On top of a building far from the ruined shelter, a lone figure stood, silhouetted against the darkening sky. His black hoodie blended seamlessly with the shadows, the hood pulled low over his face, obscuring his features. Only his eyes gleamed beneath the cover, sharp and calculating as they locked onto the distant scene of destruction below.
His presence exuding a silent menace as he watched the bandits—Mousa, Jun, Shota, Toma, and Kazuya—gather before the ruined remains of their home. The twisted wreckage of the shelter, the broken gates, the bodies scattered like discarded dolls.
Everything has gone according to plan....
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The bandits stood in utter shock, the weight of the scene before them pressing down like a physical force. The shelter, once a safe haven, now lay in ruins. Flames flickered in the distance, casting a haunting glow over the scattered bodies. The air smelled of ash and death, thick and suffocating. It felt like the world had stopped spinning, leaving them trapped in a moment of disbelief.
Kazuya's breath quickened as he stared at the destruction. He tried to hold back, but the memories of that day came rushing in. The image of his parents being killed flashed before his eyes—the blood, the screams, the helplessness. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, his fingers clawing at the dirt beneath him. Tears streamed down his face, unbidden, uncontrollable. It was happening all over again.
"No… no… no…" Kazuya whimpered, his voice breaking. He clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut as if to block out the nightmare. But it didn't go away. "This can't be real… it can't…"
He sobbed openly now, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. He felt like he was drowning in it, like every breath he took was a struggle. He couldn't stop thinking about how everything he loved kept getting ripped away from him, how he was powerless to stop it.
Shota and Jun stood still, their eyes fixed on the devastation, but their faces showed no expression. It was as if their emotions were locked away, sealed behind walls too thick to penetrate. Jun's hands were trembling, though her face remained blank, her mind struggling to process the sheer horror of what had happened. Shota, was like a statue, motionless, his eyes vacant. There was no anger, no sadness, just a deep, chilling numbness that swallowed them both whole.
Toma, on the other hand, couldn't contain himself. His eyes were wide with shock, and tears brimmed at the edges, spilling over his cheeks as he shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
"Who… who did this?" Toma's voice cracked, rising into a scream as he pointed toward the wreckage. "Who the hell did this? Why… why would they do this?!"
His words echoed in the hollow silence, but there was no answer. No one knew. He turned to the others, desperate for some kind of explanation, but all he found was their quiet grief. His fists clenched, and he started to pace frantically, his eyes darting between the broken shelter and the corpses littering the ground.
"This… this isn't happening," Toma muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice wavered as he wiped at his tears angrily, frustration boiling over. "It doesn't make any sense. What's going on? What's happening?"
Still, no one answered. The only sound was the distant crackling of flames and the low whistle of the wind through the ruined walls.
Toma's frantic pacing came to a halt as his gaze shifted to Mousa. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Mousa stood apart from the others, staring at the destruction with a silent, terrifying intensity. His eyes were dark and narrowed as there was something unsettling about them. It was as though Mousa wasn't truly seeing the destruction—he was seeing past it, focusing on something only he could understand.
Toma swallowed hard, instinctively stepping back. The air around Mousa felt different, heavier, as if the very atmosphere had changed to match the fury boiling beneath the surface. Toma could feel it, the raw, dangerous energy radiating from him like heat from a fire. The loud, jovial man who always cracked jokes, always carried the weight of their problems with a smile, is now looking like an entirely different person right now.
"M-Mousa?" Toma stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
Mousa didn't respond. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His breathing was slow, methodical, like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will. But there was something darker in his posture, something deadly lurking just beneath the surface.
Toma felt his heart race in his chest as he continued to stare at Mousa.
There was a storm raging inside him—one that was barely contained. His jaw was set, and his eyes blazed with a fury that was terrifying.
Toma tried to say something, anything, but his words died in his throat. He had never been afraid of Mousa before, but now… now he didn't know what to think. It was like standing in front of a beast, one that had been wounded and was ready to lash out at the world.
Jun and Shota remained silent, but even they could feel it. Jun shot a quick glance at Mousa, her usually sharp and confident demeanor faltering for just a second. Shota, ever the quiet observer, didn't move, but the tension in his body was palpable.
Mousa's breathing grew deeper, his shoulders rising and falling with barely restrained fury. He had always been their leader, the one to guide them, to keep them together. But now, it felt like he was on the verge of losing himself to the anger that pulsed through his veins. He was ready to kill.
Toma glanced at Jun, his heart still pounding in his chest. "What… what's happening to him?" he asked in a shaky voice, but Jun remained fixed on Mousa....