The sky darkened above the ravaged city. A shadow passed over Lazareth's face as he rose from the rubble of the skyscraper, his body slowly reforming with morbid creaks. His bones realigned, his flesh reattached. He gasped, breathless, covered in dust, blood, shame.
But Salomé was already approaching.
She walked calmly, like a slow execution, her feet dragging through the debris, her gaze still fiery, untamable.
— Is that all you've got, Lazareth? she said, with a wicked smile. You thought you could stop me with those lousy shadow tricks?
Lazareth growled, swung his cane once again against the ground. A dark surge spiraled out. Shadow blades, tentacles, chains, screaming giants carved from the night itself.
But Salomé, without even raising her energy, shattered them all with a flick of her arm. She charged straight at him.
— It's not with these pathetic attacks that you'll decimate my family, you know?
She attacked even more brutally. Lazareth's barriers shattered one by one, like glass under a storm. Blow after blow rained down on him. And each blow… each blow carried a strange, unbearable power, as if his world, both physical and spiritual, cracked a little more with every impact.
"How can she hit so hard? She wasn't this strong last time!!!"
The thought raced through his skull between two punches.
Salomé was about to strike again when Lazareth dodged with a sharp movement, ducking just in time. He prepared to counterattack.
But Salomé, without warning, stopped her fist, grabbed his arm, and lifted him like a disjointed doll before slamming him forward with dry rage. Lazareth barely caught himself, sliding on the ground. Hardly had he lifted his eyes—
BAAM!!
A straight right smashed into his face. Lazareth spun in the air, a muffled grunt of pain filtering behind his mask.
Salomé leaned in, focused. Her fist charged with furious violet mana.
— Killer Punch!!!
The blow struck Lazareth squarely in the head. His mask shattered. His head exploded. The shockwave spread over several kilometers like a breath of death. Lazareth was thrown even farther, crashing into other buildings on his path, like a living projectile.
BOOM. He crashed brutally. His body slid tens of meters before finally being crushed under an abandoned station.
His head was already reforming. His mask too. Every bone rejoined with an atrocious shiver. And when he raised his eyes, she was there.
Salomé. Angry. On fire. But… smiling.
— I love it when you regenerate like that, she said with sadistic sweetness. It lets me see your suffering stretch on forever… I'm going to take good care of finishing you off.
Lazareth stared at her.
And in her eyes, he saw what he feared: a predator. Cold. Playful. Who didn't just want to kill him… but to break him, savor him, torture him until the end.
"Clearly for her… I'm just a fragile prey now…"
Then, his mind wavered.
Years ago…
The Satsujin Otoko attacked my family.
A cold vengeance. Brutal. Relentless.
My grandfather had dared to rebel. An act of pride. Or madness. They didn't see it as a challenge, but as an offense to erase. So they came. Without mercy. Without warning.
And they took everything.
They killed my father.
My mother.
My uncles. My aunts.
My cousins.
They erased everything.
Everyone, except me.
Because I had hidden too well.
Because I was cowardly. Small. Terrified.
I had slipped under the old basement, into the absolute darkness, curled up on myself. I pressed my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. To not alert them. I heard their footsteps above. The screams. Then nothing.
And I waited.
For hours. Maybe days. I don't remember.
When I finally had the courage to come out… there was nothing left.
No voices.
No laughter.
No familiar smells.
Just silence. The kind of silence that claws at your bones.
Blood, ashes, bodies… that was all that remained of my family.
And that day, something inside me froze.
The Satsujin Otoko had taken everything from me.
Everything.
Nothing was left. Nothing but me… and that crushing void.
The little Jacob I was back then… was nothing but an abandoned kid. A child no one wanted, no one saw.
The city was still smoking when I left my hiding place. Burnt alleys. Distant screams. Chaos reigned. Everywhere. Always.
But the Satsujin Otoko had imposed a simple law:
Submit. Or die.
There was no third way. No compromise.
I had chosen cowardice — or maybe survival. I lived hidden.
I hated them.
With all my soul. With all my fear.
Every night, I dreamed of their disappearance. Every morning, I woke up dirtier, hungrier… but still alive.
I slept in cold alleys, in garbage, under bridges. No home. No roof.
I scavenged in trash. I stole crusts, leftovers, sometimes old discarded clothes.
My stomach tortured me, but my heart burned with a single name:
Satsujin Otoko.
I never went to school.
I wasn't a student.
I was the child avoided by glances. The little monster who smelled bad.
Other kids mocked me for my filth, my too-short clothes, my strange silence.
I didn't speak well. I had forgotten how to smile.
I wasn't a child.
I was a walking scar.
And despite everything… despite all they stole from me…
I'm still here.
14:48
Truckers. Food.
I saw them unloading crates. One of them overflowed with provisions: bread, cans, canned fruit.
A treasure.
One box alone would have been enough… maybe for several days. Maybe a week.
