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 forest floor, his silver eyes gleaming with a cruel, twitchy impatience. "So, are you finally going to give up and let me take the body? Please say no," he drawled, that devilish smile carving back into his face. "I was just starting to have fun. I want to fuck you up more."
T'Jadaka spat a thick glob of blood onto the dirt. "Nah. I can still win this."
The boy threw his head back and laughed—a high, jagged sound that grated against the trees. "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 that smug gaze with a flat, unnerving intensity. "You hit like a one."
The smile vanished. The boy's silver eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. "...HUH!?"
"My mama hits harder than that," T'Jadaka stated, his voice ringing with absolute, cold certainty. "So, yeah. You hit lesser than a bitch."
The boy vanished.
Ah, so ego is the trigger, T'Jadaka thought. He didn't look; he tracked the displacement of the air, the slight ripple in the forest's shadow. The moment the boy flickered back into reality, T'Jadaka's black-marked hand whipped out in a savage, blind backhand.
The blow connected with a wet crack, snapping the boy's head violently to the side.
"What the fuck!? How did you hit me!?" he spat, his voice a mix of confusion and mounting fury.
He vanished again, trying to exploit the chaos, but T'Jadaka was already in motion. His fist was a blur of black energy that punched the boy straight out of the air, driving him down until he cratered into the packed earth.
"You're fast, but…" T'Jadaka snarled, the Mazoku energy crackling around his knuckles. "I got used to your speed." He raised a heavy boot for a stomp that would have ended it, but the boy—impossibly fluid even while dazed—slid across the dirt like oil.
"So... you think that's as fast I can go?" the boy sneered, scrambling back to his feet. A flicker of genuine alarm danced in his silver eyes. "You're a damn fool."
"Then go faster," T'Jadaka challenged, dropping into a low, defensive crouch. "I'll just adapt again."
Raiken's Study
In the opulent heart of Stan City, Raiken lounged in a room that was less a study and more a shrine to his own excess. Deep crimson velvet lined the walls, lit by the warm, flickering orange of gaslight fixtures that cast long, dancing shadows across mahogany shelves. The air was thick—heavy with the scent of aged leather, expensive ink, and the rich, pungent smoke of the hand-rolled cigar smoldering between Raiken's fingers.
He sat in a high-backed Chesterfield armchair, draped in a custom-tailored silk smoking jacket. One foot was propped lazily on a Persian rug. A heavy, leather-bound volume rested open in his lap, though his attention was focused on the slow, deliberate smoke rings he exhaled toward the ceiling.
A maid, dressed in stark black and white, stood by the door. Her hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. Raiken finally lowered his book, his dark silver eyes—sharp and predatory even in repose—fixing on her.
"Adriana," he drawled, the low, commanding murmur cutting through the silence like a blade. "Fetch me the absolute strongest thing they hide in that damn liquor cabinet. And, for God's sake, make it snappy."
Adriana curtsied, the hurried rustle of her uniform betraying her terror. "Yes, sir. Immediately, sir." She scurried away, her footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet.
Raiken watched her go with a flicker of boredom before his attention drifted back to the ledger—a meticulously detailed record of global bounties. He ran a manicured finger down a column, pausing on a name that made his lip curl in a faint, amused smile.
The door creaked. Adriana returned, carrying a crystal decanter filled with a liquid so dark it appeared black. She placed it reverently on a mahogany side table next to a heavy, cut-glass tumbler.
"The Vantablack Whiskey, sir. From the private reserve. Seventy years aged," she whispered.
Raiken didn't reach for the glass. He grabbed the entire bottle. With a casual flick of his thumb, he popped the bottom off the decanter as if the crystal were nothing more than a cheap tin can.
Adriana flinched. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she watched him guzzle the liquid like water. That's 99.999% proof... she thought, her fear spiking into pure horror. A single shot would stop a human heart.
Raiken drained the bottle in two long, effortless gulps. He slammed the empty vessel down with a resonant thud. He didn't cough. He didn't even blink. He simply wiped a dark, oily drop from his chin and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"Mmmm. DAMN. That's the good shit right there." Raiken smacked his lips, savoring the burn that would have liquefied anyone else's throat. "If it's not fatal to humans, it's not worth drinking."
He closed his fist around the heavy bottle. There was a sharp, splintering CRUNCH, and the thick crystal was reduced to a pile of sparkling dust. "There," he said, gesturing toward the debris. "Something for you to clean up."
Adriana's shoulders slumped with weary resignation. She grabbed a dustpan and knelt to sweep the glass. As she worked, Raiken casually placed one foot on the center of her back, resting his full weight on her as if she were a footstool.
"You know, you humans have a lot of cool knowledge in these books," Raiken drawled, tapping the ledger. "It's pretty neat, actually."
"Ain't you human too, sir?" she asked, her voice barely a tremor.
The laughter stopped. The room plunged into a terrible, cold silence. Raiken's eyes narrowed to silver points.
