, legions of Fourth Grade Soul Reapers stood in perfect, terrifying formation. They didn't move; they didn't breathe. They simply patrolled, their hollow eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of defiance.
Inside the castle walls, the air grew even heavier. Guards were stationed at every corridor, their jagged blades gleaming in the dim, flickering light of soul-fire torches.
Deep within the heart of the fortress lay the Throne Room. The doors, thirty feet high and forged from dark iron, swung open to reveal a chamber of staggering proportions. At the far end, seated upon a throne made of the fused bones of conquered beings, was the King of the Fourth Grade Soul Reapers.
He was the sovereign commander of every Fourth Grade reaper in existence. Unlike his mindless subjects, his body was roughly human-sized, but the resemblance ended there. His skin was a deep, bottomless jet black, absorbing what little light reached him. His face was a mask of horror: three eyes stared out from his skull—two where they belonged, and a third embedded vertically in the center of his forehead, pulsing with a faint, malevolent glow. His arms were long and grotesque, ending in fingers that looked more like obsidian talons.
He sat in absolute silence, a living statue of menace.
From the deep shadows of the hall, a figure stepped forward. This was Number 4, a high-ranking general of the Fourth Grade. He knelt before the throne, his voice deep and heavy.
"My Lord, we did send our Soul Reapers to Earth-313 as planned," Number 4 reported. "However… their numbers are slowly decreasing. Someone appears to be hunting them."
The King did not move, but his voice suddenly filled the hall—a low, crushing vibration that felt like grinding stones. "Who dares to slaughter my Soul Reapers? Who possesses such power?"
"It is a human," Number 4 replied. "One who has achieved a Phore."
The King's lips curled into a slow, excited smile, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. "Which Phore does he use?"
"Wind Manipulation," Number 4 answered. "His name is Sung Jiwon Naa. He is a human from a country called Korea, though he was residing in America when the sky changed. An exclusive stone fell there, and he claimed its power. He uses his Wind Manipulation in a very... unconventional way."
Standing like statues behind the throne were the three most powerful beings on the planet: Number 3, Number 2, and Number 1—the Elite of the Fourth Grade.
Suddenly, Number 2 stepped forward. His presence was so intense that the air around him seemed to crackle. He looked toward the King and spoke with chilling confidence.
"My Lord, if you permit it, I will go right now and kill him myself."
The King let out a dry, amused chuckle. "Oh ho, my boy… if you wish, then go. Kill him—and bring me his head. After all, until today, no one other than Number 1 has ever defeated you."
Number 2 bowed his head slightly, his eyes glowing with a predatory hunger. "Very well. Place your trust in me, my Lord."
In the blink of an eye, Number 2 vanished. There was no smoke, no sound—he simply ceased to exist in the throne room, already crossing the bridge between worlds.
The King turned his attention back to Number 4. "So, Number 4… what about the Soul Reapers of the other grades? You visited their planets and gathered information, did you not?"
"Yes, my Lord," Number 4 replied, standing straight. "I visited all three remaining planets to gauge the progress of the harvest."
He began his report:
Third Grade: "The King of the Third Grade Soul Reapers reports that their numbers have begun to decrease—but only slightly. The resistance they face is minimal."
Second Grade: "The Second Grade King stated that out of all those they sent, only three or four have been lost. The rest remain intact and are successfully harvesting souls."
First Grade: "And the First Grade King... he stated that every single Soul Reaper they sent remains alive. Not a single one has fallen."
The King of the Fourth Grade leaned back, letting out a low, satisfied laugh that echoed through the hollow castle.
"Oh hoho… let it continue like this. Surely, the God must be enjoying this spectacle."
The wind did not merely blow across the heights of the metropolis; it screamed. It tore through the glass-and-steel canyons of a broken America, carrying with it the scent of ozone and the silent ash of a fallen world. High above the chaos, perched on the precipice of a monolithic skyscraper, stood Sung Ji-Won Naa.
He looked like a ghost haunting the summit of a dying civilization. Beneath him, the city stretched toward a jagged horizon, a skeletal landscape of rusted iron and shattered windows. His boots were planted firmly against the raw concrete edge of the roof, the soles grinding against the grit. One foot rested dangerously half-off the ledge, a fraction of an inch away from a thousand-foot plummet into the abyss. Yet, he did not sway.
"I will kill every single one of them," he murmured. The words were quiet, but they carried an absolute, crystalline weight that the howling gale could not scatter.
His eyes, sharp and predatory, tracked the movement of the shadows prowling the streets far below. They burned with a cold, focused fire—a determination born from a singular, hollow purpose. With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached up. His fingers, calloused and steady, caught the edge of the long scarf draped around his shoulders. He pulled it tight, drawing the fabric upward until it masked the lower half of his face, leaving only those lethal eyes to stare out at the world.
