On the other side of the city.
The sun had already risen on the horizon, and the wind blew strongly atop the tallest building of that chaotic landscape. On the rooftop, where everything seemed distant, Garu stood still, staring at the streets below.
The cold breeze hit his face, making the green strands of his hair flutter. On his forehead, the two black circles glistened under the sunlight. Crystal-like, greenish tears fell from his eyes, carried away by the relentless wind.
With a slow movement, his feet moved away from the edge of the terrace. Now, Garu floated in the air, his body carried by the violent wind that seemed to tear his face apart.
He plummeted, falling in free fall.
But before the impact, Garu spun his body in the air, stabilizing his position as the wind pressure threatened to shatter him.
BOOM!
The ground shook, and a cloud of dust rose. When the dust settled, Garu was there, his feet firmly planted into the ground as if he were part of it.
In the middle of the street, three players watched the scene, shocked. Their eyes trembled with sheer terror.
"Whoever you are... you better not take another step! There are more of us here!" one of them shouted, drawing his sword with a trembling hand, trying to keep his confidence.
His brown hair fell over his wide-open eyes. Behind him, the other two group members hesitated to advance.
But Garu remained silent, advancing slowly. The rage and pain of loss overflowed from him as if his soul were condemned.
The brown-haired player gripped the sword hilt tightly. His lips trembled, his knees weakened, and even the blade itself shook in his hand.
Garu kept moving forward, his empty gaze showing no emotion. Only pain. Only hatred.
"Tęī, ä tüe īkau, qūīo hümes..." Garu murmured, slowly approaching, his voice filled with disdain and rancor. (Translation: You are so weak. Typical humans.)
The green tears continued to stream from his eyes, as if not even hatred could stop them.
The sound of his footsteps seemed to tear the air around, weighed with sorrow and grief.
The brown-haired player began shouting again, desperately:
"WHY DO YOU KEEP COMING?! ONE MORE STEP AND WE'LL KILL YOU!"
His voice was shaky, but Garu remained unmoved.
With a swift motion, the player positioned his sword, and the blade reflected the silver light of the sun.
He charged.
It was useless.
Two grotesque, dark arms wrapped around Garu's own, and from them, curved, sharp black blades emerged. In the center of those dark arms, grotesque eyes slowly opened, staring directly at the group.
The air exploded into a grotesque soundwave. A distorted noise reverberated like thunder, and the three players were completely paralyzed. They couldn't even blink.
Garu continued walking in silence.
As he passed by them, deep cuts opened on their shoulders. Blood gushed, but instead of hitting the ground, it was immediately sucked into the black blades. Twelve black marks appeared on their foreheads.
The paralysis ended, and their bodies trembled.
The brown-haired player widened his eyes, perplexed. He tried to rationalize what had just happened, convincing himself it was mere coincidence—that Garu was just a lucky madman.
But the black marks on their foreheads started decreasing... nine... six... three...
When they tried to move, overwhelming pain took over their bodies. The wounds on their shoulders widened, tearing them apart, and the blood was dragged out by an invisible force.
They couldn't even scream.
Within seconds, the three were dead, shriveled and dried like empty husks. Every drop of their blood had been devoured by Garu's blade.
Without looking back, Garu kept walking.
The grotesque eye on the blade slowly closed. The dark arms retracted, disappearing into Garu's body.
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the deserted streets, and his green hair swayed gently with the wind. His eyes... fixed forward, cold and merciless.
A tear fell, splashing on the cracked ground.
And then... the memory came.
Atop a building, two brothers stood before the endless view.
It was Naruè, the demon who had been killed after using the Seventh Resurrection. His black hair with green strands danced in the wind, his short, curved horns pointed toward the sky. In his hands, the same grotesque, living sword pulsed.
"You should relax more, Garu..." said Naruè, staring at the streets below. "I'm going to get stronger. I'm going to feed this sword with human blood. One day... I'll be stronger than you. You should be worried about that, little brother!"
He smiled. It wasn't a cruel smile—it was sincere, almost childish. A brother talking to another.
"Ō tę omę tå aē..." Garu replied, approaching him and holding his brother's shoulders. (Translation: And you will always be my brother.)
The wind kept blowing.
Back in the present... Garu still walked in silence, squeezing his own arms tightly. Hatred was the only thing keeping him standing.
∆∆∆∆∆∆
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city…
The streets were silent. Empty buildings. No sound but the wind.
Nemor and Barzar walked slowly. Barzar held his own hair, summoning the courage to finally say something he had been holding inside.
"If we win this game... what will you do with the money? Do you have a reason for this?"
His voice carried pain and regret, mixed with the guilt of all the players already killed.
Nemor slowly turned, grinning grotesquely. His skinny body was still covered in dry blood.
"Don't worry... when we win, you'll get your share. But what about you? Aren't you going to tell me why you're here?"
The question was provocative, but also sincere.
Barzar looked up at the sky.
"My sister... she was sick. I took her to the hospital. But what she had... could only be treated with a lot of money. I... I couldn't do it. She died waiting for help. I couldn't save her."
Tears streamed down slowly, hitting the ground. His voice shattered, fragile as broken glass.
Nemor looked at him seriously, for the first time without sarcasm.
"See? The world was never fair to the weak. Your sister died in a hospital that had everything to save her, but they didn't... because you were weak." He stepped closer to Barzar. "But now... you can be more than that. You can be strong."
The words were harsh, but carried a strange, twisted motivation.
Then Nemor stopped suddenly.
His eyes locked on the top of a building. The tallest building in the city.
At its peak, a bright red light pulsed. The energy emanating from there was heavy, dark, unlike anything they had felt before.
He smiled, an ambiguous grin, caught between satisfaction and fear.
"There it is," he murmured. "What we're after… it's up there."
The red light pulsed like a living heart.
The elixir awaited them.