Chapter Two – Chains and Echoes
Three days had passed since that night.
Nao still sat on the cold floor of the cell, his back against the damp wall, eyes closed. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, each drop shattering against the concrete below. He had lost count—or perhaps it no longer mattered.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Not one person this time.
Several.
Heavy. Measured. Resolute.
They stopped in front of his cell.
Nao opened his eyes.
Takumi stood beyond the bars. On either side of him were several organization soldiers holding specialized chains, their faces pale.
One of them spoke, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Captain Sato… should we open it?”
Takumi didn’t take his eyes off Nao. After a few seconds of silence, he answered calmly.
“Open the door. Bind his hands. Bring him with me.”
The lock turned.
The metal door creaked open.
The soldiers stepped inside. Their hands trembled. Their footing was uncertain.
Nao did not resist.
He rose to his feet, extended his hands forward, and waited.
As if he couldn’t wipe them out before a single blink passed.
The chains wrapped around his wrists. Two men gripped his arms. Two ahead. Two behind.
They escorted him through winding corridors lit by dim ceiling lamps. The air smelled of metal, salt—and something else.
Fear.
Takumi said nothing.
Eventually they reached a massive double metal door. Takumi gestured. It opened.
Blinding white light flooded out.
The hall beyond was enormous. Their footsteps echoed for seconds before fading.
At its center stood a single metal chair. Tall-backed. Heavy. Chains hung from its armrests.
“Put him in the chair,” Takumi ordered. “Bind his legs to the base.”
Nao was guided forward.
He lifted his gaze.
High above, large observation windows lined the walls. Behind each pane stood figures—dozens of them. Men and women in formal attire.
He recognized faces.
Hikari Takamura—the organization’s leader. Short hair. Unreadable eyes.
Beside her stood Genji Tetsu, her deputy. He appeared simple at a glance, almost na?ve—but his physique was in peak condition, and the power radiating from him was unmistakable.
Behind other panes stood the captains. Nine of them.
Takumi made ten.
Nao had known many of them before his descent into hell.
They fastened him to the chair. Chains secured his wrists and ankles.
Takumi left the floor and ascended the side stairs, taking his place behind the glass among the others.
The soldiers exited.
Silence fell.
Then a mechanical hatch in the ceiling opened.
Something descended.
A body.
Headless.
Its flesh punctured deliberately across its entire form—holes placed so blood could drip freely.
The corpse hung from a moving hook and lowered slowly, stopping two meters above Nao.
Drip.
The first drop landed in his hair.
The second struck his forehead.
The third slid across his closed eyelid.
Warm. Thick. Metallic.
It flowed down his face, across his lips, over the deep scar at the corner of his mouth.
Whispers rose behind the glass.
Some of the civilian observers exchanged uneasy glances.
They were waiting.
Waiting to see when the monster would lose control.
Nao closed his eyes.
The blood kept falling.
And he remembered.
Flashback
A forest.
Dense trees. Sunlight filtered through leaves—but gave no warmth.
Nao sat beneath a tree. Clothes torn. Body wounded. Eyes empty.
Two years trapped in hell.
A scream echoed in the distance.
Closer.
Closer.
A young girl burst through the trees. Hair disheveled. Face streaked with tears. Clothes torn apart.
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When she saw him, she stumbled toward him desperately.
“Sir! Please—help me! The monsters—they killed everyone—!”
Nao did not move.
He only looked at her.
She reached out toward him.
His blade left its sheath in a single motion.
Her head separated from her body instantly.
It rolled across the ground.
The body collapsed—
—but did not stop moving.
Limbs twitched.
Then, grotesquely, the body crawled toward its severed head.
It picked it up.
Pressed it back against the neck.
Flesh fused.
Seconds later, the “girl”—the monster—stood upright again, smiling.
“You cut my head off without hesitation…”
She chuckled.
“Good. I hate hesitant humans.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Let’s see how long you last.”
Nao stood.
Lowered his blade.
The creature laughed loudly.
“There’s something about your eyes… makes me want to tear them out.”
