Chapter 3:
Chapter 3 : Ashes of Dream
Re:Sen no Remon
21:08, January 1, 2025 – New Era Calendar
The first day of the new year brought no trace of hope to the city of Old Trork. This city, over three centuries old, once proudly called the “City of Dreams” or the “City of the Age,” now lay engulfed in smoke, fire, blood, and suspicion. A once-glorious place had been reduced to a desolate scrapyard, haunted by the screams of the past and the deadly silence of the present.
In a dark corner of a crumbling building, a small flicker of flame still danced, like the faint breath of life lingering amidst the ruins.
Rin and Annie sat quietly on the corpse of a dead wolf, heedless of the stench emanating from its matted fur. They no longer had the strength to cover their noses or feel disgust. Only the fire’s glow reflected in their hollow, weary eyes.
Their clothes were soaked in blood and mud, indistinguishable whether it was their own, the monsters’, or that of people who no longer had a chance to live.
“Hey…” Rin’s voice broke the silence softly.
“Do you… have any healing potions?”
Annie didn’t respond immediately. She lowered her head, her bloodstained hand trembling slightly as she rummaged through her bag. A gash ran down her left arm, the blood already congealed into a dark brown crust.
From her backpack, she pulled out a small glass vial containing an emerald-green liquid, its cap chipped at one corner.
Her hand extended toward Rin, offering the potion without a word.
“Is there more?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the fire, though his hand reached for the vial.
“One vial…”
“It’s… all I could get,” Annie replied after a brief hesitation.
“Forget it.”
Rin’s voice was laced with exhaustion as he withdrew his hand, refusing the potion.
Annie froze at his words, her hand still hovering in the air, the vial tilted slightly. The firelight refracted through the glass, casting an eerie green glow.
“You’re badly hurt too,” she said softly, almost a whisper, her eyes drifting to Rin’s hands.
Under the faint golden flicker of the flame, his hands were a grotesque sight. The skin was scorched and peeling, like the bark of a charred tree, exposing raw, red flesh beneath. His knuckles were swollen and deformed, as if they’d been crushed and twisted repeatedly. The veins beneath stood out like gnarled roots, bulging as if ready to burst through the skin. Those hands no longer looked human—they were a tortured, mangled thing, stripped of their original form, utterly repulsive.
Rin didn’t answer. He let out a faint sigh and leaned back against the wolf’s corpse as if it were the most comfortable sofa in the world.
“Still breathing is good enough,” he said, his voice light but weary.
No topic followed, and neither knew what to say next. The space sank back into silence after that fleeting moment.
The fire continued to burn, its reflection in their eyes as if trying to incinerate their most painful memories.
Rin’s golden eyes remained fixed on the flickering flame. He thought of the story of Prometheus, who stole fire from Olympus to give to humanity—a sacred flame representing strength, knowledge, and passion.
But now, the fire before him was a fragile spark, wavering amidst the wreckage, as if mocking concepts like “strength” or “knowledge.”
He had used his own immense, terrifying power to fight monstrous beasts, but the cost was hands that no longer resembled anything human. Prometheus, too, had paid a price for stealing fire for mankind.
“Hey, Annie,” Rin suddenly spoke, breaking the quiet and causing her to turn toward him.
“What’s your goal?”
She paused for a few seconds, then a faint smile curved her lips.
“Hm… My goal, huh…”
She spoke, then turned back to the warm, rosy fire.
“I want to travel the world. Meet people and… help those in need.”
“I think… I don’t want to be someone who just stands still.”
“What about you, Kamiyama?”
Rin fell silent, his gaze still locked on the flickering flame. He hadn’t expected Annie’s answer to be so simple and pure.
“Helping those in need…” A goal so lofty, almost naïve in a cruel world where every day was a battle for survival. How far could something like that take her?
“Me…” Rin replied softly, hesitating before continuing.
“I don’t have one…”
“Or maybe… I did once?” he said, then let out a bitter chuckle.
“Pfft… haha, forget I said that.”
The laugh wasn’t natural—it was laced with mockery and bitterness. That smile was like a pill, a mask to hide the chaos of his thoughts, because no one would see that behind every smile lay not just joy but countless untold stories.
