The sky above hung dense, a murky canvas of swirling clouds that felt suffocating even from this height. The air was heavy, oppressive, as if it carried the weight of my deeds. Below, he approached—the one I had been watching for. His steps were slow, hesitant, as though each movement required monumental effort. His face was pale, yet it wasn't fear that froze him—it was grief. Grief for the pale, lifeless bodies of Maki and Zara sprawled in front of him.
I sat atop my throne of carnage, a mountain of corpses soaked in blood. The sticky crimson clung to me, a grotesque second skin, but I didn't care. Despite the destruction I had wrought, the chaos I had unleashed, the burning in my chest refused to subside. The fire inside was not one of righteous vengeance—it was hollow, cold. Time and again, the same questions plagued my mind: So, what now? What should I do now?
I tore my gaze away from him and glanced at the leaderboard, a fleeting distraction from the gnawing void in my heart. The Nyu count blinked back at me, as if mocking me. Despite everything, the numbers remained significant. There were still players scattered across this cursed level—most hadn't even reached this province. My rampage had been devastating, yes, but it was confined to this region.
The Sable Order, their skull-emblem bearers, their pawns—they were mostly eradicated. The top-tier players who had hoarded their Nyu for years were gone, their once-dazzling runes shattered. The leaderboard confirmed it: the number two on this level, the last bastion of opposition, held only 26 Nyu. A laughable amount.
Above his name sat mine. A thin red line separated us, a chasm of power so wide it was almost cruel. My total glared back at me: 563 Nyu. Enough to ascend to Level 2 whenever I desired. If I pushed harder, gathered just a thousand more, I could ascend to Level 3. It was all there, within reach.
But the real question wasn't can I? It was should I?
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms until fresh blood mixed with the dried stains on my skin. My mind churned with bitter thoughts. Is it worth it? I had lost the ones close to me—twice now. Is there any meaning in climbing further? Let's say I did ascend to Level 3. Then what? Would I keep killing? Keep slaughtering, taking lives indiscriminately? Destroying families, loved ones, those who meant something to someone—all for the sake of collecting a few more Nyu, just to survive another night?
The emptiness in my chest yawned wider, threatening to swallow me whole. I glanced back at him. The nameless man, the one who had set all of this in motion, whether he realized it or not. He knelt now, trembling as he reached out for the bodies of Maki and Zara. His hands shook violently, stained with patches of blood that weren't even his own. Yet it was his face that stirred something vile within me.
His expression wasn't one of guilt or even fear. It was grief, yes, but there was no recognition of his role in this tragedy. No acknowledgment of the aura I was releasing—an aura so oppressive it should have driven him to his knees in terror. Instead, he stood there, lost in his sorrow, like a spectator to his own sins.
The sight made me sick.
Does he not realize what he's done? The fire within me flared again, this time tainted with disgust. Shouldn't he be cowering right now? Shouldn't he be begging for forgiveness?
And then he screamed.
A raw, guttural sound erupted from him as he clutched his head, his cries echoing across the desolate battlefield. "AhhhhhhhHHH!" The sound grated against my ears, clawed at my mind.
I felt bile rise in my throat. It wasn't grief—it was pathetic. Hollow. He had no right to scream like that. No right to mourn. Not after what he had caused.
I turned my head away, unable to bear the sight any longer. The emptiness inside me twisted into something sharper, darker.
It was time.
The sky roared as thunder rolled through the heavens, reverberating like a war drum. Lightning illuminated the grim scene, casting fleeting shadows over the mountain of corpses I had claimed. I stood, my boot planted firmly over the shattered skulls and gore beneath me. The blood pooled thickly, dripping in rivulets down the slope of bodies as I slid down, silent as a phantom.
He didn't notice. His trembling frame remained hunched over the corpses of Maki and Zara, his sobs lost in the cacophony of the storm. Another crack of thunder split the air, sharp and sudden, enough to make him flinch. But still, he didn't turn. I stopped twenty meters behind him, my face darkened by rage and smeared with blood.
I didn't know what I hated more—the wretched, hollow grief that oozed from him or the unrelenting disgust churning within me. The others I had slaughtered at least had the courage to face me. This one? This one made me sick. But before I did anything, I had to confirm one thing.
My voice cut through the storm, low and deliberate. "Was it you who blamed Kael for the cloak of Seven?"
He didn't answer at first. His shoulders shook with his silent sobbing, tears streaking his dirt-stained face. I repeated, each word clipped and sharp. "I asked, was it you?"
Slowly, he lifted his head. His lips parted, his voice barely a whisper. But before the words could form, another voice pierced through the chaos.
