"Then I'll abuse your son on your behalf," Mr. Komi taunted, his words dripping with cruelty.
More tears rolled down Mark's face, his fear and panic escalating.
'Dad, please save me... Don't die' he thought, his tears falling like a torrent.
"My son, do whatever you want... You don't owe them anything," Mark's father whispered, his voice fading away as he bled out, a two meter long sword still lodged in his chest.
Mark gazed out at the crowd, tears streaming down his face. Some of the onlookers seemed to want to intervene, but fear held them back. Others, however, appeared to be reveling in the spectacle, glad to see the powerful God Slayer brought down.
Mark's father's final words echoed in his mind.
"If only you had the say." Mr. Komi said as he approached Mark, his grip like a vice as he dragged him away. Mark felt like a helpless, heavy burden, like a bag of rice or cement being hauled off to an uncertain fate.
But even in the midst of this despair, Mark made a promise to himself:
'I don't owe you anything. You can try whatever you want on me, but if I'm strong enough, I'll avenge my parents and kill everyone who watched you kill them.'
Mark struggled to open his heavy eyes, and when he finally did, he had been stubbed by multiple swords even on his face, the hailstorm of swords continued raining down on him. The blades pierced his already destroyed skin, but he refused to give in.
'I can't die,' he thought, his determination burning brighter with every wound:
'I need to be free, avenge my father and mother.'
With a surge of adrenaline, Mark tried his best to move his hand, his fingers twitching as he reached out to touch the nearest sword. The effort was agony, but he had to try. He had to hold on to the hope of revenge, of freedom, of survival.
Just when he seemed to have some hope, it was all lost, one final sword came hurtling towards Mark's skull, aiming to deliver the fatal blow. With a sense of resignation, Mark closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
Marks fingers finally made contact with a tip of a sword, a soft fleeting brush against his skin. darkness burst forth, it was as if a dam had been unleashed, releasing a torrent of shadowy energy that swirled around him like a maelstrom. The air seemed to ripple with an otherworldly force, and when the darkness finally dissipated, a transformed figure emerged.
He stood taller, his body having grown in stature, his physique now more chiseled and defined. His features, once ordinary, had become more refined, his eyes gleaming with an intense, piercing light. His facial structure, now more angular and strong, seemed to radiate an aura of quiet confidence and authority.
In his hand, he grasped a long handled scythe, its blade gleaming with a dark, ethereal light, as if it had been forged from the very shadows themselves. The weapon seemed to hum with power, its presence both menacing and majestic.
Despite the explosive release of dark energy, his skin was unblemished, without a single scar or wound. His hair, still the same messy and unkempt as before, framed his face with a hint of rebelliousness, a stark contrast to his now refined features.
As he emerged from the darkness, his very presence seemed to command attention, his eyes burning with an inner intensity that was both captivating and intimidating. It was as if he had been reborn. The scythe, now an extension of his being, seemed to whisper a haunting promise.
Zico hadn't even taken a hundred steps away from Mark when he felt an incredible surge of power course through the air. He couldn't even begin to estimate the magnitude of the person's strength. As he turned around, he watched in astonishment as the sword the sword rain came to a sudden stop. Mark held a long black scythe, he was walking towards him, his eyes fixated intently on Zico.
Despite his mask, Zico's surprise was palpable.He believed that mark had died so he had not expected this turn of events, and his mind raced to process the implications. The air seemed to vibrate with tension as Mark approached, his very presence exuding an aura of power and determination.
"Why are you leaving, Zico? Don't you plan on completing what you started? Killing the son of God Slayer? Killing me?" Mark asked, his voice low and even, as he slowly approached Zico.
Zico's thoughts raced momentarily:
'Wait, what is going on... How did he get strong, no how did he survive all of that?' But he quickly regained his composure, his mask hiding any hint of surprise.
"You think wielding a scythe and growing a little taller makes you stronger than I?" Zico sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. As he spoke, daggers materialized in his hands, their blades glinting in the light.
"I have to thank you, Zico, for pushing me to my limits and making me remember my goals, for making me look death in the eyes" Mark said, his voice laced with a hint of irony:
"That beating was hella good." He stubbed the handle of his scythe into the ground, the long blade remaining visible behind him as he left it standing there, and. Kept walking towards Zico.
To Zico, this gesture only heightened the direness of the situation. By putting his weapon down, Mark was implicitly declaring that he was strong enough to finish him off with his bare hands. The air seemed to grow thicker with tension as Zico realized he was now facing an opponent who was not only formidable but also confident in his own abilities, not just the weak son of god slayer he had gotten to know.
"If I were you, I'd pick up your scythe or summon your Aknaili persona's pistols," Zico sneered, his grip on his daggers tightening: "I'm not going to show mercy this time."
Mark's response was unexpected he smiled excitedly, like taking a page from Remon's book, his eyes gleamed with anticipation. The air seemed to crackle with tension as the two enemies faced off, Zico's weapons at the ready, his warning had only seemed to energize Mark, and the atmosphere grew more charged by the second.
Zico closed the distance between them in an instant, standing mere inches away from Mark. His eyes blazed with fury as he snarled, "Die!" With a swift and deadly motion, he lunged at Mark, his daggers flashing in the light as he aimed a precise and lethal strike at Mark.