A Painting of Hope

The telekinetic man’s eyes glimmered with a cruel sense of amusement as Haruto lay crumpled and unmoving on the floor. Blood starting pooling around his fingers. Yet the man didn’t stop. Instead, he reached out with an invisible force.

And then he stopped.

A subtle, almost imperceptible shimmer flickered over Haruto like a mirage.

“What…?” he muttered, stepping closer. “Something’s… shielding him.”

He pressed further, but there it was again, the barrier. Every time he tried to dive deeper into Haruto’s fragmented mind, his influence broke apart like water crashing against glass.

“Yukawa,” he called out in frustration. “There’s something wrong. His mind, some part of it is blocked. Like it’s sealed.”

Yukawa turned. “Then you’ve seen enough. “

“But – “

“Enough.”

From across the room, Ren stirred. A low groan escaped his throat. His body trembled with weakness, but his gaze locked onto the chaos unfolding before him. Haruto bleeding and two men standing over him like vultures.

Yukawa noticed and smiled. “Ah, the prodigy awakens. Welcome back, little artist. You’re just in time.”

Ren didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His dingers gripped the floor as he tried to rise.

Yukawa crouched beside Haruto as he brushed his blood-stained hair. Haruto’s eyes were barely open and fluttered in and out of focus.

“You should be proud of yourself,” Yukawa murmured, almost kindly. “You’ve survived longer than anyone expected. A stubborn thing, aren’t you?”

Haruto didn’t respond. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

Yukawa’s smile twisted. “but it ends here.”

Then he rose, and stomped down hard.

Haruto’s body spasmed beneath the strike. A crunch echoed through the chamber as ribs folded inward. He gasped, a wet, rattling noise that made him sound like a dying animal.

Ren screamed soundless, his body frozen with fear and horror.

Another strike.

Then another.

Yukawa’s boot crashed into Haruto’s stomach, then his ribs again, and finally his throat. Each impact snapped his bone and silenced death.

Haruto’s arms twitched once before going limp.

“This is mercy,” Yukawa hissed. “You should thank me for finally ending your cycle.”

He stepped back slightly. Blood coated his boots. Haruto’s body lay twisted, half-folded In on itself. One eye was swollen shut while the other glazed over, unfocused and half-lidded.

Yukawa raised his foot one last time, this time for the skull.

Ren’s vision blurred.

Yukawa brought his boot down –

Crack.

Haruto’s head snapped sideways. The last breath left his lungs in a faint, gurgling sigh.

Then he moved no more.

Ren’s hands shook. Tears welled in his eyes but they didn’t fall. His fingers traced the floor instinctively, and in the air before him, lines began to form.

Black ink flowed through the air like threads pulled from his skin.

An unseen canvas.

Yukawa stepped back for one final strike. But he froze.

The air vibrated with unnatural tension. A crack ruptured through the room.

Behind him, the wall twisted.

A single brushstroke appeared mid-air, scarring the world itself.

Then came the next.

And the next.

Colors exploded in all directions as Ren stood, blood dripping from his mouth. His painting coiled into reality, warping the space around Yukawa and the telekinetic man.

“What is - ?!” The telekinetic man shouted.

He painted hope, and they answered.

From the swirling chaos, two figures began to form.

One immediately collapsed on the ground. It was Haruto.

The other stood rigid, as if he’d never truly left. Asahi.

“Haruto? Asahi?” Ren croaked.

Asahi’s eyes darted around. His breaths came heavy, frantic. Asahi’s eyes narrowed. A strange pressure clawed at the back of his mind. The gunshot. The cold. The way Haruto had screamed his name before the bullet shot straight through his head.

Then he froze, vision settling on Haruto. Something inside him clicked. He remembered everything.

He remembered this corridor. He remembered the ink. But Haruto had died here. Hadn’t he?

Yukawa recoiled, arms up as ink-like tendrils wrapped around his torso, burning into his skin.

Ren’s voice rasped. “Don’t. Touch.”

The telekinetic man raised his hand. But Ren’s trembling fingers tightened, ad the painting at his feet pulsed like it had a heartbeat. Ink lifted midair and wrapped the trio like a barrier.

Asahi barely had time to breathe. He caught Haruto as he stumbled and hooked an arm under Ren’s shoulder.

“We need to move. Now!” he said.

Haruto blinked slowly. “Asahi…? Ren?”

“Yes,” Ren whispered. “Haruto…”

Asahi tightened his grip. “Stay with me.”

With a grunt, he hauled Haruto upright and started forward, as he pulled both of them along the corridor. Haruto didn’t resist. He simply moved like a marionette. He just followed.

“Come on,” Asahi urged. “We’re not done, Haruto. Ren needs you. I need you.”

Haruto’s feet stumbled. Something flickered deep within.

Asahi stopped and turned back with a firm grip on Haruto’s shoulder. “Please.”

That word — please — struck something. A voice from long ago rose through the static in Haruto’s mind, coarse and broken, gasping through blood: “Please… forgive me... son… but look after her. Look after Akane… please…”

Haruto blinked slowly. His fingers twitched. And finally, without a word, Haruto moved. Just a step. Then another. Asahi didn’t look back, only tightening his grip as they broke into a run.

Yukawa screamed in rage, the ink burning deeper into his skin. “You think this is the end?! I’m not done, Haruto Yamaguchi!”

But the trio were already gone, sprinting down the dimly lit hallway. Alarms still blared faintly in the distance. The corridor split ahead into multiple exit signs.

Asahi skidded to a halt at the junction. “Which one?”

Then Haruto’s voice cut through. “4E,” he said. “It’s 4E… that’s what Kurosawa said.”

Asahi staired at him for a second in uncertainly. Then nodded his head and turned. “Then here we go.”

They darted down the hallway marked Exit 4E while the corridor behind them slowly twisted and collapsed as ink swirled across the entire place like smoke.

The gate groaned as it opened.

They stepped through – and were blinded by the light.

Cool wind rushed against their skin. The scent of pine and damp earth filled their lungs.

They stood on the edge of a forest.

Haruto collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

Ren staggered a step forward, fingers trembling. The light in his eyes flickered—then faded. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Ren!” Asahi was the first to react, rushing to his side and catching him just before he hit the ground completely.

Haruto flinched, forcing himself upright. He stumbled over. “Is he—?”

“He’s breathing,” Asahi said, checking his pulse. “Just… unconscious.”

The boy's face was pale, skin damp with cold sweat, and his small frame trembled faintly even in sleep.

Haruto stared down at him. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

Asahi gently laid Ren down on the mossy earth and stood, scanning the horizon. No sign of civilization. No sign of anything.

Only the endless trees and the whispering wind.

Asahi’s hands curled into fists. “This… isn’t where we came in.”

They didn’t speak for a while. The silence of the forest was almost surreal.

Back within the crumbling halls of Sanctuary 7, Yukawa slumped against the wall as the ink tendrils retreated. He was bleeding and burned. The telekinetic man helped him up, though his own limbs trembled.

“They got away,” the man said bitterly.

Yukawa coughed. “Let them run.”

He looked toward the now-fading ink marks on the walls.

“We’ve already won.”