Rin’s gaze flicked toward Annie, and it stopped his laughter. Not because there was anything frightening, but because… she was smiling too. A gentle, sincere smile that made him feel… uneasy.
She had listened to him attentively, without a word, her eyes free of judgment, and she even smiled at him. It made him uncomfortable—or perhaps, he wasn’t used to being heard.
“Pretty pathetic, right?”
“I don’t think so!” Annie replied.
“Huh…”
Rin was stunned. He had braced himself for a different response—empty encouragement or, worse, pity. But he hadn’t expected this.
“At least… you still have a reason to live! I think someone without a reason wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me.”
Rin let out a small, wry laugh, unsure if it was irritation or resignation.
“A reason? Ha, it’s probably not even a reason—just… survival instinct.”
Annie tilted her head slightly, nodding as she looked directly at him.
“But… you’re still here, talking to me… right?”
“Don’t confuse living with merely existing,” Rin said softly, his eyes dropping to his hands.
“I’m not living. I’m just… not dead yet.”
Annie blinked but didn’t let her smile fade.
“That’s okay too. As long as you still want to live, that’s enough. A goal or something like that… I believe you’ll find it eventually!”
Rin fell silent. He didn’t know how to respond to someone like Annie. He didn’t understand her at all. He didn’t hate her—on the contrary, he felt… a kind of admiration.
He admired how she could smile, how she cared for others despite her own wounds, how she carried an optimism that shone like a small but radiant light, drawing people toward its warmth. He wondered: *If I could find a purpose, would I become like her?*
Rin froze. In that fleeting moment, he felt small and empty, as if he’d glimpsed Annie’s world through an invisible lens—a world still filled with light and gentle warmth, while his was surrounded by cold, jagged shards of broken glass.
*Clomp… Clomp… Clomp…*
Heavy, uneven footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night, each step resounding sharply against the cracked, blood-soaked pavement like a warning.
Then a loud cry shattered the silence.
“Xival! He’s back!”
From the end of the dark street, a shadowy figure emerged, moving steadily—neither fast nor slow.
The moonlight cast a long, tattered shadow behind him. In its pale glow, his form became starkly visible.
His chestnut hair hung limp, darkened by blood. His weary eyes glinted with a crimson rage. His face was torn by deep gashes, caked in dried blood like cracked earth. His once-sturdy armor was now shattered and warped, its broken metal pieces swaying with each step. Only one trembling arm remained, clutching his side where pink bone protruded, as if holding onto the last remnants of himself.
Within minutes of the cry, survivors flooded the street, crowding around Xival, bombarding him with questions. Rin and Annie stepped to the doorway to witness the scene.
“Xival! Are my wife and child okay?”
“Hey! Why do you look so beaten up?”
“Is my mother alright, Xival?”
“Xival, where is everyone?”
“Xival…”
“Xival…”
“Xival…”
“Xival…”
“…”
The questions came like bullets, relentless, but no answers followed—only a sneer of contempt.
“Dead.”
His voice, hoarse but sharp as a blade, silenced the air around them.
“Come on, you’re joking… right?” one person stammered, clinging to a fragile thread of hope.
“Yeah! Xival, this isn’t funny!” another voice cut in, half-angry, half-pleading.
“You little punk! This isn’t the time for jokes!”
Denials, protests, and refusals rose up, but they grew weaker, fading like a gust of wind lost in the night.
“Survived?” Xival raised his head, his bloodshot eyes glaring at the crowd. That look no longer belonged to a human but to someone who had touched the depths of hell.
“I said… they’re. All. Dead!” He emphasized the last four words.
“You bastard! Are you out of your mind?! Joking like that in a situation like this?!” one man shouted.
“Ha… haha…”
Xival let out a broken, uneven laugh, like a wind-up doll with a snapped spring. The small chuckles grew into cruel, booming laughter. Each laugh carried a twitch across his face, as if he couldn’t control the madness spilling out.
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m losing it!!”
“Not losing it, how could I have killed them all?!”
