**Volume 2: Upper World**

  **Chapter 77: Carry It On**

  January 3rd, 9:51 p.m. – Central Arena (Mara vs Jane – Final Moments)

  Sky backed up — boots scraping broken stone — until he was eight feet away from Jane. His chest rose and fell fast, blood still dripping from the soul-gun wounds, light blue aura flickering like a candle in wind. Jane stood there — coat gone, core scar cracked open and leaking black-red smoke, one arm still missing from Mara’s Reaper strike earlier. The crowd was dead quiet now — 500 million streams frozen on this moment, no cheers, just heavy breathing and the low crackle of dying fires.

  Sky’s voice came out rough, cracked.

  “Why are they my friends?”

  Jane tilted his head — green eyes glinting under the floodlights.

  “Most likely dead, kid.”

  Sky’s eyes stung — tears building fast, hot, blurring everything.

  Jane kept going — calm, almost gentle.

  “Sorry, kid. But they really weren’t strong en—”

  Sky cut him off — voice low, shaking.

  “They were. But you did this.”

  Cuts appeared on Sky’s arms, chest, face — thin, burning lines from the earlier burn wounds reopening. He dropped to his knees — hard — threw up blood in a violent cough. Red splattered the stone in front of him. The world tilted. He saw figures — Kira and Frosty — staggering up from the rubble, trying to reach him. Frosty’s hair was singed, one arm hanging limp. Kira’s katana was cracked but still gripped tight. They were alive. Somehow.

  It hit him.

  Sky looked around — eyes wide, desperate.

  “Mara… Mara!”

  He pushed up — legs shaking — walked forward through smoke and debris.

  Then he saw him.

  Mara — on the ground, back against a broken metal bar. Blood everywhere — pooling under him, running from his mouth, soaking his black shirt. Void eye dim but still glowing faintly. Reaper lay beside him — blade cracked, handle slick with blood.

  Sky dropped to his knees next to him — hands shaking.

  “Mara?”

  Mara’s head lifted slow — eyes finding Sky’s.

  “Yeah… Sky.”

  Sky’s voice broke.

  “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

  Mara smiled — small, tired — blood on his teeth.

  Flashbacks hit him — childhood memories flickering like dying film reels.

  Him as a kid — maybe 8 — sitting on the porch with his mom and dad. Mom braiding his hair, dad sharpening a knife, both laughing soft. “You’ll be the best hunter one day,” dad said. Mom kissed his forehead. “Just come home safe.”

  Then older — 12 — first real hunt. Dad beside him in the woods, void eye glowing for the first time. “You’ve got it, son.” Mom watching from the porch, proud.

  Then Sky — younger, scared — hugging him after the party massacre. “You’ll win for us, right?”

  Mara looked at Sky — eyes soft.

  “Sky…”

  Sky leaned closer — tears falling now.

  “Yeah?”

  Mara’s hand found Sky’s — weak grip.

  “Carry it on for me.”

  Sky shook his head fast.

  “No. I can try to heal you. Please don’t go.”

  Meanwhile — across the pit — Frosty and Kira were holding Jane down. Frosty’s ice nails pinned his remaining arm, Kira’s vein blade wrapped around his neck. Jane yanked — threw Frosty into a pile of shattered glass. She hit hard — screamed — shards cutting her back. Kira activated her new technique — **Projection Sovereign** — pushed Jane into a 60-fps frame. He moved slow-motion, sluggish, but still dangerous.

  Jane broke free — punched Kira — she flew back, katana clattering.

  Switch back.

  Sky tried to heal Mara — hands glowing faint gold — but the wounds were too deep. Void cuts resisted, black-red energy eating the light.

  Mara grabbed Sky’s wrist — stopped him.

  “No,” he rasped. “I’m too close to beating him fair.”

  He pushed himself up — slow — used his own faint healing glow. Cuts closed a little — enough to stand. Blood still dripped from his mouth, but he straightened.

  Mara looked at Jane — who was pushing Kira off, black-red aura flaring again.

  Jane saw him — smiled.

  “Aww, look who’s back. Almost sleepy.”

  Mara moved — fast — blurred forward — started fisting Jane. Hard, precise — elbows to ribs, knees to gut, punches to jaw. Jane took them — laughed — then ducked a hook and countered — fist to Mara’s face. Mara staggered back — blood spraying.