"It was me."
I turned swiftly, my eyes locking onto the speaker. It was a woman, staggering into view from the edge of the bloodied field. Her body was wrapped in bandages, stained crimson in places where fresh wounds bled through. Her face was battered, bruises darkening her skin, her steps unsteady. Yet, there was something in her expression—a defiance, a desperation.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my tone as cold as the wind whipping around us.
She hesitated but stood firm, her voice trembling but audible. "I... I'm the one who blamed that man for the cloak."
My gaze flicked back to the boy. His face hung low, his body limp as if her words had drained what little life remained in him. For a moment, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. It didn't matter who had done it. It didn't matter whose hand had lit the match.
They would both die.
Her voice broke through again, shaking with urgency. "He... he had nothing to do with it. So please, spare him. I can give you all my Nyu—"
She didn't finish.
The sharp crack of stone splitting the air drowned her plea as I raised my hand, willing a jagged shard of rock to tear through her chest. The projectile struck true, piercing her heart with a sickening thud. She gasped, a wet, guttural sound, as blood poured from her mouth. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, lifeless, her body sprawled in the mud and blood.
For a moment, silence fell over the scene, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. I lowered my hand, expression unreadable.
Just like that, she was dead.
I walked towards the boy, each step deliberate, my boots sinking into the blood-soaked earth. I stopped just inches away, the cold steel of my presence looming over him. He didn't move at first, then slowly turned his head to glance at the woman's lifeless body one last time. His gaze lingered before his chin fell back to his chest, his head hanging low.
Tears trickled silently from his face, dripping onto the ground below. I studied him closely, searching for something—anything—that might redeem his pitiful existence. But there was nothing. No visible rune marked his body, no trace of power, not even the faint pale yellow stone I'd seen earlier.
I raised my hand, fingers curling with the weight of decision. He looked up faintly, his eyes meeting mine. There was no defiance, no begging, just an empty acceptance. He had resigned himself to death.
But this wasn't how he deserved to die.
Lowering my hand, I pointed a single finger at him. With a swift, almost careless motion, I sent several tiny stones flying toward him. The sharp shards sliced through his neck, wrists, and ankles, opening thin, precise cuts. Blood began to seep from the wounds, pooling around him. He crumpled to the ground, his breathing shallow as the life slowly drained from his body.
The slits were small, deliberate. He would bleed out in five minutes, maybe less. I had planned to watch his death unfold, to ensure he understood the weight of his actions, of the lives he had indirectly destroyed. Yet, as I stood over him, I saw no struggle, no resistance. He simply lay there, letting it happen, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond me.
I lost interest.
This boy, this level, this place—it was all beneath me now. I turned away, letting him fade into the background like a dull, forgotten memory. There was no one left who could challenge me, no soul brave—or foolish—enough to stand in my path.
My thoughts wandered as I began walking, slowly and aimlessly, the occasional crack of thunder punctuating the silence. The idea of ascending to the next level grew in my mind. But first, perhaps, I should visit the cave one last time before leaving this wretched place behind.
The air around me felt heavy, laden with an unnatural stillness. Then, it came. Drip. Drip. Drip.
I looked up. A droplet splashed against my face, cold and foreign. Rain.
It had been years since this part of the level had seen rain. The cybercity, with its artificial skies and towering megastructures, hadn't witnessed a drop since the day it was built.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The droplets grew steadier, falling cool and sharp against my skin. It wasn't enough to quench the thirst that lingered in my soul, but it was enough to draw my attention upward.
The sky was dark and dense, alive with streaks of lightning. But something was wrong. My eyes narrowed as I stared at the flashing lights above. There was a strange, almost imperceptible shift. The white arcs of lightning that had cracked through the heavens moments ago were no longer white.
They were yellow.
A shiver ran down my spine. My instincts screamed. My body tensed, alarms raging within me. I could feel it—something was wrong. My rune pulsed and shivered, warning me of an imminent threat. I turned sharply, my every sense on edge.
And then I saw him.
He hovered in the air, suspended like a marionette on invisible strings. His body hung limp, but his presence was anything but weak. His wounds were gone, healed as if they'd never existed. His hair, once dull and lifeless, now glowed an unnatural yellow, crackling faintly with energy.
Around his neck, swinging gently as though mocking gravity, hung a bright stone.
A Rune of Lightning.
Goosebumps prickled my skin as I stared, the storm raging around us. My mind raced, yet my body froze. The desperate boy who had lost his interest to live, now had an unpleasant grin which extended across his face. For the first time in years, a question clawed its way to the surface of my thoughts:
What in the hell have I just unleashed?