A Blade in the Dark

The pink gift-wrapped box rested carefully in Takiro Valen’s hands.​Even through the cardboard and wrapping paper, he could almost feel the sweetness inside. In his mind, he could hear the bright, tumbling sound of his daughter’s laughter—like pearls falling onto a wooden floor. His legs moved on autopilot along the deserted streets, his mind replaying a tape of memories: her smile, her voice, her face full of teeth as she laughed.

​Takiro was returning home from duty. The streetlamps flickered around him, casting a warm glow over his uniform like a campfire illuminating a campsite. His attire was stark white, etched with deep red patterns—a clean contrast that spoke of the quiet duty he carried in his heart.

​He took another step toward home—and then the world tore open.

​BOOM.

​A sudden shockwave blasted down the avenue. Takiro was thrown back as a wall of dust and grit slammed into his face. Sand stung his eyes, throbbing furiously as he stumbled, rubbing his eyelids with the back of his hand just to clear his vision and figure out what was happening.

​When he finally blinked the dust away, two titanic figures towered in the distance.

​One was illuminated in blinding, radiant light. The other looked as if a black hole had taken physical form.

​Before Takiro could process the sight, the glowing figure raised a massive fist. In a fraction of a second, that fist slammed directly into the chest of the shadow. The impact rippled outward—and the surrounding sky-scrapers bowed and collapsed into the earth, laying low as if trying to hide from the raw terror of the fight.

Takiro’s breath caught in his throat as recognition set in. The glowing figure was none other than the Rank One Hero—the Symbol. The man whose very existence had maintained the peace of society for as long as Takiro could remember. Opposite him stood something entirely unknown, an entity draped in absolute darkness.

At first, Takiro thought the battle was already won. He saw the hero standing victorious, radiating a glow of absolute pride. The society was safe. The world would see another morning.

But as the dust settled, Takiro’s blood ran cold.

The suffocating black aura around the creature was still completely intact. Then, the monstrosity began to produce a sound—a horrific, unnatural laugh. It sounded as if Hell itself were mocking those who had foolishly tried to escape its grip. Every single hair on Takiro’s body stood on end. His eyes remained glued to the glowing hero, paralyzed.

Through the ringing in his ears, Takiro caught the faint exchange between the two titans.

"It's over now," the Rank One Hero said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "You should run while you still have the chance."

The hero didn't wait for an argument.

A blinding light ignited at the center of the hero's chest, as if a second sun had risen right before him. It felt as though the light itself had a voice. Takiro flinched, shielding his eyes just as a concentrated beam of searing energy tore from the hero's chest.

It struck the dark creature's body like a hot needle piercing through paper—a clean, instant cut.

The pressure wave hit Takiro like a physical strike. The displaced air shoved him backward, heavy and violent, like standing in the ring with a world-class heavyweight boxer. Around him, windows shattered, the glass turning directly into fine powder. Skyscrapers collapsed in reverse, disintegrating backward into the raw sand and stone from which they were built. Within seconds, the bustling city avenue was wiped clean, transformed into a barren, desolate desert of ash and dust.

Slowly, the radiant aura around the Rank One Hero began to dim as he turned away, believing the threat neutralised.

Then, a sound pierced the silence—a terrifying, booming laugh that cut straight into the hearts of anyone listening.

"You have mistaken something, Hero Number One," the black creature spat, its voice dripping with malice. "It is not I who lost this battle. It is you. The moment you chose to confront me, your fate was already decided."

The dark figure raised its arm.

To Takiro’s eyes, the creature barely seemed to move—it was like looking at a static image frozen in time. But in that exact microsecond, the Rank One Hero began to scream.

The hero’s body suddenly violently radiated a monstrous amount of energy. The raw, compressed mana inside him surged out of control, screaming against his skin. Takiro felt the oppressive weight of that power in every inch of his own flesh. The sheer force was too much—the hero’s body simply could not contain what was happening inside him.

Seconds later, it exploded.

It was like a volcano erupting from within a man. Takiro watched in horror as meat and torn flesh rained across the battlefield, scattering across the ruined, sandy earth.

Takiro’s knees buckled. He collapsed to the stone floor, his hands shaking in the dirt. His hope, the world's hope, the ultimate Symbol—had fallen.

No... Takiro thought, his mind racing through the shock. A pillar like him couldn't go down without taking something with him.

He had to know what happened to the dark creature.

Takiro forced himself forward, crawling through the grit. His legs fought against him with every inch, heavy as lead, screaming at him to stay back and hide. But Takiro forced his body across the ruined ground until he reached the epicenter.

There lay the black figure, motionless on the earth, its leg completely blown apart.

For a brief, agonizing second, Takiro thought it was a draw.

Then he saw it.

Dark, visceral matter began to flow out from the creature’s severed limb. Writhing strands of muscle and shadow were reaching for one another, clawing to reconnect—the creature was actively regenerating its leg.

When Takiro saw the villain regenerating, he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand it.

His teeth clenched. He wanted to stop it. He wanted to at least be of some use.

He was too scared. His legs couldn't move. But Takiro's hand immediately pulled out a knife—a small one. It was a pure reflex action. He slowly started to move toward the villain, but he couldn't walk in a straight line. Both of his legs went in different directions as he slowly reached the villain, his hand trembling as he caught the knife. The sound of shaking metal could be heard.

When the villain opened his eyes, he let out a small smirk. The dust around the scene was too heavy, so the villain was only able to see the badge number: Two-something. He knew it was not a powerful one—just a lowly creature.

"A lowly hero like you..." the villain smirked. "Just go. Just go live, you filthy creature. Don't you dare move or plan to do something stupid, or your entire bloodline will be wiped out before you even blink."

As the knife in his hand shook violently, Takiro's hand aimed for the regenerating part. But something in Takiro's mind kept screaming: Go for the neck! It's your chance, go for the neck!

Then, Takiro's counterpart screamed back inside him: It's your daughter! You wanted to see her! You wanted to be there for her! Don't you wish to be there for her?!

Takiro's hand moved on its own. He cut right through the regenerative tendons. But while he was cutting, it was remarkably precise, a deliberate strike made to stop the leg from regenerating—executed as if a precise expert in medicine had done it.

Suddenly, Takiro heard voices approaching through the wreckage.

At first, his body loosened up, but then he heard what they were saying: "Get away from our master!"

Takiro's blade dropped to the dirt after cutting the regenerative tendon. His lower body moved faster than his upper body—his legs started running, leaving his upper body in a lag. Takiro moved on pure adrenaline and survival instincts carrying him away.

Behind him, the city's alarms roared violently—like a hungry baby waiting for its mother to provide food, screaming with alert signals. Across the country, people were glued to their televisions, rewatching the exact moment when all of their future sank into darkness as their Number One Hero was blown apart.

People started to gather near the ruins. One of them saw Takiro running away and scoffed, "Poor, poor hero..."

"We couldn't blame him," another man said, tears starting to flow from his eyes. "After all, he is just a Rank 200 hero. What ground does he stand on when the Number One Hero, the Symbol, falls? We are doomed..."

Bizarre and overwhelmed, Takiro ran aimlessly through the ruins of the city, driven by the instinct to survive, carrying the weight of what he had just done.