Sendai Colony trembles under overlapping domains of ego and hunger.

The Culling Games have turned the city into a stage, and tonight its actors are monsters reborn.

Yuta Okkotsu moves first — no hesitation, no wasted breath. His cursed energy surges violently around him, thick and suffocating, the pressure alone cracking the asphalt beneath his feet.

Across from him, Ryu Ishigori grins like a man who has finally found dessert after centuries of starvation.

“Don’t bore me,” he laughs — and his forelock ignites.

Cursed energy compresses into a single violent point.

Granite Blast.

The beam erupts forward, tearing through buildings and splitting the street open like paper.

Yuta doesn’t retreat.

He punches into it.

The collision fractures the blast into splintering rays that carve glowing scars across the skyline. The impact drives Ryu backward, boots grinding trenches through shattered concrete.

Then—

Detonation.

Smoke swallows them both.

Before the dust can settle, the air above twists unnaturally.

Takako Uro hovers overhead, fingers gliding across invisible seams in the sky.

She doesn’t strike Yuta.

She touches the atmosphere itself.

The surface of the sky ripples like thin ice.

Then—

CRACK.

The heavens fracture.

“Thin Ice Breaker.”

Shards of distorted space crash into Yuta midair, sending him hurtling into a distant building. Concrete bursts outward as his body vanishes inside.

Ryu clicks his tongue in irritation.

“Vomit.”

Another Granite Blast fires upward.

But space folds.

The beam curves.

Twists.

Rotates.

For a split second, Ryu’s grin falters.

His own blast slams back into him, detonating violently and launching him through another structure.

The colony groans.

Smoke.

Dust.

Silence.

Three titans, breathing heavily among ruins.

And then—

The wind changes.

It is subtle at first.

A shift in pressure.

A weight in the air that doesn’t belong to any of them.

Yuta’s eyes lift.

Uro stops mid-motion.

Ryu slowly straightens.

Footsteps.

Not hurried.

Not cautious.

Measured.

From the edge of a broken rooftop overlooking the battlefield, a figure stands.

You.

Hair stirred by the rising heat of cursed energy below.

Eyes unreadable.

Presence… wrong.

Not modern.

Not familiar.

Ancient.

The concrete beneath your feet fractures — not from movement, but from existence.

Ryu’s grin slowly returns.

“Another sorcerer to feed my hunger?” he muses, tilting his head. “You here to help the kid?”

You do not answer.

Because you have not chosen a side.

You were not revived for loyalty.

Only for proof.

And as your cursed energy finally begins to leak—