The next day, everyone gathered for Farrah's funeral. The sun beat down on the small, quiet cemetery, yet the atmosphere remained heavy with a chilling sense of loss. Every member of their chosen family was present—T'Jadaka, Lilia, Marla, Vitaliya, and Ruy—their faces etched with exhaustion and profound grief.

  The only person conspicuously absent was Remigio.

  Lilia stepped closer, her voice soft with concern. "How do you feel, Jadaka?"

  He remained silent for a long moment, staring blankly at the polished wood of the casket. "I feel like absolute shit," he finally admitted, his voice rough. He straightened slightly, forcing a resilience he didn't feel. "But I'll live." His gaze swept the small gathering, his expression hardening when he noticed the missing face. "I'd hoped Remigio would at least show up, but I can't say I blame him."

  Ruy nodded grimly. "Yeah. You did almost crush his skull. It's reasonable he'd think it's safer to stay away right now."

  "He's the reason we're all here in the first place, isn't he? I know Farrah forgave him, but this..." Vitaliya's hand trembled as she gestured toward the casket. "This, all of this, because of his stupid jealousy, is not okay. It's unforgivable, for life."

  Marla walked over, her face a mask of sorrow and strength, and gathered them into a tight, comforting circle. "What's done is done, children. There's no point in looking back at the past now; we have to move forward." She turned her gaze to Vitaliya, her expression gentle but firm. "I have no right to tell you how to feel, but Farrah chose to forgive him. If she could let go of the pain he caused her, what right do we have to hold onto that unforgiveness for her?"

  Marla's words hung in the air, a plea for peace that clashed with the raw pain in their hearts.

  Vitaliya stepped back, her jaw tight. "I understand what you're saying, Marla, but she forgave him for her. She did it so she could die without anger. That's a beautiful, strong choice she made. But it doesn't erase the consequences for the rest of us. It doesn't bring Farrah back."

  "Viti has a point, but life is too short in this hellhole for some of us, so we might as well try to move on. At the end of the day, he made a mistake, and he's paying for it now. Just let it go, V." T'Jadaka said.

  Then suddenly, a deafening CRASH split the air, and something enormous slammed into the ground a few feet away, kicking up a colossal cloud of pulverized earth and dust that swallowed the immediate area.

  From within the swirling haze, a cold, indifferent voice echoed, completely devoid of grief or respect. "Oh, so he did manage to kill her, huh? That's no fun. I was hoping for some kind of fight, at least."

  The dust began to settle, revealing the speaker.

  A boy, impeccably dressed in a clean black suit, emerged from the settling dust cloud. His sleek, carmine-black hair was slicked back, drawing attention to his dark silver eyes, which gleamed with a cold, predatory amusement. A devilish smile stretched across his lips.

  "So, the old shit couldn't finish the job, huh?" he drawled, his voice a smooth, dismissive silk. He glanced at the casket, his expression utterly devoid of respect. "I thought she was a tough bitch, honestly." He let out a soft, mocking laugh. "The great Reaper finally got reaped. How terribly ironic."

  His dark silver eyes scanned the distraught group with a chilling indifference, finally resting on T'Jadaka.

  Everyone was paralyzed by shock and fear, but T'Jadaka alone remained outwardly calm, though the lethal mix of profound grief and simmering Viltrumlight rage radiated from him.

  "Look," T'Jadaka began, his voice dangerously low, a calm counterpoint to the fury in his eyes. "I don't care who you are or what you want. You see that this is a funeral, so just fuck off and let me lay my mother to rest in peace."

  The suited boy's devilish smile widened. "Ha! Oh, we've got a tough guy, huh? You must know who your—"

  "I don't give a FUCK who I'm talking to," T'Jadaka snarled, cutting him off, his voice suddenly sharp as broken glass. The black sclera and white pupils flashed into existence. "You want a fight? Come back in an hour, tonight, tomorrow—whenever the hell you want—and I will be more than happy to fuck you up and tear you apart. Piece by agonizing piece."

