Fon hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d only caught a glimpse of the man speaking with Skull—just a glance—but that was enough. Enough to draw him closer. Enough to trap him.
His figure was too solid, too real for Mist Flames. His presence rippled through the space, ancient and unrelenting, like the weight of a thousand battles pressing down on Fon’s chest. And his eyes—
The moment Fon met them, the world shattered.
They were fire and blood, endless chaos forged in the crucible of war. In their depths, the martial artist saw not just bloodlust but something far worse—judgment. The weight of every life he’d taken suddenly burned on his hands, the phantom warmth of blood slicking his fingers. His ears filled with screams, whispers of the lives he’d ended, echoes of the crimes he had tried to forget.
The memories of his sins swirled around him, drowning him. The child who had clung to her father’s hand as the Fon cut him down. The rival mafiosi he burned alive with his Flames. All of the men and women who had begged for their lives, the sharp cry of his death still etched in Fon’s soul.
It was all there, dragged to the surface by those burning eyes, an unspoken accusation.
And yet, it wasn’t hatred he felt. It wasn’t fear. It was something far worse.
Reverence
Those eyes weren’t just alive with war—they were war.
The carnage feeds its soul.
They were the force that made men kill and die, the unending hunger that drove nations to destroy one another.
The Storm Arcobaleno couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. His own body betrayed him, frozen under the weight of his own sins.
“Fon.”
The voice barely registered.
The red-claded baby couldn’t look away. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, to fight, but he was frozen. The room was suffocating, and yet he was trapped, staring into the abyss of that man’s gaze as if he were bound to it by the blood on his hands.
"Fon."
In those eyes, he saw every life he had taken, every sin he carried, every drop of blood spilled. The phantom weight of his deeds pressed down on him like chains, pulling him deeper into the storm.
“Fon!”
Suddenly, a small hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him hard. Fon blinked, gasping as the world snapped back into focus. Skull was in front of him, his usually carefree expression set into something serious.
“Hey! Stay with me,” Skull said firmly, his voice sharp, cutting through the lingering haze of dread. “Don’t look at him too long. Trust me.”
Fon’s breath came shallow and uneven, his body still trembling from whatever thing had been cast over him. He glanced past his fellow Arcobaleno, but the man wasn’t even looking at him anymore. And yet his presence still lingered, a suffocating reminder.
“Who...” Fon’s voice cracked slightly. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “Who is this?”
Skull didn’t answer immediately, his hand still firm on Fon’s shoulder as if grounding him. “Someone you don’t want to mess with,” the Cloud said finally, his tone low but steady.
The man chuckled softly, a sound like distant thunder, and turned his burning gaze back to Skull. “You have interesting friends, little cousin. Not everyone is strong enough to survive looking into the eyes of war.”
“Enough,” Skull snapped, his voice sharper than Fon had ever heard it.
The man smirked, stepping away, his form dissipating into the shadows as if he were never truly there. The air felt lighter, but not by much.
But still doesn’t feel like Mist Flames.
Fon exhaled shakily as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. “Cousin?” he asked, his sharp eyes narrowing at Skull.
Skull shrugged, his carefree mask sliding back into place. “Long story. Forget it.”
Fon didn’t press, but he knew there was more to Skull than he let on. And whoever that man was—whatever he was—Fon wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to find out.