I approached, on tiptoe.
Stealthy.
Invisible.
The truckers chatted among themselves, careless. Then one said he was going to take a break, and they all went into a small adjacent room.
It was now or never.
I leapt.
I grabbed the box, my arms trembling under the weight.
But as I was about to flee—
Growls.
Not one.
Four dogs.
They were there. Massive. Furious. They looked at me with hungry eyes.
I dropped the box. I wanted to run. Flee. Escape.
But they charged.
They jumped on me, pinned me to the ground, their teeth piercing my skin.
I screamed.
— Aaahhh! Help!
My voice broke in pain, but I screamed anyway, instinctively, without believing it.
Then the truckers came out.
— What the hell's going on?!
They saw me.
They saw me covered in bites, the stolen box a few feet away.
And they understood everything.
— Serves you right, you dirty thief!
They looked at me with disgust, no pity.
Not a shred of humanity.
I was being torn apart by their dogs… and they just commented.
They finally called the beasts back, but only after humiliating me further:
— Get lost.
— And don't ever show your face here again, or next time, you'll get the dog bowl in person.
— Dirty rat.
I got up as best I could. My body bled everywhere. My clothes were in tatters.
I limped. I cried.
But I ran.
Like a wounded rat.
I knew…
I knew stealing was wrong.
But I was hungry. I was alone.
If I hadn't done it… I might have died that night.
That very night, I took refuge under an old bench, in an abandoned park.
I tore pieces of fabric from my clothes to bandage my wounds.
My belly screamed. My throat burned.
My tears fell silently.
And I fell asleep there, like a sack of garbage,
Under the stars,
With shame as my blanket.
The massacre… and the shames.
They never stopped.
They just transformed into scenery. Into habit. Into slow poison.
Years passed.
And I grew old.
Forty years. Already. Without having lived.
I walked the streets as I always had: head down, hands in pockets, heart cold. The looks, they never changed.
Disgusted. Contemptuous. Scornful.
But over time, it didn't affect me anymore. Not at all.
I had become hollow.
The worst? It wasn't even that.
I no longer knew what I wanted.
My hatred, too, had crumbled.
I had spent so many years hating the Satsujin Otoko that the word itself meant nothing anymore. Just sounds. Ashes.
And deep down…
I had never taken revenge.
Because they scared me.
Simply. A dirty, paralyzing fear.
Like that of a child who never grew up.
And then… that day.
There was the poster.
An old digital billboard flickered on the facade of a building. I looked up, distractedly.
And there, I saw him.
A man.
A monster.
A Satsujin Otoko.
They called him the Tyrant Killer Man.
No one knew his real name.
But everyone knew his crimes. The tortures. The executions. The purges.
And yet…
Looking at him, I felt neither fear,
Nor anger,
Nor despair.
No.
I felt… admiration.
Yes.
Admiration.
His face.
His gaze.
He didn't see people like us.
To him, we were prey.
Simple breathing bodies.
Insignificant pawns.
And he, a predator.
Cold. Serene. Sure of his place at the top.
He didn't need justifications.
He was the justification.
And me, there, at the foot of that screen, broken, old, invisible…
I envied that gaze. That calm. That power.
I wanted… to be like him.
Back to the present
Salomé keeps hitting him.
Her fists fall like hammers.
Each blow fractures the ground a little more… and Lazareth's body.
Salomé (dry, furious):
— Are you really that weak, Lazareth?
You don't feel anything? Not even frustration?
You try to destroy my family… and it's still her who keeps crushing you.
Lazareth slowly raises his head.
His body trembles.
His mask is cracked, almost torn off.
Blood flows from his mouth, but he keeps his eyes on her.
His gaze is black. Deep. Serene.
He stares at her.
Lazareth (calmly):
— Your gaze…
Salomé frowns.
Salomé (suspicious):
— What? What's wrong with my gaze?
Lazareth sketches a smile, distorted by the cracks in his mask.
Lazareth:
— I like your gaze…
Salomé widens her eyes.
Salomé (unsettled):
— You think you're going to make me doubt with your bullshit?
She leaps.
A lightning-fast kick.
Lazareth is thrown into the air and crashes against the ceiling, a cloud of debris exploding around him.
But even then…
Even in the crash, he still smiles.
Back to memory
When I saw the Tyrant Killer Man's gaze that day,
Something broke inside me.
Or rather, something formed.
I had nothing.
No name. No money. No power.
Just my filth and my loneliness.
But that gaze…
That look from above…
I wanted it.
So even as a homeless man, when someone disrespected me…
I stood up.
I answered back.
I hit.
And I threw that gaze.
Theirs.
The one I had stolen from the Satsujin Otoko.
The one that said:
"You are nothing. I am the blade. You are the meat."
It might have been false.
Maybe pathetic.
But that gaze was all I had left.
My only weapon.
My sole inheritance.