One man’s face; another, his body; even one soldier’s legs were all sliced in half. Still, the blades’ wild dance had not ended. They soared through the air like a violent tempest of darkness destroying everything in its path, as if they were living creatures with minds of their own. It was a skill specialized only in destruction and killing—nothing more.
Akutagawa laughed.
It was as if a pitch-black demon were devouring the gray ghosts.
“Retraite!”
The surviving Mimic soldiers’ faces turned sickly pale as they quickly backed away.
“Come back! Fight me!” Akutagawa screamed while chasing after them. Black spears and bullets clashed violently across the battlefield.
“This is nothing! This barely even counts as a trial! Show me cruelty—show me the sort of brutality that will freeze my very soul!” the boy dressed in black screamed, an echo of supplication in his voice.
Just then, a Mimic personnel carrier appeared before the art museum containing new soldiers. Like a mad dog, a fiendish smirk played across Akutagawa’s lips.
That was when a signal flare shot into the air from the personnel carrier. The phosphorescence raced straight up, leaving a red trail in the sky and casting a shadow over the earth below.
Immediately, the Mimic soldiers ceased fire.
“What—?”
Bewildered, Akutagawa surveyed the battlefield. Not a single enemy was holding up their gun. One after another, they placed their weapons on the ground. Some even had both hands already in the air.
“They’re surrendering?” Akutagawa muttered in disbelief. “Impossible.”
With his arms raised, one soldier walked over from the other side of the group. He had handsome features, and both his clothes and hair were a sickly silver-gray hue, as if his soul had been sucked out. The man looked essentially the same as the other Mimic soldiers but was disproportionately taller than the rest. And yet, his footsteps didn’t make a sound; it was as if he were weightless. Decorating the breast of his military fatigues were various medals of honor in all different colors. The soldier’s emotionless eyes locked on Akutagawa. Confused and at a loss, the Mafia members pointed their guns at the defenseless man as he approached.
“So it’s you… You’re the black-robed skill user they say is immune to bullets,” the tall man said, his lips barely moving. His voice seemed to come from nowhere in particular, like a howling wind.
“Who are you?”
“The commander… Mimic’s leader.”
The moment his words sunk in, the Mafia combatants rushed over in unison before pointing their guns at him. The Mimic leader’s eyes did not even waver.
“Their leader himself has come to surrender? An admirable attitude, but hardly believable… In fact, it disgusts me.”
Akutagawa’s overcoat transformed into several black belts that bound the Mimic leader’s hands and feet together before dragging the man to his knees.
“State your name, leader of Mimic.”
“Gide. André Gide. I came to ask you for…a match.”
The leader’s tone was calm; he didn’t appear to be shaken in the least.
“The Mimic leader himself wishes to fight me? What an honor that would be if I actually believed you. Answering questions you haven’t been asked only makes you less convincing.” Akutagawa shot the man a piercing glare as he spoke. “Leader of Mimic, do you know why I haven’t cut your head off yet?”
“Maybe because…you were disciplined not to?”
Akutagawa punched Gide in the face. With both legs tied together, he was unable to dodge, and a drop of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
“The reason I haven’t cut your head off yet is that I heard Mimic’s leader was a skill user.”
Akutagawa swiped the old-fashioned gun from Gide’s waist, then pointed it at him.
“I can’t gain his acceptance no matter how many pea-shooting weaklings I kill. Show me your skill. If it is the real thing, I will give you that match you so desire.”
Gide just stared at Akutagawa and the gun.