THE WORLD OF RUINS

CHAPTER VI

Three months later...

The rain hammered the hideout's rusted windows like a war drum announcing a storm yet to come.

Inside, the Outcasts' main room buzzed with a cold tension. The glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows across the cracked concrete floor. A rectangular table sat at the center, warped at one corner, surrounded by six chairs, each filled now by a weapon of war with a bounty.

Akira stood at the head, arms folded, long coat draped over her seat. Her ice-blue eyes scanned them all... Taichiro, Kokoro, Yumi, Kenji, Sakura and finally, the newest member, Yuseke, who leaned against the wall with crossed arms and a quiet stare.

"Three months." Akira said, voice cool and commanding. "It's been three months now since that assault."

A stillness filled the room, even as the rain continued outside like a funeral hymn.

"And not a single whisper has been traced back to us. For now, they still think it was a botched arms deal or maybe one of their own turned."

Kenji exhaled. "So, we can gladly relax now?"

"No." Akira said sharply. "That's the mistake I brought you all here to prevent."

She stepped forward and planted both hands on the table.

"The Hashirama Family is massive. We knew that much before but through the intel Kokoro helped secure and Yumi's old contacts in the smuggling ring... we now know it's worse than we thought."

Taichiro nodded from the far corner, black eyeliner smudged slightly under one eye. "Their numbers likely match the entire military police force. Maybe even more."

Akira looked around. "If we wait for them to come for us, we won't survive. They'll wipe us clean, erase our names and keep marching forward like we never existed."

Sakura tightened her grip around her Rage gun, nodding.

"That's why..." Akira continued, standing tall, "we are going to strike first. If we attack them before they pin us as suspects, we might just earn enough momentum to weaken them."

She paused, as if weighing her next words with the gravity of a leader who'd never spoken them before.

"I know how this sounds." she said. "I've never believed in going on the offensive. That's not who we are, the Outcasts exist to stop bloodshed, not start it."

Yuseke blinked slowly. "Then why now?"

Akira met his gaze. "Because if we don't act first, we'll lose. And if we lose... our goal of freeing this city from the Saints' will also perish."

Silence again.

"I'm not asking you to enjoy this rebellion." she said, voice lower. "But I am asking you to survive it. We're the last hope for anyone not aligned with the Saints or under the Hashirama leash. If we fall, the city falls."

One by one, the crew nodded in solemn agreement.

"We understand." Yumi said. "We're with you."

Kokoro gave a single, sharp nod. Sakura grinned coldly.

Yuseke finally pushed off the wall. "Guess it's time to show them what a real rockstar band looks like."

Akira exhaled, letting the room fall into focused silence before Kokoro stepped forward, a thick black folder in hand. He laid it on the table, flipping it open to a spread of maps, photos and Essence-suppression readings.

"First target." Kokoro said. "Warehouse 19B. South docks."

A satellite image showed a sprawling industrial sector, shipping containers stacked like coffins waiting to be sealed.

"Intel says this place is a storage unit for illegal Hashirama arms dealing." Kokoro explained. "Firearms, explosives, maybe even Sinscourge suppression tech. Whatever's in there... it's dangerous."

He tapped on one of the zoomed-in photos. A group of men in black suits patrolled the perimeter.

"The ones in suits..." Kokoro continued, "aren't Wielders. Probably mercenaries, trained security or civilian contractors."

Taichiro, stepped forward.

"I'll handle this one." he said.

Yumi raised a brow. "Alone?"

Taichiro gave a rare glance to the rest of the room, eyes like silent blades.

"This place is packed with the ones in suits. And it's said that their Non-Wielders. If we all go, there'll be casualties none of us are ready to carry."

Kokoro sighed. "You sure you want to do it alone?"

"Yeah..." Taichiro said, resting a hand on the hilt of the blade across his back. "I've lived half of my life with blood on my hands, this will be like trip down memory lane for me."

Taichiro turned back toward the file.

"I'll go at midnight."

"Alone?" Yuseke asked again.

Taichiro didn't even turn around. "It'll be over before you could even blink."

00 : 01

The South Dock's night fog rolled in like a sheet of smoke, drowning the steel bones of Warehouse 19B in an eerie silence. The only lights came from flickering streetlamps and red security strobes, casting ghostly glows across the crates stacked like tombstones.

A van rumbled past the checkpoint. Inside, two guards sipped coffee, laughing at something forgettable. One of them turned to say something to the other—then paused.

There was a shape behind them.