  Mara dropped low — spun — got behind Jane in a blink.

  Jane turned — too late.

  Mara clapped once.

  **Realm: Still Water.**

  Closed dome snapped around them again — rippling blue-black water surface reflecting everything. Four drops hit Jane at once — sleepy tug pulling at his eyelids.

  Mara fell to one knee — breathing hard — blood pouring from fresh cuts.

  Jane laughed — low, rolling.

  “Your body took as much as it could.”

  Sky moved fast — grabbed Kira and Frosty — pulled them back from the collapsing pit edge.

  Mara looked up — void eye dim — then down at the blood falling from his mouth.

  He whispered — so only Jane could hear.

  “I have to be careful. I can’t lose to you. I’ll become a curse to Sky. He’ll live forever ‘cause you really never die — just reborn. I told him to kill you always. He’ll live up to 205 at least. I can’t let him live that.”

  Jane’s smile faded — eyes narrowing.

  “You think I care?”

  Twenty drops hit Jane — sleepy weight crushing down.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  All Mara needed was 24 or 34 more.

  Jane clapped — once.

  **Dismantle: Spark of the Dead.**

  The cut came — perfect, invisible — a single line of pure destruction.

  Mara saw white.

  He closed his eyes.

  Opened them.

  He was in white space again — mom, dad, old friends. Sky and Max standing there — younger, smiling.

  Max: “What’s happening?”

  Mara smiled — soft, tired.

  “Nothing.”

  In the real world — Mara’s upper half was cut perfectly — clean line across the waist. Top half fell slow — landed on the grass with a soft thud. Head rolled once — stopped facing Jane — still smiling.

  The chapter ended with Sky crying — on his knees — screaming “Mara!” — blaming himself, voice raw.

  “I could have saved him… I could have saved him…”

  **Volume 2: Upper World**

  **Chapter 78: Sovereign Threads**

  January 3rd, 10:22 p.m. – Ruined Stadium (Second Floor – Upper Walkways)

  The second floor was a mess of collapsed walkways, shattered glass railings, and flickering emergency lights that buzzed like dying insects. Smoke still hung thick in the air from Jane’s fireball, mixing with the metallic smell of blood and melted steel. Kira moved fast — silent, precise — katana sheathed across her back, black hair whipping behind her as she vaulted over a fallen beam. Her footsteps barely made a sound on the cracked concrete; every movement was economical, like she’d trained her whole life for nights exactly like this.

  She didn’t come here to fight.

  She came for answers.

  Somewhere on this floor — in one of the old control rooms or abandoned storage lockers — the Sad Fate Clan had hidden a sealed scroll. The note Sky’s dad left behind had mentioned it in passing: “If anything happens to me, the scroll in the upper east wing holds the key.” Kira had read it when no one was looking. She knew what it meant. Projection Sovereign wasn’t just some random technique she’d unlocked in the heat of battle — it was her birthright, buried in her bloodline, sealed away by the clan that tried to claim Sky as a child.

  She found the room — a small, rusted door half-hanging off its hinges. Inside: dust, broken monitors, a single metal locker with a faded Sad Fate symbol (cracked hourglass dripping blood through frames). She pried it open with the tip of her katana — no lock could hold against vein blade precision.

  Inside: a single scroll, bound in red-black silk, edges frayed like they’d been burned once and saved.

  Kira unrolled it carefully.

  The paper was old — almost brittle — but the ink still glowed faint red when her fingers brushed it. Five techniques. Five moves of Projection Sovereign/Sovereignty. Written in the elegant, looping script of the Blood Vein Clan, with annotations in Sadako’s own hand — the founder who’d been exiled for pushing the art too far.

  Kira read — fast, absorbing every line.

  1. **Frame Vein Lock** — Snap fingers, project red threads into opponent’s veins. Lock their perception to 24 fps (or lower). Their movements turn choppy, predictable. Skilled users can target specific veins — arms lag, legs stutter, heart skips.

  2. **Sovereign Pulse** — Accelerate own blood flow to 1000+ fps. Short flicker-teleports (5–10 feet). Pulse opponent’s veins — blood lags, heart skips, limbs feel heavy. Chain pulses for delayed echoes.

