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The sky broods, cloaked in leaden clouds stacked thick, as if sealing this hellish world to trap every soul. A summer breeze, warm and all-encompassing, drifts lightly offering no solace.
Ahead, the boundless plain sprawls defiantly. Behind, a resplendent castle gate, its opulence belying a coward's fear of the slightest breach, stands sealed. Flawless in its duty, beyond reproach.
Setsuna gazes up at the gate. Crafted from diamond, its ornate elegance masks an unyielding strength, believed to withstand any siege. Its imposing aura screams invincibility, an ancient, unbreakable vow.
(The gate, at least.)
He smirks faintly, turning forward.
No matter the war's ferocity flames, shattered walls, mountains of corpses, rivers of blood this gate will endure. And now, that truth will be proven.
A cacophony, both majestic and jarring, swells from the distance a symphony of war. The rhythm of countless boots, a chilling march, approaches with terrifying speed. Even Setsuna's eyes widen.
(Fast!)
But shock changes nothing. At the horizon, a black haze of dust churns. An unimaginable horde advances at an inhuman pace. Enemy forces, no doubt, but no foot soldiers could move so swiftly. Cavalry? Impossible to muster such numbers.
"Whatever," Setsuna mutters, flashing a fearless grin at the closing tide.
As always.
Arrogant. Unyielding.
That's who he is.
He charges forward. The enemy's vanguard, clad in crimson armor, is close enough to discern their helmets, adorned with unicorn-like protrusions, dubbed "Unicorn Heads." The lead soldier, wielding a decorated lance, moves with unnatural speed despite heavy gear.
Setsuna's lips curl. Raising his right hand, he declares, "Weapon Summon!"
Light engulfs him. A black spear, twisted and malevolent, materializes in his grip, glinting as if thirsting for blood. Without hesitation, he lunges at the crimson soldier, now mere meters away. The distance vanishes.
"Farewell!"
A single swipe of his spear, swung with one arm, cleaves the soldier armor and all in two. The satisfying resistance fuels his feral grin. Ignoring the blood-soaked heap, he faces the swarm of enemies flooding his vision. Most wear green armor, sans horns, wielding varied weapons. Irrelevant.
He dances.
Kicking off, he invades. Not intercepts invades. A single sweep of his spear scatters the lance-wielding vanguard. One swing, one hand. His monstrous strength, amplified by the spear's dark power, defies reason.
He knows this. That's why he wields it.
(Ten.)
He counts the corpses from that swing, judged by feel alone. No need for precision. The enemy surges like a tsunami. A lone man, even one felling ten with a stroke, is nothing against thousands.
A drop in the ocean.
(Exactly.)
He scoffs, leaping over collapsing bodies. His legs propel him skyward, into the thin air. Below, the green tide surges toward the gate. The gate will hold, but the walls? Sturdy, yes, but the enemy knows this. They came prepared.
Midair, Setsuna is a sitting duck. A sane man wouldn't leap into an army. Archers could predict his fall.
Normally.
"Flash Strike"
He spins his spear overhead. A faint glow at its tip intensifies with each rotation, blinding the soldiers below as he descends. Amid the chaos, one green-helmed soldier locks eyes with him, longsword raised, unaffected by the glare.
Setsuna's grin widens.
So what?
"Lightbringer!"
Faster than landing, his spear's radiant tip pierces the soldier's helmet, shattering skull and brain, spraying gore. The light explodes, obliterating the soldier and armor in a dazzling burst. A shard grazes Setsuna's cheek his only visible wound.
Landing, he notices a clearing around him. His spear's reach has carved a no-man's-land in the green flood. The ground is hidden, buried under dozens of mangled corpses from the blast, red blood mingling with green armor.
The enemy's swift encirclement, staying beyond his range, is tactically sound. Fools wouldn't ignore that explosion.
Yet Setsuna's smile persists.
He steps forward.
The encirclement mirrors him, struggling to maintain formation amid their assault. Their effort stokes his cruelty, but he shakes it off. Focus on the enemy.
He charges.
The front line's shock is palpable as he closes the gap instantly. Even he was stunned by their march; this is only fair.
"Instant Strike"
He whispers, "Deathbringer."
His spear impales one soldier's torso, piercing another behind. Sweeping right, he sends more flying. Screams and curses echo, dismissed as illusions.
He invades again.
The gap fills with green armor, but he doesn't care. Spinning his spear overhead, he accelerates. The enemy stirs, recalling the earlier blast. They rush to stop him, desperate to halt another catastrophe.
Fools.
He never planned to finish it.
