Chapter Text
Power brings queries. Power asks us, "Who are we? What is our purpose in life? Why do we exist?" Power always has questions, but never answers. It never says, "This is who you are. This is your purpose in life. This is your reason for existence."
But there are people out there looking for such answers. They take power in their hands and mould it to their understandings. No one will ever obtain the same answer; rather, power evolves to grant answers. These people believe in themselves and in their abilities, and they ride storms and winds making realities out of their dreams.
These people are called heroes, or Duel King.
"Seven of them! Seven duelists, seven wishes, seven realities! And each one is more powerful than the next – or maybe –" He laughs out loud, stretching his gaze up to the twinkling, starry sky. "Maybe there is an order. Maybe someone is better. Maybe ... maybe that someone is me, the Colourless Duel King."
He skips from foot to foot, spinning around. In the moonlight, his face is masked by thick, cloaking shadows and an eerie fog, but his body, wrapped in a dark trench coat, spins round and round. He looks like a grim reaper risen from the grave to come and claim a soul.
Her soul, actually.
The dark figure bends down.
"What do you think, dear Ema? Don't you agree?"
Ema sinks her teeth into her lip. She's lying face-down on the ground, and though her hair tumbles in front of her eyes, through the grey and pink strands she can see him giggling to himself like he's just heard the best joke. Meanwhile, Ema can hardly force out a breath without her ribs aching.
He shot her, after all.
A hand comes to snake into her hair, and something cold presses into her temple.
"Isn't that right, dear Ema?"
Clap! Clap!
"Everyone, to your seats please. Settle, settle. You have the school festival to prepare for, so there is no need to be so rowdy. First, please eat your lunch. Then you have the rest of the day to prepare for the festival. Thank you."
Without another word, the teacher turns and heads out the door. Everyone remains in their seats, watching him with wide, unblinking eyes. But the moment the door closes, the classroom erupts with raucous chatter and laughter as twenty or so students leap out of their chairs and hurry to their friends' sides.
It's lunchtime, the busiest time of the day at Den City High.
Takeru smiles to himself and reaches into his backpack. Tucked between his textbooks and folders is a little container of plain, white rice – and nothing else. He sighs to himself, and then glances around the room. Everyone else looks to have delicious lunches: stewed meat, raw vegetables, fried chicken –
With a soft chuckle, Takeru swings his legs around and hops out of his seat. He doesn't travel far, just to the end of the long classroom table, where a group of boys sit chowing down together. Takeru settles down between and fixes each boy with a warm smile.
"So I forgot my side dishes today – look, just plain rice. How pathetic, huh?" He lets out a lofty sigh, and then quirks his lips up in a smile. "How about sharing some of your food?"
Thump! goes someone's fist on the table.
"Homura Takeru, you're a big liar!" a boy screams.
Takeru places a hand over his chest. "I beg your pardon."
The boy leans forward, dark eyes smoldering like the coals of a firepit. "You said the same thing yesterday, and the day before that too. Do you ever cook for yourself, or do you just mooch off of everyone in the entire classroom – hey!"
As the boy leans forward, Takeru spots that his lunch box is wide open – and Takeru sees meat. Before the boy can cover his meal, Takeru swings an arm forward, chopsticks ready, and swipes up a piece of fried chicken. Then, before the boy can even begin to take it back, Takeru plops it into his open mouth.
"Your cooking is so good –"
"That was mine!" the boy says, now hovering over his dish to protect it. "That was my –"
"You should share," Takeru says. "It's good manners." Then, still chuckling, Takeru boosts himself up from the table and dusts off his hands. "I'll leave the rest of the meal to you though. Thank you for your offer –"
"I wasn't offering, Homura!"
But Takeru doesn't listen. He picks up his rice-only lunch box and carries it around the room. As he travels around the room swiping snacks from his classmates' lunches, he hears someone speaking from across the room, not loudly, but enough so that Takeru can listen intently. It's a girl, Kamishirakawa Kiku, and by the way she talks, Takeru bets his money that she likes him, even just a bit.
"I'm worried about Takeru. I don't think he's eating enough vegetables, and that's why he's so tall and lanky, and why his hair is turning grey. Besides, Takeru always swipes others' meat dishes, so he's not getting enough vegetables as it is, and I doubt he eats his veg at home too. But, but ..." Kiku's voice softens to the whisper of a butterfly, and Takeru strains his hears to hear her.
"I don't know if he'd like my homemade cooking. I think it's pretty tasty, but I might have used too much salt, or put too much spice. And the vegetables might be mushy too ..."
Takeru peers over his shoulder. Kiku sits with her head bowed, and her long hair curled around her heart-shaped face. She has the bento in her hands, and Takeru licks his lips just thinking about free food. But when she glances up at him, Takeru's heart leaps into his throat and he dashes out the door.
