"Mom..."
Mina's voice shattered the illusion I had so desperately clung to.
She clung to the grotesque, broken form of what could barely be called human anymore—of what used to be her mother. A twisted husk, barely alive, breathing agony with every stuttering inhale. A thing I had sliced in two. With my own hands.
My heart dropped.
My mind reeled.
I had failed.
Not just the mission.
I had failed her.
I didn't even grant her mother a clean death. No—this was far worse. She couldn't even die. Just exist, torn in body and soul. A prisoner in her own flesh. The pain she endured… it must've been worse than hell's flame.
I couldn't look away. Couldn't speak.
I stared down at my hands—trembling, spotless, yet soaked in the weight of my actions. No blood coated my skin, and yet I felt drenched in it. These weren't the hands of a savior. These were the hands of a tyrant. A cursed reaper masquerading as a guide.
The burden crushed me.
Before me, Mina's sobs filled the silence like a funeral song—soft, broken, endless. Her mother—that thing—whispered in ragged gasps:
"Kill me… kill me…"
Each plea a knife driven deeper into my already fractured conscience.
I was useless.
Worse than useless.
How had I been so blind? So arrogant?
I had come to protect Mina. To bring her hope.
And yet here I stood, the architect of her greatest loss.
What the hell was I doing?
Mina still clung to the broken woman, to what remained of a soul ravaged by forces beyond comprehension. Her small arms trembled as she wept, a child trying to hold together the fragments of a shattered world.
My chest tightened, crushed beneath a sorrow I couldn't name.
Was this guilt?
Was it pain? Shame? Sympathy?
Or was it…
Was it that same hollow ache I'd felt before—after that one mission, long ago. The same bitter, lingering taste of failure, coating every corner of my soul.
So what now?
What could I possibly do to fix this?
How could I protect Mina—this child, this light, the last thread of meaning left in this forsaken pit?
Mina finally tore herself away from the broken remnants of her mother.
Her face was streaked with tears, a haunting portrait of grief and innocence lost. Her steps were slow, unsteady—like a marionette cut from its strings. Yet somehow, she moved toward me.
Her blue eyes, swollen and brimming, locked onto mine.
And in them, I saw the question I didn't deserve to answer.
I wanted to look away.
I couldn't.
I was a monster. A destroyer of what little remained in her world. In the span of moments, I had taken everything from her.
What right did I have to even stand before her?
My throat burned with all the words I wanted—needed—to say, but none came. I stood there, motionless. A statue carved from guilt and despair.
And then the dam broke.
"I… I'm sorry," I choked out, the words brittle as dry leaves. Useless. Meaningless. A pitiful attempt to reach her through the void I had created.
But then…
Her hands—small, trembling, cold with her mother's blood—rose gently to my face.
She cupped my cheeks.
I froze.
And when I forced my eyes open, expecting hatred, anger, blame—I saw something else.
Not forgiveness.
Not quite.
But something more complex. More painful.
Sorrow. And… understanding?
"Why…" Her voice was a fragile breath, nearly lost in the silence. "Why are you blaming yourself?"
I flinched. "I… I mean… I'm the one who turned your mother into... that…" My voice cracked. "I was supposed to help you find her. Protect you. And instead…"
Mina's grip tightened, forcing me to meet her gaze.
And what I saw there—
It wasn't a child's eyes.
They held pain, yes. But also strength. A depth far beyond her years.
"I am mad at you!" she said, voice cracking like lightning. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel right now. My mom—my mom—is like that. I don't even know what to do anymore!"
Her tears fell again, silent and endless. But her gaze didn't waver.
"Still… I can't blame you," she whispered. "Not when you didn't have a choice."
My heart thudded in my chest. Her words struck deeper than any blade could.
"It's not your fault, Lina," she said, her voice stronger this time. "Look at her. Look at all of them. They're not themselves. No mother would attack her daughter—not unless something had taken her away from me."
She took a breath, trembling but resolute.
"I only knew it was her because of her Mana. Not her face. Not her voice. That wasn't my mom anymore. That was something else."
Her words wrapped around the shards inside me like a bandage. Crude. Imperfect.
But enough to hold me together—for now.
"And if it were me in your place," Mina said softly, "if I had to fight someone else's family to protect someone important… I would have done the same."
She looked up at me with quiet determination.
"You did what you had to."
Then her sobs grew louder—deeper. Her small body trembled violently as she buried her face in my chest, clutching my coat with trembling fingers.
Each cry pierced through me like a blade.
Each tear that soaked into my clothes felt like a silent accusation. Not from her—but from myself.
I tightened my embrace around her, trying to steady her shaking form. My other hand gently ran through her hair, slow and soft, a feeble attempt to soothe a grief far too vast for words.
"There, there, Mina…" I whispered, my voice little more than breath, lost beneath her cries. "I'm so, so sorry… I know this hurts. More than anything."
