Chapter 43 Unyielding Rage

Then, came a sound. At first, it was a tremor. Then, a deep, guttural growl. And then it became a roar. Not just any roar—an explosion of pure, unfiltered rage.

It ripped through the battlefield like a shockwave, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Adam’s crystalline form vibrated, the resonance of that ungodly fury reverberating through his very crystal core.

And then, from the darkness behind him—

A shadow emerged. The shape of a man. Shachiku Giseisha. The salaryman was not dead.

He strode forward, his briefcase clenched so tight that reality itself seemed to warp around it. His knuckles were white-hot, his grip so strong it could crush black hole.

His face was veiled in darkness, a void of pure, undiluted wrath—so black that it swallowed the light itself. But his eyes—his burning, seething eyes—shone through the void. They glowed like molten fire, searing with the torment of seventeen years of crushed dreams, unpaid overtime, and the endless, soul-suffocating grind of corporate hell. His teeth clenched so tightly that they SPARKED, grinding with the force of a man who had spent his life being stepped on, exploited, and discarded.

But no more! Tonight, he would collect his severance!

Adam, sensing something was wrong, slowly turned—the king of the new world expecting to see a corpse. Instead, he saw pure, unleashed, primal destruction.

With the force of a planet, he raised his briefcase and brought it down like divine judgment.

KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield. The air itself cracked! The ground split open, forming a crater beneath their feet. The sound of the impact wasn’t just loud—it was as if a nuke had been detonated point-blank! The very fabric of existence trembled at the sheer force of corporate suffering finally being unleashed in one decisive blow.

Adam’s crystalline skull cracked—no, it exploded! The briefcase plowed straight through his head, into his chest, and stopped at his torso.

For the first time since his birth, Adam felt something new.

Fear!

Shachiku ripped his briefcase free—shattering Adam’s already broken body. The impact had rippled through his entire crystalline form, causing fissures to explode outward, his entire torso fracturing like glass.

The once-godlike entity, the so-called "Adam," the harbinger of humanity’s end— was now a shattered husk, crumbling beneath the wrath of an overworked salaryman.

Shachiku stood over Adam’s shattered form, his chest heaving, his breath coming in burning gasps. The world around him was silent, as if reality itself had paused to witness his rage.

Then, he snapped!

With a feral roar, he raised his briefcase, his grip so tight the leather groaned under the strain—and then he brought it down.

BOOOOM!

The ground quaked. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the impact, the very earth protesting the sheer force of his fury. But he didn’t stop.

Again.

BOOOOOM!

Adam’s half-shattered torso dented inward, the red crystal splintering apart, but Shachiku didn’t stop.

Again.

BOOOOOOOM!

The air shook with every devastating blow, a monstrous drumbeat of vengeance echoing across the battlefield.

And as he swung, he screamed.

"SEVENTEEN YEARS!" SLAM.

"SEVENTEEN YEARS OF MY LIFE!" SLAM.

"BEING TREATED WORSE THAN A STRAY DOG!" SLAM.

"LIKE A TOOL! LIKE TRASH!" SLAM.

"SEVENTEEN FUCKING YEARS!" SLAM.

Each strike was a thunderclap, each word filled with the unrelenting agony of a man whose soul had been caged his entire life.

"You think I care about the world!?" SLAM.

"You think I give a shit about ‘saving humanity’!?" SLAM.

"You took the only thing that ever fucking mattered to me!!"

His voice broke, his rage boiling over into something raw, something painful. His swings became wild, desperate.

"Give her back!"

SLAM.

"Give her back to me, you piece of SHIT!"

SLAM.

"Give me back the warm moments I had with her!"

SLAM.

"Her smile—her voice—her laugh—"

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

"She was the only goddamn person who ever treated me like a human being! My only light in this hell hole!"

His vision blurred—not from pain, not from exhaustion—but from rage so overwhelming it felt like it would tear him apart.

Adam’s once-majestic crystalline form was reduced to rubble. But Shachiku didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Even as Adam was reduced to dust, he kept swinging. Kept smashing. Kept cursing. Kept screaming. Until finally—

There was nothing left.