The sliding door of the van exploded open with a crack and a blur of black steel shot through it. One man's neck twisted at an unnatural angle before he could scream. The other reached for his weapon—too slow. Taichiro was already gone, a black shadow vanishing into the mist with a single silent step.

Two down.

He didn't speak. He didn't breathe loud enough to disturb the wind. His long black coat fluttered behind him like a trailing echo of death. Sword still clean.

Crates to the left. Fire escape above.

Taichiro moved like a wraith, using the chaos of the fog to slither along the edges of their vision. He reached the side of the warehouse, where four suited guards smoked and checked their tablets.

One blinked.

Then his chest split open. The second's face turned pale as his arm fell off, blade unseen until it was too late. The third managed a warning shout, "Intru...!" before his head was gone. The fourth dropped his weapon and ran.

Bad idea.

Taichiro leapt onto a crate stack, landing without a sound. His blade flicked once. Blood danced in the fog like mist.

Six down.

He scaled the fire escape. Two rooftop snipers scanned the grounds below, scopes trained.

Taichiro cut one's throat before he even realized someone was behind him. The other turned, wide-eyed, but Taichiro hurled his sheathed blade like a javelin. It cracked the sniper's skull and knocked him flat before the man could even scream.

Eight.

An alarm finally sounded. The warehouse lit up in red.

Suits poured out... dozens of them. Pistols. Rifles. Explosives. All drawn in panic. Yelling. Running. Chaos.

Taichiro, now back on ground level, sprinted toward them. His blade flashed out in arcs of calculated death.

A pistol barked.

Taichiro deflected the bullet with the flat of his blade, then turned, ducked and slashed the shooter's legs. He dropped him without hesitation, then pivoted into a dash.

One by one, the men dropped. Some lost arms. Others knees. Most didn't even see him coming.

"WHERE IS HE?!" one screamed.

Behind you.

That man didn't last a second.

Blood coated the dock like paint on canvas. But Taichiro never aimed for vital points unless he had to. His strikes were deliberate—disabling, wounding. Slashes across the chest, deep cuts through shoulders or legs, stabs through thighs and arms.

Not killing.

But not sparing either.

He bore the burden of violence alone so the others wouldn't have to. That was the pact he made.

He didn't flinch when one grenade rolled toward him. He kicked it back into a crowd with perfect timing—BOOM.

Crates exploded. Bodies flew. The suits scattered like panicked ants.

Now only a handful remained. Their numbers had dropped from forty-two to four in under five minutes.

The last group tried to barricade themselves inside the warehouse, dragging one of their wounded comrades behind.

They slammed the steel doors shut.

Taichiro didn't chase.

He disappeared into the shadowed roof again.

Twenty seconds later, they heard the metallic clang above them.

One looked up just in time to see the roof hatch flip open and a body fall in.

Taichiro dropped into the dark warehouse with his blade drawn, landing silently like a wolf in a den of sheep.

The first guard screamed and fired.

The bullet hit a hanging chain instead.

Taichiro sidestepped and cut down two of them instantly. The last four ran toward the crates, screaming into their comms.

"This isn't a man... it's a goddamn demon!"

"No backup! We were set up!"

One ran into the catwalk stairs.

Taichiro threw a blade into his thigh, pinning him to the railing. He followed with brutal precision—one punch to the throat, then silence.

Another tried to throw a flashbang.

Taichiro picked up a crate lid and hurled it like a discus.

CRACK—the man's skull hit the floor.

And just like that, the entire warehouse fell still.

Forty-two men. All down.

None dead.

But not one capable of standing again.

Taichiro stood in the center of the chaos. Not a scratch on him. Only the wind of the aftermath brushing against his coat.

He sheathed his blade slowly, letting the silence settle.

Then, the heavy side door creaked open.

A single pair of footsteps echoed across the warehouse.

A man walked in... tall, bald, dressed in a sleek vest, tie and gold-rimmed glasses. A cruel smile tugging at his lips.

He looked around at the broken bodies and torn uniforms like he was admiring a performance.

"Well." the man said, voice smooth and mocking. "You made quite the mess, didn't you?"

Taichiro didn't answer. He watched the man's shadow stretching unnaturally long behind him.

Then he saw it.

In the dark within the shadow... movement.

The man's smile widened. "Let's see if you can dance with something bigger than foot soldiers."

His shadow rippled... then the floor cracked behind him as a monstrous shark-like beast emerged, made entirely of shadow, its white teeth gleaming like bone saws.