Another burst of maniacal laughter followed. He clearly didn’t care about the people around him, laughing at their pain until—
*Thud!*
A fist slammed into Xival’s face, sending him crashing to the ground, blood streaming from his nose. A man in his thirties pinned him down, strangling him, tears streaming as he demanded answers.
“You monster! That’s countless lives! Do you understand?!”
“My wife… she was pregnant! She was about to give birth! Did you know that?!”
His voice trembled with rage and unbearable grief.
“You killed everyone who mattered to us! Do you get that?!”
“Oh, how pitiful,” Xival replied calmly, a twisted smile spreading across his face as he spoke fluently despite the chokehold.
“And… what about my father?”
The air froze once more.
“Why, in that cave mission fifteen years ago… didn’t you save him?”
His voice was no longer loud, no longer filled with mocking laughter or shouting. It was a quiet, dry, and… anguished question.
“You abandoned me and him, left me to watch my father die in agony!”
He turned, flashing a smile at the crowd of grieving, angry accusers.
“And you know what’s even better? I was only nine years old.”
The crowd fell silent, unable to respond—or rather, incapable of responding. The man choking Xival loosened his grip, as if the weight of those words was heavier than his fists.
“Does any of you… even remember his face?!”
“I remember it clearly… every last scream, every moment as those beasts tore him apart, and no one came back to save him!”
The more he spoke, the louder his voice grew, his agitation rising until tears streamed down his face. And then, his missing arm… began to regrow. Somewhere, on an unfinished structure, a short “genie” smirked at human suffering.
“Hey, Drake, looks like the show’s about to get good!”
Without hesitation, Xival grabbed the man who had been choking him, reversing their positions in an instant. He pinned him down with a knee, breathing heavily, his crimson eyes blazing with towering hatred.
He said nothing more. The air around him warped, light fracturing, and a murky, dense wave of Arkion enveloped him, igniting into a hellish blaze.
His skin split into fragments, revealing not flesh but twitching, metallic muscle beneath. His spine shattered and extended into sharp bone spikes, piercing his gaunt back like whips of sin.
His nails grew into long claws, and his forearm bones protruded, curving into scythe-like blades, as if his body was arming itself. Dark veins crawled across his skin like withered roots struggling to rise.
His legs deformed, swelling unnaturally, heavy as if forged from ash and steel, with muscles rippling down their length.
Finally, his human head vanished, replaced by a bony face with sharp teeth, its mouth twisted into a mocking grin. From his head sprouted two twisted, demonic horns, like flames bound by chains of hatred.
The man beneath him had already turned to a pile of gray ash.
The Arcanus rose, its eyes scanning the crowd, its dark gaze choosing who to judge first. The pressure it exuded thickened the air, as if choking the last breaths of those killers.
*Boom!*
The ground cracked as it took its first step—not from its weight, but from the fury and resentment it had suppressed, now unleashed like a flood, sweeping away all reason.
*Clang!*
The sound of metal rang out sharply. A sword struck from behind, but instead of blood, only sparks flew. With a casual swing of its scythe-like arm, the creature sliced the blade in half like paper.
*Crack!*
With a sound like snapping dry twigs, the Guardian who attacked collapsed, his head crushed in Xival’s grip—the price of his recklessness.
“Get lost,” he said, crushing the head, brain matter splattering and instantly burning away. He glanced at the rest, his guttural, hellish voice echoing.
“Your turn…”
*Whoosh!*
In an instant, the Arcanus surged forward with terrifying speed. Hundreds of “sinful whips” sprouted from its back, delivering thousands of flesh-tearing strikes, reducing the crowd to bloody chunks.
Xival grabbed one man’s head, slamming it into the pavement and dragging it for dozens of meters.
“I still remember you… clearly. You were the rookie who pushed my father into those monsters’ jaws…”
His voice, still hoarse, was somehow even more terrifying.
“It’s time… for you to pay.”
As he spoke, flames erupted from his palm, spreading across the man’s body, engulfing him. The fire didn’t kill instantly—it burned slowly, agonizingly, like molten lava, ignoring the man’s desperate screams for mercy. After over fifteen minutes, he was completely incinerated, nothing left.