Nao channeled his aura into the sword.
In less than a blink—
The monster realized it was on the ground.
Its body had been dismantled.
Limbs severed. Torso split. Head separated once more.
Its eyes trembled.
“No…”
It looked at its scattered remains.
“That’s… impossible…”
Its breathing grew frantic.
“Wait—”
A pause.
Its voice cracked.
“Don’t come closer…”
Nao stepped forward. Raised his sword.
“I… I underestimated you…”
Silence.
End Flashback
A drop of blood touched Nao’s lips.
He opened his eyes.
He didn’t know how much time had passed.
Seconds.
Minutes.
An hour.
His face was drenched.
This was human blood.
Not a monster’s.
Innocent—or not.
It didn’t matter.
A voice echoed in his mind.
His own voice.
Deeper.
Darker.
The one that had followed him in hell.
“Nao…”
He inhaled slowly.
“Even the most terrifying monsters in hell ran from you.”
He remembered.
The blood continued to drip.
Nao clenched his fists.
The specialized chains around his wrists cracked with a sharp metallic snap and shattered.
Behind the glass—
Silence.
Every gaze froze.
He spread his legs slightly.
The ankle restraints resisted.
Not for long.
They ruptured.
The heavy chair scraped backward.
He stood.
Takumi shouted from above:
“See?! That’s not Nao! That thing’s a monster! Human blood set him off—he’s lost control!”
Hikari raised her hand sharply.
“Units—surround him! End this here!”
Doors burst open across the hall.
Dozens of soldiers flooded in from every direction, their auras flaring, weapons forming.
One lunged forward and hurled a spear of light at Nao.
Nao tilted his head.
The spear grazed past his ear and embedded in the wall behind him.
And then—
Something twisted through the air.
Thinner than silk.
Sharper than razors.
Invisible to most eyes.
The charging soldiers froze.
Then—
Their bodies perforated.
Flesh. Bone. Blood. All at once.
They appeared suspended midair—but in truth, thousands of near-invisible threads had pierced through them from every direction.
Blood splashed across the floor.
Seconds later, their bodies collapsed.
The hall filled with groans and the metallic scent of fresh blood.
Panic rippled behind the glass.
Some captains stepped back.
A civilian nearly collapsed.
And Nao vanished.
No—
He moved.
So fast that the eye could not follow.
In the next instant, he stood behind the observation glass.
Among them.
Every captain stepped back.
Every deputy as well.
Space opened instinctively—for their leader and her second-in-command.
All stepped back.
All except one.
Ren Suzuhara.
Deputy of Captain Four.
Arms crossed. Feet unmoved.
Captain Daiki shouted, “Ren! Fall back! It’s dangerous! Make space for Lady Takamura and Mr. Tetsu!”
Ren glanced sideways, calm amid chaos.
“Dangerous? …For who?”
Daiki stared at him.
“What are you saying?”
Ren returned his gaze to Nao.
“Did you really think they were going to win?”
Then he stepped back.
Not out of fear.
Just because there was no longer a reason to remain.
Nao appeared directly before Hikari Takamura.
His hand thrust forward toward her abdomen—precise. Lethal.
Genji moved.
With astonishing speed fueled by blue aura, he intercepted, placing himself between them. His right fist, condensed with power, slammed toward Nao.
Nao shifted, abandoning his strike on Hikari and raising his arm to block.
The impact cracked nearby glass.
The sound thundered through the hall.
Nao slid back several steps.
His forearm went numb.
Genji didn’t stop.
His left fist came immediately, aimed for Nao’s shoulder.
In a fraction of a second, threads shot outward—wrapping around Genji’s right arm mid-motion.
He stalled for a heartbeat.
Then forced forward through raw instinct.
The threads tightened.
And sliced.
His right arm severed above the elbow and fell to the floor.
Blood erupted.
Yet his left fist, already in motion, connected with Nao’s shoulder.
Bone shattered audibly.
Nao dropped to one knee.
Genji braced himself against the wall, staring at his severed arm in disbelief.
But he did not yield.
He moved to attack again.