  He took a deep, shaky breath, fighting to recall his mother's final wish, and forced his eyes back to the casket, the effort visibly draining the rage from his posture. "Just... not right now," he pleaded, the fury replaced by raw exhaustion. "Please."

  The boy just shrugged his shoulders. "Your right, I'm so sorry. I guess I'll come back and collect on what I want later." Then in that same moment, he kicked the casket flipping it in the air. "SIKE!"

  "Oh, no! Farrah!" Marla screamed while Vitaliya, Lilia, and Ruy tried to grab her body, but Jadaka quickly grabbed her mid-air.

  He held his mother's body gently, his eyes, still blazing black and white, fixed on the boy in the suit. The air around him grew heavy, the ground beneath his feet beginning to crack under the pressure of his suppressed power.

  "You..." T'Jadaka's voice was a low growl, thick with lethal intent. "You will regret that."

  The suited boy clapped slowly, a picture of smug amusement. "Ooh, scary. You can make the ground crackle. Congratulations, kid. Now, put the body down. I need her for... a thing."

  T'Jadaka gently passed Farrah's body to Ruy. "Take her inside, all of you. Get Lilia out of here. I'll take care of this guy..."

  Lilia rushed forward, grabbing his arm, her eyes wide with terror. "Jadaka, please, we have to run! This guy is very strong! You can't feel mana, but I can! You shouldn't fight him!"

  "Bro, he comes from a family of killers! You shouldn't just fight him head-on, dawg," Ruy urged, holding Farrah's body close.

  A terrifying calm settled over T'Jadaka, but his eye twitched uncontrollably, betraying the coiled fury inside. "HE FLIPPED MY MOM'’S CASKET..." he stated, his voice a low, lethal murmur.

  "Guys... we need to go..." Vitaliya said, her voice strained, a desperate urgency in her tone.

  "But—"

  "He's finna crash the hell out! Go, god damn it!" Vitaliya screamed, pushing Ruy and Lilia away. The small family scattered, running from the cemetery, leaving T'Jadaka and the suited boy alone in the dust.

  The suited boy sneered, leaning in, his voice dripping with condescension. "Aww, what? Gonna cry or someth-"

  He was cut off abruptly as a blur of motion slammed a massive, black-marked hand directly into his face. T'Jadaka stood tall, the Mazoku marks burning themselves across his face and body, pulsing with the black, chaotic energy. His voice was a low, dangerous command.

  "Not here..."

  He launched himself into the air, moving with a speed that rendered him a mere streak against the sky. His intent was clear: draw the fight away from the sacred ground. He threw his body into a massive, guided descent, deliberately crashing into the ground of the dense forest bordering the cemetery.

  The impact was cataclysmic, ripping a wide trench in the earth and snapping several old trees like matchsticks. The forest floor shuddered, and a massive plume of dust and debris shot into the air, signaling the fight had begun away from his mother's final resting place.

  The boy got up holding his face. I know this bitch didn’t just… He heard something land in front of him, seeing T’jadaka looking down at him.

  "Ok, you really need to stop cutting—" the boy began, only to have his words brutally cut short as T'Jadaka's black-marked fist slammed into his face.

  The force was staggering; the boy rocketed backward, tearing a destructive path through the dense line of trees with a series of thunderous cracks. T'Jadaka followed, landing lightly where his opponent had stood moments before. "This isn't no damn anime," he snarled, the black energy pulsing around him, "I just want you to fucking die. Plain and simple."

  The boy suddenly materialized beside T'Jadaka, a blur of motion. T'Jadaka instinctively threw a punch, but the boy was impossibly fast, slipping the attack and delivering a casual backhand that snapped T'Jadaka's head back, drawing a thin line of blood from his lip.

  "In that case, turn me up then, commoner!" the boy sneered, his silver eyes flashing with cruel amusement.

  T'Jadaka roared, the black Mazoku energy surging as he lunged with a devastating punch. "WEAVE!" the boy taunted, effortlessly swaying out of the way before snapping a counter-cross that landed hard on T'Jadaka's jaw.

