Ten minutes earlier…
The sky above the tower blazed with chaos.
Steel clashed like thunder. Magic roared like the sea. Shattered stone, blackened by fire, cracked beneath every strike.
Tenchi stepped forward, his frame outlined in molten gold. His breath came in ragged bursts, yet his eyes remained focused—sharp with conviction. Flames ignited from every inch of him—his boots scorched the ground, his cloak hissed with embered edges, and even his hair shimmered like a comet's tail.
This was no longer the Emperor.
This was the Phoenix of Nippon—reborn.
A wave of heat exploded around him as he surged into motion. Every blow he struck split the air, carving glowing scars into the sky. With each movement, his aura intensified, pressing against the limits of the world.
He had ascended—Deity Class, Rank 2.
Tenchi's eyes, blazing like twin suns, locked onto Tendou's. "You won't touch her," he said, voice cracking with exhaustion, yet unwavering. "You think you've become something greater, something untouchable—but to me, you're still my little brother. The same boy I stood up for, the one I shielded from Father, from the nobles, from every damn shadow that dared call you weak."
He stepped forward, his flames flaring around him like the final flare of a dying star. "You think you've surpassed me? That power makes you right?" His voice trembled now, not with fear, but with a father's grief. "I have been a bad father to her, I have pushed her away. I still have to pay for all the pain I have caused her! I refuse to give her up! If you want her, Tendou… you'll have to rip her from the corpse of the man who never stopped believing in you."
His voice didn't tremble. It roared—cutting through the air with fury sharpened by love and pain.
And yet, Tendou did not yield.
The Demon Prince met each strike with terrifying control. His blade, carved from voidsteel, moved like shadow incarnate—fluid, silent, absolute. The contrast was staggering: fire against darkness, brother against brother, light versus the abyss.
Their swords sang. Their mana collided. The air screamed beneath the weight of their power.
But Tenchi—aged, wounded, and weary—was burning too fast.
He had returned from the north with wounds still raw. Every step since then had been driven by duty, not rest. He had fought through wave after wave of goblin hordes, pushed his men to the brink, and traveled back to the capital without sleep or healing. Even now, as fire surged through his veins and the Phoenix ignited within him, he was calculating every motion—every breath.
"I should've saved my strength," he thought bitterly. "Should've conserved mana, measured my strikes more carefully."
But there had been no time. No pause. And now, his body was beginning to betray him—fingers stiffening, vision dimming, the heat of his own aura turning suffocating.
He fought on. Because he had to. But the cracks were forming.
Now, he faced the man he once called brother.
Tendou's expression darkened, but his mouth curled into a sneer. "You're slower than I remember, brother," he said, circling. "All that fire… yet your embers are fading. You should've stayed in the north where they still think you're invincible."
Tenchi's grip tightened on his blade, but his breathing was growing shallow. His vision swam. He could feel it—his strength was waning, and Tendou could see it too.
"Can't even lift your sword straight," Tendou taunted, voice laced with contempt. "How does it feel, knowing you'll die failing to protect her? And she will be given to the Demon Lord, to be the vessel of the New Age demons.
Tenchi's heart pounded—not just from blood loss, but from something deeper: the terror of leaving Samara behind. And the horror of what will happen to her when Makaius gets her.
He thought of her crying in the garden, years ago. Of the way she looked at him, always waiting for a word of approval he never gave. And now, she was behind him, trembling, and all that stood between her and death was a failing father.
I can't die yet.
"I won't let you—" he started, but the words caught in his throat.
Tendou lunged.
With a swift, merciless arc—he struck.
Tendou's blade cleaved through flesh and bone in a burst of blackened flame.
Tenchi's left arm severed clean, landing with a sickening thud as blood sprayed across the cracked floor.
His scream shattered the air—a raw, soul-ripping sound, neither regal nor warriorlike. It was not the cry of an emperor.
It was the cry of a father.
A father realizing, in the darkest corner of his mind, that this might be the end.