The monstrous creature stood, its metallic muscles twitching, a nightmare coming to life. Its head turned sharply toward Rin and Annie, who had witnessed it all.
“Get lost…” it said, its voice icy, like a command to a servant. But in less than a breath—
*Boom!*
A blazing fireball shot toward them like a red bullet, without warning or hesitation.
Without time to think, Rin spun and shoved Annie aside, sending her tumbling across the dusty, debris-strewn floor.
“Get out of the way!”
*Boom!*
The fireball struck Rin like a meteor, a deafening explosion erupting as flames consumed him, turning him into a burning torch. Yet, despite being engulfed, Rin didn’t scream, as if he’d lost all sense of pain. Then, he collapsed.
In the silent aftermath, Annie stared, half-fearful, half-panicked, her mouth agape but unable to speak. Cold sweat dripped from her forehead, her mind in chaos, her head pounding, until she could bear it no longer and fainted.
On the other side, Xival didn’t know why he’d done it. He had meant to spare them, but his monstrous body no longer obeyed him.
“How does it feel, little pup?” a childlike voice echoed in his mind—the voice of Jinnie, the “genie” who had granted his wish during the evacuation.
“You bastard! What is this… Why can’t I control my body?!”
His mind felt like it would explode as he questioned the genie.
“Oh, asking about that?” Jinnie’s voice rang out again, light but venomous, as if Xival’s suffering was his amusement.
“This is what I wanted.”
“You… wanted?” Xival stammered.
“Yep, yep~” Jinnie replied, a twisted smile forming in Xival’s mind.
“You think… there are people that kind in this world?”
“Oh, come on~ Did you really believe there’s such a thing as a ‘free wish’?”
“Honestly, you’re pathetically naïve~ Heehee…”
Jinnie burst into laughter, a long, unrelenting cackle. The sound was both sweet like molasses and bitter enough to turn the stomach—a whip of humiliation lashing at Xival’s shattered pride.
“Oh, or maybe you thought, ‘It’s fine… I’ve avenged my father’?”
Jinnie continued, mimicking Xival’s voice with mocking jest.
“Breaking news, Xival. You. Didn’t. Kill. Anyone!”
He emphasized each word, just as Xival had.
“You’re just a rabid dog I let off its leash.”
“You killed for me, hunted for me… And I gave you the illusion of revenge! Seems… fair enough, right?”
“You’re just a tool, a blood-soaked clown who thinks he’s a hunter. You didn’t avenge your father!”
With each word, Xival’s body trembled violently.
“Shut up… Shut up… SHUT UP!!”
His claws dug into his palms, piercing through and drawing purple blood, but the pain couldn’t drown out Jinnie’s laughter in his head.
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!!!”
He roared unconsciously, his voice echoing through the outside world, shattering the remaining glass. But it was too late—his last shred of reason was snuffed out by those words.
The monstrous body was no longer Xival’s—it was fully a bloodthirsty beast.
“Shut up! Shut up!!”
Xival screamed in vain, clawing at the air as if to tear apart the voice and laughter echoing in his mind.
“I’M NOT A DOG!!”
He howled in despair, unleashing a torrent of searing flames, as if trying to free himself from this body. The ground beneath him cracked like torn flesh, his crimson eyes scanning wildly for someone to burn, to crush, to prove he was still himself. And then—
*Slash!*
In a fraction of a second, faster than a blink, everything fell silent. A thin, radiant line cut through the air—no fire, no sound, no warning.
Blood sprayed like a volcanic eruption, the body collapsed, and Xival’s grotesque head rolled across the ground, eyes still wide with horror, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Behind him, a figure lowered their sword.
He was tall, with fair skin and long cherry-blossom hair tied neatly. His pig-like ears perked up, and his blue eyes glanced at the corpse he’d just severed. Dressed only in a pristine white dress shirt, black trousers, and a tidy belt, he exuded a gentle demeanor, but the pressure he radiated was suffocating. He was Alexander V, the strongest Guardian and Predator of B.O.N.E.S.
