In the distant year of 4770, amidst the sprawling expanse of Earth-a realm dominated by the supremacy of technology, the lethal edge of weaponry, the allure of potent elixirs, and the insatiable hunger for wealth-there emerged a figure named Yura. Born into the desolate embrace of the slums, he was forsaken by a society that bowed before the altar of affluence. While the affluent reveled in opulence, the destitute languished in the shadows, discarded like worthless debris.From this crucible of hardship, Yura arose, forged by a seething resentment toward those who wielded power and a profound disdain for those who surrendered to the seduction of sin.Under the cloak of his enigmatic alias, Nocturne, Yura ascended from the abyss of poverty to carve a grim legend as a relentless harbinger of death, singling out the most egregious offenders. His executions were a symphony of precision, each move calculated with meticulous care, each trap laid with exquisite cunning.For decades, he danced on the razor's edge, eluding the clutches of justice. Yet, in the twilight of his existence, at the venerable age of sixty-three, the specter of his past caught up with him. Despite his artful stratagems and elaborate snares, he found himself ensnared in the web of a coalition comprising of hired assassins, mercenaries, and seasoned military operatives.As he stood upon the precipice of his demise, Yura's thoughts did not dwell in the realm of trepidation but rather in the realm of fulfillment. He had sculpted his existence on his own terms, and now, as he cast his gaze skyward one final time, a profound serenity washed over him. With a wistful smile gracing his lips, he breathed his ultimate soliloquy into the night, "Ah, how splendid the stars appear on this twilight of closure."Embraced by the inky tendrils of death, he welcomed its embrace, surrendering to its cold embrace as he closed his eyes, believing it to be for the last time.