Time froze as Moon stepped closer to Michael, his weathered face a canvas of emotions—relief, joy, sorrow—all fighting for dominance. His hands trembled as they reached for Michael's shoulders.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Moon's voice cracked with emotion. Before Michael could answer, Moon pulled him into a fierce embrace. "I thought you were dead. All this time... I'm glad you're alive."
Michael stiffened, his mind still reeling. "Moon... you're the Blue Flash."
It wasn't a question, but a realization that shattered everything Michael thought he knew. The mysterious vigilante who had haunted his thoughts, who had nearly killed him just months ago, was the same man who had once taught him to tie his shoes and told him bedtime stories.
Moon's blue eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "I'm sorry for everything, Michael. I wasn't there when they sold you. I wasn't there when you got lost in this godforsaken undercity." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I even almost killed you. And I wasn't there when the orphanage burned."
Michael couldn't speak. The weight of betrayal, loss, and revelation crushed his lungs. Jake, Junk and Flowers—dead. Alphonse—a traitor. And now Moon—the Blue Flash. Too much. It was all too much.
A shadow fell across them.
Eagle descended silently from above, his augmented wings folding against his back as he landed. Military-grade claws extended from his fingertips with a menacing sound, gleaming in the dim light. His face—half-human, half-machine—twisted into a cruel smile.
"How touching," he growled.
Before Eagle could strike, Moon grabbed Michael and vanished in a blur of motion. The air crackled with displaced energy, and suddenly they were on the roof, wind whipping around them.
"Stay here," Moon commanded, pressing Michael behind a ventilation unit. "I'll handle Eagle."
"But—"
The roof exploded upward as Eagle burst through concrete and steel, sending debris raining down around them. His wings extended to their full, terrifying span—fifteen feet of razor-sharp metal and synthetic membrane. Hydraulics hissed as claws extended from his hands and feet, each longer than a combat knife.
Moon drew his katana, the blade catching moonlight. His patterned eye activated, emitting an eerie blue glow that cast shadows across his weathered face.
"The Blue Flash," Eagle growled, his voice distorted by mechanical implants. "Finally. Do you know how many men I've lost to you?"
"Not enough," Moon replied, settling into a fighting stance.
They moved simultaneously—two blurs colliding in a shower of sparks. Metal screeched against metal. Moon twisted mid-air, his katana a silver arc aimed at Eagle's neck, but the crime lord's augmented reflexes allowed him to parry with his claws.
Eagle lunged forward, his wing-edge slicing through Moon's cloak. Moon vanished, reappearing behind Eagle in a flash of blue light—only for Eagle to spin with inhuman speed, meeting the attack with crossed claws.
"Your tricks won't work on me," Eagle taunted. "I've studied you."
They clashed again and again, each exchange faster than human eyes could follow. Moon moved like water, his blade leaving afterimages in the air. Eagle countered with brutal efficiency, his augmentations granting him strength no ordinary human could match.
A vicious slash tore through Moon's shoulder. Blood spattered across the roof, but Moon didn't falter. His katana traced complex patterns in the air, each strike testing Eagle's defenses, searching for weaknesses.
Eagle drove forward with both sets of claws, forcing Moon to backflip away. The crime lord's wings snapped outward, slicing through a water tank. Liquid gushed across the roof, reflecting the neon glow of the undercity below.
"You're slowing down, old man," Eagle taunted.
Moon's breathing had become labored, blood soaking his left side. "And you talk too much."
Michael watched, paralyzed by the speed and violence of their battle. These weren't men fighting—they were forces of nature colliding.
Moon feinted left, then vanished completely. Eagle whirled, claws extended, but found nothing. The next instant, Moon materialized above him, katana aimed at the junction between Eagle's wings.
Eagle twisted at the last second, but the blade still bit deep into his shoulder. He roared in pain, hydraulics in his wings sputtering. Blood—both red and black oil—sprayed from the wound.
"First blood to me," Moon said quietly.
Eagle's face contorted with rage. "Last blood to me."
With unexpected speed, he lurched forward, one wing sweeping Moon's legs. As Moon stumbled, Eagle seized his opportunity. His claws closed around Moon's sword arm, crushing bone with a sickening crunch.