Shachiku stood there, his entire body trembling, his hands bleeding from gripping the briefcase too tight. His breath came in heavy gasps, his suit was in tatters, his rage finally spent. His powers gone.

He stared down at the pile of crimson dust, the remains of the monster who had stolen everything from him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, with shaking hands, he raised his briefcase.

For a moment, he just stood there, his body trembling, his breath shallow. His fingers ghosted over the scratched and dented leather, the only thing he had left in this god forsaken world.

Then, his grip faltered.

The briefcase slipped from his hands.

It hit the ground with a dull thud, the echo of it swallowed by the vast, looming horror behind him.

The ocean was a mass of crimson crystal replacing the rolling waves, spreading outward like an infection, devouring the sea itself. Monstrous spires of blood-red crystal jutted into the sky, their jagged edges catching the last dying light of the setting sun.

The horizon bled red. The air hummed with an unnatural, suffocating resonance. And the world—The world was ending.

A hollow, broken sound escaped his lips. A laugh—no, a sob. His knees buckled. He collapsed onto the cold, cracked ground.

"No..." 

"No, no, no—"

He had won. He had avenged her. He had destroyed that thing. But it didn’t matter.

The crystallization was already too far gone. The ocean, the sky—everything was turning to crystal.

All his pain, all his fury, all his suffering—for nothing. His hands dug into the dirt. His fingers curled into trembling fists.

All those years. Seventeen goddamn years. Fighting. Suffering. Enduring. For what?

Tears burned at his eyes, but he couldn’t even find the strength to wipe them away.

He let out a choking, desperate laugh.

"Of course." His voice cracked.

"Of course... this is how it ends."

His body trembled as he lifted his head, staring at the sky as the red overtook the blue.

There was no escape. No salvation. No one left to fight. Just a broken salaryman, watching the world turn to crystal and dust. And for the first time in his miserable life—

Shachiku finally stopped fighting.

Suddenly he heard a low, ragged voice—a strained gasp clawing its way out of a ruined throat.

Conor. He was still alive.

Despite the missing arm, the gaping wound in his side, the half of his face that had been torn away, he clung to life for just a few more breaths. His remaining eye flickered with a dim light, a ghost of his once unshakable will.

Shachiku forced his aching body to move, he sank down beside him, gripping his briefcase as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. The world was ending—what else was left but to listen to a dying man’s last words?

“Well, you damn fools…” He coughed, a fresh stream of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. 

“Happy now? You proud of what you’ve done?”

Shachiku remained silent. He had nothing to say.

Conor let out another breathy laugh, bitter, broken.

 “That thing… that crystal bitch, it played you all. And you fell for it. We had a chance. We had the cure. We could’ve saved the planet. But you—” he sucked in a painful breath— “you had to get in the way.”

His eye met Shachiku’s. A single moment of understanding. Of blame. Of loss.

Then, suddenly—Conor froze.

His one remaining eye glazed over, staring past Shachiku, past the ruined battlefield, past the world itself. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for something he would never grasp. Then, finally, he went still.

Shachiku’s jaw clenched. He looked away, teeth grinding together so hard they threatened to shatter. His hands trembled with the weight of emotions clawing at his chest. Hate. Rage. Guilt. Loss. Every possible emotion, churning like a storm with no release.

He wanted to scream. To tear apart the world himself. To curse the heavens, the earth, everything that led him here—

Then, suddenly—

His briefcase began to glow.

A soft hum vibrated through his fingers. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted the lid. Then—

A blinding white light erupted from the briefcase, swallowing everything. His vision exploded in a brilliant void, his mind dragged through an endless abyss. A single whisper echoed in the darkness, neither sound nor voice, but something deeper. Something ancient.

Then—

Silence.

And then—

A noise. Familiar. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. An alarm. His alarm.

Shachiku's eyes snapped open.

He was sitting at his office desk, his phone vibrating against the wood, the morning sun spilling through the blinds. His heart pounded against his ribs, his body slick with sweat.