promises, and the storm of combat had finally quieted into an eerie, oppressive silence. Amid the remnants of shattered foes and splintered ice, Ishigo lay crumpled, his body battered beyond measure. His vision had darkened, his mind teetering on the brink of oblivion, yet something deep within him stirred.
Then, a voice—cold, emotionless, and merciless—whispered through the void of his consciousness.
"You are nothing, Ishigo. No one loves you."
The words weren't loud. They didn't need to be. They cut deeper than any blade, sinking into the raw wounds of his past.
For a long, agonizing moment, Ishigo lay still on the fractured ground. The bitter chill of the battlefield mingled with the burning heat of his internal turmoil.
His body trembled—not from the cold or the blood, but from the tidal wave of hatred and despair that threatened to consume him. Memories of betrayal, abandonment, and loneliness swirled in his mind until they coalesced into a single, brutal truth:
"You are weak."
Something snapped.
Ishigo's trembling ceased. His eyes, once clouded with fear, now sharpened with an unyielding fire. The searing hate that had almost devoured him twisted into something else—something raw and absolute. His breathing steadied, his grip tightened, and his blood-soaked fingers curled around his blade.
Daigo, who had been fighting beside him, turned at the shift in presence. "Ishigo…?"
Yeaga, locked in combat with the enemy commander, cast a wary glance. "What the hell is—?"
A sudden surge of energy pulsed from Ishigo's form. The frozen ground beneath him cracked, and an eerie blue flame flickered to life along the edge of his blade.
Gasps rippled through the battlefield.
"That's—" yeaga stammered, eyes widening in horror. "That's… an energy awakening!"
The enemy leader took a step back, his smirk faltering. "Impossible."
Ishigo stood slowly, his once battered frame now radiating with an untamed, feral power. His blade, now engulfed in ethereal blue flames, pulsed like a living entity. His glasses glinted under the eerie glow as he raised his head, his gaze colder than the ice around him.
"I hate that word,"he murmured, his voice steady, powerful. "Coward."
Silence fell. The battlefield itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then, he moved.
Faster than the eye could follow, Ishigo surged forward, his flaming blade cutting through the frigid air. The enemy leader barely had time to react before the first strike connected—a devastating arc of blue fire slicing through his ice spear, shattering it into shards that glistened like falling stars.
The enemy staggered, disbelief painted across his face. "Tch! You think this changes anything?!"
Ishigo didn't answer. He didn't need to. He simply advanced, his every step leaving behind embers in the snow.
The fight resumed, but it was no longer a battle—it was a massacre.
Ishigo's movements were precise, lethal, his strikes cutting through the enemy like a reaper's scythe. The blue flames of his sword burned hotter with every attack, consuming the very air around him. Where once he had trembled in fear, now he moved with the confidence of a warrior reborn from his own suffering.
Daigo and Yeaga, despite their own ongoing battles, couldn't help but watch in awe.
Yeaga exhaled, stunned. "He's… completely different."
Daigo, a faint smile tugging at his lips, wiped blood from his brow. "He finally awakened."
The enemy leader, now desperate, let out a guttural roar and lunged forward, aiming a final, all-or-nothing strike at Ishigo's heart.
Ishigo didn't flinch.
With one swift motion, he parried the attack and countered—his blade singing through the air in a blur of blue fire. The final slash cut clean through the enemy's armor, sending him crumbling to his knees. The battlefield fell into a stunned silence.
The leader, gasping, looked up at Ishigo with something dangerously close to fear. "Y-You…"
Ishigo stared down at him, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice as cold as the winds around them, he declared:
"Your reign of darkness ends here."
The leader's body hit the ground.
The remaining enemy forces, upon witnessing their commander's defeat, broke into chaos. Some fled in terror, while others dropped their weapons in surrender. The battle was over.
As the last embers of blue flame faded into the night, Ishigo exhaled, his grip on his sword loosening. The weight of his past still lingered, but it no longer defined him.
He was no longer Ishigo, the weak, trembling boy who feared his own shadow.
He was Ishigo, the warrior who had forged his strength in the flames of hatred and despair.
And no one would ever call him "nothing" again.