Alexander turned slowly toward Rin and Annie, offering a faint smile and whispering softly:
“They’re probably still alive, right…”
The first day of the new year brought no trace of hope to the city of Old Trork. This city, over three centuries old, once proudly called the “City of Dreams” or the “City of the Age,” now lay engulfed in smoke, fire, blood, and suspicion. A once-glorious place had been reduced to a desolate scrapyard, haunted by the screams of the past and the deadly silence of the present.
In a dark corner of a crumbling building, a small flicker of flame still danced, like the faint breath of life lingering amidst the ruins.
Rin and Annie sat quietly on the corpse of a dead wolf, heedless of the stench emanating from its matted fur. They no longer had the strength to cover their noses or feel disgust. Only the fire’s glow reflected in their hollow, weary eyes.
Their clothes were soaked in blood and mud, indistinguishable whether it was their own, the monsters’, or that of people who no longer had a chance to live.
“Hey…” Rin’s voice broke the silence softly.
“Do you… have any healing potions?”
Annie didn’t respond immediately. She lowered her head, her bloodstained hand trembling slightly as she rummaged through her bag. A gash ran down her left arm, the blood already congealed into a dark brown crust.
From her backpack, she pulled out a small glass vial containing an emerald-green liquid, its cap chipped at one corner.
Her hand extended toward Rin, offering the potion without a word.
“Is there more?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the fire, though his hand reached for the vial.
“One vial…”
“It’s… all I could get,” Annie replied after a brief hesitation.
“Forget it.”
Rin’s voice was laced with exhaustion as he withdrew his hand, refusing the potion.
Annie froze at his words, her hand still hovering in the air, the vial tilted slightly. The firelight refracted through the glass, casting an eerie green glow.
“You’re badly hurt too,” she said softly, almost a whisper, her eyes drifting to Rin’s hands.
Under the faint golden flicker of the flame, his hands were a grotesque sight. The skin was scorched and peeling, like the bark of a charred tree, exposing raw, red flesh beneath. His knuckles were swollen and deformed, as if they’d been crushed and twisted repeatedly. The veins beneath stood out like gnarled roots, bulging as if ready to burst through the skin. Those hands no longer looked human—they were a tortured, mangled thing, stripped of their original form, utterly repulsive.
Rin didn’t answer. He let out a faint sigh and leaned back against the wolf’s corpse as if it were the most comfortable sofa in the world.
“Still breathing is good enough,” he said, his voice light but weary.
No topic followed, and neither knew what to say next. The space sank back into silence after that fleeting moment.
The fire continued to burn, its reflection in their eyes as if trying to incinerate their most painful memories.
Rin’s golden eyes remained fixed on the flickering flame. He thought of the story of Prometheus, who stole fire from Olympus to give to humanity—a sacred flame representing strength, knowledge, and passion.
But now, the fire before him was a fragile spark, wavering amidst the wreckage, as if mocking concepts like “strength” or “knowledge.”
He had used his own immense, terrifying power to fight monstrous beasts, but the cost was hands that no longer resembled anything human. Prometheus, too, had paid a price for stealing fire for mankind.
“Hey, Annie,” Rin suddenly spoke, breaking the quiet and causing her to turn toward him.
“What’s your goal?”
She paused for a few seconds, then a faint smile curved her lips.
“Hm… My goal, huh…”
She spoke, then turned back to the warm, rosy fire.
“I want to travel the world. Meet people and… help those in need.”
“I think… I don’t want to be someone who just stands still.”
“What about you, Kamiyama?”
Rin fell silent, his gaze still locked on the flickering flame. He hadn’t expected Annie’s answer to be so simple and pure.
“Helping those in need…” A goal so lofty, almost naïve in a cruel world where every day was a battle for survival. How far could something like that take her?
“Me…” Rin replied softly, hesitating before continuing.
“I don’t have one…”
“Or maybe… I did once?” he said, then let out a bitter chuckle.
“Pfft… haha, forget I said that.”
The laugh wasn’t natural—it was laced with mockery and bitterness. That smile was like a pill, a mask to hide the chaos of his thoughts, because no one would see that behind every smile lay not just joy but countless untold stories.