Her sobs eventually softened, giving way to deep, hiccuping breaths. Her fingers still clung to me, but her shaking began to slow.
I held her closer.
Not just to comfort her.
But because I needed to remind myself—this is what mattered.
Not the failure.
Not the horror we had just witnessed.
My mission had never truly been to find her mother. That was only part of it. A step. A hope.
My real mission… was to protect her.
And she was still here. Still alive. Still holding on.
"Thank you," I murmured into her hair, my voice cracking. "Thank you for not blaming me."
---
The moment didn't last.
A deafening BOOM tore through the left wall, shattering the fragile calm like glass under a hammer.
Instinct took over—I wrapped my arm around Mina and shielded her as debris exploded outward. Dust and stone rained down, and from the smoking breach, a fresh wave of horrors emerged.
Grotesque silhouettes. Twisted bodies. Another horde.
Tsk.
What the hell had they done to all these people? To twist them into this? How could they wield both Mana and Flow yet still feel… devoid from power? Stripped of purpose. Out of control. It was unnatural. Sinister.
Wait—hold on.
There. Amid the chaos, something stood out.
I felt it—a stable Flow.
My eyes darted through the thick haze, scanning the swarm. Searching.
There! A flicker. A distinct pulse of energy hidden within the crowd. But I still couldn't make out the source. The dust was too thick. Visibility was trash.
I rose to my feet, steadying myself as Mina clung to my leg, her fingers trembling with fear.
Damn it, this haze—it was messing with my perception. I raised a hand, trying to sweep it away—
BOOM!
Another explosion—closer this time. The ground beneath us erupted in a geyser of searing orange Flow.
My eyes went wide.
That was it. That was the Flow I had sensed.
"Mina, MOVE!" I shouted, grabbing her hand. We dove just in time, rolling away as a torrent of molten energy scorched the spot where we had stood moments before.
The air ignited with heat. Dust turned to flame. The ground shook again.
And then, from the epicenter of the blast—a presence. Heavy. Radiating menace.
A second eruption followed, and the floor beneath us cracked wide open. The whole corridor convulsed like it had been struck by a meteor. Dust and flame danced wildly as a figure landed at the heart of the chaos.
"You've gotta be kidding me…" I muttered, eyes fixed on the smoldering crater.
That landing alone? That wasn't a normal attack. That was overkill, showboating, and a damn demolition spell rolled into one.
If I hadn't moved… I'd be splattered across the wall like some kind of roasted fajita.
"Stay here, Mina," I said firmly, my voice dropping to a low growl.
The Morphblade pulsed in my hand, responding to my will as it transformed into a dagger—sleek, lethal. Without wasting another heartbeat, I lunged into the settling dust, dagger angled for the throat. One clean strike. That was all I needed.
But the dust unveiled more than just a silhouette—it revealed a man. And not just any man.
With a flick of his wrist, the Flow of the ground emerged from his skin to shield his neck. External Flow Control—damn useful in a fight.
My blade scraped against solid rock, failing to pierce. My target remained standing, grinning like this was all some kind of game.
"Flow weapons, huh?" he said, voice laced with cocky amusement. "Impressive. But you burn through Flow like that, and you'll be running on fumes real soon."
I didn't dignify him with a response.
Instead, I launched a kick straight for his chest, throwing all my weight behind it.
Clang.
The moment my foot connected, another layer of stone enveloped him like armor. The impact jarred me, pain blooming through my leg. He didn't even flinch.
I glanced down. No swelling. Not broken. Just—damn. That hurt.
I looked up again.
This guy… wasn't like the others. His movements, his defense, even that smirk—he was still human. Mostly. Too composed to be one of those abominations.
"Short-tempered, aren't we?" he chuckled, voice echoing through the cracked hall.
His arms twitched—no, bulged, thick with unnatural veins like gnarled roots twisted beneath his skin. They were longer than they should be. Too long. And those hands…
Freaking King-Kong hands.
He ran one of those monstrosities through his unruly, blue-streaked hair. Something about him felt off. Not just powerful—wrong.
I clicked my tongue. "Like I've got time for this."
Taking a single step back, I extended the dagger once more. It morphed smoothly into a longsword with a resonant hum. Then I charged in again, slashing down with a fierce arc aimed straight at his head.
But he didn't dodge.
He grinned.
And then his right arm swung back like a whip—and came crashing forward, coated in a thick membrane of glowing orange Flow.
Clang!
Flow met Flow. The impact sent shockwaves all the way to my shoulder, the sound ringing out like a cannon blast. My blade didn't cut through—it bounced.
What the hell!?
I grit my teeth and slashed again—this time faster, angling low.
Another block. Same damn membrane.
And then—
His other hand shot forward, also wrapped in that seething orange Flow. I barely twisted my blade to intercept it, but the force behind the blow was overwhelming.