  3. **Projection Chain** — Every strike chains a 0.3-second reaction lag. Stacks up to 5 seconds. Chain own attacks — one slash creates 7–10 delayed cuts.

  4. **Sovereign Rewind** — Rewind opponent’s action 1–3 seconds (reverse their move, hurt themselves). Rewind own wounds by undoing damage frame.

  5. **Infinite Sovereignty** — Project infinite fps on self, drop opponents to 1 fps (frozen frame). Multiple targets or infinite chains possible. Ultimate — boundless speed, conceptual dodges.

  At the bottom, in Sadako’s handwriting:

  “A realm awaits the one who masters all five. But beware — the sovereign who rules time will one day be ruled by it. The Sad Fate is sealed in the final frame.”

  Kira rolled the scroll back up — tucked it inside her jacket. Her veins pulsed once — faint red light under her skin. She felt it: the technique settling deeper, like it had always been waiting for her.

  Meanwhile — ground floor, collapsed tunnel.

  Sky and Frosty were bait.

  They’d volunteered — or rather, Sky had insisted. “If Jane’s still alive, he’ll come for me.” Frosty didn’t argue — just nodded, ice nails already forming on her fingertips. They moved through the rubble — Sky limping slightly from the soul-gun wounds, Frosty’s burned arm wrapped in torn cloth — drawing Jane out.

  But Jane didn’t come alone.

  Ray stepped out of the smoke first — white hair catching the flickering lights, purple eyes calm. Behind him: Leo (bat wings folded, claws tapping), Reiji (crimson energy coiling), Jason (grinning, unkillable), Jaylee (threads dangling from her fingers like lazy smoke). Andrew — new, 800 years old but looked 20 — tall, pale, black eyes like voids, aura heavy with age and boredom. Luka — girl, 500 years old but looked 16–23 — silver hair floating slightly, smile sweet but wrong, will energy like liquid mercury.

  Sky froze.

  Frosty stepped in front of him — ice nails ready.

  Ray raised a hand — casual.

  “No need for that. We’re not here to fight… yet.”

  Sky’s voice was low, raw.

  “Then why are you here?”

  Ray smiled — small, tired.

  “Because the games are over. Josh is dead. The Upper World is ash. And you…” — he looked at Sky — “…are the last Vessel standing.”

  Sky’s hand went to the cracked-moon necklace.

  Ray continued.

  “We’re not done. There’s one more thing left to settle.”

  Sky looked at Frosty — then back at Ray.

  Frosty whispered — “We can’t take them all.”

  Sky nodded once.

  But before they could move — Kira appeared.

  She dropped from the second floor walkway — landed light between Sky and the villains. Katana in hand, red threads already pulsing faintly along her arms.

  “I found it,” she said — voice steady. “Projection Sovereign. All five techniques. And…” — she looked at Sky — “…I think I can get a realm.”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed — just a fraction.

  Jane stepped out behind him — core scar still cracked, arm regrown but scarred, smile gone.

  The chapter ended.

  **Volume 2: Upper World**

  **Chapter 79: Run**

  January 3rd, 10:09 p.m. – Ruined Stadium Perimeter

  Sky’s voice cut through the smoke like a knife — low, urgent, shaking just enough to show he was scared but trying not to let it show.

  “We need to run. Now. Find the others.”

  Frosty nodded once — fast — already moving. Her burned arm hung limp at her side, but the other hand was already forming frost nails, ready for anything. She didn’t wait for permission. She just bolted toward the collapsed east wing where the rest of the group had been scattered when Jane’s fireball dropped.

  Kira grabbed Sky’s wrist — tight — and pulled.

  “Come on.”

  Sky didn’t argue. They ran — boots crunching glass and concrete — weaving through overturned barricades and smoking debris. The stadium was a graveyard now: twisted metal beams hanging from the ceiling like broken ribs, fires still crackling in pockets, distant screams echoing from people who hadn’t made it out. The sky above was finally clear — no more pink-red goo, no more descending doom — just normal night stars, cold and indifferent.

  Behind them — 10 feet back — Jane stepped out of the haze. Ray, Leo, Reiji, Jason, Jaylee (alive, threads still twitching from her last fight), Andrew (800 years old, looking 20, black eyes bored), and Luka (500 years old, looking anywhere from 16–23, silver hair floating like she was underwater) fanned out behind him. Six silhouettes against the burning backdrop.

