Douluo Dalu Kamen Rider Ohma Zio

The first light of dawn spilled like silk across the leaves, dew trembling on emerald blades. A sudden cry shattered the quiet.

"Li Wei—he's not waking up!"

Zhao Wuji was the first to rush forward, his large frame unusually swift, knelt beside the collapsed teen. Tang San was already there, two fingers pressed against Li Wei's pale neck. His pulse was faint, barely a whisper under skin too cold for comfort.

Li Wei lay sprawled against the mossy forest floor, Diend Driver clutched in one hand like a lifeline. His breathing was shallow, erratic—like a man who had run through a storm in his dreams but left his soul behind.

"Wake up, you idiot!" Ma Hongjun shouted, voice cracking with concern.

Ning Rongrong hovered behind them, eyes wide. "He's—he's not injured. But something's… wrong."

Xiao Wu fell to her knees beside him. Her hair was wild like just waking up from the sleep, eyes bloodshot. "Li Wei," she whispered, brushing a trembling hand over his brow. "Come back…"

Oscar arrived last, holding a pack of fresh sausages with a frozen expression. "Do—do I heal him?" His hands were shaking. "Or is this something else?"

"Healing," Tang San muttered. "I do not think that your healing sausage will change anything as this seem like a spirit attack rather than physical attack."

Rongrong acted first. "Strength, Speed Boost—Amplify!" A gentle light bathed Li Wei's body as the pulse of her auxiliary ability surged forward, golden like early dawn. For a moment, nothing changed.

Then a sudden flare of burning violet light surged from Li Wei's chest.

Everyone recoiled as a sigil—circular, complex, humming with time-laced energy—briefly emerged above his heart. Lines of ancient script circled it like orbiting stars before fading. The forest air grew still.

Tang San narrowed his eyes. "What… was that?"

No one had an answer.

Li Wei stirred. His eyes cracked open, bloodshot and hollowed. His voice rasped, dry as dust.

"They're coming…"

Everyone leaned closer.

"We must prepare."

And with a final shudder, he sat up, pushing himself upright despite the tremors wracking his frame. "They marked me."

---

Later that morning, under the thick canopy of ancient trees…

The group sat around a flickering campfire. The once-light atmosphere was buried under tension.

"Mark?" Zhao Wuji repeated, crossing his arms. "Explain."

Li Wei pulled his jacket aside and revealed the faint outline of the sigil—an ethereal clock face seared against his chest. It glowed faintly, like a brand imprinted by time itself.

"I don't know who they are," he admitted. "Only that… they're watching. Waiting."

"Who?" Tang San's voice was steel, sharp and certain.

"I don't know their name," Li Wei replied. "Only that they… called themselves Veil Envoys.'"

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.

"They manipulated the void," he continued. "Tested me. Spoke as if I was a disruption to some… grand design."

Rongrong folded her arms. "So, we're being hunted. Or watched. Or both."

"We're not sitting ducks," Zhao Wuji said, standing. "If they come for us, they'll regret it."

"We can prepare," Tang San added. "Set detection nets. Blue Silver Grass along the perimeter. Zhu Zhuqing and I can scout the flanks. Oscar can provide aerial coverage with flying mushroom sausages."

"I'll handle traps," said Ma Hongjun, his fists igniting with low flames. "Anyone sneaking up on us gets roasted."

Rongrong's voice softened. "And I'll handle the support. Just say the word."

Xiao Wu didn't speak. She just walked forward, kneeling again beside Li Wei. Her hand rested gently on his shoulder. "I don't care what kind of mark they gave you," she whispered. "You're one of us. You're not alone."

Li Wei looked up at her, and for a rare moment, his guarded mask cracked. "Thanks…"

Her grip tightened. "No matter what fate demands, I'll stand with you."

Zhao Wuji grunted. "Alright, riders and rabbits. Get ready."

---

Far away, deep in the bowels of a forgotten temple swallowed by vines…

The silence in the chamber was complete—so silence that the feeling of it pressed against the skin, like the weight of a deep-sea current. The stone walls were inscribed with thousands of circular etchings, many resembling ancient clocks and twisted time symbols. Shattered relics—fragments of broken masks, rusted belts, and fractured Ridewatches—littered the floor like the bones of forgotten warriors.

Within this ruin, two figures stood cloaked in pitch-black robes. Their faces were hidden, their hands folded behind their backs. Each of them stood like statues—neither dominant nor submissive to the other, locked in quiet communion.

The one on the left finally spoke, voice low and airy.

"The boy endured the threshold."

"He is too early," the other said. "But time folds for him, even when he does not see the seams."

The first tilted his masked head slightly. "The Weave trembles. The Archive reacts. The old patterns fail."

"The Pathway has accepted resonance."

"And the Gate?"

"Not yet open."

A pause.

"But soon."

A third figure entered the temple from the shadows. Silent, his footsteps echoed softly over cracked tile. Unlike the others, this one bore a mask made of lacquered wood, carved with the swirling sigil of a falling leaf mid-turn. His presence brought an icy stillness.

He walked slowly to a raised pedestal at the heart of the temple, adorned with concentric rings of broken time. Upon it rested a dormant Ridewatch, black and violet in color, engraved with the symbol of a shuriken.

The figure reached down and whispered:

"The power Kamen Rider"

He pressed his hand against the core.

The temple rumbled faintly.

The Ridewatch ignited—a flicker of chakra-laced energy, emerald and violet flashing. Mechanical clicks followed, as if the gears of an ancient clock had begun to turn again after centuries of stillness.

[RiderTime! Shinobi!]

The voice that echoed from the device wasn't human. It was mechanical. Hauntingly calm.

The two robed figures looked toward the light.

The masked third turned.

"No more trials. It is time for contact."