The next second, I was airborne, flying backward like a rag doll. This déjà vu feeling…
I landed hard, skidding against the cracked stone as the echo of impact rolled through the chamber. My mind raced.
That Flow membrane… It wasn't armor in the physical sense. It was something more—like a protective concept, a barrier forged not of matter but of intent. Almost like Lou's Eidos in concept. A living shield.
Across from me, the man let out a low, guttural laugh, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "You're quick, I'll give you that," he said, arms spreading wide like some twisted puppeteer. "And a real Flow spendthrift! Burning through it like you've got an endless supply. I love it!"
"You've gotta be kidding me," I growled, irritation seeping into every word.
He jumped again—massive fists clenched together, coming down like a sledgehammer aimed at my skull.
I reacted on instinct. My body arced backward into a clean backflip, barely clearing the strike. His hands slammed into the ground, and the earth exploded upward with a deafening boom, shockwaves rippling out in every direction. Stone splinters flew like shrapnel.
I landed in a crouch, breath steady. Eyes sharp.
There—his Flow concentration dropped slightly. An opening.
I burst forward like a bullet from a chamber. One smooth spin, and my heel connected squarely with his jaw. His head jerked to the side with the force, and his massive form staggered a step back.
Yet… he laughed.
"Not bad, kid," he rumbled, flashing a grin full of cracked teeth and strange joy. "You've got some kick in those little legs."
No pain in my foot this time.
So it's not his skin that's reinforced—just the membrane.
Still… Kid, huh?
Oh right. I'm nine. That explains it. Totally forgot my age in this life.
"Hey—your hair!" he suddenly shouted, making me flinch. His finger jabbed toward the loose strands that had slipped free from my ponytail.
"It's two colors! Black and blonde! That's pretty cool!"
He ran a hand through his own electric-blue hair, striking a ridiculous pose as if he were some kind of back-alley fashion icon. It didn't match his monstrous arms or hulking frame in the slightest.
Blugh.
Then, with unsettling sincerity, he asked, "Are you into hair bleaching too? Like me?"
Mina, sensing the odd shift in tension, crept closer. Her small hands latched onto the hem of my coat. Her gaze never left the towering brute before us. I could feel her fear radiating like static.
I tilted my head slightly back, brow twitching in confusion. "...I was born like this."
BUZZZZZZ—
A low, ominous hum tore through the air.
Again. That energy.
I snapped my head around. My instincts hadn't failed me. Another wave—twisted, stumbling forms—emerged from the shadows behind us. Their grotesque silhouettes shimmered with distorted Flow and Mana.
Tsk. They just keep coming…
With a flick of my wrist, my Morphblade reshaped into a whip. I slashed it through the air in a wide arc—CRACK!—and several of them fell, split in half, their corrupted bodies twitching in death.
These were once people. Citizens of Gloria.
I knew that.
But I couldn't afford to hesitate. Not now.
"Ohhhhh..." The behemoth's voice rumbled from the other end of the hall. "So you're the little whirlwind that's been cleaning up the place, huh? All those Ghouls... left in pieces. You've really made quite the mess with their blood though."
I froze mid-strike.
Ghouls?
I turned to face him again, the Morphblade tense in my grip. "What did you call them?"
He blinked. His cocky smirk faltered ever so slightly. "Ghouls," he repeated, a brow raised like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Y'know, failed experiments. Junk data. They lost their minds when the drugs didn't take. Shame, really."
My stare darkened.
"They're citizens," I said, voice low and dangerous. "People."
He laughed, loud and cruel, wiping a tear from his eye as if I'd told the world's funniest joke. "Oh come on. Don't be so dramatic."
But that didn't stop me. My hand clenched the hilt of my Morphblade even tighter.
He saw it. And for a brief moment—just a heartbeat—there was hesitation in his eyes.
Then it was gone, replaced with a disgusting grin. "They were slaves, anyway," he shrugged. "What's the point of a slave who can't serve properly? They're better off dead. They deserve it."
His voice bounced around the chamber like poison.
Slaves?
Failed experiments?
Deserved to die?
Mina's trembling sobs behind me pierced deeper than any blade.
This man... this thing... was the root of it all.
This monster made her cry.
…
Adrenaline Rush.
I moved on instinct. My whip snapped forward, coiling around his thick body like a serpent. Before he could react, I yanked—and the full force of my rage pulled him toward me like a meteor.
Then came the kick.
Straight to the jaw.
The impact rang out like thunder, and his massive frame flew across the room, crashing into the far wall with a sickening crack that shook the floor beneath us.
Dust rose around him in a cloud. Silence followed.
I exhaled slowly, stepping forward.
My hand found its place on the side of my neck as I rolled it with a quiet crack.
"Alright. Enough games," I growled. My eyes glowed with burning resolve.
"I'mma kill you now."