  "Come on! I'll beat you like the bitch you are!" He launched into a blinding combo, rapid-fire punches striking T'Jadaka's midsection and face. Mid-flurry, the boy momentarily paused his attack with one hand, using the other to slick back a stray strand of his carmine-black hair. "On my ken you're sorry!"

  T'Jadaka endured the punishment, his resilience preventing an instant collapse. He managed to anticipate and slip one attack, seizing the momentary opening to launch a counter-strike, but the boy was already gone.

  "Weave again!"

  A brutal kick slammed into the back of T'Jadaka's head, sending him staggering forward. The boy, having used the momentum of his kick, launched himself upward, landing lightly on the highest branch of a nearby, snapped tree, looking down at T'Jadaka with smug superiority.

  He watched the boy perched on the branch. This bastard is fast, but he lacks any real power, T'Jadaka thought, wiping the thin line of blood from his lip. I've never fought anyone like this before. He moves like a dancer, all speed and evasion, but there's no weight behind his strikes. But it's nothing I can't handle.

  The boy dropped lightly back to the ground, his eyes gleaming with cruel impatience. "So, are you finally going to give up and let me take the body? Please say no," he drawled, his devilish smile returning, "I was just starting to have fun. I want to fuck you up more."

  T'Jadaka spat a mouthful of blood onto the earth. "Nah, I can still win this."

  The boy threw his head back and laughed, a high, arrogant sound. "WIN!? Boy, I just hit you over a hundred times, and you're still standing—barely! You can't beat me, you wounded bitch."

  "I know you're not talking," T'Jadaka shot back, meeting the boy's smug gaze with a flat, unwavering intensity. "You hit like a one."

  That hit a nerve. The boy's smile vanished, his dark silver eyes narrowing to slits. "...HUH!?"

  "My mama hits harder than that," T'Jadaka stated, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "So, yeah. You hit lesser than a bitch."

  The boy disappeared again. Ah, so ego is your trigger? T'Jadaka thought, his eyes tracking the residual distortion in the air. The moment the boy flickered back into existence, T'Jadaka's black-marked hand whipped out in a savage backhand.

  The blow snapped the boy's head violently to the side. "What the fuck? How did you hit me!?" he spat, confusion warring with fury.

  He vanished instantly, trying to exploit the confusion he felt, but T'Jadaka was already moving, his fist a blur that punched the boy out of the air and drove him down into the packed earth of the forest floor.

  "You're fast, but…" T'Jadaka snarled, the black energy crackling around his fist. "I got used to your speed." He raised his foot for a punishing stomp, but the boy, impossibly fast even when stunned, slid out of the way.

  "So... you think that's as fast I can go?" the boy sneered, scrambling back to his feet, a flicker of genuine alarm in his silver eyes. "You're a damn fool."

  "Then go faster," T'Jadaka challenged, dropping into a defensive stance. "I'll just adapt again."

  Raiken's Study

  In the opulent heart of Stan City, Raiken lounged in a study that was less a room and more a shrine to excess. Deep crimson velvet lined the walls, lit by the warm, flickering glow of gaslight fixtures, casting long shadows across mahogany bookshelves stacked to the ceiling. The air was heavy with the rich scent of aged leather, ink, and a fine, hand-rolled cigar currently smoldering between Raiken's fingers.

  He sat in a high-backed Chesterfield armchair, dressed in a custom-tailored silk smoking jacket, one foot propped lazily on a low, Persian rug. A heavy, leather-bound volume rested open in his lap, though his attention seemed split between the text and the slow, deliberate rings of smoke he exhaled toward the ceiling.

  A maid, dressed in stark black and white, stood discreetly near the door, her hands clasped nervously. Raiken finally lowered his book, his dark silver eyes, sharp and predatory even in repose, fixing on her.

  He lowered the book, his dark silver eyes, sharp and predatory even in repose, fixing on her. "Adriana," he drawled, his voice a low, commanding murmur that cut through the silence. "Fetch me the absolute strongest thing they hide in that damn liquor cabinet. And, for God's sake, make it snappy."

  Adriana curtsied quickly, her fear evident in the hurried rustle of her uniform. "Yes, sir, immediately, sir." She scurried away, her footsteps barely audible on the thick carpet.