  Jane’s voice carried — calm, amused, like he was calling after a lost pet.

  “Isn’t needed for Frosty.”

  Ray glanced at him — purple eyes narrowing.

  “We worry about her later.”

  Jane smiled — small, sharp.

  Sky and Kira didn’t look back.

  Sky felt the pull — that light blue aura flickering under his skin, still raw from the fight with Josh. He grabbed Kira’s hand — firm — and pushed.

  500 fps.

  The world blurred — streetlights streaking into white lines, debris turning into smears, air whistling past their ears like they were breaking sound itself. Sky’s spatial sense screamed — every step a tiny warp — pulling Kira with him. They vanished from the villains’ sight in less than a second — gone around a corner, ducking behind a flipped trash van that had been thrown like a toy by the explosion.

  Sky pressed his back to the cold metal — breathing hard — still holding Kira’s hand. Her fingers squeezed back once — silent thanks.

  Kira whispered — voice steady even though her eyes were wide.

  “They’re not chasing yet.”

  Sky nodded — slow.

  “They will.”

  Meanwhile — east wing rubble.

  Frosty sprinted through the smoke — coughing, eyes stinging — frost trailing from her good hand like a lifeline. She found Max first — slumped against a wall, shadows limp around him like dead pets, staring at nothing.

  “Max!”

  He looked up — eyes red, hollow.

  “She’s gone… Cam…”

  Frosty grabbed his arm — pulled him up.

  “Not now. We move.”

  She kept going — found Hiro next, curled near a collapsed stairwell, golden glow weak but still trying to heal a gash on her leg. Aoi was with her — knees hugged, spatial cracks flickering tiny and scared. Mira’s crow was perched on a broken pipe — head down, feathers singed. Taka stood guard — sword out, face hard.

  Frosty’s voice cracked just once.

  “Get up. We’re leaving.”

  Hiro looked up — tears on her cheeks.

  “Mira… she’s…”

  “In the hospital,” Frosty said — fast. “They’re trying to keep her alive. We’ll get to her. But we have to move.”

  They ran — Frosty leading, Max limping behind, Hiro supporting Aoi, Taka covering the rear, crow flapping overhead.

  They reached the parking lot — half the cars overturned or burning, but one old sedan sat untouched — keys still in the ignition like someone had fled in a panic.

  Frosty yanked the driver door open — slid inside.

  “Get in!”

  Max took shotgun — shadows curling around the seat like they were trying to protect him. Hiro, Aoi, Taka crammed in the back. The crow landed on the roof — claws scratching metal.

  Frosty turned the key.

  Engine coughed — then roared.

  She floored it — tires screeching — peeling out of the lot, headlights cutting through smoke.

  Sky and Kira watched from behind the van — saw the car speed away.

  Sky exhaled — shaky.

  “They’re safe.”

  Kira squeezed his hand once.

  “For now.”

  The chapter ended.

  **Volume 2: Upper World**

  **Chapter 80: February 5th**

  January 3rd bled into days, then weeks. The fireball had torn a scar across the coast — cities half-gone, highways melted, the horizon still smoky even now. But the sky was blue again. No more pink-red goo. No more endless rifts. The Upper World was dead, and somehow they were still breathing.

  Sky pulled his hand away from Kira’s — gentle but firm — and stood up from the back seat of the car. His legs felt heavy, soul-gun scars still throbbing under his torn blue shirt. The hospital parking lot was quiet — only a few emergency lights flickering, the rest of the building dark except for the second-floor ICU windows glowing faint yellow.

  He took out his phone — cracked screen, low battery — and called Frosty.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “Where are you?”

  “Outside the hospital. Mira’s room. Come get us. Quietly.”

  Frosty didn’t ask questions. “On my way.”

  Ten minutes later the sedan pulled up — Frosty in the driver seat, Max riding shotgun, shadows curled around his feet like nervous habits. Hiro, Aoi, Taka, and the crow (Mira’s) were crammed in the back. Frosty looked at Sky through the window — eyes red, but steady.

  “Get in.”

  Sky opened the back door for Kira — she slid in silently. He got in last, closed it soft. The car smelled like smoke, blood, and hospital antiseptic.