"I'm coming," he whispered into the cloth, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, rhythmic certainty. "To wipe out your entire species."
Behind him, the sky was a masterpiece of violence. The sun was sinking into the earth, bleeding out in bruised shades of deep orange and visceral crimson. The dying light caught his silhouette, casting a long, thin shadow that seemed to stretch across the very ruins he intended to purge. As the last of the warmth faded, the wind rose to a roar, but Sung Ji-Won Naa remained—a silent sentinel of the end, waiting for the dark.
Then The scene shifted to the underground Shelter.
Nearly fifteen days had passed since the apocalypse shattered the world above. In that short span, the group had undergone a radical transformation. They were no longer the clumsy beginners who had stumbled through the jungle; the raw, chaotic energy of their Phore had been tempered by discipline and necessity. They had become weapons.
At the center of the dusty arena, Kento and Takashi stood squared away, the air between them thick with tension.
A sudden, sharp crackle broke the silence. Blue-white lightning surged around Kento's hand, spiraling and condensing until it solidified into a humming, vibrating Thunder Sword. He gripped the hilt of pure energy, a wide grin splitting his face.
"Hey, Takashi," Kento called out, the sword's light dancing in his eyes. "I've learned a new way to use my Phore. I turned the storm into a blade. Let's fight with this—don't you dare run away in fear."
Takashi remained perfectly still, his presence as heavy as the mountain he commanded. His voice was a calm, low vibration that cut through the electric hum. "Huh. I'm more worried that I might kill you by accident."
The clash began in a heartbeat.
Takashi slammed his fist into the earth with tectonic force. A violent tremor ripped through the ground, and dozens of massive boulders were heaved into the air by the shockwave. Before gravity could pull them back, Takashi became a blur of motion. He snatched the stones mid-air and hurled them like tank shells toward his friend.
"That won't work on me anymore!" Kento smirked.
With rapid, precision slashes of his Thunder Sword, Kento carved through the incoming projectiles. The boulders shattered into a fine rain of stone fragments that peppered the ground around him.
Takashi dived through the dust, appearing at Kento's side in an instant to launch a devastating kick. "So, how will you survive this?"
Kento caught the blow against the flat of his crackling blade, but the sheer physical power sent him hurtling backward. While still suspended in the air, Kento didn't panic; he splayed the fingers of his free hand, and five sharp lines of electricity lashed out toward Takashi like glowing whips.
But Takashi was far too fast. He twisted mid-air, dodging the filaments, and closed the distance again. Seeing the next attack coming, Kento compressed his entire lightning sword into a small, vibrating energy sphere and hurled it forward.
Takashi was forced to abort his assault, leaping away and landing perched on a distant tree. Kento didn't fall to the earth; instead, he channeled his Phore through his legs, levitating several feet above the ground.
"Takashi," Kento said, his voice dropping its playful edge. "You've grown stronger."
Takashi looked up, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. "So have you, Kento."
The focus shifted across the wasteland to Xiaolong. He stood near a crater, his eyes closed in deep concentration. He had reached a new plateau—he was no longer just manipulating water; he was creating it. By releasing pure hydrogen from his own pores and binding it with the oxygen in the air, he could generate high-pressure liquid instantly.
He extended his palm, and a massive sphere of water materialized, swirling with violent velocity. With a sharp thrust, he slammed it into a monolithic stone. The impact wasn't a splash; it was an explosion. The rock shattered into nothing but rubble and dust.
Nearby, Sami worked with a rhythmic, quiet efficiency. The days of exhaustion were a memory. He effortlessly lifted ten enormous stones simultaneously with his telekinesis, hurling them forward in a staggered formation. Before they could impact, he caught them mid-air again, repeating the process in a smooth, tireless cycle of control.
Finally, he lowered the stones and exhaled. Fifteen days, he thought, his gaze drifting toward the medical facility. And Nitsuki still hasn't woken up.
High above on the observation deck, Dr. Ishimiya and Nanami sat in the shadows, watching the display of power below.
"Hey, Ishimiya… any news about Nitsuki?" Nanami asked.
Ishimiya sighed, the sound heavy with fatigue. "No change. He's still the same. We'll have to let things take their course." He looked back at the training ground, where a bolt of Kento's lightning lit up the cavern. "By the way… they've grown incredibly strong. We should start planning how to collect the information from the stones."
Nanami nodded, his eyes reflecting the blue light of the arena. "You're right. Let's sit down tomorrow and make a proper plan."