The battle between Shin and Suho was rudimentary at best—nothing flashy or terrifying in scale. However, that was all the more reason to fear them.
The Palace struggled to contain their exchange.
This was the battle between two men trained to walk through volcanic flames without skin to protect their muscles, to scale arctic peaks without the lightest linen to shield their fragile flesh.
Both men—stripped of their talents and relying purely on training instilled by their clan—were like monsters born of nothing but brute force, clashing and shattering the world around them through sheer impact alone.
Shin rolled across the room like a blade cutting silk, his feet never touching ground for more than a heartbeat. Each step cracked stone. Each movement burned afterimages into the dusty air.
Suho moved like water finding the swiftest path down a cliff face—inevitable, flowing, without wasted motion. His odachi traced perfect arcs through space, each cut calculated to intersect where Shin would be, not where he was.
They had abandoned the pillars. The pillars were gone—scattered and shattered throughout the palace—and it was only a matter of time before the ceiling collapsed. The structure held only because it was carved into the mountain itself, but with no pillars supporting it and the continuous force unleashed by the combatants, collapse was inevitable.
They broke apart, chased each other across the room at breakneck speed—curved like barely perceptible traces of light—and clashed again.
The hall shuddered. Debris and dust plummeted from above.
They continued regardless. Their swords sang a cold, metallic song as steel rang against steel, both shooting forward like stars, leaping between chunks of collapsed ceiling and mounds of pulverized marble.
Shin’s katana came in low, seeking the gap between Suho’s ribs. Suho shifted his weight to his back foot, letting the blade pass through empty air while his own weapon descended toward Shin’s exposed shoulder.
Neither strike landed. They never did.
Instead, Shin continued his forward momentum, stepping inside his brother’s guard. His empty hand shot toward Suho’s throat—not a grab, but an open-palm strike meant to crush the windpipe.
Suho tilted his head a fraction. Shin’s palm struck the stone wall behind where Suho’s neck had been. The impact drove a spider web of cracks fifteen feet in every direction.
Suho’s knee came up toward Shin’s ribs. Shin twisted, taking the strike on his forearm instead of his torso. The bone didn’t break, but the force lifted him off his feet and sent him skidding backward across the rubble-strewn floor.
He landed in a crouch, katana held low and ready. Blood ran from a cut on his cheek.
Suho straightened slowly and curled the corner of his lips, giggling eerily. His crimson eyes reflected no light. In the settling dust, he looked like a statue carved from shadow.
"You’ve grown slow... rusty..."
Shin rolled his eyes.
"I’m grateful for it. I despised being so skilled—just as he wanted."
Suho shook his head.
"Fool. Our brothers died trying to achieve that skill. Yet look at you—not an ounce of appreciation. You know, instead of welcoming you and your wife with open arms, I should have slaughtered you both the moment you dared step into my domain."
Shin clicked his tongue in disgust.
"At least that would’ve been more honorable than playing coy like a serpent. Apparently someone’s forgotten we are crows, not snakes!"
He sighed somberly.
"But then, you’ve probably killed every elder who could help you understand the essence of the Kageyama clan."
They circled each other now, stepping over chunks of their childhood home. Each footfall was deliberate, placed to avoid loose stone that might shift and cost them a crucial millisecond.
Suho laughed wildly.
"Exactly! You noticed too! The clan is so much... freer than when you left. Those old blowhards had to go eventually, didn’t they? They were just like father."
The air between them thrummed with potential violence. Then Shin’s voice cut through:
"And so are you..."
He exploded into motion, reading his brother’s telegraphed attack like scripture. But as his blade swept toward where Suho would be, he realized the footwork had been deception.
Suho was coming from the right instead, odachi held in a single-handed grip, the extra reach letting him strike from an impossible angle.
Shin couldn’t block. Couldn’t dodge.
So he didn’t try either.
Instead, another Shin materialized from thin air and collided with the sword while Shin himself drove his blade straight toward his brother’s heart.
However, Suho was devastatingly swift. He blocked both Shin’s clone and Shin’s own attack with fluid grace—the speed so incomprehensible that the sound of his blade was not twice, but once.
Even Shin was shocked—he lost focus for a heartbeat, and his brother drove an elbow jab forward. Shin belatedly raised his hand to block, but he was a fraction too slow.
The elbow slipped past his guard, crashed into his jaw, and sent him flying. Shin hurtled across fifteen meters and rolled across the ground.
His brother was already upon him. But his clone followed close behind, swinging his sword from below. Suho slammed down his blade to parry and whipped back another elbow, caving in the clone’s face. Before the clone could reel away, he grabbed it by the shirt and hurled it overhead. However, Shin’s sword was already driving toward his throat.
Suho tilted his head sharply, the blade missing by a hair’s breadth. But a line of blood appeared along his neck. And Shin wasn’t finished. Just as the sword slipped past, Shin twisted his wrist and withdrew, executing a reverse cut.
But Suho intercepted it, slamming his clone against him.
However, another clone had materialized from the left, driving its katana toward Suho’s throat once more. This time, Suho’s timing faltered—the clone had appeared long before he’d sensed it.
The blade pierced straight into his throat, stopping him mid-movement—his hand extended to seize the clone’s face.
He froze, trembling, blood trickling from his neck.
Shin and his clone stood, watching grimly as his brother staggered back, clutching his throat.
Only for him to pause a beat later and spread a wry smile across his face. Then he dispersed into a maddening swarm of small crows that rained upon Shin and his clones.
Shin and his clones swung their swords frantically, but the crows—with their raucous cawing and crimson eyes—were relentless and infuriating. Shin had despised these creatures since birth.
No matter how viciously they swung their blades, it was futile. The crows were persistent.
Until Shin dropped into a strange stance... and muttered:
"Form Two... Distortion."
At that same moment, the enormous crow on the dais rose fully with a loud, echoing laugh.