Nao watched the fallen arm.
Not with pity.
Not with satisfaction.
In hell, he had seen this thousands of times.
Severed limbs.
Broken bodies.
And himself standing among them.
Yet Genji did not fear.
Most monsters trembled when death approached.
Or fled.
Or begged.
This man did none.
That unsettled Nao.
Threads exploded outward.
They wrapped around Genji completely.
Dense.
Absolute.
One millimeter of movement would mean dismemberment.
Nao drew his sword.
Aura spiraled around the blade.
He vanished.
A blink later, he stood before Hikari.
He raised the sword—not to kill.
To maim.
Three luminous barriers formed instantly before her.
The first shattered.
The second cracked under strain.
The third slowed the blade—but not enough.
The strike cut diagonally from her side across her chest.
A deep, brutal wound.
Hikari cried out in pain and staggered back.
Blood flowed heavily.
But she did not collapse.
With her remaining strength, she raised both hands.
Fifty blades of light manifested simultaneously.
All fired at once.
Nao retreated, spreading thousands of threads before him like a lethal net.
Most blades shattered.
Some deflected.
Two pierced through.
One into his already shattered shoulder.
One into his side.
He dropped to both knees.
Blood pooled beneath him.
He inhaled sharply.
Focused.
Muscles convulsed.
The blades were forced out.
Wounds closed within seconds.
Bone fused.
He stood again.
Hikari stared.
It wasn’t the regeneration that froze her.
It was the realization that her strongest attack—fifty blades fueled by everything she had—had failed.
“My… end…” she murmured faintly.
Darkness crept into her vision.
But Nao did not raise his blade again.
His muscles tensed unconsciously.
A thought passed through him.
Why don’t I kill her?
A voice answered from within.
“Kill her.”
As always.
But this was not hell.
These were humans.
Enemies—but human.
For a fleeting second, pressure tightened in his chest.
Something between rage… and restraint.
Then he surged forward and drove a powerful punch into her abdomen—strong enough to send her flying, but not to kill.
She formed a luminous armor around herself mid-flight. The impact still hurled her into the metal wall hard enough to dent it.
Her spine suffered damage.
But she lived.
Nao did not look back.
He walked through the terrified crowd.
Takumi remained standing.
Nao stopped inches from him.
Quietly—so only he could hear—
“This isn’t over. We’ll meet again.”
And he vanished.
Only blood remained.
And wind from a shattered window.
Outside, the sky was overcast.
Cold wind cut through his soaked clothes as he sat on the rooftop’s edge.
His mind was not calm.
A dull pulse throbbed deep within his skull—the aftereffect of using multiple abilities simultaneously.
He had killed the ordinary soldiers.
Without hesitation.
Without pause.
Because on a battlefield, he finished what he started.
But Hikari.
Genji.
He had spared them.
Why?
They were enemies too.
He looked at his hands.
They trembled slightly—not from cold, but from neurological strain caused by overexerting his aura.
Several seconds passed before he suppressed it.
Why did I spare them?
Because they were strong?
Or because something inside me stopped me?
He closed his eyes.
It took effort to pull his scattered aura back under control.
If this is what being human means…
Then what am I?
His memory faltered briefly—parts of the battle blurred from the simultaneous strain of speed and thread control.
His mind had begun categorizing again.
In hell, that meant survival.
Weak.
Strong.
Dangerous.
Irrelevant.
The same pattern had applied here.
Some were marked as “valuable.”
Others… expendable.
He hated that instinct.
Yet he could not deny it.
Had killing the weak truly benefited humanity?
And why did he care about humanity at all?
A species that called him monster.
Beneath his skin, faint thread-like movements rippled before settling again.
Control required complete focus.
Rain began to fall.
It washed the dried blood from his face.
Not the memory.
He stood.
His knees buckled briefly—not from muscular weakness, but from momentary neural misalignment after extreme acceleration.
He steadied himself.
His steps were heavy.
Not from fatigue.
From the cost of holding back power that, if unleashed for even seconds, could destroy far more than a building.
There was still much to do.