  They drove in silence — headlights cutting through the dark streets — until they reached the hospital entrance. Frosty parked crooked, engine still running.

  Inside — second floor ICU.

  Mira lay in the bed — burns wrapped in white gauze, IV lines snaking across her arms, monitors beeping slow and steady. Her face was pale, hair singed short on one side, but her eyes opened when Sky stepped in.

  She looked at him — then Frosty — voice weak, raspy from smoke.

  “Where’s Mara?”

  The room went still.

  Everyone turned to Sky.

  He looked down — at the cracked linoleum floor — tears building fast, hot, spilling over before he could stop them.

  “He’s… d… dead.”

  The word broke on the last syllable.

  Kira moved first — stepped behind Sky — wrapped her arms around him from behind — chin on his shoulder. Sky froze — face flushing red even through the tears.

  He whispered — shocked — “What are you doing?”

  She squeezed tighter — voice soft against his ear.

  “Cheering you up.”

  Sky thought to himself — half-dazed, half-amused despite everything — *Yep… this woman must be crazy.*

  Mira watched them — small, tired smile tugging at her burned lips.

  “I need… a sword. Or something.”

  Sky blinked — wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

  “Why?”

  Mira’s voice was quiet — almost embarrassed.

  “My energy… it’s mostly gone. I used almost all of it to heal. Made a vow — to heal and live. But I need something to channel it through now.”

  Sky stared at her for a second — then reached into the small duffel bag he’d thrown in the car earlier. He’d been collecting weapons from the rubble — habit now — and pulled out two.

  First — Mara’s Reaper. The scythe blade was cracked, handle scorched, but still humming faintly with void energy. Sky set it down on the bed rail — careful, like it might break again.

  Then — the Sunlight Sword. Simple, straight blade, hilt wrapped in faded gold cloth. It caught the ICU light and glowed soft yellow — warm, steady.

  He handed it to Mira — pommel first.

  “This one. It’s lighter. Feels… alive.”

  Mira took it — fingers trembling — and the blade pulsed once, golden light running up her arm. Her burns seemed to ease — just a little — gauze edges glowing faint.

  Sky put Reaper back in the bag — careful — like he was handling a ghost.

  He excused himself — walked to the small bathroom attached to the room. Closed the door. Looked in the mirror.

  His reflection stared back — tired 15-year-old face, black ring around left eye faded but still there, hair messy, blood crusted on his lip. He lifted his shirt — soul-gun scars pink and raised, but closed. No more red pulse inside his chest. No more heartbeat that wasn’t his own.

  He whispered to his reflection — voice cracking.

  “I still have a heart… and feelings. I don’t have the Demon Heart anymore. I’m free.”

  A tear fell — slow — hit the sink.

  He washed his face — cold water stinging the cuts — then walked out.

  Mira was sitting up now — Sunlight Sword across her lap — looking stronger already.

  Frosty started the car again.

  They drove — slow through ruined streets — toward the academy. The place was half-standing — east wing collapsed, but the main building still there. 5,000 people had gathered — not hurt, or at least not dying — survivors from the surrounding towns, kids, families, a few awakened who’d made it. Total left at the academy: 20,000. Japan as a whole: 986 million still breathing after the fireball and collapse.

  They parked in the cracked lot.

  Sky stepped out first — looked at the date on his phone: February 5th, 9 p.m.

  Almost two months since New Year’s.

  He walked into the old Room 105 dorm — walls cracked but standing, bunks still there, dust thick on everything. The others followed — quiet.

  Sky took a piece of paper from the desk — pen from his bag — and started writing.

  Names.

  Everyone left.

  Sky. Frosty. Max. Hiro. Mira. Aoi. Kira. Taka. (And the few others still breathing — Lola, Juno, John if they made it.)

  He wrote each one twice — slow, careful — like if he missed a name they’d vanish.

  Then he taped the list to the wall — above his old bunk.

  Read them again — out loud — voice shaking.

  Then he went to the bathroom — showered — hot water stinging the scars — washed the blood, ash, guilt off as best he could.

  When he came out — everyone was already in their bunks — lights low.

  Sky lay down — stared at the ceiling.

  Frosty climbed in beside him — head on his chest.

  No words.

  Just breathing.

  The chapter ended.

  To be continued…