Chapter 42 The End of The World

The grenade detonated with a thundering boom, a shockwave of fire, metal, and raw destruction ripping through the air. The explosion tore into Conor’s body, sending his limbs flailing like a ragdoll caught in a storm. His left arm vanished in an instant, shredded to pulp as the force sent him careening through the air. He slammed against the cracked pavement with a sickening thud, his broken form skidding across the ground, leaving behind a smeared trail of blood.

He could barely register the pain—only the awful, gut-wrenching reality of what had just happened. His face was half-gone, flesh peeled away, exposing bone and muscle, one eye dangling uselessly from its socket. His torso was a gaping ruin, the grenade having torn away a massive chunk of his side, leaving his ribs grotesquely visible, his insides spilling out onto the cold dirt.

And yet… he was still alive. Just barely. A cruel joke played by fate.

Through the haze of agony, his one remaining eye focused on a figure dragging itself forward toward the ocean—Shujinko.

The dying soldier’s breath came in shallow, wet gasps, the taste of iron thick in his mouth. Every fiber of his being screamed, begged him to move, to stop what was happening. But his limbs refused to obey. He could do nothing but watch as Shujinko, a bleeding, battered wreck of a man, limped toward the ocean.

A thick, winding trail of blood followed him, painting his slow, staggering path. He was dying. There was no mistaking it. His skin had turned a ghastly shade of white, his veins barely pumping what little life he had left. Every step was a battle, his legs trembling. His fingers clutched his stomach wound, but the blood just kept pouring.

The world blurred at the edges, darkness creeping into his vision. If not for the glow of the setting sun, he wouldn’t have even known which direction he was walking. He moved forward, not by strength, but by willpower alone—a desperate, final march toward an idealistic dream.

He whispered to himself, over and over.

"I must do it… I must… It’s the right thing… I must…"

Conor gurgled, trying to force words from his ruined throat, but his voice was barely a whisper, a final plea lost in the wind.

“Don’t… don’t do it…” He coughed, blood splattering his lips.

“You’ll… you’ll kill us all…”

But Shujinko didn’t stop. Didn't hear. With the last of his strength, he lifted his arm, the vial clutched weakly in his trembling fingers. And then—with one final, wide swing—he hurled the vial into the air, his body finally giving out, hitting the ground.

The vile flew, it spun once, twice, three times, reflecting the orange hues of the dying sun. And then, with a soft plop—it disappeared beneath the waves. The cure was delivered.

 He had won.

With one last surge of strength, he forced himself onto his back, staring up at the bloodstained sky. His chest rose and fell in shuddering gasps, his body trembling, but still, he grinned—victorious.

And then, with what little air was left in his failing lungs, he shouted.

"We did it…! You tried to stop us! You tried to bury us in rubble, gun us down like dogs, poison this world with your greed! But you failed! You called us fools! You called us weak! But in the end… it was YOU who lost!"

His fingers curled into the blood-soaked dirt, his eyes burning with defiance even as his vision blurred.

"The cure is in the ocean now! There’s nothing left for you to take, nothing left for you to twist into a weapon! You wanted control, but you lost it! You wanted power, but it slipped through your fingers! And now… now the world will be saved… and you can’t do a damn thing about it!"

A dry, weak chuckle escaped his lips, but even laughing hurt.

"So go ahead… rot in your failures… choke on your own hatred… because we won. And if I die here… then I die knowing… we changed everything."

"You did great," Ichiban murmured, pushing herself of the ground, stepping closer with slow, deliberate steps.

"You saved the world..."

His lips curled weakly into a smile—relief, exhaustion, something resembling victory washing over him, she was alive—until she spoke again.

"From humans."

"W...what?" he gasped, forcing his head to tilt upward.

Ichiban knelt beside him, her gloved fingers softly brushing his blood-matted hair, an eerily gentle gesture.

"You did well, Shujinko," she said again, her voice carrying the warmth of a mother soothing a child.

"You delivered salvation, just as I hoped."

Her fingers trembled as she lowered her hand from her face—revealing deep, glowing cracks running through what should have been flesh. Then, she gripped her own cheek and pulled. A wet, horrific rip filled the air as the skin peeled away, torn like fragile paper, revealing the glistening red crystal beneath.

Shujinko’s entire body stiffened in horror. The woman he thought he knew was never human at all. He tried to push himself up—tried to move, to fight, to scream—but his body failed him. He could only watch.

The thing that had pretended to be Ichiban stood to its full height, the last remnants of its human disguise sloughing away in shimmering, jagged shards. What remained was something alien, towering, its crystalline form pulsating with an ominous glow.

Shujinko forced out a ragged breath.

"What… the hell… are you?" 

The creature tilted its head. Then, after a thoughtful pause, it spoke.

"We do not bother with names. Names are human things. A pointless attachment to identity."

Its glimmering eyes bore into him, its voice patient, almost condescending.

"But if you insist... you may call me... Adam."

Shujinko’s blood boiled with rage. He clenched his teeth, spitting blood onto the ground.

"Where’s the real Ichiban?"

Adam was silent for a moment, then smiled.

"There was no need for her anymore. I consumed her when young Kaiju released me upon Helios-9. I took her form. Assimilated her memories. Became her."

"You… you killed her?!"

"Not just killed." Adam tilted his head, his tone almost casual. 

"I wore her. Lived in her. Experienced her thoughts, her regrets, her ambitions."

Shujinko’s breathing grew ragged, his pain drowned out by fury.

"You monster…!"

Adam only chuckled, looking toward the ocean, where the waves began to glow with an unnatural, blood-red hue.

"She was brilliant... She was the only human who nearly defeated us. She created the compound that could destroy us. But Kaiju… young, dear, foolish Kaiju, stole it. And do you know where he took it?"

Shujinko’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t answer.

"To Eel Schmuck." Adam’s voice dripped with amusement.

"The one you all hate so much. Your arrogant billionaire warlord. He had the cure. He held the key to stopping me."

Adam turned his glowing, jagged face toward Shujinko, his crystalline form glistening under the red-tinted sky.

"But now... even he can't stop me. Thanks to you, I have grown in strength, intelligence. Even my counterparts can't come close to my perfection. With ocean being consumed by crystallization, I feel power surging through me. No human weapon can harm me now, not even the cure Dr. Ichiban made. And it all thanks to you, Shujinko."

Shujinko felt his heart lurch. His vision blurred as he turned his head toward the ocean. The waters churned violently, frothing like a cauldron. And then—

It erupted.

Blood-red crystal vines burst from the depths, coiling into the sky, splitting the very sky with their force. The coastline cracked and shattered, the monstrous tendrils twisting and writhing like living things. The ocean itself was transforming. The cure—no, the infection—was spreading. Adam spread his arms wide, his inhuman silhouette framed by the rising chaos.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he whispered, almost reverent.

Shujinko felt his strength finally leave him. He had thought he had won but he had doomed them all.

The ocean churned violently, its waves crashing against the shore as the crystallization spread like a plague, consuming everything in its path. Adam stood at the edge of the water, his crystalline body glinting ominously in the sunset. His arms were stretched wide, basking in the twisted glory of his victory. The world was falling apart, and he was at the center of it all—a self-proclaimed god of destruction.

“Finally. No one left to stop me,” Adam said, his voice echoing with a hollow, metallic resonance.

  “The world will be reborn in my image. No more filth. Only perfection.”

Then—