  Raiken watched her go, a flicker of boredom in his eyes, before his attention drifted back to the open book—a meticulously detailed ledger tracking global bounties, organized by the severity of the offense. He ran a manicured finger down a column, pausing on a name he was particularly interested in.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The door creaked open again, and Adriana returned, carrying a crystal decanter filled with a liquid so dark it almost seemed black. She placed it reverently on a nearby mahogany side table, along with a heavy, cut-glass tumbler.

  "The Vantablack Whiskey, sir. From the private reserve. Seventy years aged," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

  Raiken nodded, before grabbing the whole bottle. He popped the bottom off the Whiskey like the glass was a can.

  She flinched, utterly shocked, watching him guzzle the liquid as if it were water. That's a 99.999% Whiskey... If you take more than a shot it will kill you on the spot... Adriana thought, her fear spiking into genuine terror. She backed toward the door, trying to make herself invisible, horrified by the casual display of deadly consumption.

  Raiken drained the bottle in two long gulps, slamming the empty vessel down onto the table with a resonant thud. He didn't even cough. He simply wiped a dark drop from his chin with the back of his hand and let out a satisfied sigh.

  Raiken smacked his lips, savoring the burn. "Mmmm, DAMN, that's the good shit right there. If it's not fatal to humans, it's not good at all." He crushed the heavy glass bottle in his grip, the sound a sharp, splintering CRUNCH as the thick crystal was reduced to a pile of sparkling dust. "There," he said, gesturing with his hand toward the pulverized glass, "something for you to clean up."

  Adriana sighed, the sound barely audible. Of course he would make me clean it, she thought, her terror giving way to weary resignation. She grabbed a nearby dust pan and brush and began sweeping the debris. As she knelt, Raiken casually placed one foot on her back, resting his weight on her as if she were a piece of furniture.

  "You know, you humans have a lot of cool knowledge in these books," Raiken drawled, tapping the ledger with his free hand. "It's pretty neat, actually."

  "Ain't you human too, sir?" she asked, her voice barely a tremor.

  Raiken's laughter stopped instantly, replaced by a terrible, cold silence. His dark silver eyes narrowed. "BITCH, DID YOU JUST TALK BACK?!" he roared, the sound loud enough to physically shake the opulent room.

  Adriana froze, every muscle locking in a paralysis of sheer terror. Her lungs burned, and she couldn't pull in a breath. Breathe... Just breathe... he won't kill me for breathing, right?

  Then, the tension snapped, replaced by a sudden, booming peal of laughter. Raiken threw his head back, an expression of cruel amusement on his face. "God damn! The look on your face! HAHAHA!"

  Adriana looked up at him, her body still trembling, her eyes flashing with unshed tears and a flicker of defiant rage. "You asshole! That's not funny!"

  Raiken grinned, his expression predatory. "Oh, it's not funny down there," he purred, his voice dropping to a silken, dangerous tone, "but it's hilarious up here, doll."

  He lifted his foot off her back, allowing Adriana to scramble back onto her knees, breathing raggedly. Raiken keeled down next to her, his long fingers gently wiping the tears from her cheek.

  "Aww, don't cry, I'm sorry," he purred, his voice dropping to a low, smooth register. "I just have a... special way of expressing humor, is all." He then brought his hand up and slowly licked the tears off his fingertips, his dark silver eyes never leaving hers. "Mmm, deliciously salty."

  He straightened, offering her a chillingly charming smile. "But to answer your question, Adriana, no. I'm not human at all, really."

  She looked genuinely shocked, despite her fear. "What? But you look perfectly human—more so than any of the non-human races I've ever encountered."

  "True, true," Raiken conceded, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He lifted the cuff of his silk jacket, revealing a section of his forearm crisscrossed with complex, obsidian-black geometric markings that disappeared beneath his sleeve. "But it's these marks that are the clear sign. They're etched into my very essence."

  Adriana blinked at the markings, trying to process the information. "The type of tattoos you have makes you not human? That makes a lot of sense," she deadpanned, her fear momentarily giving way to a weary sarcasm.