The man cracked his knuckles.

"Come on, Swordsman."

The Sinscourge moved like liquid fear.

Its massive, shark-like form swam through the shadows... not the air, not the ground but the darkness itself. Its teeth gleamed like sawblades, each one dripping with spectral hunger. There was no water, no sea but it didn't need any. Wherever shadow touched, the beast could swim.

Taichiro's eyes narrowed.

The bald man stood still, arms relaxed, head tilted. His shadow coiled unnaturally at his feet. "Name's Hanza." he said, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. "And this here is Kurosame. She's hungry."

The beast hissed from behind him.

FWIP.

A single tooth launched from Kurosame's body like a bullet. Taichiro ducked, the razor passing just over his scalp and lodging deep into a steel beam behind him.

Fast.

Another shot out.

SHNK! It grazed his shoulder before he could fully twist away. A third followed. Then another. A barrage of razor-sharp fangs flew from every patch of shadow on the ground and walls, locking onto Taichiro's position.

He dashed sideways behind a crate. THUD! THUD! THUD!

Dozens of teeth embedded in the metal.

Taichiro rolled out and slid under a set of scaffolding. A tooth clipped his thigh as he moved. Blood trickled but he kept running, never stopping for breath.

Hanza didn't move. He simply extended his hand like a maestro.

The shadows bent to his will.

From behind Taichiro, Kurosame's enormous body slithered forward—jet-black skin like oil, eyes glowing like dead stars.

Then... another wave of teeth shot from the ceiling shadows, arcing downward like spikes. Taichiro sprinted up a tower of crates, leaping just as the shadows exploded behind him.

He couldn't close the gap.

Every time he moved toward Hanza, the Sinscourge blocked his path, launching a wall of flying blades.

He ducked, flipped and ran the length of a beam. But no use, if he closed in he'd be skewered. If he stayed back, he'd be chipped to death.

His breathing stayed quiet. Steady. His sword remained sheathed on purpose.

"Don't use it yet."

He kept telling himself. He'd trained his instincts to resist activating his technique. He didn't want to depend on power.

"You're fast." Hanza said casually, walking through the battlefield as if stepping through puddles. "But fast isn't enough."

Taichiro ignored him and slid beneath a catwalk.

Kurosame swirled through the shadows around him like a predator circling a bleeding seal. Its movements were erratic and precise, never breaking the surface but always watching.

Hanza sighed. "I thought you had more bite."

Taichiro planted his feet. Shadows were everywhere but light was limited. The only places Kurosame couldn't touch... were the few patches lit by the ceiling lamps.

His eyes flicked toward one of the hanging lights. It was swinging slightly from earlier debris. Then toward another above Hanza.

Then down to the shadow connecting Hanza and Kurosame. A plan formed, fast and risky.

He bolted toward one of the side crates. Another barrage fired at him. SHINK SHINK SHINK!

He jumped, caught the bottom of a hanging light and swung.

The motion sent him flying between two spikes of shadowed teeth. A few grazed his legs but he rolled mid-air and landed clean across from Hanza.

Kurosame turned fast but this time, Taichiro didn't dodge. He ran straight into the shadow and the beast fired again.

Taichiro side-stepped. A tooth slashed his side but he endured it. He kept moving.

Ten meters. Five.

Hanza's smirk faded.

"Don't be stupid."

The shadows thickened, Kurosame burst upward like a geyser.

Taichiro leapt through it. At the apex of his jump, he drew his blade... halfway. The sheath clanged against his hip as he twisted in midair. Then landed behind Hanza and slid.

Hanza turned to fire a point-blank shot of shadow. But Taichiro was already behind him. In one clean motion...

SLISH.

Blood sprayed into the darkness. Hanza's head dropped to the floor with a dull thump.

Taichiro stood still, breathing low, blood dripping from his arms and legs but his blade was clean. He had only drawn it an inch.

Kurosame let out a shriek as its form dissolved into the floor, scattered like oil in wind. Without its master's Essence, it couldn't exist.

Silence returned to the warehouse. Taichiro sheathed his blade fully and turned back toward the door. Looked over the wreckage of 42 men and one Hashirama Wielder.

"All done." he whispered.

He pulled out a radio from his coat and clicked it on.

"Warehouse 19B." he said quietly. "Mission complete."

The line crackled once, then fell silent. Taichiro clipped it back to his belt and walked away, his boots crunching glass and shell casings until the night swallowed him whole.