She's gonna see how many other lunches he took!
Quickly, Takeru hurries out of the classroom doors and around the corner. He searches left and right for any escape route, and sees the stairs climbing up the roof of Den City High. Few students eat on the roof, most of them preferring to sit in the classroom with their peers; thus, it's the perfect hideaway. Takeru dashes up the stairs, feet slapping –
Behind him, he hears Kiku call out, "Hey, Takeru? Takeru, where'd you go?"
Takeru grins. She won't ever find him.
"He ... disappeared ..."
That's right, Takeru thinks. I always disappear, fizzling away like an empty spark. I'm cheery and kind, and though my classmates probably don't want to keep feeding me, they never push me away. I can get my hands on any food, on any friendship; I fit right in.
But I'm actually not close to anyone. I don't have any friends, or even acquaintances. I've never bothered. Maybe there's a bit of anxiety in my gut telling me, Don't trust anyone!, and maybe I just don't care about high school friendships when I'll probably lose those friends when I move on to university. It's hard to get close to someone, after all ... they might try to burn you.
So I disappear – over, and over, and over again.
At the top of the stairs, Takeru pushes open the doors. The warm sunshine touches his face and lightens his skin. A gentle breeze caresses his cheeks and rustles his hair. For a moment, Takeru just stands at the top of the stairwell and relishes the moment. There's not a person in sight, not even sitting along the stairs or up against the walls. Occasionally, someone eats lunch alone on the roof, or hides in a corner to read their ecchi manga; but today Takeru doesn't have to sneak around and find his own hiding spot: he settles right down on the floor and lays out his goods.
"Three meals," Takeru murmurs to himself. "Score."
Sitting before him are three bentos filled with all manner of toppings: pickled vegetables, hot dogs, stewed and fried meats; sauteed vegetables in thick sauce. There is white rice too, and Takeru adds his own white rice bento to the collection.
"Four meals now," he says with a decisive nod. Four meals means food for tomorrow too, but even still Takeru will need to "borrow" some items from his classmates tomorrow too. After all, unless he wants to try shopping at the convenience store with two hundred yen to his name, he'll need to keep on stealing.
Whatever works, right?
Out of the corner of his eye, Takeru sees something float by – a little sprite made of red and black material. It looks like a mascot for a cartoon, and Takeru takes it in his hands. Sometimes there are creatures wandering around Link Vrains that are neither human nor animal: androids, ignises –
Gruuumble.
Takeru stifles a giggle. "You hungry there, little guy?"
The little creature bobs its head up and down, and settles in Takeru's palm. Carefully, Takeru picks up a piece of cucumber and holds it out to the being. "Here, why don't you have something to eat? You look hungry too."
To his surprise, the little creature has a mouth hidden within the dark folds of its body – a large mouth shaped like a black hole, and so dark that Takeru doesn't even seen the food be swallowed; it just disappears out of plain sight. His eyebrows shoot into his hairline and he sucks in a breath. What even is this strange creature?
But then Takeru laughs it off. "A hungry fella indeed. Well, I'm starving too, so I can't share too much. But how about one more bite ..." He pinches off a bit of rice and holds it out the creature. "Time to dig in – oh, and thank you for the food, everyone!"
At 12:45 at Den City News Station –
Bam!
"Oopsie daisy!"
– we've received reports of an attack by persons unknown –
Crack!
"That didn't sound so good ..."
– the culprits are believed to be of a rival organisation. They appear to have used explosives –
Boom!
"There we go!"
Aoi kicks down the door with one boot of her blue heel, and soon the entryway is bathed in soft, aquamarine light. Bits of fractaled dust scatter around their legs and feet, but with a couple flaps of her wings, the debris settles further away from them. Then Aoi steps in, followed by her brother, Kusanagi, and Hayami.
"Ladies and gentlemen and honoured guests," Aoi says, clapping her hands together, "we're SOL Technologies and we're here to take over your company, duel or no duel."
Across from them stand the news company – a rather docile organisation prior to its release of blatantly harsh media against SOL Technologies. When Akira had seen the news, he riled the team together to pay Link Vrains News a visit. And so here they stand, the leading duel company in Den City – a team united.
The Den City newscrew cower when they see Akira, huddling together at the edges of their desks. Akira doesn't even spare them a glance; Aoi chuckles under her breath when she sees her brother scanning the room as if taking in the meagre interior designs. Perhaps he's looking for cameras of weapons stashed in the corners of the rooms. While Link Vrains is a rather peaceful set-up, this wouldn't be the first time SOL Technologies has had to take matters into their own hands and deal with troublesome companies spreading lies.