Moon's katana clattered to the ground. Eagle's other hand shot forward, steel talons plunging into Moon's chest.
"NO!" Michael screamed.
Eagle looked up, noticing Michael for the first time. A cruel smile spread across his face. With a powerful thrust of his wings, he lifted Moon's impaled body high into the air.
"Watch carefully, boy," Eagle called to Michael. "This is what happens to heroes."
He soared higher, Moon struggling weakly in his grip, blood trailing through the night sky. Then, with savage purpose, Eagle plummeted downward, using Moon's body as a battering ram to crash through floor after floor of the building.
Concrete shattered. Steel beams bent. Moon's body absorbed impact after devastating impact as they plunged from the roof to the ground floor.
Michael scrambled to the stairwell, heart pounding as he descended as quickly as he could. He found Junk's rifle where it had fallen and snatched it up, hands shaking as he checked the ammunition.
On the ground floor, Eagle stood over Moon's broken form, claws poised for a killing strike. Moon lay in a crater of broken concrete, blood pooling beneath him. Somehow, impossibly, he was still breathing.
Michael raised the rifle, steadied his trembling hands, and fired.
The shot echoed through the cavernous space. Eagle howled as the bullet tore through his left eye, sending him staggering backward.
In that moment of distraction, Michael leapt from the stairwell, daggers drawn. He slashed at Eagle's wings, trying to sever the hydraulic lines that powered them.
Eagle recovered faster than Michael anticipated. With a savage backhand, he sent Michael flying into a wall. Pain exploded through Michael's body as he crumpled to the floor.
Eagle advanced, mechanical eye whirring as it recalibrated. "Two for the price of one," he snarled, plunging his claws into Michael's torso.
Michael gasped, warm blood soaking his shirt. The wound wasn't immediately fatal, but he couldn't move.
Eagle raised his claws for the killing blow—when a strange, ethereal blue glow enveloped Moon's katana where it had fallen. The blade rose into the air of its own accord, hovering for a heartbeat.
Then it flew forward with impossible speed, slicing clean through Eagle's neck.
The crime lord's head tumbled to the floor, his augmented body collapsing in a heap of twitching metal and flesh. The katana curved through the air, returning to Moon's outstretched hand as he lay dying.
Michael crawled toward his mentor, leaving a trail of blood. "Moon," he whispered, "stay with me. Please."
Moon's eyes—both the natural and the patterned—focused on Michael with effort. "The Shimobe Blade," he whispered, holding up the katana that now pulsed with fading blue light. "I entrust it to you, along with my eyes. The blade... it changes color and element according to its wielder."
"Don't talk," Michael pleaded, pressing his hands against Moon's wounds. "We need to get help."
Moon smiled, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "No time for that, my boy." He reached up, touching Michael's face with bloodstained fingers. "Listen carefully. A true hero doesn't work for show like people-pleasers, or for money like common mercenaries. He does it... for his own peace. For his own sense of what's right."
Michael remembered the dream—Moon speaking of the foolish hero who fought endlessly against corruption.
"Was it worth it?" Michael asked, tears streaming down his face. "All the fighting, all the sacrifices?"
Moon's eyes grew distant. "I got to see you again," he whispered. "I got to know you survived. That you grew strong." His breathing became shallower. "My only regret... is that I won't see what you become."
The patterned eye's blue glow began to fade.
"Don't leave me," Michael begged, clutching Moon's hand. "Everyone leaves me."
Moon's lips curved in a final, gentle smile. "You were always... my greatest hope, Michael." His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "Make your own path... not mine... not theirs..."
His hand went limp in Michael's grasp. The blue light extinguished from his patterned eye.
Moon was gone.
Michael gathered the broken body of the man who had been father, enemy, and savior all at once. He held Moon against his chest, rocking back and forth as sobs tore through him—raw, primal sounds of grief that echoed through Eagle's fortress.
In his lap lay the Shimobe Blade, its metal now darkened and dormant, waiting for a new master.
Michael cried until his voice gave out, until there were no more tears left to shed, until the first gray light of dawn crept through the shattered building.
He cried for Moon, for Jake, for Junk, for Flowers.
For the boy he once was.
For the man he would now have to become.