Darius landed hard on one foot, then the other, chest rising fast, smoke curling off his shoulder and torn cloak.
Across the yard, Seizen stood untouched in the firelight, tanto low, crimson eyes burning.
Darius spat to the side.
Grinned through the heat.
"Man," he said, still staring right at him, "I'm way too sober for this."
But inside—
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
How the hell did I get myself into this?
Another fireball hissed past and burst through a half-collapsed barracks behind him.
Darius rolled his shoulder.
Still smiling outside.
Panicking inside.
I was just in Rajistan and Chun taking care of the rookies till they got to the Seeker Exam.
A chunk of broken stone slid under his foot. He corrected without looking.
Then high alert in Chun cause of the Red Order attacks on Dune Island.
Seizen took one slow step forward.
The pressure changed with him.
Darius felt it in his teeth.
Then I wanted to see a few more Janoahian faces. Real food. Home. So I get stationed on Jareoa.
His grin twitched.
Perfect.
A dead fighter skidded across the yard between them.
Then the unexpected happened.
His eyes narrowed.
A damn Shinshō showed up.
Like how???
Out of every place, this is the one nobody would expect.
Seizen's Viatra gleamed through smoke and ruin.
Stop. Calm down. Think.
His fingers flexed around the dagger.
How can I get around those Viatras?
A loose beam lifted, spun, and slammed into a broken watchpost.
How the hell do you beat someone that can see into the future?
Without looking back, Darius called out,
"Hey, kid. Pass me my flask off your waist. I need a drink."
Musashi blinked once.
Then reached to his waist, pulled the flask free, and tossed it.
Darius caught it clean without looking.
Seizen didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Just watched him.
Darius lifted the flask a little.
"You don't mind if I take a swing real quick? Loosen up?"
Nothing.
No answer.
No twitch.
No smile.
Darius nodded anyway.
"Cool."
He bit the cap loose and drank.
Long.
Deep.
Like the whole base wasn't breaking apart around him.
Musashi watched from behind, blade low.
If this had been most Gold Seekers, they would already be dead.
Or running.
Or broken.
But Captain Darius King wasn't most Gold Seekers.
He'd turned down Grand Seeker statue ten times.
Ten.
Said it was too much work.
Too many rules.
Too many restrictions.
Gold kept him busy enough to stay sharp and free enough to do whatever the hell he wanted.
And more than that—
he hated being a celebrity.
Hated the spotlight.
Liked his peace.
Liked his women
Liked his food.
Liked his drink.
Liked teaching rookies and pretending he wasn't one of the nastiest fighters in the Association.
Musashi had seen him sway through camp like a lazy drunk with women of all types and colors.
Seen him joke through assignments.
Seen him laugh through danger.
But right now, standing in front of Seizen while the whole base came apart around him—
Musashi could feel it clear as day.
The Captain was the kind of Gold that made the rank itself feel too small.
Darius lowered the flask.
Exhaled.
"Ahhh," he said. "That hit the spot."
Then tossed it back.
Musashi caught it.
Darius smiled wider.
"Now I can't think straight."
At that exact moment—
his aura exploded.
The whole yard kicked.
A violent ring blasted out from him.
Loose stone shot across the base. Burned beams jumped. Broken crates flipped. Smoke and dust blew back in a wave. The cracked drill ground broke wider under his feet.
His pressure surged upward like a second body.
Raw.
Violent.
Uncontained.
The kind of power-up that made everybody still watching feel their chest tighten.
His torn cloak snapped in the blast.
His clothes whipped wild in the pressure.
The air around him screamed.
"Spirit Bloom: Birds of Paradise!"
The words slammed across the burning base.
For one breath—
it was all force.
All ignition.
All spirit bursting loose.
Like he'd kicked open a sealed gate inside himself and let the whole battlefield feel it.
Then—
it started coming back in.
The wild burst tightened.
Folded.
Disciplined itself.
The aura that had been roaring off him started channeling back toward his body instead of spilling away. The pressure didn't get smaller.
It got meaner.
Sharper.
Closer.
His torn Seeker cloak pulled itself back together.
Burn marks faded under flowing Muti-light.
Rips sealed.
Cloth reformed across his shoulders and frame, reshaping with his repaired clothes into something looser and older and far more dangerous—a pink Seeker-style flowered kimono layered into his uniform, patterned with different blossoms across the fabric. Sleeves relaxed. Cloth draped easy. Veteran style.
The glow around him thickened into a close wall hugging his silhouette.
Dense.
Bright.
Controlled.
No waste.
No leakage.
Darius took one slow breath.
Steam poured from his mouth.
Heavy.
Visible.
Proof of how much Muti he was moving through body and spirit without wasting a drop.
And then at his feet—
flowers started growing.
Small at first.
Then more.
White lilies.
Blue irises.
Red camellias.
Gold chrysanthemums.
Pink blossoms pushing through the cracked yard anywhere his presence touched.
Not a full Ryōiki.
Not even close.
But enough to hint at one.
A Proto-Ryōiki feel.
Open.
Unperfected.
Spirit and Martial working together.
Inner aura mastered.
Body control sharpened.
The Bloom climbed.
Second stage.
"Spirit Bloom: True Flow."
The air shifted with him.
The ground listened.
Across from him, Seizen smiled.
Small.
Sharp.
"Oh," Seizen said. "Looks like you still have tricks, old geezer."
Darius rolled his neck once.
The glow around his silhouette moved with it.
Dust curved.
Petals drifted.
Tiny flowers pushed up where his feet settled.
"I'm just warming up, kid."
His hands rose.
Slow.
Loose.
Dangerous.
"I still got a few lessons in me to teach."
Then his grin turned crooked.
"And if you survive this—"
For the first time, Seizen's eyes narrowed just a little.
"—I'll show you my legendary style."
That got a reaction.
Only a small one.
But it was there.
Because Seizen knew what he meant.
Not from seeing it.
From stories.
Old stories.
The kind fighters told low when they didn't want to admit somebody really was built like that.
Darius planted his feet.
Low.
Loose.
Alive.
Martial Muti: Flightless Feather Style.
And now it looked completely different.
Not just a stance.
A living field.
Flowers of different kinds and colors spiraled around him in small drifting trails, following the slightest shift of his body. Wherever his heel turned, petals answered. Wherever his weight settled, green life pushed through broken stone. Wherever he stepped, tiny blooms appeared in the burning base.
Small scale.
Controlled.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
The ground moved to his slightest motion.
The air dragged with his hands.
Dust curved around his silhouette.
Petals flowed at his feet.
Like the world had gotten softer around him—
and much, much deadlier.
Seizen watched all of it.
Crimson Viatra burning.
Tanto low.
Interested.
Then Darius moved one inch.
And the whole yard creaked and yawned.
Seizen disappeared.
The ground blew apart where he'd stood meeting Darius head on while increasing his own aura, with Seizen saying "Let's see old geezer".