Shadows of the Sakura: The Forgotten Legacy

Iron Blood

Ren flicked the blood off his blade, watching the cyber warrior collapse in a heap. He took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the arena. "How many are left?" he asked, his voice tense with adrenaline.

Suzaku stood beside him, his gaze scanning the battlefield. "Ninety, give or take. The weaker ones are falling fast. It won't be long before the real monsters start showing their fangs."

Ren nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Good," he muttered. "The sooner this ends, the better." He turned back to the fight, catching a glimpse of movement in the mist swirling across the arena. Before he could react, something slammed into him, sending him skidding across the ground.

He rolled to his feet, shaking off the impact, and glared at his attacker. A slim, small figure emerged from the mist, moving with an eerie grace. Dark purple hair spilled out from beneath a dragon-shaped mask, and his presence seemed to suck the warmth out of the air.

Suzaku's breath hitched. "That's not good," he murmured, his usual calm slipping into something closer to fear.

Up on the balcony, Takeda's eyes widened as he watched the newcomer. "So, the Syndicate decided to put him forward after all," he said, his voice low.

Shin Tetsujin, standing next to him, tilted his head slightly. "Interesting. That one could be trouble, even for your men."

Takeda's lips tightened into a thin line. "Trouble is an understatement. That fighter—he's the Wraith. If he's here, then the rest of them are in grave danger. Even yours."

Shin Tetsujin remained unfazed, a faint smile curling his lips. "All the better, Takeda-san. A competition of this caliber requires the threat of death. It purifies the soul, don't you think?"

Takeda didn't respond, his eyes narrowing as he watched the arena below.

Ren tightened his grip on his sword, eyeing the Wraith. "I can take him," he muttered, more to himself than to Suzaku.

But before he could make a move, Suzaku stepped in front of him. "No, you can't." With a swift motion, Suzaku set his hands in the ground and shouted. "Ice Style: Ice Wall!"

The air chilled instantly as a thick wall of ice erupted between them and the Wraith, glistening under the harsh arena lights. Suzaku turned to Ren, his voice urgent but calm. "That's the Wraith. We can't fight him—not yet. Our best chance is to survive this round and face him later, when we're stronger and less exposed."

Ren frowned, his instincts urging him to fight, but he nodded. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "But if he comes through, we're not running."

Suzaku gave a grim smile. "Agreed. But for now, we retreat."

The two of them backed away from the ice barrier, keeping their eyes on the mist. But then, something sparked within the fog—a flicker of energy, sharp and electric, crackling with lethal intent.

The Wraith stepped forward, his palm outstretched, a ghostly light gathering in his hand. He pressed it against the ice wall, and the surface began to hiss and melt, steam rising as the ice turned to water.

Ren's heart pounded as he watched the Wraith slowly advance, unyielding, unstoppable. "Suzaku..."

"I know," Suzaku whispered, his mind racing. "We need to move—now!"

As the ice barrier continued to disintegrate, they turned and sprinted deeper into the arena, the sound of crackling energy echoing ominously behind them.

The Wraith, unfazed and expressionless behind his dragon mask, continued his slow, deliberate pursuit, the last remnants of the ice wall dripping away like the sands of an hourglass.