Chapter Text
“There is a legend of a world shrouded in pitch-black darkness, where not a single speck of white exists. There, monstrous beings born of hell appear to satisfy a single desire—to devour. Yet within the darkness lurks their greatest fear. A boy filled with boiling rage, bearing a single purpose in his heart. Revenge. With the weapon known as the Devil's Blade, slash, tear apart, and drag down every demon. And be with his beloved—a girl called Kanon Mizushiro."
『漆黒の闇に包まれた世界がある。そこには一片の白すらない。地獄から生まれた怪物たちが、ただ一つの欲望──貪り尽くすこと──を満たすために現れる。しかし闇の中には、彼らにとって最大の恐怖が潜んでいた。沸騰する怒りに満ちた少年が、ただ一つの目的を胸に抱いて。復讐。悪魔の刃と呼ばれる武器で、あらゆる魔物を斬り裂き、引き裂き、引きずり落とせ。そして最愛の者——水城花音という少女と共にいるために.』
Morning sunlight spilled faintly through the crystal windows of Sunshine Academy, Jewel Land still wet from the night’s passing rain. The grounds were quiet—most students and teachers had gone off on errands or were still resting from the chaos of the prom. Only the faint scent of damp earth lingered in the air.
Sakurā arrived at the academy gates, boots leaving deep prints on the gravel path. His cape hung heavy from the rain-soaked journey, the Devil’s Blade strapped across his back, its single red eye restless as if it sensed his fatigue.
Inside, Jill Konia stood waiting, her red jacket immaculate as always despite her stern frown. A massive briefcase rested beside her, its locks gleaming faintly in the morning light. Sapphie sat neatly by her heels, her blue ears bouncing slightly as she wagged her tail, her sapphire eyes warm when they landed on Sakurā.
“You made it,” Jill said, her tone brisk but not unkind. She bent down, unlocking the case with a sharp click. “I’ve been preparing something… something you’ll need.”
Sakurā’s eye narrowed slightly as Jill swung the case open.
Inside was an arsenal and attire that looked as though it had been stitched from shadow itself:
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Black goggles with dark gray lenses, gleaming faintly under the light.
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A black eyepatch—simple, yet heavy with intent, designed to cover the ruined socket of his left eye.
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A long black longcoat, joined with a torn, stitched scarf and hood, the fabric trailing into a ragged cape. Its enormous collar rose like vampire fangs, and across the back blazed a giant Mark of Dräkk, stitched in deep black. Weapons nestled within its folds—katana, arrows, guns, grenades, even a chainsaw.
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Dragon-scale shoulder pads, jagged and spiked, polished in shades of black and dark gray.
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Scratched black armor, styled like a ceremonial yukata but reinforced, a bandolier of ammunition hidden beneath its folds.
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A soulless, glowing red contact lens, meant to cover scarred, blind eyes, giving a permanent, haunting gaze.
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His left mechanical arm, designed by Sapphie herself. It bristled with hidden weapons: cannon, taser, blades, shuriken, knives, even bullets laced into the knuckles.
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A fang-belt, its centerpiece the Mark of Dräkk carved into metal, with leather pouches strapped across for powder, bullets, and survival tools.
- Armored modified dark black and gray Nike boots, has a bleeding gray Nike logo with fangs all around the middle of both boots.
The cape’s edges fluttered as if alive when Jill held it up.
“This,” Jill said firmly, her pride showing, “is the armor of survival. The day you’re ready to stop wandering and start fighting with everything you are, you’ll need this. You’ll wear this.”
Sakurā’s single eye lingered on the attire. He reached out with his mechanical hand, touching the fabric, then drew back.
“…I’m not ready,” he said, voice low, distant.
Jill tilted her head, her voice soft, almost motherly. “That’s alright. You don’t need to be. Not yet.”
She exhaled, closing the case with a decisive snap. “Fine. Then I’ll keep it safe—somewhere far, until the day you decide otherwise. An abandoned apartment, Chinatown, New York. It’ll wait for you… the same way she will.”
Sakurā didn’t respond. His silence was enough.
As Jill lifted the heavy case and carried it away, Sapphie’s sapphire eyes met Sakurā’s. “When the time comes, you’ll know. And when you wear it, it won’t just be your armor… it’ll be your answer.”
Sakurā turned, cape dragging behind him, the Devil’s Blade glowing faintly at his back. He said nothing, but as always, he walked on—toward a road no one else could follow.