Phoenix Force

The dim glow of neon lights pulsed faintly against the cold, worn surface of the rooftop, casting shifting hues of red, blue, and violet onto the surrounding structures. The city stretched far below them, a sprawling labyrinth of concrete and steel, illuminated by the rhythmic dance of streetlights and the eerie flicker of malfunctioning signs. Distant sirens wailed through the night, their echoes weaving through the towering buildings like ghostly reminders of the chaos that had just unfolded. The air was thick with the lingering scent of smoke and scorched metal, remnants of the Infernal's destruction still smoldering in the streets below.

Auzra sat silently at the very edge of the rooftop, his posture composed, yet his presence heavy with an unspoken tension. His sniper rifle, sleek and ominous, rested across his lap, its barrel still warm from the single, decisive shot that had ended the monstrous Infernal. Wisps of residual heat curled from the weapon's muzzle, vanishing into the cool night air. His fingers, steady and precise, ran absentmindedly along the rifle's surface, tracing the fine engravings on the polished frame. The faint reflection of the city lights shimmered against his emerald-green eyes, but his expression remained unreadable—calm, detached, and yet, beneath it all, calculating.

A few feet away, Joker stood with his back against a rusted metal vent, his ever-present smirk barely concealed by the shadows cast upon his sharp features. The cigarette balanced between his fingers burned with a slow, steady ember, casting an orange glow onto his gloved hand. He took a leisurely drag, inhaling the thick smoke before exhaling it in a long, deliberate breath, the curling tendrils dissipating into the night. His mismatched eyes—one golden and glinting with mischief, the other hidden beneath his signature eyepatch—flickered with intrigue as he observed Auzra, a knowing amusement lingering in his gaze.

The night stretched on, heavy with unspoken words, the city below continuing its ceaseless hum of life. But up here, atop the forgotten rooftops, Auzra and Joker existed in their own space—one defined not by the noise of the world below, but by the quiet aftermath of their calculated intervention.

Joker exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his lips curling into a half-smirk as he eyed Auzra with mild amusement. He tapped the ash from his cigarette with a flick of his finger, letting the embers scatter into the night air like dying fireflies. The glint of curiosity in his visible golden eye sharpened as he tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Auzra.

"Blazing Charge, huh?" he mused, rolling the words over his tongue as if tasting them. "Didn't know you had something like that tucked away in your arsenal. And here I thought I knew all your tricks." His voice carried a playful lilt, but beneath it lay something else—keen interest, maybe even a hint of suspicion.

Auzra remained unfazed. He merely smirked, the corner of his lips barely lifting as he adjusted the strap of his rifle, shifting its weight against his back. His emerald eyes gleamed faintly under the dim rooftop lights, reflecting the city's distant glow. "You know me, Joker," he replied smoothly. "I don't show all my cards unless I have to."

Joker let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took another drag from his cigarette. The ember flared briefly, illuminating the faint traces of amusement in his expression. "Tch. Secretive as ever," he muttered, his tone carrying a mock-wounded air. "Not even your dear mentor gets the privilege of knowing your full potential? You wound me, kid."

Auzra simply shrugged, his demeanor as casual as ever. "You never asked," he said, his voice laced with an effortless nonchalance.

Joker raised an eyebrow at that, his smirk widening. "Oh? That's how we're playing it?" He chuckled again, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I'll let it slide—this time."

The night breeze stirred between them, carrying the faint scent of smoke and city dust. Their conversation lingered in the quiet air, a subtle game of wits between two sharp minds—one always watching, the other always staying just out of reach.

Joker exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the ember of his cigarette glowing softly in the dim rooftop light. He snorted in amusement but didn't push further. He had known Auzra long enough to understand that prying too much was pointless—he only revealed information when he deemed it absolutely necessary. And even then, it was always calculated, always measured.

Still, this new ability of his—Blazing Charge—was no minor trick. The power to amplify a bullet's force, to stack combustion energy into a single shot? That was something else entirely. Joker had seen plenty of abilities in his time, but this was new, even by his standards.

