The ruins stretched endlessly beneath a sky tainted crimson, the remnants of civilization twisted into jagged monuments of despair. Shojiro moved through the broken streets, every step deliberate, every breath measured. The wind carried the scent of ash and decay, curling around the crumbling skyscrapers and abandoned vehicles overtaken by thorny vines.
In the distance, faint static hissed through the air. Shojiro tilted his head. It was subtle at first — a high-pitched buzz that cut through the silence like a distant memory. The ruined city swallowed the sound and then spat it back, distorted, as if calling out across the centuries.
He navigated through collapsed bridges, climbing the skeletal remains of highway overpasses and leaping across shattered rooftops, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon for the source. The streets below were littered with the carcasses of demons long defeated — dried husks of wolves, berserkers, and smaller creatures frozen in their last agonizing moments.
Finally, Shojiro arrived at a partially intact building — a radio station. Its walls were cracked, the windows shattered, wires dangling from ceilings like veins exposed. Inside, the machinery hummed faintly, flickering with weak life.
The static sharpened into words:
RADIO BROADCAST —[201-YEAR DELAYED SURVIVOR FREQUENCY]
"…To anyone still out there… if you're hearing this, then you're not alone."
"This is Relay Node 7. Humanity still breathes."
"We have water. Food. Clean skies. Protection. A place where demons don't reach."
"We call it… Last Vegas."
"Come. Follow the moon west. Survive… and you'll be free."
Shojiro's crimson eyes flared as the words reverberated through his body. Every nerve screamed in recognition — a beacon in the chaos, a spark of hope in a world suffocating under two centuries of ruin.
But the signal's reach was dangerous. The vibrations radiated outward like a flare of blood, drawing every predator in the area. Shadows began to stir.
High above, the skies blackened, and batlike forms tore through the ruined skyline — Nyghouls, their acidic membranes glinting under the faint red moons, slicing the air with shredded wings and sonar rage.
Concrete cracked. The shadows themselves began to twitch. From the depths of the ruined streets, the first wave emerged:
Slender, wiry quadrupeds — Rendracers — their limbs jerking erratically, claws clicking against concrete like precision instruments of death.
Even larger forms stirred in the dust — Berserkers, hulking and sinewed, stomping toward the signal like earthquakes given flesh. Shadows moved along the sides of crumbling skyscrapers, figures twisting, Watchers, stalking silently, eyes glinting.
Red sigils glimmered faintly in the dust clouds that rose with each footfall of the approaching horde. The ground quaked as fissures split open along the street, cracks that had lain dormant awakening to the broadcast. Bone, metal, and stone exploded outward as hundreds of creatures poured from the cracks, crawling, running, and leaping toward the radio station — toward Shojiro.
Shojiro felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet. The roar of thousands of approaching demons throbbed in his chest.
The crack infront of him shuddered, and from the widening crack poured more horrors — skeletal hounds with jaws like serrated blades, spiny-winged fiends, and molten-eyed quadrupeds that shook the dust from the ceiling like a storm. Each creature moved with intent, sensing the life force of the reborn Chosen.
He didn't flinch. He didn't move backward.
Instead, he ripped what was left of his tattered pants leg and wrapped it tightly around his fist, the fabric hissing with friction as he clenched. His other hand cracked his neck, the bones popping in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"A thousand… two thousand… doesn't matter," he murmured, voice low and steady. "If Last Vegas is real… I'll clear the road for the next to follow."
The shadows surged. Wings shrieked. Claws clattered. The air thickened with the scent of decay, blood, and acid. Red sigils burned in the distance as the first wave of Nyghouls and Rendracers slammed toward him.
And Shojiro smiled.
"Then come. Baptize me in your blood."
Shojiro's body began to hum faintly. He could feel it — the shard, the life point within him, the pulse of infinite Vythra, thrumming like a coiled storm.
He lifted both arms, palms open. "Don't fail me," he whispered.
Crimson light erupted from his veins, spreading across his chest, his shoulders, his back.His muscles swelled as if the marrow itself remembered the essence of Kaiser's shard. His physique expanded, quadrupling in size, swelled, tendon and fiber knitting and expanding, his frame sinews thickening, veins glowing with raw, untapped power. The ground beneath him cracked, unable to bear the sudden weight of a god in human flesh. Massive and impossibly taut. The shadows of the approaching demons reflected against the new towering figure he had become.
Shojiro's eyes glowed with raw, unrestrained power. The city itself seemed to tremble in response, concrete cracking underfoot, air bending around his new bulk.
He exhaled, letting the hum of his Vythra resonate outward. The first Nyghoul screeched, faltering midair as the shockwave radiated through the street.
The horde hesitated, caught off guard by the sheer presence of the reforged warrior. Every eye turned to him, every claw and fang frozen mid-motion.
Shojiro's grin widened. Every sinew, every fiber of his colossal frame screamed for blood, for battle, for annihilation.
"This… this is only the beginning," he muttered.
And with that, he stepped forward, each movement shaking the ruins beneath him, the red glow of his eyes cutting through the chaos.Above, the red moons gleamed faintly, guiding him west. The path to Last Vegas lay open, but only if he survived what was coming next.