"BITCH, DID YOU JUST TALK BACK!?" he roared. The sound was a physical blow, shaking the fixtures and rattling the windows in their frames.
Adriana froze. Every muscle locked in a paralysis of sheer terror. Her lungs burned, but she couldn't pull in air. Breathe... just breathe... he won't kill me for breathing, right?
Then, the tension snapped. A sudden, booming peal of laughter erupted from Raiken. He threw his head back, his face contorted with cruel amusement. "God damn! The look on your face! HAHAHA!"
Adriana looked up, her body still vibrating, eyes stinging with unshed tears and a flicker of desperate, defiant rage. "You asshole! That's not funny!"
Raiken grinned, his expression purely predatory. "Oh, it's not funny down there," he purred, his voice dropping to a silken, dangerous register. "But it's hilarious up here, doll."
He lifted his foot, allowing her to scramble back to her knees. Raiken knelt beside her, his long fingers gently wiping a tear from her cheek.
"Aww, don't cry. I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice smooth and comforting. "I just have a... special way of expressing humor, is all." He brought his hand up and slowly licked the salt from his fingertips, his silver eyes never leaving hers. "Mmm. Deliciously salty."
He straightened, offering a chillingly charming smile. "But to answer your question, Adriana... no. I'm not human at all, really."
She blinked, her fear momentarily eclipsed by shock. "What? But you look perfectly human—more so than any of the non-human races I've ever seen."
"True, true," Raiken conceded. He lifted the cuff of his silk jacket, revealing a section of his forearm. Crisscrossed over the skin were complex, obsidian-black geometric markings that seemed to pulse beneath the surface. "But it's these marks that are the sign. They're etched into my very essence."
Adriana stared at the markings. "The type of tattoos you have makes you not human? That makes a lot of sense," she deadpanned, her terror giving way to dry sarcasm.
Raiken's smile vanished. "Come on now. Don't be a smart ass, doll. I hate that."
He held up the marked arm again, and the obsidian lines began to throb 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 on 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 pressed a finger over her lips.
"Shh! Just a second," he murmured. She swatted his hand away with a huff.
"You 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 a conspiratorial whisper. He spoke a low, guttural phrase in a language that sounded like grinding stones: "Txe'lan nìwotx tìran."
Adriana blinked. "The what?"
"In the human tongue, it translates to 'Demon born in heaven,'" Raiken explained, a flash of dark pride in his eyes. "That's what my people call us. But we're more commonly known as Mazoku."
The color drained from Adriana's face. "Mazoku...? But, you're all supposed to be—"
"Extinct?" Raiken chuckled, cutting her off with a flick of his wrist. "Yeah, they thought they killed us all. But you see, my dear, the Mazoku are the hardest creatures on this planet to kill. Every Viltrumlight and Eidolon Ghoul you hear about is just a cheap copy trying to be me... Toruk Makto. The last living shadow of a dead people."
"What happened? The books said they used a virus that Mazoku couldn't adapt to fast enough." Her voice was strained.
Raiken threw his head back and laughed again, 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."
He leaned in, his silver eyes flashing. "But the fundamental nature of the Mazoku 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. "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 mid-air with a bone-jarring BOOM that shattered the remaining silence of the forest. They traded a brutal sequence of blows—the boy a flurry of blinding, rhythmic speed, T'Jadaka a relentless storm of raw, unmitigated power.
Each punch T'Jadaka landed was a concentrated act of force. The air visibly compressed before his knuckles, releasing focused shockwaves that tore through the atmosphere. The first time his fist connected squarely with the boy's shoulder, the resulting CRACK was followed by a concussive pulse that flattened the undergrowth in a twenty-foot radius.
The boy, despite his speed, was struggling. T'Jadaka's Mazoku-enhanced senses and Viltrumlight durability allowed him to tank the torrent of punishing strikes, his body adapting to the rhythm faster than the boy anticipated.
The boy launched into a desperate 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 flared crimson, but his frame held firm. He retaliated with a single, massive hook. The boy tried to dance away, but the punch clipped the side of his head. 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 ancient wood into toothpicks. He rebounded, landing on his feet but staggering, his silver eyes wide with a building, frantic panic. His perfectly tailored black suit was shredded at the seams; a crimson stream of blood leaked from his hairline, and purplish bruises bloomed across his skin like rot.
In contrast, T'Jadaka stood tall. His breathing was heavy, but his rhythm was steady. The superficial cuts the boy's speed had inflicted were already gone, swallowed by his regeneration. The only damage was the tattered remains of his clothes, which smoked faintly from the intense energy radiating from his skin. He was covered in sweat and grime, but he looked unbreakable.
The boy pushed off the splintered tree, a genuine, manic grin splitting his bloody face. Despite the damage, a twisted excitement glittered in his silver eyes.
"I have to say, kid," he gasped, the sound breathless and exhilarated, "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 thickening into a shroud. His eyes, still blazing with black and white fury, narrowed in pure 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. I suppose I'll make an exception."