  Raiken's smile vanished. "Come on now, don't be a smart ass, doll. I hate that."

  Raiken's smile widened, his dark silver eyes gleaming. He held up his marked forearm again, and the obsidian-black geometric lines began to pulse with a faint, internal crimson glow.

  "You weren't born around this time, so let me fill you in on some lore," he drawled, leaning closer. "Two thousand years ago, humans in the central continent were fighting off massive monsters known as Chimerasylphs. Monsters you humans mostly know as Kaijus."

  "Duh, we all know this," Adriana started to scoff, but Raiken quickly put a finger over her lips.

  "Shh! Just a second," he murmured. She swatted his hand away with a huff.

  "You all know about the common types, but there's one kind your leaders never told you about, because they thought they killed them all," Raiken continued, his voice dropping to an conspiratorial whisper. He spoke a low, guttural phrase in an ancient, non-human language: "Txe'lan nìwotx tìran."

  Adriana blinked, confused. "The what?"

  "In the human tongue, it translates to 'Demon born in heaven,'" Raiken explained, a flash of pride in his eyes. "That's what my people call us. But we're more commonly known as Mazoku."

  Adriana's face drained of color, her jaw slackening. "Mazoku...? But, you're all supposed to be-"

  Raiken chuckled, cutting her off with a flick of his wrist. "Extinct? Yeah, they thought they killed us all, but one really. You see, my dear, the Mazoku are the hardest creatures on this planet to kill. Every Viltrumlight and Eidolon Ghoul you hear about is a cheap copy trying to be me, Toruk Makto... The last living shadow of a dead people."

  What happened? The books said that they used a virus that Mazoku couldn't adapt fast enough to counter." She said, her voice strained.

  Raiken threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming in the enclosed space. "Oh, the quaint little lies you people tell yourselves!" He wiped a tear of cruel amusement from his eye. "The virus, the Pestilence of the Gods, as you affectionately called it, was a masterpiece of biological warfare, I'll give your ancestors that. It certainly thinned the herd, I mean, the population."

  He leaned in, his silver eyes flashing. "But the fundamental nature of the Mazoku, the very essence that earns us the title 'Demon born in heaven,' is adaptation. We don't merely heal; we evolve to resist the cause of the injury. We can adapt to any and all phenomena we're exposed to. Could we adapt fast enough to save the masses? No. But adapt at all? Absolutely. It was a slow, agonizing process, but every Mazoku that died contributed to the resistance of the next generation. The virus became the most powerful catalyst for our evolution. It was the selective pressure that guaranteed the survival of the fittest. And I, my dear Adriana, am the apotheosis of that survival. I am the end result of twenty centuries of biological warfare aimed at our extinction."

  He tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Think of it this way: what doesn't kill us just ensures that the next time, we're stronger, faster, and infinitely more capable of killing you."

  The two fighters exploded out of the crater, meeting in the air with a bone-jarring BOOM that shattered the remaining silence of the forest. They exchanged a brutal sequence of blows—the boy a flurry of blinding speed, T'Jadaka a relentless storm of raw power.

  Each punch T'Jadaka landed was a concentrated act of force, releasing a focused shockwave that visibly compressed the air before him. The first time his fist connected squarely with the boy's shoulder, the resulting CRACK was followed by a concussive pulse that flattened a twenty-foot radius of undergrowth.

  The boy, despite his speed, was struggling to maintain distance against T'Jadaka's sheer velocity and lethal intent. T'Jadaka's Mazoku-enhanced senses and Viltrumlight resilience allowed him to endure the torrent of fast, punishing strikes, adapting faster than the boy anticipated.

  The boy launched into a combination: a spinning back-fist to T'Jadaka's temple, a rapid axe-kick aimed at the clavicle, and a final, driving uppercut.

  T'Jadaka took the hits, the black Mazoku marks flaring, but his body held firm. He retaliated with a single, massive hook that the boy couldn't fully evade. The punch clipped the side of the boy’s head, and a violent shockwave erupted, sending him spiraling backward like a discarded rag doll.