Rin’s gaze flicked toward Annie, and it stopped his laughter. Not because there was anything frightening, but because… she was smiling too. A gentle, sincere smile that made him feel… uneasy.
She had listened to him attentively, without a word, her eyes free of judgment, and she even smiled at him. It made him uncomfortable—or perhaps, he wasn’t used to being heard.
“Pretty pathetic, right?”
“I don’t think so!” Annie replied.
“Huh…”
Rin was stunned. He had braced himself for a different response—empty encouragement or, worse, pity. But he hadn’t expected this.
“At least… you still have a reason to live! I think someone without a reason wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me.”
Rin let out a small, wry laugh, unsure if it was irritation or resignation.
“A reason? Ha, it’s probably not even a reason—just… survival instinct.”
Annie tilted her head slightly, nodding as she looked directly at him.
“But… you’re still here, talking to me… right?”
“Don’t confuse living with merely existing,” Rin said softly, his eyes dropping to his hands.
“I’m not living. I’m just… not dead yet.”
Annie blinked but didn’t let her smile fade.
“That’s okay too. As long as you still want to live, that’s enough. A goal or something like that… I believe you’ll find it eventually!”
Rin fell silent. He didn’t know how to respond to someone like Annie. He didn’t understand her at all. He didn’t hate her—on the contrary, he felt… a kind of admiration.
He admired how she could smile, how she cared for others despite her own wounds, how she carried an optimism that shone like a small but radiant light, drawing people toward its warmth. He wondered: *If I could find a purpose, would I become like her?*
Rin froze. In that fleeting moment, he felt small and empty, as if he’d glimpsed Annie’s world through an invisible lens—a world still filled with light and gentle warmth, while his was surrounded by cold, jagged shards of broken glass.
*Clomp… Clomp… Clomp…*
Heavy, uneven footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night, each step resounding sharply against the cracked, blood-soaked pavement like a warning.
Then a loud cry shattered the silence.
“Xival! He’s back!”
From the end of the dark street, a shadowy figure emerged, moving steadily—neither fast nor slow.
The moonlight cast a long, tattered shadow behind him. In its pale glow, his form became starkly visible.
His chestnut hair hung limp, darkened by blood. His weary eyes glinted with a crimson rage. His face was torn by deep gashes, caked in dried blood like cracked earth. His once-sturdy armor was now shattered and warped, its broken metal pieces swaying with each step. Only one trembling arm remained, clutching his side where pink bone protruded, as if holding onto the last remnants of himself.
Within minutes of the cry, survivors flooded the street, crowding around Xival, bombarding him with questions. Rin and Annie stepped to the doorway to witness the scene.
“Xival! Are my wife and child okay?”
“Hey! Why do you look so beaten up?”
“Is my mother alright, Xival?”
“Xival, where is everyone?”
“Xival…”
“Xival…”
“Xival…”
“Xival…”
“…”
The questions came like bullets, relentless, but no answers followed—only a sneer of contempt.
“Dead.”
His voice, hoarse but sharp as a blade, silenced the air around them.
“Come on, you’re joking… right?” one person stammered, clinging to a fragile thread of hope.
“Yeah! Xival, this isn’t funny!” another voice cut in, half-angry, half-pleading.
“You little punk! This isn’t the time for jokes!”
Denials, protests, and refusals rose up, but they grew weaker, fading like a gust of wind lost in the night.
“Survived?” Xival raised his head, his bloodshot eyes glaring at the crowd. That look no longer belonged to a human but to someone who had touched the depths of hell.
“I said… they’re. All. Dead!” He emphasized the last four words.
“You bastard! Are you out of your mind?! Joking like that in a situation like this?!” one man shouted.
“Ha… haha…”
Xival let out a broken, uneven laugh, like a wind-up doll with a snapped spring. The small chuckles grew into cruel, booming laughter. Each laugh carried a twitch across his face, as if he couldn’t control the madness spilling out.
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m losing it!!”
“Not losing it, how could I have killed them all?!”