"You really think I'll just stand here and let you power up!?" T'Jadaka snarled, his energy flaring in response.
"No, but it's not like you can stop me~" the boy purred. He raised his hands. A scorching aura of raw mana—pure, unfiltered crimson energy—erupted from his pores, coalescing into a sphere of intense, vibrating heat.
T'Jadaka didn't hesitate. He launched into a full-speed dash, closing the gap with terrifying velocity. But the closer he got, the more the mana acted like a shield of liquid fire.
The pain is agonizing... but I can't let him finish this! If he gets any stronger, it's over! T'Jadaka gritted his teeth, pushing through the searing heat that threatened to peel the skin from his bones.
The boy's mana surged to an impossible density, creating a crushing pressure that physically repelled T'Jadaka, throwing him backward as if he'd been struck by a mountain. The sheer, unholy weight of the energy began to poison the world around them. The vibrant green forest floor shriveled into a barren, dusty gray in a heartbeat. The surrounding trees desiccated, their bark crumbling into fine powder. Every living thing in the vicinity was reduced to ash.
With a guttural, demonic roar, a massive burst of crimson mana tore the air apart. When the blinding light receded, the boy stood transformed. His skin was a sickly, vibrant purple; his carmine-black hair stood rigidly on end, crackling with residual power.
T'Jadaka's stance sharpened. His eyes darted across the dead landscape. A cold, alien dread coiled in his gut—a primal warning his Mazoku senses were screaming at him. What the hell is up with this guy!? Why does it feel like I need to be scared all of a sudden? This isn't right.
The boy, his purple skin pulsing, finally looked at T'Jadaka. The smirk was gone. His silver eyes narrowed with a calculation that sent a fresh wave of alarm through T'Jadaka's chest. I'll get in trouble for using my Turbo Demon state, but this guy is stronger than I gave him credit for being manaless. I need to kill him now, the boy thought, his posture shifting from playfulness to lethal intent.
The boy disappeared.
Shit! I can't see him! He's too fast! T'Jadaka's head whipped around, searching the gray, dead clearing.
"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 his ear.
T'Jadaka spun, unleashing a Mazoku-charged punch at the sound, but his fist met only empty air. He looked down, and a wave of ice-cold shock washed over him.
His right forearm was gone. Severed cleanly just above the elbow.
"Looking for your arm, buddy~?" Shikiba purred, holding up the bloody limb like 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. The shockwave decimated the withered trees, but when the dust settled, Shikiba was standing ten feet away, unscathed.
"Wow, that was way faster than the last one. I'd be damned if I was in base; that might have actually killed me." Shikiba 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 you're 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. Black Mazoku energy frantically began to weave new muscle, bone, and skin onto the stumps, but the process was agonizingly slow. He dropped to one knee, panting heavily, a dizzying wave of exhaustion crashing over him.
Damn it... he thought, his mind racing. I never felt tired before. Mom said we don't get tired unless we push past our limits... but then we're supposed to recover fast. This isn't fast.
Shikiba watched the struggle with detached amusement, the purple glow of his 'Turbo Demon' state pulsing ominously.
"Now that you see how utterly outclassed you are," Shikiba drawled, "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. The truth was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. I'm too tired. He's been playing with me this whole time. He hasn't even used a single spell. Despair, cold and heavy, settled in his gut. Mom wouldn't want this... to throw my life away for her corpse... it would be the smart thing to just let him take it 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 dog-eared comic book. Gohan was going to die, outnumbered and outpowered. "Why would he risk 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 took fights he might not win all the time—Mercenary Tao, King Piccolo, Raditz. They could have let him live if he did the 'smart' thing and did what they said. But even when he knew he couldn't win, he kept swinging."
"So...?" T'Jadaka prompted, confused.
"So, even though it was dumb, he couldn't live with himself if he didn't," 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 dragged himself to his feet. The remnants of the black Mazoku energy flickered around his stumps like a dying candle, but the defiance in his chest was a roar. He didn't offer a deal. He didn't beg. He simply leaned forward and spat a thick mixture of blood and bile directly into Shikiba's purple face.
Shikiba recoiled sharply, a snarl ripping through his composure. He wiped the spittle away with a furious, trembling swipe of his violet hand, his silver eyes blazing with a sudden, murderous light. "BITCH... DID YOU JUST SPIT IN MY FACE!?"
T'Jadaka met his gaze, his own eyes a black-and-white void of lethal conviction. A small, jagged smile touched his lips despite the agony screaming through his nervous system.
"Go to hell," he snarled, pushing through the exhaustion until his vision blurred. "Taking her head... that's not happening while I'm breathing."
Shikiba's face went cold, the last of his playful arrogance evaporating into a mask of focused fury. The crimson aura around him crackled violently, the air itself beginning to scream under the pressure.
"Oh... I can fix that."