Honkai: Star Rail — Kamen Rider!

The ships launched.

They plunged into the endless void of space, heading toward the very danger they had once fled.

"Why? Why go back, after escaping?"

Some stared at the ships' retreating silhouettes, baffled. What could those guardians possibly be thinking?

They had barely managed to tear free from that nightmare—shouldn't they cherish life even more?

And yet, there were still those who hurled themselves back into the jaws of death.

These people had come to Zieltworth, the medical world, only to prolong their lives.

But the guardians—they treated life itself as nothing, throwing it away for something else.

"People always fight for the things they believe in," one voice murmured, sympathetic.

"We came here for medicine. They must have another vow, another reason, that drives them back into danger."

A sigh.

"So don't scorn them. Just silently send them our blessings."

"Wish their journey smooth, wish their wish fulfilled in the end."

That was the most fitting hymn they could offer.

Nothing more was needed.

...

Crack. Crack. Crack!

The sound of something shattering echoed in every heart.

The clone army's bodies all trembled, as though some force had been stripped from them, slowing their movements.

The Iron Cavalry, burning their very selves, would show no mercy for such hesitation.

In battle, a moment's delay was the same as offering your life.

They seized the chance, striking back, Nihility's flame devouring the enemy.

Blazing fire swept across the field, cannon-shots from armored gauntlets pounding bodies into scraps.

And then—someone noticed.

"Their regeneration is slower!"

The words spread through the comms, sharp and urgent.

Every fighter quickly realized it too—the enemy's recovery had dulled, their endless multiplication weakened.

Where once they split and regrew in an instant, now the clones multiplied visibly, sluggishly.

Their numbers were still tens of times greater than the Fyrefly squad.

But the slowed pace eased the suffocating pressure.

More importantly—

"Sora's doing it. He's making progress. We have to hold them here!"

Yes. This change could only mean one thing: Hoshigaki Sora had struck at the root.

An Aeon of Propagation should have been dividing faster and faster as ascension neared.

For it to weaken meant the ritual had been disrupted.

Their gazes turned to the cocoon, once brilliant as a sun on this planet's surface.

Now it dimmed, as though the birth had been forced into pause.

There was no doubt—this was his work.

He really did it. He really can.

Their hearts burned with joy.

But then—

From the fading cocoon burst a figure radiant in platinum-white.

A body strange, yet marked with an unearthly beauty.

And the moment it descended, its aura pressed down like an ocean.

Shunji's voice trembled:

"…It's inside us."

Yes. Incomplete though she was, Titanironia was still Aeon of Propagation, origin of their very genes.

And now, her call stirred within their flesh.

The corrosion was slow—but it was real.

Panic surged. None of them had imagined, in the end, they themselves might fall to this fate.

And worse—

"…Will we become his enemies?"

That was the true fear.

They had come to aid Sora, to clear away the unstable threats around him.

Now they were becoming the unstable factors.

If the erosion grew, they might even turn on him.

Unbearable.

"Don't panic. The power spreads slow. We still have time."

Shunji's voice steadied them.

"With Nihility's flame, we can resist it longer!"

"All that matters is this—don't let him be distracted!"

And at that moment—

Clang!

The ringing of steel upon steel shook every mind.

Titanironia's right hand stretched into a pure white blade, ten meters long, crashing down again and again at Sora!

Against that divine weapon, his own blade looked pitifully small.

The difference in size, in stature, was absurd. Each clash made spectators fear his sword would splinter.

But again and again, Sora proved them wrong.

No matter how vast the opponent's weapon, his blade would answer, burning with his will.

The weapon of a mortal—but one that would never yield.

Yet though his sword could bear the weight of an incomplete god's strikes, the ground beneath could not.

Boom!!

Another slash fell, and this time Sora was driven down, the earth splitting wide.

Cracks spread like a spiderweb, the once-flat plain now scarred with craters, each one carved by their clashes.

Titanironia's blows rained ceaselessly.

And in Sora's heart, one thought rose sharp:

Where did this thing learn to fight like this?

Yes. She fought with technique.

This was new.

The Titanironia of before, larval, had swung like a child flailing fists.

Crude power, nothing more.

That was how he had cut her hand from the sky.

But now—now each strike bore weight, rhythm.

Imperfect, yes—but with each wingbeat, her speed surged.

And each swing of her blade pressed like a mountain.

And she was not limited to that.

Her free hand flicked, and volleys of light-bolts tore toward him.

Sora's eyes caught the trajectories. He stamped the ground, launched upward, blade whirling.

A storm of silver arcs met the hail of light, scattering them into fading sparks.

Each blast dissolved on his edge, leaving only afterglow.

Close combat. Ranged bombardment. Every move showed—Titanironia's power was now far beyond what she had been.

And this was only the shallowest fraction of what she had drawn from the reflection of the infinite tree of knowledge.

Her every action wasted nothing, perfectly balanced to break him and claim him.

She had already marked him as the one who could complete her.

The counterpart to Hotaru.

So she could not let him slip away.

Her golden eyes were calm, but within them his future was written.

And Sora struck back.

"Standing still isn't my style."

He growled, lunged forward through the storm.

His silhouette darted across the dark plain, his red visor the only light.

Left, right, weaving past bolts by a hair's breadth, closing on her step by step.

Titanironia seemed to sense melee was disadvantageous. She loosed another flood of light, relentless.

A chance!

Her volleys meant nothing to him now. And so he could counter.

He leapt high, blade raised overhead, its edge blazing.

But at that instant, she stopped.

His instincts screamed—

Whum!

The sound of wings.

In the blink of an eye, Titanironia vanished—

And reappeared, speed spiked, towering over him like a falling mountain.

Her white blade descended with annihilating force.

Crisis loomed.

And Sora… smiled faintly.

He set another buckle at his waist.

'[SET!]'