His smirk lingered as he tilted his head, watching Auzra with renewed interest. "So, what's the deal?" he asked, his tone shifting from playful curiosity to something more genuinely intrigued. "How does it work?"

Auzra remained quiet for a moment, as if weighing how much he wanted to disclose. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his rifle, running a gloved hand over the cool, polished metal of the barrel. His emerald eyes glowed faintly in the low light as he finally spoke.

"Blazing Charge." The name rolled off his tongue with an air of finality. "It allows me to stack combustion energy within my shots. The more I focus, the more firepower I store. A single bullet can hold the force of three, four… maybe even more if I push it far enough."

Joker raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Auzra continued, his fingers lightly tapping against the rifle's stock. "But the real trick isn't just stacking the power—it's controlling the dispersion. If I concentrate too much energy into a single shot without stabilizing it properly, the force becomes unpredictable. Too much power, and the bullet destabilizes before impact."

Joker let out a low whistle, his smirk widening. "So that's why that Infernal's head popped like a melon."

Auzra nodded, his expression unreadable. "Exactly."

Joker took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the cool night air. The conversation lingered between them, the hum of the city filling the silence. He let the moment stretch, his mind piecing things together, considering everything he'd learned tonight.

And then, in that same casual-yet-calculated tone, he shifted the topic.

"By the way," he said, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, his voice light but laced with something deeper, something more deliberate. "You ever wonder about your past? About where you really came from?"

Auzra's expression didn't change, but Joker caught the subtle way his fingers stilled against the rifle's frame. It was a small thing, barely noticeable. But to Joker, it spoke volumes.

Auzra's emerald eyes flickered in the moonlight, their glow reflecting the distant cityscape below. The cold night breeze ruffled the edges of his dark coat, but he remained still, his sniper rifle balanced across his lap like an extension of himself.

He had always known the truth—or at least, the parts that mattered. Joker wasn't his real family. That had been clear for as long as he could remember. The man had found him, taken him in, raised him in the only way he knew how. Joker had taught him everything—how to fight, how to think, how to survive in a world that devoured the weak. But never, not once, had Joker ever claimed to be his blood relative.

And yet, Auzra had never asked.

Not because he wasn't curious. Not because he didn't care.

But because he knew—some things were better left unknown.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze tracing the winding streets far below. The city stretched out before him, its pulse steady despite the chaos that had erupted just moments ago.

"I know I'm not your blood," he said finally, his voice calm, measured. "I know my parents are dead. Beyond that?" He exhaled softly. "I only need to know what I should. And I shouldn't know what I shouldn't."

Joker let out a short, amused chuckle, shaking his head. "That's so like you, kid," he mused, flicking the last embers from his cigarette before tossing it aside. "Always playing it safe. Always keeping your cards close to your chest."

But then—his expression changed.

The usual smirk didn't vanish entirely, but it softened, the edges no longer quite as sharp. His mismatched eyes, always gleaming with mischief and unpredictability, now carried something else. Something weightier.

Auzra noticed immediately.

Joker was rarely serious.

And when he was… it meant something important was coming.

Joker exhaled, running a hand through his unruly dark hair before glancing at Auzra with a look that felt heavier than the words that followed.

"It's time you learned the truth."

Auzra felt a small chill creep up his spine, a slow, creeping unease settling in his gut. Joker wasn't the type to speak in riddles when it came to things that actually mattered—not when the weight of his words could change everything. And right now, there was something different in the way he was speaking. Something heavier.

Joker exhaled slowly, the smoke from his last drag curling around him before vanishing into the cold night air. He didn't immediately continue, letting the silence stretch between them.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"That black-haired brat you ran into today?"

He flicked his cigarette off the rooftop, watching it disappear into the darkness below, the ember snuffed out by the wind.

"He's your brother."

The words hit harder than any bullet.

For a moment, Auzra didn't move. Didn't breathe.

The sounds of the city faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. The pieces of a puzzle he had never bothered to solve suddenly shifted—edges aligning, forming a picture he wasn't sure he wanted to see.

That kid from Company 8. The one with the red eyes, the reckless determination, the fire beneath his feet.

His brother?