Another burst of maniacal laughter followed. He clearly didn’t care about the people around him, laughing at their pain until—
*Thud!*
A fist slammed into Xival’s face, sending him crashing to the ground, blood streaming from his nose. A man in his thirties pinned him down, strangling him, tears streaming as he demanded answers.
“You monster! That’s countless lives! Do you understand?!”
“My wife… she was pregnant! She was about to give birth! Did you know that?!”
His voice trembled with rage and unbearable grief.
“You killed everyone who mattered to us! Do you get that?!”
“Oh, how pitiful,” Xival replied calmly, a twisted smile spreading across his face as he spoke fluently despite the chokehold.
“And… what about my father?”
The air froze once more.
“Why, in that cave mission fifteen years ago… didn’t you save him?”
His voice was no longer loud, no longer filled with mocking laughter or shouting. It was a quiet, dry, and… anguished question.
“You abandoned me and him, left me to watch my father die in agony!”
He turned, flashing a smile at the crowd of grieving, angry accusers.
“And you know what’s even better? I was only nine years old.”
The crowd fell silent, unable to respond—or rather, incapable of responding. The man choking Xival loosened his grip, as if the weight of those words was heavier than his fists.
“Does any of you… even remember his face?!”
“I remember it clearly… every last scream, every moment as those beasts tore him apart, and no one came back to save him!”
The more he spoke, the louder his voice grew, his agitation rising until tears streamed down his face. And then, his missing arm… began to regrow. Somewhere, on an unfinished structure, a short “genie” smirked at human suffering.
“Hey, Drake, looks like the show’s about to get good!”
Without hesitation, Xival grabbed the man who had been choking him, reversing their positions in an instant. He pinned him down with a knee, breathing heavily, his crimson eyes blazing with towering hatred.
He said nothing more. The air around him warped, light fracturing, and a murky, dense wave of Arkion enveloped him, igniting into a hellish blaze.
His skin split into fragments, revealing not flesh but twitching, metallic muscle beneath. His spine shattered and extended into sharp bone spikes, piercing his gaunt back like whips of sin.
His nails grew into long claws, and his forearm bones protruded, curving into scythe-like blades, as if his body was arming itself. Dark veins crawled across his skin like withered roots struggling to rise.
His legs deformed, swelling unnaturally, heavy as if forged from ash and steel, with muscles rippling down their length.
Finally, his human head vanished, replaced by a bony face with sharp teeth, its mouth twisted into a mocking grin. From his head sprouted two twisted, demonic horns, like flames bound by chains of hatred.
The man beneath him had already turned to a pile of gray ash.
The Arcanus rose, its eyes scanning the crowd, its dark gaze choosing who to judge first. The pressure it exuded thickened the air, as if choking the last breaths of those killers.
*Boom!*
The ground cracked as it took its first step—not from its weight, but from the fury and resentment it had suppressed, now unleashed like a flood, sweeping away all reason.
*Clang!*
The sound of metal rang out sharply. A sword struck from behind, but instead of blood, only sparks flew. With a casual swing of its scythe-like arm, the creature sliced the blade in half like paper.
*Crack!*
With a sound like snapping dry twigs, the Guardian who attacked collapsed, his head crushed in Xival’s grip—the price of his recklessness.
“Get lost,” he said, crushing the head, brain matter splattering and instantly burning away. He glanced at the rest, his guttural, hellish voice echoing.
“Your turn…”
*Whoosh!*
In an instant, the Arcanus surged forward with terrifying speed. Hundreds of “sinful whips” sprouted from its back, delivering thousands of flesh-tearing strikes, reducing the crowd to bloody chunks.
Xival grabbed one man’s head, slamming it into the pavement and dragging it for dozens of meters.
“I still remember you… clearly. You were the rookie who pushed my father into those monsters’ jaws…”
His voice, still hoarse, was somehow even more terrifying.
“It’s time… for you to pay.”
As he spoke, flames erupted from his palm, spreading across the man’s body, engulfing him. The fire didn’t kill instantly—it burned slowly, agonizingly, like molten lava, ignoring the man’s desperate screams for mercy. After over fifteen minutes, he was completely incinerated, nothing left.
