Trascender : The Fourth Gust

Chapter 45 : Nishizumi Shirou

The oppressive gloom of Chamber Seven pressed down like a physical weight, thick with the stench of ozone, scorched shadow-stone, and the coppery tang of blood – Merus's cerulean blood, Kuro's, Kagaya's crimson, and Shirou's own. The cataclysmic echo of Shirou's last, desperate shot still vibrated in the fractured air, the shattered obsidian spires groaning as settling dust rained down. Kokuto stood amidst the devastation, Void-Shear humming faintly in his grasp, the thin line smoldering across his jacket the only visible concession to Shirou's defiance. His crimson scarf hung unnaturally still.

"Nishizumi Shirou," Kokuto repeated, his voice calm, analytical, cutting through the ringing silence. He tilted his head, observing the battered sniper leaning heavily against the jagged rock, his rifle trembling but still aimed. "And you claim to be 'a man who never misses'. Is that a statement of fact," his eyes narrowed slightly, "or merely bravado to mask the trembling in your hands?"

Shirou forced a smirk, ignoring the searing pain in his dislocated shoulder and the warm trickle down his temple. "See for yourself, Swordwrath." He squeezed the trigger.

PING!

An emerald bullet, condensed fury, screamed across the chamber. Not aimed to kill, but a test, a statement. Kokuto didn't flinch. His free hand snapped up, palm open, faster than thought. The bullet impacted his palm with a sound like a pebble hitting granite. Green light flared and died instantly, snuffed out without a ripple in Kokuto's expression. He closed his fist, pulverizing the residual energy into harmless sparks that sizzled against the shadow-stone floor.

*Light work,* Shirou thought, the grim certainty settling like lead in his gut. *Pure kinetic deflection. Bullets are child's play to him.*

"Emerald Laser Beam!" Shirou roared, pouring his remaining strength into the rifle. A searing lance of pure photonic energy lanced out, aimed true for Kokuto's center mass.

Kokuto moved. Not with blinding speed, but with impossible, economical grace. He shifted his weight minutely, a subtle twist of his torso. The emerald beam passed through empty air where his heart had been a nanosecond before, scorching the shadow-stone wall behind him into bubbling slag.

FWOOM! FWOOM! FWOOM!

Shirou didn't hesitate. He fired again, and again, and again, cycling the rifle's overtaxed core. Emerald beams crisscrossed the chamber, painting jagged lines of incandescent destruction across walls and floor, shattering smaller spires. Kokuto flowed between them like smoke. A sidestep here, a slight lean there, a pivot on the ball of his foot. He didn't block, didn't parry. He simply... wasn't there when the beams arrived. His movements were a chilling ballet of evasion, effortless, almost bored. He watched Shirou, not the beams, his crimson scarf the only constant in the strobing chaos.

*Effortless. Like swatting flies. He's reading my intent, my micro-tremors, the rifle's whine... Predicting the trajectory before I even finish pulling the trigger.* The realization was a cold knife in Shirou's resolve. His unerring aim meant nothing against a foe who existed half a step ahead of reality itself.

Kokuto was entirely focused on the emerald storm, his analytical mind dissecting Shirou's patterns, the rifle's charge cycle, the growing strain in the sniper's stance. He didn't see the mountain move.

From the swirling dust and shadow near Merus's prone form, Kagaya erupted. Not the battered giant, but Beast State Kagaya. Tribal markings blazed emerald fire across his skin, muscles swelling further, tearing remnants of his tunic. A bestial roar tore from his throat, raw and primal, shaking the chamber. He moved with terrifying speed for his size, a blur of emerald light and raw fury, fist cocked back like a siege engine.