Dodging a rear lance thrust, he slashes downward, bisecting the attacker. Blood sprays as he parries a rightward charge, crushing a skull. Three lance-wielding soldiers leap from above. Reckless.
He smirks, retreating. Sensing a presence behind, he sweeps his spear, gutting five. A giant wielding a massive two-handed sword a zweihänder vaults over their corpses, roaring like a beast.
(Zweihänder, huh?)
The blade's raw, primal allure captivates him. The giant's chiseled frame and wild demeanor demand respect.
"RAAAAAAGH!"
The beastly roar snaps Setsuna back. The zweihänder swings down with devastating force, but Setsuna's body, honed by countless battles, is already airborne. His spear, spinning unnoticed, pulses with power.
"Storm Strike "
He locks eyes with the giant. The missed swing craters the ground, killing three nearby lance-wielders likely the airborne trio.
Halting the spin, Setsuna hurls the spear.
"Stormbringer!"
It strikes the giant's feet as he raises his blade. A tempest erupts, the spear's unleashed force spiraling outward, shredding earth, bodies, and the giant. Hundreds of soldiers are swept into the growing maelstrom, their armor useless against the raging winds. Collisions claim more lives.
Death reigns in the storm.
Landing at its eye, Setsuna yanks the now-spent spear free. The storm will fade, proven by the calm around him.
Rain falls.
A deluge of corpses, flung skyward by the storm, crashes down. Hundreds, a literal rain of death, crush survivors outside the tempest.
How many fell? At least five hundred. Yet, against thousands, it's not enough. The walls will crumble, the fortress fall.
(Fine by me…)
Twirling his spear, he charges. A fallen fortress? No loss. Maybe a relief. But something gnaws at him.
(Just pissed off, huh?)
He bisects an enemy, carving through the horde. Deflecting an arrow with his spear's butt, he spins, mowing down more. Another arrow.
Pain sears his left palm. An arrow pierces through, blood dripping.
"Enough, Setsuna."
A familiar boy's voice rings out, mocking.
Grimacing, Setsuna lowers his hand. The green tide parts like a saint's path, soldiers frozen, awaiting their savior.
Despair grips him, a crushing sense of defeat.
A holy radiance approaches.
"Your dream ends here"
"Kuon… Kamiya Kuon!"
Setsuna Kamiya bolts awake, his cry a mix of scream and sob. A wild-looking boy with black hair and rare crimson eyes blood-red, he's been told, but he likes them. Average build, neither thin nor bulky.
He glares at the wooden ceiling. A wretched nightmare. Thwarted by Kuon, his friend who vanished six months ago. No dream could be worse.
Sighing, he leaps from bed. A school day. No time for nightmares. Duty calls, however heavy.
Stretching, he glances at the wall clock. 8:00 AM.
"Late!?"
Despair creeps in.
How long has Setsuna endured these nightmares? Before Kuon's disappearance, he never had such trivial dreams. Reality was the nightmare then; dreams were paradise. Even bad dreams paled compared to that reality.
To him, at least. Others wouldn't care. He knows this, so he tells no one. A small obsession, but it defines him.
The nightmares began shortly after Kuon vanished. Always the same: Setsuna battles endless enemies in an unknown place. The combat exhilarates him isolated, it'd be bliss.
But the ending ruins it.
Kuon's interference wakes him.
(Kuon… why you?)
Pedaling furiously to school, he groans inwardly. No answers come, yet the question persists. The dreams, repetitive, grow torturous.
At a red light, he looks up.
The sky is clear, a vibrant blue, cloudless, bathed in crisp morning light. Perfect.
But then
"A gate?"
Floating in the sky, it mirrors the dream's diamond gate ornate, impregnable.
It plummets.
"What!?"
His shout draws stares, and he blushes. A castle gate crashing from the sky? Madness.
It lands silently before him, dwarfing nearby buildings, its ornate doors gleaming.
His mind blanks, then reboots. The air feels wrong. Of course a gate fell from the sky. Panic would be sane.
(Guess I'm insane.)
He smirks, accepting it. Only a lunatic would call those dreams nightmares.
Looking around, he freezes. No one. The street, moments ago bustling, is empty. Even those who stared are gone.
The gate caused this anomaly.
He studies it. Identical to the dream's gate, down to every detail unless his memory falters.
Leaving his bike, he approaches. The gate looms over the crosswalk, dominating the road.
(This is a dream.)
Waking from a dream into another is common enough.
He touches the gate. A cold, vivid sensation courses through him, unlike anything before.
Not a dream.
He reconsiders but presses forward. Dream or not, his path is clear.
He pushes. The heavy gate swings open effortlessly.
Light floods out, engulfing his vision, his mind, his senses.