  He hit the trunk of a massive oak, the impact splintering the wood. He rebounded, landing lightly but staggering slightly, his silver eyes wide with disbelief and a building panic. His perfectly tailored black suit was ripped at the seams, a crimson stream of blood trickled from his hairline, and a network of rapidly forming, purplish bruises bloomed across his exposed skin.

  In contrast, T'Jadaka stood tall, his breathing heavy but steady. The superficial cuts the boy's speed had inflicted were already gone, healed by his astonishing Mazoku regeneration. The only visible damage was the tattered remains of his clothing, which smoked faintly from the intense energy radiating from him. He was covered in sweat and grime, but physically, he looked untouched.

  He pushed off the splintered tree, a genuine, manic grin splitting his bloody face. Despite the obvious damage, a twisted excitement glittered in his silver eyes.

  "I have to say, kid," he gasped, a breathless, exhilarated sound, "I never had this much fun before. Nobody in my clan could ever keep up like this! You're a damn good fight, commoner~"

  T'Jadaka simply stalked forward, the black energy around him intensifying. His eyes, still blazing with black and white fury, narrowed in contempt. "Like I give a fuck."

  The boy's devilish smile widened into a predatory grin. "Normally, I'm forbidden from using this technique. It's a bit... messy. But you, commoner, have proven delightfully resilient, so I suppose I'll make an exception."

  "You really think I'll just stand here and let you power up?" T'Jadaka snarled, the black energy around him flaring in response.

  "No, but not like you can stop me~" the boy purred, raising his hands. A visible, scorching aura of raw mana—pure, unfiltered crimson energy—began to erupt from his body, coalescing into a sphere of intense, vibrating heat.

  T'Jadaka didn't hesitate. He launched himself into a full-speed dash, closing the distance with terrifying velocity. But the closer he got, the more the raw mana acted like a shield of pure fire, burning him.

  The pain is agonizing, but I can't let him complete this! If he gets any stronger, it might be over! T'Jadaka thought, gritting his teeth, pushing through the searing agony as he fought to pierce the suffocating wall of heat.

  The boy's mana surged to an impossible density, creating a crushing pressure that physically repelled T'Jadaka, throwing him backward as if struck by an invisible hammer. The sheer, unholy weight of the energy began to poison the environment: the vibrant green forest floor instantly withered to a barren, dusty grey, the surrounding trees desiccated and crumbled into piles of fine powder, and every living thing in the vicinity was instantly reduced to dust.

  With a guttural, demonic roar, a massive, explosive burst of crimson mana erupted from his body, tearing the air apart. When the blinding light receded, the boy stood transformed: his skin was now a sickly, vibrant purple, and his carmine-black hair, no longer merely slicked back, stood rigidly on end, crackling with residual power.

  T'Jadaka's stance sharpened instantly, his eyes—still blazing with black and white light—darting across the transformed landscape. A cold, alien dread coiled in his gut, a primal warning his Mazoku senses screamed at him. What the hell is up with this guy? Why does it feel like I need to be scared all of the sudden? This don't seem right. He raised his guard, the chaotic black energy around him intensifying.

  The boy, his purple skin faintly pulsing, finally registered T'Jadaka's presence. The smirk was gone, replaced by a look of grim, focused intensity. His silver eyes narrowed with a calculation that sent a fresh wave of alarm through T'Jadaka. I'll get in trouble for using my Turbo Demon state, but this guy is stronger than I gave him credit for being manaless. But I need to kill him now, the boy thought, his posture shifting from arrogant playfulness to lethal intent.

  The boy disappeared in a crimson blur, vanishing from T'Jadaka's sight. Shit! I can't see him now, he got way faster! T'Jadaka thought, his head whipping around, searching the desiccated environment.

  "If I can't beat you normally, I'll just have to overpower you as fast as possible~" Shikiba's voice hissed from directly behind him.

  T'Jadaka spun instantly, unleashing a devastating, Mazoku-charged punch aimed at the voice, but his fist met only air. He looked down, and a wave of shock, cold and paralyzing, washed over him. His right forearm, severed cleanly just above the elbow, was gone.