The monstrous creature stood, its metallic muscles twitching, a nightmare coming to life. Its head turned sharply toward Rin and Annie, who had witnessed it all.
“Get lost…” it said, its voice icy, like a command to a servant. But in less than a breath—
*Boom!*
A blazing fireball shot toward them like a red bullet, without warning or hesitation.
Without time to think, Rin spun and shoved Annie aside, sending her tumbling across the dusty, debris-strewn floor.
“Get out of the way!”
*Boom!*
The fireball struck Rin like a meteor, a deafening explosion erupting as flames consumed him, turning him into a burning torch. Yet, despite being engulfed, Rin didn’t scream, as if he’d lost all sense of pain. Then, he collapsed.
In the silent aftermath, Annie stared, half-fearful, half-panicked, her mouth agape but unable to speak. Cold sweat dripped from her forehead, her mind in chaos, her head pounding, until she could bear it no longer and fainted.
On the other side, Xival didn’t know why he’d done it. He had meant to spare them, but his monstrous body no longer obeyed him.
“How does it feel, little pup?” a childlike voice echoed in his mind—the voice of Jinnie, the “genie” who had granted his wish during the evacuation.
“You bastard! What is this… Why can’t I control my body?!”
His mind felt like it would explode as he questioned the genie.
“Oh, asking about that?” Jinnie’s voice rang out again, light but venomous, as if Xival’s suffering was his amusement.
“This is what I wanted.”
“You… wanted?” Xival stammered.
“Yep, yep~” Jinnie replied, a twisted smile forming in Xival’s mind.
“You think… there are people that kind in this world?”
“Oh, come on~ Did you really believe there’s such a thing as a ‘free wish’?”
“Honestly, you’re pathetically naïve~ Heehee…”
Jinnie burst into laughter, a long, unrelenting cackle. The sound was both sweet like molasses and bitter enough to turn the stomach—a whip of humiliation lashing at Xival’s shattered pride.
“Oh, or maybe you thought, ‘It’s fine… I’ve avenged my father’?”
Jinnie continued, mimicking Xival’s voice with mocking jest.
“Breaking news, Xival. You. Didn’t. Kill. Anyone!”
He emphasized each word, just as Xival had.
“You’re just a rabid dog I let off its leash.”
“You killed for me, hunted for me… And I gave you the illusion of revenge! Seems… fair enough, right?”
“You’re just a tool, a blood-soaked clown who thinks he’s a hunter. You didn’t avenge your father!”
With each word, Xival’s body trembled violently.
“Shut up… Shut up… SHUT UP!!”
His claws dug into his palms, piercing through and drawing purple blood, but the pain couldn’t drown out Jinnie’s laughter in his head.
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!!!”
He roared unconsciously, his voice echoing through the outside world, shattering the remaining glass. But it was too late—his last shred of reason was snuffed out by those words.
The monstrous body was no longer Xival’s—it was fully a bloodthirsty beast.
“Shut up! Shut up!!”
Xival screamed in vain, clawing at the air as if to tear apart the voice and laughter echoing in his mind.
“I’M NOT A DOG!!”
He howled in despair, unleashing a torrent of searing flames, as if trying to free himself from this body. The ground beneath him cracked like torn flesh, his crimson eyes scanning wildly for someone to burn, to crush, to prove he was still himself. And then—
*Slash!*
In a fraction of a second, faster than a blink, everything fell silent. A thin, radiant line cut through the air—no fire, no sound, no warning.
Blood sprayed like a volcanic eruption, the body collapsed, and Xival’s grotesque head rolled across the ground, eyes still wide with horror, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Behind him, a figure lowered their sword.
He was tall, with fair skin and long cherry-blossom hair tied neatly. His pig-like ears perked up, and his blue eyes glanced at the corpse he’d just severed. Dressed only in a pristine white dress shirt, black trousers, and a tidy belt, he exuded a gentle demeanor, but the pressure he radiated was suffocating. He was Alexander V, the strongest Guardian and Predator of B.O.N.E.S.
Alexander turned slowly toward Rin and Annie, offering a faint smile and whispering softly:
“They’re probably still alive, right…”
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