The earth cracked beneath Shojiro's heels as he stood alone—bloodied, bruised, and breathing fire.
Demon corpses were piled high in grotesque heaps, their limbs twitching with residual malice, vythra pooling beneath them in dark rivers. His body trembled from the toll, muscles torn and overstrained, yet healing only in brutal cycles of Yggdrasil's passive regeneration. There were no elegant techniques. No powers of grace or finesse. Just raw, mind-numbing brawn.
His shirt had long since been shredded, his fists soaked in gore. He dragged his knuckles against his thigh as he took another step, his knees nearly buckling. Behind him, the remnants of the radio tower buzzed with static.
"To any survivors out there... Paradise still lives. Last Vegas... is calling..."
Shojiro coughed, his breath ragged. "Tch... Figures. A damn road trip."
The distorted voice had carried farther than it should have. Much farther.
And the demons had heard it too.
A tremor ran through the ground. Then another. Then many. Wings flapped in the darkened sky, talons scraping rooftops. The fog thickened as more emerged—there were hundreds, maybe even more.
Shriekers, serpentine flyers with slit wings and sonic screeches.
Skulkers, four-legged speed demons that flickered like static in reality.
And worst of all... Berserkers, towering beasts with claws twice as long, fangs soaked in the blood of ages.
Shojiro blinked the sweat and blood from his eyes. His vision doubled.
But he stood tall.
No fear. No hesitation. He was Chosen. And he had something the demons never would: an iron will.
He rolled his shoulders, cracking every joint. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."
The first Skulker lunged. Shojiro snapped its spine with a brutal knee to the jaw. A Shrieker swooped—he caught it by the neck and slammed it into a lamppost hard enough to shatter steel.
Dozens came.
He fought for hours.
For hours.
His fists never stopped moving. Bones shattered. Flesh tore. Teeth were pulverized. With each demon slain, more came. But Shojiro didn't retreat, didn't slow.
He broke necks with his elbows, used demons as weapons against each other, bit down on claws that tried to pierce his throat. Even when his knuckles split and his legs trembled, he kept swinging.
A mountain of corpses formed around him. Demon blood soaked into his pants, dyed his chest, painted the streets crimson. But he did not fall.
One thousand and seventeen.
That was the count he muttered, deliriously, as he cracked another Skulker's skull against the pavement.
"Don't… even know what I'm hitting anymore…"
But now, something was wrong.
His muscles twitched. His vision swam. His Vythra—the invisible energy tethered to his soul—was thinning.
He wiped blood from his mouth, chest heaving.
"Shit… Am I finally slowing down?"
More demons emerged from the alleys. New types—twisted hybrids. They had been lured by the storm of slaughter.
Shojiro staggered forward, still punching, still fighting.
But his Vythra… was at 1%.
A Shrieker's claw gashed across his back. He flinched. Then a Skulker bit into his side. He tore it off—but it had taken a chunk of his flesh with it.
A Berserker rammed into him, sending him sprawling for the first time in hours.
Shojiro coughed up blood, dragging himself to his feet. He grinned.
"Heh… Still… not enough…"
The Berserker screamed and lunged. Shojiro's knee buckled—just enough for the swipe to graze his temple.
Then another claw swiped from behind.
And another.
He stumbled back, blood gushing from multiple wounds. Still standing. Still breathing.
But finally—he fell to one knee.
The weight of the battle, of the bodies, of one thousand demons—it had finally caught up to him.
Guess this is where I die, huh?
Not a bad run...
Sorry, Dad... I guess I couldn't make it to Vegas after all.At least I didn't go down a coward.
But then—
BOOM.
A wave of electric pressure blew the remaining demons back. In the smoke, a figure stood, shrouded in wires and metal plating, crackling with artificial light.
Shojiro barely opened one eye. A silhouette stood tall.
Karl Mitsubishi—unknown to him yet.
But this machine-man fought like hell.
As Shojiro's vision darkened,Shojiro slumped forward. The last thing he saw was Karl unleashing a swarm of Nanite drones and plasma bursts into the demon horde.
Then darkness. a thought slipped past his fading consciousness:
...Was that a cyborg…?
Then all went black.