The corridor trembled as their blades clashed again—sparks flying, shadows swirling. But this time, Renji wasn't just defending. He was reading her.
Each strike she made was clean, precise, but... hollow.
She doesn't want this fight, he thought, narrowing his eyes. She's just following orders. Like a puppet.
Her katana screeched as it clashed with Renji's dual-shadow blades. For a moment, their eyes locked—his glowing gold and hers, hidden behind the mask.
"You're not killing me," he said through clenched teeth.
"Not yet," she replied, but there was a flicker—hesitation.
Renji twisted his blade, forcing her back. "Tell me your name."
She didn't answer. Instead, she activated her blood art again, surrounding herself with spectral crimson swords. Her entire body shimmered like it was breaking apart into petals of blood and silk.
[ Blood Moon Style: Scarlet Bloom – Final Lotus ]
The mansion around them began to tremble. Cracks snaked along the walls as the technique expanded. It was massive. Deadly.
Uncontrollable.
Renji felt the pressure. It was like standing at the bottom of a collapsing mountain.
"Seraphina—any help?", Renji shouted.
Her voice echoed faintly. "Only a whisper… but I can guide your hand."
Renji raised his palm, and from it flowed a stream of golden symbols—the lost command codes of the Grand Order. They shimmered in the air, wrapping around his arms like tattoos of fate.
[ System Override ]
[ Binding Code – Mercy Protocol ]
He charged.
Through the blooming death. Through the blades. Through her.
And right as her katana was about to meet his heart—
—he stopped.
His hand gripped her mask instead.
There was a flash of light.
And the mask cracked.
Fell.
And he saw her face.
She was beautiful.
But broken.
Tears welled in her eyes as if she hadn't cried in centuries.
"You… idiot", she whispered, trying to raise her blade.
But it dropped from her shaking fingers.
She collapsed into his arms, trembling.
"I was ordered… if I failed… they'll take me back. They'll burn me alive inside my own mind."
Renji knelt with her in his arms, crimson petals falling around them.
"Then I'll kill every last one of them," he said. "And I'll start with the Blood Moon Clan."
She looked up at him, those broken eyes now holding the faintest glint of something he hadn't seen in them until now—
Hope.
The blood-streaked battle had ended. The strange girl—slender, with long white hair stained crimson and her samurai mask cracked—lay in Renji's arms. The fight had taken everything out of her. Out of him.
He brought her back to the empty mansion, avoiding the eyes of the gods and ghosts that seemed to watch his every step. He placed her gently on a silken couch, her breaths shallow, but alive.
She stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open—one deep crimson, the other a haunting silver. She whispered a name he didn't recognize, then looked at Renji, confused, but not afraid.
Renji offered her warm water. A towel. A moment of peace.
"I don't even know your name," he said softly.
She hesitated. "My name… it was lost in blood. But… they used to call me Reika."
He kneeled beside her, tending to her bruises, gently cleaning the blood and grime from her soft skin. She flinched at first—but his touch was calm, gentle, reverent.
"You're safe here," he told her.
Reika studied him. "You didn't finish me off. Why?"
Renji smiled faintly. "Because I've had enough blood on my hands for a lifetime."
She stared at him like he was some strange relic from a forgotten world. "You're not like them."
"And you're not broken like you pretend to be," he replied.
Their eyes locked—hers, still fogged by pain and betrayal; his, flickering with something deeper, more human.
She slowly reached out, placing her hand on his. The contact lingered. The world, for just that moment, was quiet.
Reika's fingers trembled as they brushed over Renji's hand, hesitant at first—then firmer, seeking warmth in the silence.
He didn't pull away.
The glow of the moonlight through the high windows bathed them both in pale silver, and she watched him through her messy strands of hair, something fragile in her expression cracking.
Renji gently tucked a lock behind her ear, noticing the subtle twitch in her lips—not fear, but anticipation. "You're safe now," he repeated, voice lower this time. Calmer. More intimate.
"No one's ever said that to me," she whispered. "Not and meant it."
She leaned in before she could stop herself, her forehead touching his. A breath passed between them—one filled with unspoken questions and answers neither of them could phrase.
Renji hesitated, his hand brushing her jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb resting just beneath her lip. She shivered under his touch.
"You don't have to pretend," he murmured.
Her lips parted, and he could taste the pain, the gratitude, the quiet hunger in the space between them.
Then it happened—slow, tentative. A kiss. Not of lust or conquest, but of two broken souls reaching toward warmth in the cold. Her lips were soft and cool like velvet dipped in snow. She tasted like tears and steel.
She gasped slightly, as if surprised by the way her own body responded to such gentle affection. Renji pulled back just enough to see her eyes—slightly misted, slightly defiant.
"Still sure you want this?" he asked, his voice husky.
Reika didn't answer with words. Her hand slipped behind his neck, pulling him down to her again, fiercer this time. Like a warrior demanding solace.
The kiss deepened, no longer a question, but a promise.
Reika's breath hitched as Renji's hands found her waist, slow and intentional. There was a weight behind each movement—not just desire, but reverence. Like she was something fragile… sacred. Her pulse raced under his fingers as he slid the loose folds of her robe down her shoulders, baring skin kissed by a thousand scars and battles.
But in his eyes, she wasn't just a warrior.
She was beautiful.
"You're trembling," he whispered.
"I'm not afraid," she said softly. "Just… overwhelmed."
Renji leaned in again, his lips grazing down the curve of her neck, pressing gentle kisses along her collarbone. Her hands roamed his back, fingertips tracing the hardened muscles and faded wounds, committing each inch to memory.
Her robe slipped further, pooling around her hips as she stepped back just enough to let it fall. Moonlight painted her like a living sculpture—strong, but trembling beneath the weight of vulnerability.
Renji stood still for a moment, as if absorbing the sight of her, before drawing her close again. Their bare skin touched—warm against warm, heart against heart.
When his lips met hers this time, there was nothing soft about it. It was hungry, raw, a collision of pain and passion. She responded in kind, gripping his shoulders tightly as he guided her down to the floor, onto the silken robe now beneath them.
The world faded into silence.
Only the sound of heavy breathing, quiet moans, and the rustling of skin against silk remained. The air was thick with heat and moonlight, their bodies tangled like roots seeking solace in one another's soil.
Reika arched into him, her gasps turning into whimpers, her hands desperate for more.
He took his time, drawing out every touch, every breath, every shiver—until the night itself seemed to pulse with their rhythm.