Beside her, Kusanagi clears his throat loudly and rubs the violet stubble around his chin. "Hey there, thanks for the bad news. As you can see, we are SOL Technologies and we too like to be cool and popular –"
"And we actually do it right too," Aoi adds, crossing her arms over her chest.
"– but the difference is that you are a minor company with a couple of part-time duelists, whereas we here have a Duel King–"
"Note the capital 'D,' got it!"
Kusanagi turns to her. "Aoi, I can do this by myself. You're crazy pumped, I get it, but ... just chill for like two seconds."
Aoi huffs and crosses her arms. Sure, the newscasters have practically shit themselves over the sight of SOL Technologies being in their office building, but that doesn't mean Kusanagi can drone on and on about minor details when there's a battle to be fought. However, Aoi keeps her mouth shut and siddles over to her brother. Akira stands tall and solemn, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks like the sort of businessman whose face would blend into a crowd: long and narrow with thin, pale features. His blue hair curls in strands at the top of his head, but it's so thin from years of stress that the colour appears faded in the artificial lighting.
"As I was saying," Kusanagi says with a strong clearing of his throat and a harsh glance towards Aoi, "we are SOL Technologies and we'd like to speak to you about some recent news articles you've published about our company. As you can clearly see, we're quite the company; you wouldn't want to be on your bad side –"
"But then there is us –" a dramatic wave, an explosion, and through the smoke appear three figures dressed in shimmering, white uniforms. They look like saints emerging victorious from a violent war; not a single speck of smoke or ash clings to their virgin outfits. "The Knights of Hanoi."
Aoi curls her lips back. There, standing at the front, is Kougami Ryouken, the leader of the Hanois, code name "Revolver." His white hair catches in the flickers of sunlight pouring through the hole in the roof from when the Hanois entered. He snaps his hands, just once, and beside him appears his two right-hand guards: Spectre, a man so pale he glows even in the darkest shadows; and Vyra, a cool-tempered redhead with a long, curved blade in her hands.
"What are you doing here?" Aoi asks.
Kusanagi tucks his hands into his pockets. "This isn't a group matter, you know."
Ryouken merely shrugs his shoulders though and approaches. Flanked by both Vyra and Spectre, he appears rather imposing and regal; but Aoi knows that he's just an over-the-top leader of a terrorist organisation who'll flaunt his successes and failures to the world.
"Are you perhaps researching the death of Bessho Ema?"
"The murder," Aoi interrupts. "She was murdered."
Ryouken shrugs his shoulders once more. "Trivial. But I suppose to SOL Technologies Bessho was a core member of your team, and thus you must be grieving for her loss. I understand that you've been pursuing any lead you can get your hands on that might help you track down her murderer – but really, is this sort of debacle really necessary, Akira? Do you really think you'll solve your problems with a rough interrogation that'll no doubt end in bloodshed –"
"Like you're any better," Aoi mumbles to herself. She flicks her gaze up to her brother who has yet to move a muscle. In fact, no one has – Hayami and Kusanagi included. They all look surprised to see Ryouken here, even though no doubt he's been following their movements for days.
"How about leaving matters up to us?"
Aoi's eyes widen. Is he joking? What does he care about Ema? Aoi isn't even sure if Ryouken cares for his own members of his group, much less the members of other clans.
Brandishing her sword in front of her, Vyra stands resolute. She's nearly as tall as Ema was, with long limbs and swift, agile movements. "SOL Technologies and Duel King Zaizen Akira, if you do not comply, we will have to remove you from the premises with force."
Kusanagi merely chuckles though and tilts his head towards Akira. He smirks. "So Akira, what'll it be?"
Akira purses his lips together, like he sucked on a cherry, and then murmurs, softer than butterfly, "End them."
Two words is all it takes. Aoi and Kusanagi take into action, and the very ground beneath them begins to quiver and shake, pulsing with an ancient energy. At times, Aoi thinks the ground will break off and she'll tumble into the belly of the world below, but instead all she feels is the pulsing, raw energy of her leader and brother, Akira.
"Here it comes," Kusanagi says. "The symbol of a Duel King's power and his bond with his duelists and monsters: his Skill, Into the Vrains."
The world around them cracks as if a bolt of lightning has seared through the sky and electrified the air. Aoi grins as she feels her own power crackle deep inside her. Being with her clan, and in particularly with Akira, has given her new strength. She fixes Ryouken with a steeled, icy gaze – and frowns.
Ryouken's lips curl up in a thin smile.
To his side, Vyra swings her sword up and across her chest in a salute. Spectre follows suit, brandishing a long, wooden sword that, were it not in Spectre's deadly hands, would look more like a children's toy. But Aoi knows how fearsome and strong the Knights of Hanoi can be, and so she swallows thickly.
"On your guards," Spectre and Vyra say together.
