The ground boiled beneath their feet.
Heat rippled through the air, bending the horizon. Cracks glowed with molten orange, bleeding lava like open wounds. The scent of scorched flesh clung to the wind—metallic, thick, and disturbingly sweet. Like burnt sugar mixed with a murder scene.
Yeaga squinted through the haze. "Anyone else smell barbecue and PTSD?"
From atop a jagged red outcrop, a barefoot figure dropped down. Sweat gleamed across their flame-kissed skin. A severed arm hung from their mouth like a snack. They bit off a chunk, chewing absently, as if it were just another protein bar.
"Okay," Yeaga muttered, jaw dropping. "Who the actual hell is that?"
Ishigo's glasses glinted. "Flame Shikiban," he said flatly. "Fire users. Murderous. Gorgeous. Definitely not here to network."
Yeaga tilted his head. "Why do they look like underwear models from hell?"
"Because hell has a gym membership," Daigo grunted.
From the cracked lava ridge, more figures emerged—elegant and terrifying. The kind of beautiful that made your brain forget they were walking war crimes. Shirtless men with glowing tattoos that pulsed like molten circuitry. Women in flowing silks that smoldered at the edges, revealing skin that shimmered like living fire.
A tall man landed silently before them. His hair flickered like dying embers. Eyes glowed red. He raised the half-eaten hand and smiled like he'd just won a prize.
"That Kageshiki was… chewy," he said, licking blood from his knuckles. "Wonder if you three taste better."
He tossed the hand like trash. It landed with a wet smack, blood spattering the cracked earth.
Yeaga cracked his neck. "Can't eat me, man. I'm on a strict no-bitch diet."
Daigo stepped forward, sword drawn. "We're not your damn snacks, flame boy."
The Shikiban smiled wider. "That's fine. Screaming's more fun anyway."
A female Shikiban glided forward—tall, passive, eyes half-lidded like she was bored. Her fingers flicked lazily.
"Flame Technique: Scorchline Execution."
Lava coiled around her palm, hissing and twisting like a serpent. She hurled it—no warm-up, no warning.
The molten blast shrieked through the air like a demon's breath.
Daigo didn't blink.
He moved—one sharp twist, blade flashing silver. He sliced through the blast, splitting it clean down the middle. A burst of steam and red sparks exploded around him. Lava hissed up through new cracks.
He landed hard, blade smoking. His sleeve caught fire. He swatted it out and pointed his katana forward.
"That was your attack?" he growled. "I've seen warmer threats in bathhouses."
Another Shikiban stepped forward—built like a furnace, chest bare, tattoos glowing. His voice was a rumble.
"She was being polite."
Yeaga snorted. "Polite? She threw magma at his face."
"She held back," the man said. "You'll know when we stop doing that."
Yeaga unsheathed his blade, flames licking up his arms. "Please. We came here to roast you."
Ishigo raised a hand. "Wait."
Everyone paused.
He stepped forward, eyes on the broad-shouldered Shikiban. "You're the leader, right?"
The man smirked. "You got eyes. Yeah."
"Shikiban have leaders?"
"We work in trios. Each has a head. But we're just the bottom layer."
Daigo raised a brow. "What's above you?"
"Ten elites. The Zai."
"Who do they answer to?"
The woman answered this time, studying her glowing fingernails. "Our king. But no one's seen him in centuries. Except the Zai."
Yeaga scoffed. "What, he's shy?"
"He erased our memories of his face," she said casually. "Only the Zai are allowed to remember. Some god complex bullshit."
"Immortality makes you stop caring," the leader added. "Eventually you forget who you were loyal to."
Daigo spat. "So… hot cult with commitment issues. Got it."
The leader's smile widened. "Witty. Too bad we're gonna barbecue you."
Then she moved.
The female Shikiban blurred into heatwaves, silk robes flaring into embers mid-motion. Lava cracked beneath her feet. Her palm burned with blinding heat.
Daigo met her head-on.
Steel clashed with searing aura, a shockwave blasting through the terrain. Flames spiraled in ribbons. The sky darkened with ash.
She spun low, leg sweeping toward his ribs. Daigo blocked—barely. Fire licked up his arm. He rolled, stamping it out, then lunged back in.
"Fast," he muttered.
She smirked. "You haven't seen my second trick."
Fiery sigils bloomed along her limbs. She spun—once, twice—and then there were six of her.
"Flame Technique: Blazebind Mirage."
Five illusions danced around Daigo, flickering like ghosts made of fire.
He narrowed his eyes. "Great. Anime bullshit."
He slashed one—it burst like a firework. The others attacked. A kick grazed his jaw. A swipe singed his shirt.
Daigo ducked. Rolled. Cut again.
"You're cute when you try," she teased, dodging.
"I'm cuter when I kill," he snapped—and flipped over her last clone, his blade biting into her real shoulder.
She hissed, staggering back, blood and flame mixing as it dripped.
Yeaga slow-clapped. "Damn. Maybe we won't die today."
The leader stepped forward, arms crossed, fire reflecting in his eyes.
"Not bad," he said. "But this was just foreplay."
More footsteps echoed from the lava ridge.
Shadows moved behind the heatwaves—more Flame Shikiban, walking slow, confident, like executioners arriving late to a party.
Daigo grit his teeth. "How many of you are there?"
"Enough," the leader replied, his grin turning sharp. "But don't worry. We like to take turns."
Yeaga groaned. "God, it's like Tinder with fireballs."
Ishigo's voice cut in, low and cold. "Plan?"
"Yeah," Daigo muttered, gripping his katana. "Hit harder."
The female Shikiban wiped blood from her arm. "Let me show you my third technique."
Flames erupted around her, forming a massive, burning ring that hovered in the air.
"Flame Technique: Infernal Halo."
The halo spun, faster and faster—then launched like a buzzsaw, carving through the ground toward them.
Daigo cursed and dove aside. Yeaga caught it with his blade—flames exploded, sending him skidding back, boots smoking.
Yeaga spat a tooth. "Alright. Screw being polite."
He stabbed his blade into the ground, fire erupting in a column around him.
"Let's melt these pretty bastards."
Ishigo cracked his neck. "Fine by me."
The three Kageshiki charged as the Flame Shikiban advanced. Fire met steel. Heat clashed with raw will. And above it all, the sky bled red.