Ichigo can't Fight

A brittle gust of wind whispered through the towering trees surrounding the Temple of Scholars, their gnarled branches clawing at the night sky like the spectral fingers of forgotten spirits. The moon hung low, a solemn witness to the treachery about to unfold beneath.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing, you insect-headed moron?" Thwack!

Pit's knuckles met the back of his gang member's head, the dull smack echoing through the hushed forest. The boy stumbled forward, clutching the spot where Pit had struck him, his face twisted in both pain and anxiety.

"B-Boss," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, "there's a reason the scholars live far away from Sakai. They say anyone who enters the temple never returns. People whisper that they… eat intruders." His breath hitched as his own words spooked him.

"Ugh, you're a disgrace. You lot are the worst gang I've ever had the misfortune of leading, firstly the mountain monks are a myth, no one has seen or heard about them, Secondly, aren't monks supposed to be all cool with us stealing their stuff for the sake of no conflict and all? " Pit scoffed, arms crossed, his wild, unkempt hair swaying as he paced impatiently. "No wonder Yu wipes his filthy boots with our reputation. But fine, if none of you have the guts, I'll do it myself."

With an exaggerated huff, Pit turned toward the temple gates. Unlike the formidable iron doors of Sakai's inner city, these were weathered wood, reinforced with iron bands now rusted from time's cruel touch. He reached out, expecting resistance—

Creeeak…

The gates swung open effortlessly.

"…Huh?"

A second later, gravity betrayed him. His foot slipped on something slick, and his body lurched forward, tumbling headfirst onto the cold, blood-slicked stone.

His gang erupted into laughter.

"Boss, you tripped on your—"

"Shut up! I'm gonna—" His voice died in his throat.

A gruesome tableau lay before him.

Corpses.

Torn and scattered like discarded parchment, the remains of the temple scholars painted the sacred halls in a macabre masterpiece of death. Their pristine white robes were now crimson rags draped over lifeless forms. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, mingled with the scent of charred wood.

Silence.

Not the ordinary silence of an abandoned temple, but the kind that suffocates, that presses into one's chest like an unseen force.

Pit scrambled to his feet, his bravado shattered.

"W-Who did this…?"

"It has to be a monster," one of the gang members whispered, eyes darting frantically.

"Shut up," Pit hissed, forcing himself to think. "We came here for the chest. Remember? , Find something useful before—"

The sound of footsteps.

Heavy. Measured.

From the temple's inner sanctum emerged a lone figure.

A man.

Dressed in dark battle-worn robes, his sleeves tattered and bloodstained, his broad shoulders bore the weight of something sinister. In his grasp, he dragged a gold and red chest, its ornate carvings smeared in blood.

His eyes—dark, sharp, unwavering—settled on them.

"You must be the other little rats that little rat was working for."

His voice was smooth, unhurried, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.

Pit swallowed hard.

The man exhaled through his nose, almost disappointed.

"He spoke of you. Said you knew things about this temple, the soldiers and the chest so i made him send for you. I didn't really think you would."

With a casual sigh, he released the chest, letting it thud against the bloodied floor.

"Rats are not good for business."

He cracked his knuckles.

"So I'll have to kill you all."

The gang froze.

Pit's breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. The smell of death clung to this man like an aura, something primordial and terrifying.

One of his boys , oblivious to the weight in the air, whispered, "Boss, there's nine of us. He's alone. We can—"

Pit's voice was razor-sharp.

"Shut up."

He darted his eyes to the bodies strewn around them. None of them stood a chance.

This man—this thing—had walked through them like paper dolls.

And now, he wasn't even slightly worried.

"That's it," Pit whispered, realization dawning. "He doesn't even think we're a fight worth having."

His throat tightened.

"We need to run."

A deadly silence settled between them, so thick it could be cut with a blade.

The man stepped forward.

Pit bolted.

The others followed.

Too slow.

A ripple tore through the air as the man charged—

An arc of pure killing intent exploded from his body!

A monstrous presence surged forth, a phantom-like mirage of a rhinoceros, its spectral tusks glowing.

Pit barely had time to throw himself aside before the man's fist met flesh—

BOOM!

Three of his men didn't make it.

The wooden gates splintered apart as bodies crashed through them, lifeless like projectiles.

Pit's heart was hammering in his ears.

He turned just once—

—just in time to see the smirk on his enemy's face.

"Wrong choice, little rat."

The chase had begun.