The cobblestone alley was bathed in flickering crimson from the burning wreckage of the city. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. A breeze carried the smell of sulfur, blood, and old metal. Xzavier stood protectively in front of the princess, Zadie, his stance wide, breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling with fire-laced intensity. Before him stood Levine Shishiroma—cloaked in black with silver serpent embroidery lining his coat, one hand on his sheathed katana, the other crackling with corrupted energy.
"Move," Levine said flatly, voice devoid of emotion, "You've lost."
"I haven't even started."
Without warning, Xzavier launched forward with a burst of flame. His foot dug into the ground, sending embers flying as he closed the gap with a single step, bringing his Flame Blade down with a blazing arc. Levine shifted, unsheathing his own curved blade with elegant precision, parrying the blow and countering with a roundhouse kick that sent Xzavier sliding back across the stone.
Xzavier skidded to a stop, feet burning tracks into the ground. He steadied himself and activated Sacred Eyes—his irises glowing with golden celestial glyphs—and the Ascension Mark ignited across his chest and arms, glowing crimson with trailing embers. The strain hit him instantly; his body trembled, veins bulged, and his breath grew ragged. He hadn't recovered from his last activation. But he had no choice.
He roared, surging forward, each step sending shockwaves. A series of rapid strikes followed—flame crescents lashing out in a spiral pattern as he disappeared and reappeared at high speeds. Levine blocked or dodged each one, but Xzavier's fury only grew. He flipped over Levine, slashing downward, engulfing the enemy in a pillar of fire. The flames surged up around them, creating a burning vortex that lit up the ruined skyline.
But when the smoke cleared, Levine stood at the center, unscathed, his own blade now coated in a shadowy aura. He released it—Legendary Art: Veil of Grief. Tendrils of darkness spiraled out, consuming the fire like a black hole. He moved faster now, using flickers of darkness to teleport short distances, striking Xzavier in key points—shoulder, ribs, thigh—disabling his movements piece by piece.
Xzavier attempted a final strike—Legendary Art: Sunpiercer Fang—a technique that could melt steel and burn souls. But as he raised his blade, his vision blurred. Blood spilled from his nose and mouth. The Sacred Eyes flickered. The Ascension Mark dimmed. He collapsed to one knee mid-swing.
Levine didn't hesitate. He dashed forward and slammed the hilt of his blade into Xzavier's temple. Darkness enveloped Xzavier's vision as he hit the ground, unable to move.
He had lost.
But death did not follow.
Instead, Levine stood over him, his cold eyes unreadable. He reached down, picked up the Flame Blade, and inspected it.
"A fine blade," Levine muttered.
Then, with subtle grace, he let a different weapon slip from his coat—the Shadow Blade. It clattered beside Xzavier's hand.
Xzavier's eyes widened. He understood what Levine was doing. Mercy? Pity?
No. Don't do this… don't treat me like I'm weak.
Xzavier's fists clenched in fury, tears mingling with the dirt on his cheeks. He wasn't crying from pain. He was crying from humiliation.
Levine turned and walked away.
The surviving Dawn agents, upon seeing Levine's cold, victorious stride through the alley, fled into the ruins. Team A arrived moments later—Hageshi, Jin, Kaze, Yagumi, and Raijin—covered in dirt, blood, and scratches, but victorious. The mission was complete. The city was freed.
Zadie knelt beside Xzavier. "You saved me… even when it nearly killed you."
Xzavier couldn't answer. His Sacred Eyes were gone. His Ascension Mark had vanished. He felt hollow. Empty. Broken.
That night, the crew set up camp by the riverbank, just beyond the shattered city. They lit a bonfire and shared a quiet meal of scavenged rations. Spirits were high. They had won, after all. Citizens were freed, and Sarutobi's name would live on through the songs they sang. Even Sensei Gara broke his silence to share ancient words of wisdom over the fire. Yet Xzavier remained seated at the edge, alone, staring at the Shadow Blade resting in his lap.
He hadn't spoken a word since the fight.
Inside, he burned with a wrath deeper than the Flame Blade could ever produce.
---
Meanwhile, at the Demon Tower…
Levine entered the grand throne room of Gimori the Devourer, a towering demon lord cloaked in threads of fire and bone. The throne was surrounded by writhing black vines and soul lanterns.
"My lord," Levine said calmly, bowing and presenting the Flame Blade with both hands.
Gimori's eyes lit up. "Ah… now that is worth stealing. The Flame Blade. A symbol of rebellion… now in my possession."
He twirled it in his massive clawed hand, fire dancing along the edge.
"You have done well, Levine. You may keep the blade."
Levine raised an eyebrow, not expecting the reward.
"Let it remind you of how loyalty is rewarded—and how fragile the legends of men truly are."
Levine bowed again. "Understood."
But as he turned and exited the room, he thought back to Xzavier—bleeding, broken, glaring up at him with raw hatred in his eyes.
He knew Xzavier would rise again.
And when he did, the Shadow Blade he left behind… would awaken a storm darker than any of them could imagine.
---