Tendou's laughter echoed as he lowered his blade, stepping through the pool of blood. "Was that it?" he sneered. "The great Phoenix Emperor? Pathetic. All those years you carried me on your back, and now you can't even stand."
He leaned closer, voice like venom. "You always thought strength was about protection. About honor. But look where that got you—gasping at my feet while your daughter watches you bleed like a dog."
Tenchi's breath came in choking gulps. He clutched his shoulder, staring at the crimson trail that marked his failure.
"I should've killed you years ago," Tendou whispered coldly. "But now… now you get to watch what happens when the weak pretend to be strong."
Tendou grinned, lowering his blade with chilling satisfaction. "Look at you now," he sneered. "The Phoenix, grounded. You were always too soft. Too bound by love. You thought mercy was strength, but all it ever made you was weak. You kept a front that look merciless and cold, but you are not like our Father, your heart is more fragile! Weak!"
Tenchi collapsed to one knee, clutching his shoulder, his vision blurred with pain and fury. His mind screamed not from the wound, but from the looming image of Samara—alone, unguarded.
Not again. Not like Tendou.
"Tendou…" he gasped, tears hot in his eyes. "Please… not her."
But Tendou was already walking forward, voice like ice. "Then die for her. I will make sure that she watches you suffer and bleed to death!"
Across the chamber, Samara screamed.
Sam's mind is falling apart.
She couldn't comprehend the sight.
The father who never once held Samara… now bled for her.
A man of cold commands and quiet stares now stood between her and death, broken and bruised.
Despair swelled in her chest like a rising wave.
She gasped for breath, and then—
Memories that weren't hers flooded her mind.
Warmth. A hand holding hers beneath a crimson maple tree. Laughter muffled in silken sleeves. Stories whispered against candlelight.
"Uncle…"
Sam clutched her chest.
Samara's soul was weeping inside her.
And before her—Tendou stood laughing. Not with joy. But with madness.
He raised his blade high, dark energy rippling around him like a storm.
"I'm stronger now!" he snarled. "Stronger than you've ever been!"
Tendou kept on taunting Tenchi
Sam's fingers trembled. She opened her system window with desperate thoughts.
CREATE
Each weapon created inherits the element or property of the material used to create it.
Her breath caught. Her mind raced with calculating thoughts, his old mind, the ever tactician made something out of the skill's description.
She remembered...
The beads....on her right wrist...
The ones wrapped in cloth. Beads that once rested in the warmth of a hand that held hers through every storm. Given by the only one who ever truly saw her—not as a burden, not as a disappointment—but as someone worth protecting.
Her fingers trembled violently as she reached her right wrist, heart thundering, breath hitching. When she touched them, the cloth felt almost warm. Familiar. As if the beads themselves remembered her.
And suddenly—so did she.
A rush of memories crashed into her like a wave. The scent of sandalwood. The laughter in a quiet garden. Her small hands wrapped around a bigger one, the comfort of a voice saying, "Uncle's here."
Sam choked, the sob caught in her throat. It wasn't her pain alone—it was Samara's too, bubbling up from the depths of the body they now shared.
"I'm sorry, Uncle," she whispered, voice cracking with something deeper than fear. "But I have to protect him too."
Mana surged in her palm like it was answering that ache.
The pistol formed—sleek, heavy, a perfect harmony of steel and memory. Its barrel shimmered faintly, kissed with golden runes that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
She transformed the beads into bullets with holy properties, the kind that can kill a demon instantly, she slowly slid the beads into the chamber, each one transformed into bullets. Not forged from metal, but from love, grief, and the desperate will to save someone who had once saved her.
Tendou raised his sword to kill Tenchi, once and for all, as he was already diven mad by the pursuit of strength, and the clashing emotions within him,
Love,
Hurt,
Pain...
.
BANG.
BANG. BANG.
Three shots rang through the heavens.
Tendou staggered.