  "Looking for your arm, buddy~?" Shikiba purred, holding up the bloody limb in a mockery of a trophy.

  T'Jadaka didn't hesitate. Roaring with a new surge of black energy, he threw a follow-up punch—a desperate, terrifyingly fast attack that broke the sound barrier with a concussive CRACK and released a shockwave that decimated the already withered trees around them.

  The dust settled instantly, revealing Shikiba standing utterly unscathed, his posture radiating cool indifference. "Wow, that was way faster than the last one. I'd be damned if I was in base, that might have killed me." He then held out his left arm, displaying a similar, clean cut. T'Jadaka looked down; his left forearm was also gone.

  "Yeah. You still ain't hitting shit with that," Shikiba drawled, dropping both of T'Jadaka's arms onto the barren earth with a sickening thud. "You just don't know who your fucking with? I'm Shikiba fucking Stygian! You could never hoe me like this and get away with it."

  T'Jadaka staggered back, a primal gasp escaping his lips as the black Mazoku energy frantically began to weave new muscle, bone, and skin onto his severed limbs. His arms were rapidly reforming, but the process was agonizingly slow compared to his usual rate. He dropped to one knee, panting heavily, a dizzying wave of exhaustion crashing over him.

  Damn it... he thought, his mind racing through the hazy instruction his mother had given him about his unique physiology. I never felt tired before. Mom said we don't really get tired unless we push past our limits, but then we should recover fast... This isn't fast.

  Shikiba watched T'Jadaka's struggle with detached amusement. The vibrant purple of his 'Turbo Demon' state pulsed ominously in the air.

  "Now that you see how utterly outclassed you are," Shikiba drawled, the condescension thick in his voice, "I'm going to be nice and give you one last chance. Stand down, let me take your mommy's head, and you can walk away from this. Deal?"

  T'Jadaka remained on one knee, his shoulders slumping. He's right... I can't beat him, he thought, the truth a bitter pill. I'm too tired, and all he's been doing is playing around with me this whole time. He hasn't even used a single spell. Despair, cold and heavy, settled in his gut. My mom wouldn't want this... To throw my life away for her corpse... It would be the smart thing to just let him take her head and lay what's left to rest.

  Then, a memory flashed—a conversation with Farrah when he was ten.

  "Why would he risk his life fighting instead of giving up and coming back with a counterattack?" T'Jadaka had asked, holding up a comic book. "Gohan was going to die due to being outnumbered and outpowered. So why would he risk fighting a losing fight?"

  Farrah had leaned back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Two things, sweetie. One: because he wanted to be like his dad, Goku. Goku took fights he might not win all the time, like with Mercenary Tao, King Piccolo, and Raditz. They could have let him live if he did the smart thing and did what they said. But even he knew he couldn't win, and he kept fighting anyway."

  "So...?" T'Jadaka prompted, confused.

  "So, even though it was dumb, he couldn't live with himself if he did that," she explained, her voice softening. "Let me ask you this: Would you kill nine hundred innocent people just to save me?"

  T'Jadaka looked conflicted. "I would, but I have a feeling you wouldn't like it."

  "Hell no," she said, rubbing his head gently. "Just do what you think is right. Your heart will always tell you."

  Back in the present, T'Jadaka slowly rose to his feet, the remnants of the black Mazoku energy around him flaring with renewed defiance, and spat a stream of blood and saliva directly into Shikiba's face.

  Shikiba recoiled sharply, wiping the spittle away with a furious swipe of his purple-skinned hand, his silver eyes blazing. "BITCH, DID YOU JUST SPIT IN MY FACE!?"

  T'Jadaka met his gaze, his own eyes blazing black and white with lethal conviction, a small, grim smile touching his lips despite the pain. "Go to hell," he snarled, pushing through the agony and exhaustion. "Taking her head... that's not happening while I'm breathing."

  Shikiba's face was a mask of cold, focused fury. The intense crimson aura around him crackled violently. "Oh... I can fix that."