Ryouken's grin widens. He reaches into his pocket, but instead of brandishing a sword, instead he brings forth a small, silver pistol that he twirls around his fingers before crossing his arm over his chest in a similar salute to his subordinates. The air around them begins to crackle once more, this time feeling like the coding of the universe is changing to make room for the raw energy pulsing in the room alone.
"Across the starry roads we'll walk, weapons in our hands, power in our hearts, reasons in our minds. We will not falter. The Knights of Hanoi bow down to no one."
A second crackle from a ripple of energy than snakes across the ground and in the air, and forces Aoi to cover her face with her hands. What ... what even was that? She glances around, and then up – and cut into the ceiling is a large hole through which Aoi can see the tall peaks of two swords, each encircled by a large dragon.
"Dragon Swords." Aoi breathes the words between her parted lips. When Duel Kings fight and unleash their clans power, they summon their Dragon Swords, physical manifestations of the raw power of their clan. Aoi has only ever seen the Dragon Sword of SOL Technologies a handful of times, so she squints her eyes to spot the incricate, blue detailing along the sword itself, and the large dragon with electric wings spiralling along the blade. The Knights of Hanoi's dragon is equally terrifying: a red dragon with gun-barrels poking out of its back, and clinging to a red sword the colour of a computer error message.
When she glances back down at Ryouken, his eyes have turned the same, eerie red as his sword – and Spectre's and Vyra's too. Both of them look possessed. Aoi has never seen such a vibrant eye colour before, but as she glances to her side, she sees that her own team has electric blue eyes.
Carefully, she brings her hand up to her face and peers at the the metal clasp around her wrist. She can see her reflection in it: her pursed lips, her skin painted with a heart and clover on it – and her blue eyes, more piercing than ever before.
So this is my power, she thinks. This is our power, the strength of SOL Technologies.
Atop the roofs, Yuusaku sits kicking his feet back and forth. The streets are far too busy for him, and even the duel lanes are crowded with people thinking they can just ask anyone for a match, as if this world is PVP-friendly. It isn't, at least not for Yuusaku. The last thing he wants to do is wipe the floor clean with some newbie who wanted to have a "fun and light-hearted duel" with him.
Besides, Yuusaku is much more interested by the change in energy around Link Vrains. A few minutes ago the air pressure changed, and for a moment it felt like there would be thunder and lightning. Now though, the air just feels charged –
Crack!
As if dropped from the heaven appear two large, metal swords encircled by scaly dragons, one red and one blue. Yuusaku leaps up from his seat on the edge of the building and nearly stumbles back onto his bottom.
Dragon Swords, the Skills of Duel Kings. Normally, Duel Kings don't activate their Skills unless their engaged in combat – and so if there are two Swords, that means the Duel Kings must be engaged in a fight.
Yuusaku narrows his eyes at the sight. Fighting Duel Kings is even worse than over-friendly PVP-duelists. Normally, Duel Kings stay away from each other and keep to their own problems. The last time they went head-to-head, there were massive, dimension-wide casualties and catastrophes.
Who's fighting who ... and why? Yuusaku wonders.
"Hey! Are you sure you should be up there, mister?"
Yuusaku nearly tumbles onto his bottom for a second time, and hurriedly swings around. Peeking from the window of a building is a little kid, maybe six of seven, with bright hair and eyes. The child's eyes widen when Yuusaku spots him, and he crows, "Mister, did you know you're on top of the building?"
Quickly, Yuusaku settles down and peers over the edge of the building. How long has this kid been here for ...?
"Don't try this at home, OK, kid," he says, and then he runs and leaps right off the building. Wind pulls at his hair and slides off his skinsuit – and then Yuusaku activates his duel disk and his D-Board materialises beneath his feet. The board stops his fall, and Yuusaku glides for a moment and glances over his shoulder. The kid hangs out the window, mouth wide open.
"Mister –"
"Stay inside," he says. "Stay safe." And then he takes off through the air and towards the Dragon Swords. If two Duel Kings are fighting one another, that can only be trouble – and the last piece of trouble that Yuusaku heard about through the news involved the death of SOL Technologies dear comrade Bessho Ema. Yuusaku has a sneaking suspicion that Ema's death is part of this mess.
Duel Kings cannot be fighting, not while their powers can cause terrible recourses for everyone around them. Link Vrains isn't a battlefield; it's not a place to wage war. And if no one's going to stop these Duel Kings, then I'll find the murderer of Bessho Ema myself – not because I want to avenge her, but because I don't want anyone fighting in this sacred world.
In the corner of his eye, Yuusaku sees something glimmering on the top of a building – a sparkle of red and black, like someone lit a flame. He only sees it for a moment before he glides away and towards the Swords hanging in the sky. Whatever it was, Yuusaku hopes it goes inside before Link Vrains gets ugly. If Duel Kings are fighting, it's only to end in destruction.