He laughed at first. "Bullets? You think that's going to—"
Then he stopped.
Smoke curled from his wounds.
The skin around the impact seared black—and did not heal.
His eyes widened.
He looked down, disbelief freezing his smile.
Sam stood with the gun lowered, her hands shaking. "The bullets… I made them from your beads. The ones you gave me. They're holy."
Tendou's eyes flared. His scream was a mix of rage and heartbreak.
He charged.
Behind him, Xelvar stirred, groaning in fury. His eyes fixed on Samara. With a guttural roar, he lunged.
Sam raised the pistol again.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Her mana faltered. Her arm burned. But she did not stop.
Both demons stumbled—wounded, but not downed.
Xelvar snarled through bared fangs. "I'll split you open and feed your insides to the hellhounds, little girl!"
Tendou's voice was lower, more chilling. "I'll take your mind piece by piece," he said. "Strip it clean until you forget your name… until the only thing you know is how to beg."
Sam's eyes narrowed.
In her mind, the world slowed. The gun in her hand felt like an extension of her will, forged in love, sharpened by purpose.
Xelvar favors his right flank. He'll zig to the left first—
And Tendou—he's faster, but not when he overcommits.
Her breathing steadied, despite the burning pain in her arm.
BANG. BANG.
Two more shots fired before the pistol sparked violently.
It exploded in her grip.
The Create skill faltered—her body too weak, her mana too strained.
She fell back, clutching her wrist, pain flaring like fire through her veins.
The shattered remains of her last hope scattered around her.
The demons roared in unison—harsh, guttural laughter that echoed like iron dragged across stone.
"Well, that was cute," Xelvar snarled, baring his teeth. "A little girl with a toy gun. I'll enjoy ripping her piece by piece."
Tendou's eyes narrowed, lips curling into a smile twisted with both rage and satisfaction. "She's fragile. We'll make her strong—after we break her. Over and over until she forgets who she even was."
Samara's chest heaved. She could taste copper in her mouth, and the pain in her wrist throbbed with each heartbeat. But her stare didn't waver.
They charged.
But Tenchi…
Tenchi stood again.
Bleeding. Pale. Missing an arm.
He stepped in front of her, sword raised in one hand.
One last time.
"Samara, Run!"
Sam was confused, and hesitated.
But before the clash—
The air cracked.
An enormous axe with a dragon head ornament tore through the sky.
It slammed into the earth with a roar, the ground erupting beneath it.
Tendou froze, his body tensing with something far more dangerous than fear—recognition. His eyes widened, and for the first time in decades, uncertainty cracked his expression.
Xelvar skidded to a halt, fangs bared in confusion. "What is that—?"
Tendou grabbed his arm, voice sharp with urgency. "We need to leave. Now."
Xelvar snarled and shook him off. "Leave? Are you out of your damn mind? I don't care if it's Makaius's mother—no one comes between me and my prey."
Tendou's glare was ice. "You don't understand. That axe—" he gestured toward the weapon embedded in the ground like a divine judgment, "—belongs to her. If we stay, we die."
The ground trembled beneath their feet, as if the world itself recoiled.
And then…
She teleported forward.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. A presence like thunder before the strike.
Her crimson hair blazed in the firelight, tied in a high, untamed ponytail. Her scarlet eyes gleamed like twin suns caught in twilight.
A white band of cloth wrapped her stacked chest, revealing muscle honed by a thousand battles. Her dark teal robe flowed with embroidered gold—a dragon coiled tight around her arm.
Every step she took cracked the floor.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her axe rose to her shoulder with ease.
The storm had arrived.
Even Tendou—the Demon Prince—stepped back.
"Well, well, well! Father! you are in a sorry state! HAHAHAH!" She glared at Tenchi.
"How generous of you insects to warm him up for me—now it's my turn. Whatever you did to my father… I'll return it thrice over, with interest. Let's see how well demons bleed when they scream."
TO BE CONTINUED