Auzra's grip tightened on his rifle. Not out of anger. Not out of fear.

But because for the first time in a long time—he wasn't sure what to do.

The words struck harder than any bullet Auzra had ever fired. They didn't just land—they lodged themselves deep, shaking something within him that he had long since buried.

He blinked once. Then twice. His normally composed demeanor remained, but there was a shift—something subtle yet undeniable. His fingers curled slightly tighter around the barrel of his rifle, his grip firm but not rigid, as if grounding himself against the weight of what he had just heard.

"…I have a brother?"

His voice was quiet, almost lost to the night, yet it carried an edge—an undercurrent of something unreadable.

Joker, still leaning against the rooftop vent, gave a slow nod. "Yeah. And not just any brother—Shinra Kusakabe."

Auzra inhaled, deep and measured. The name echoed in his mind, stirring pieces of a past he had never truly tried to reclaim. He had spent years believing he was alone. That whoever he had been before didn't matter—that his past was nothing more than scattered ashes lost in the wind. That there was no need to look back.

But now—

Now, the past had come knocking.

And it wasn't empty.

Shinra Kusakabe. The black-haired devil with fire at his feet, the reckless fool who dove headfirst into danger. The same guy Auzra had crossed paths with earlier in the city—the same one he had watched from afar without a second thought.

Without even knowing.

The realization settled over him like a quiet storm. It didn't crash into him all at once, but rather seeped into the edges of his thoughts, reshaping everything he had believed to be true.

For so long, he had fought in the shadows. He had been an outsider, a phantom, a ghost without a past.

But now, he wasn't alone.

And that truth… was more terrifying than he cared to admit.

Auzra's gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers flexing slightly, as if trying to grasp something that wasn't there—something intangible, slipping through his grip like smoke. The weight of Joker's words settled in, pressing against the edges of his mind, stirring emotions he wasn't sure how to categorize.

For years, he had fought in the shadows, untethered by anything but his own instincts. He had no past to cling to, no name that carried meaning beyond what he had made for himself. And yet, now, with a few simple words, everything had shifted.

"…Why didn't you tell me before?" His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—an edge of something almost uncertain.

Joker exhaled through his nose, his usual smirk present but subdued. He rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug, but his tone carried a depth Auzra rarely heard from him. "Would you have believed me back then?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "You were a wreck when I found you. Half-dead, running on nothing but survival instinct. What good would it have done to tell you about a family you didn't even remember? You wouldn't have cared."

Auzra considered that. He wanted to deny it—wanted to argue that he should have known, that it should have mattered. But deep down, he knew Joker was right. Back then, he had been a different person—driven only by the present, detached from any notion of what came before.

And Joker wasn't sentimental, but he wasn't cruel, either. He had been waiting for the right time.

And now was that time.

Auzra inhaled deeply, steadying himself. The air was cool against his skin, but it did little to settle the restless energy stirring within him. He lifted his head, his emerald eyes gleaming with quiet resolve.

"I need to see him."

Joker, ever the wildcard, simply raised a hand, stopping him before he could even begin to entertain the thought.

"No, you don't."

Auzra's brows furrowed slightly, his expression sharpening. "Why not?"

Joker smirked, but this time, there was something different behind it. Not amusement. Not mockery. Something calculated. Something serious.

"Because it's not the right time yet," Joker said smoothly, his voice carrying an easy confidence. "You've gone this long without him—you can wait a little longer. There'll be more chances, kid. And trust me…"

His gaze flickered toward the city, toward the lingering embers in the distance. The glint in his mismatched eyes was sharp, unwavering.

"That idiot isn't dying anytime soon."

Auzra didn't respond immediately. He let the words settle, rolling them over in his mind. Every instinct in him told him to move—to act—to do something. But…

Joker was right.

He had waited years. What was a little longer?

Still…

His gaze shifted toward the sprawling city below, where the last remnants of battle had faded into the night. Somewhere out there, Shinra Kusakabe was moving forward, completely unaware that he had a brother watching from the shadows.

Auzra's fingers curled slightly, gripping the fabric of his sleeve.

Soon.