Volume 2: Chapter 3 — "Forged in Bruises"
"Some boys are taught to love. Others are taught to bleed. Kaito was raised on the second lesson."
Before the sword ever reached his hand, Kaito had already tasted steel. Not in battle—but from the one who birthed him.
His father, Kamon Veil, was a monster in human skin. A man without a RAC, no powers, no elemental gifts. But his philosophy was simple: If the gods won't bless you with power, then you forge your own through pain.
He made Kaito his blade.
Every morning began with drills. Every mistake ended with screams. If the blade dropped? A strike. If the stance wobbled? A strike. If he cried?
Three strikes. With the pole. Across the back.
The pole was iron. Not symbolic. Not decorative.
Real. Cold. Unforgiving.
Kaito bled through his shirts before he ever made a clean slash. He learned to fight not because he wanted to—but because not fighting meant death. There were days with no food. Nights with no light. And weeks with no water unless he could block ten attacks in a row while sleep-deprived.
Anger simmered inside him. But he never let it show.
Suppress.
Bury.
Forget.
Until the day something else remembered for him.
░▒▓ THE EVIL TWIN RAC ▓▒░
"A mirror cracked down the middle. One side screams. The other side grins."
Kaito never awakened a traditional RAC—no flame, no storm, no psychic whisper. What bloomed inside him was darker.
A rare, undocumented mutation: the Evil Twin RAC.
How it works:
When a user suffers extreme psychological repression—especially in childhood—an echo forms.
That echo manifests as a physical clone: a twin made of everything the user hides—rage, malice, fear, hunger.
The twin's strength is equal or greater than the original. But its will? Independent.
Most twins stay dormant until triggered.
Others—like DMK—force their way out.
Dreadmark Kaito (DMK) is Kaito's twin in flesh.
He doesn't speak unless amused. He doesn't kill unless absolutely certain it'll leave a mark.
He is violent precision, unhinged. And one day, after years of silent torture, DMK emerged.
Not summoned.
Unleashed.
░▒▓ THE NIGHT OF CRACKED BONE ▓▒░
It happened on a cold night.
Dinner was late. Kaito hadn't eaten in three days. His sword arm was swollen, shattered during training. He'd failed a kata—again.
His father stood above him, pole in hand, ready to strike.
Kaito flinched.
But the blow never came.
A hand caught it.
Not Kaito's.
Another hand. Black-veined. Cold. Strong.
DMK stood there, no emotion in his eyes.
Kamon Veil blinked once, confused.
Then—snap.
The pole bent in half.
DMK moved like a ghost, no flash, no theatrics—just murder. He grabbed Kamon's wrist, twisted, and crushed the elbow with his knee. Bone ruptured through skin.
Kamon screamed.
DMK didn't blink.
One strike to the throat.
Another to the gut.
Kamon tried to crawl.
He was lifted by the neck.
And then—
DMK whispered: "You wanted a weapon."
His fingers tightened.
And then—nothing.
No RAC.
No elemental power.
Just a technique.
An ancient monk style, lost for a billion years.
Fists rotated, palms reversed, bones aligned in a sequence so fast it looked like wind moving muscle. DMK's fingers stabbed pressure points across Kamon's torso in less than a second.
Kamon Veil spasmed.
Then exploded from the inside.
A death kata.
No explanation. No documentation. No way Kaito could know it.
But DMK did.
And now it was burned into Kaito's muscle memory.
░▒▓ AFTERMATH ▓▒░
Kaito sat there, staring at what remained of his father.
Blood. Muscle. Bone dust.
DMK stood over him, looking down—not with sympathy.
But disappointment.
"You're free now. Don't waste it pretending to be good."
Then DMK dissolved. Back into the subconscious. Sleeping.
Kaito didn't cry.
He stood. Walked out the front door. Never looked back.
░▒▓ PRESENT DAY ▓▒░
Now 16, Kaito walks through life with a blade on his back and a demon in his shadow.
He never speaks more than needed.
He never shows anger.
He fights clean—because he knows what happens when he doesn't.
Every battle is a coin flip.
Let go—and DMK takes the reins.
Keep calm—and stay just human enough to live another day.
People think Kaito's calm.
But it's not peace.
It's a muzzle.