The air reeked of ozone and blood.
The once-bustling city was now a graveyard of twisted steel, shattered glass, and black ichor pooling through the cracks.
Shojiro stood in the middle of it — breathing slow, deliberate. His body had stopped shaking.
For the first time since the broadcast, there was focus in his eyes.
"Alright…" he exhaled, voice low. "Let's stop fighting like a brute for once."
He flexed his fingers — and felt it.
Every muscle in his body was alive. Breathing. Shifting.
Like a living army awaiting command.
Then — the tremor came again.
Ground quaking. Pavement splintering.
The next wave was coming.
Dozens… no, hundreds.
Nyghouls screeching through the air, shrill and ear-splitting.
Rendracers flickering across rooftops, claws carving through concrete.
And the ground was crawling — Skulkers. Berserkers. All surging toward him like a tidal wave of flesh and fury.
Shojiro cracked his neck, knuckles, and spine in one smooth motion.
A faint grin crept across his blood-smeared face.
"Heh… let's see what this new body can really do."
He planted his feet — and breathed.
Vythra pulsed through his veins, crimson veins lighting up across his shoulders and chest. His frame swelled, then compressed — every muscle fiber tightening, condensing, fusing into explosive potential.
"Legs… sixty percent."
The asphalt shattered beneath him as he launched forward like a cannonball.
A crimson streak tore across the battlefield, followed by a thunderous shockwave.
He appeared in front of the nearest Nyghoul — the thing didn't even have time to shriek before Shojiro's knee tore through its chest.
The corpse spun through the air like a ragdoll, crashing into two more demons mid-flight.
Shojiro landed and twisted — redirecting mass into his right arm.
"Arms — forty percent."
His bicep bulged like a war drum, veins rippling as Vythra heat surged to his knuckles.
He threw a punch — not at a target, but at the air.
The shockwave that erupted blew apart an entire row of Skulkers. The sound alone flattened nearby demons, scattering them like leaves in a storm.
Shojiro grinned through his labored breathing. "Okay… that's new."
Another pack closed in — clawing, biting, screeching from all directions.
He crossed his arms, muscles rippling again.
"Forearms… thirty percent."
His arms ballooned outward, cords of muscle knitting like living armor. The claws struck — and stopped.
Sparks flew as demonic talons shattered against his forearms.
Shojiro shoved forward, breaking the nearest Berserker's wrists before slamming his palm into its jaw.
The blow launched the creature several meters back, its skull imploding midair.
But Shojiro didn't stop moving.
"Back… twenty percent."
His spine tensed — muscles snapping into a dense lattice.
He whipped forward with another strike, the added recoil doubling his punch speed. The next Berserker's torso exploded, black blood raining like acid.
Every adjustment came faster now.
He wasn't thinking about it anymore — his instincts were.
Legs for speed.
Arms for killing.
Forearms for defense.
Back for momentum.
Each shift was seamless — like a musician playing his own flesh as an instrument.
"Guess Kaiser wasn't kidding," he muttered between blows, "this power's… alive."
He grabbed a Shrieker by the wing, spun, and slammed it into the ground.
The impact sent a ripple through the ground that sent nearby demons flying.
A Rendracer pounced from behind — its claws slicing toward his neck. Shojiro ducked, twisted, and used his reconfigured thigh to pivot — driving his elbow into the creature's skull so hard that the ground beneath it fractured.
"Y'know…" he said, wiping blood from his lip as more surrounded him, "I'm starting to get the hang of this."
He inhaled — Vythra flaring.
The light from his body pulsed brighter, veins glowing like molten iron under his skin.
"Alright, muscle head… let's test your limits."
The next rush came like a tidal wave — demons screaming, wings slicing air, claws flashing.
Shojiro disappeared.
One moment he was still, the next — he was among them.
Kicks, punches, spins — each one synced perfectly with his reconfiguration.
A knee cracked a skull; a pivoting elbow collapsed a ribcage; a straight punch vaporized a torso.
Each move was monstrous, deliberate — yet perfectly measured.
For every hit, another ten demons fell.
And when one claw grazed him — he shifted again, pulling muscle into his torso, hardening the impact point before it could pierce him. The claw broke instead.
Shojiro chuckled through the chaos.
"Hah… you're strong, but I'm built different now."
Minutes became hours.
He was drenched in blood again — but this time, it wasn't his.
His legs quivered, his breathing grew harsh — but he wasn't done.
Each blow sang through the air like thunder.
And then—
The ground rumbled again.
The fissures widened.
From the far end of the boulevard, a massive crack split open — glowing red from within.
Shojiro squinted through the smoke. "...What the hell now?"
The answer came in the form of a deafening roar — one that shook the entire block.
From the crack crawled a new swarm — Berserkers fused with Shriekers, their forms elongated, twitching, wings half-formed and spines bristling with teeth.
The hybrids screamed in unison, and the sound made even Shojiro flinch.
He tightened his fists, exhaling.
"Alright, fine. Guess round two's starting early."
He stepped forward — then hesitated. His body felt slower.
He punched one of the charging Berserkers in the head — but instead of exploding, the skull just snapped back, recoiling like rubber.
Shojiro blinked, sweat running down his temple. "The hell…? That should've splattered him."
He followed it with another punch, this time with more concentration. The arm expanded mid-strike — muscle fibers bursting outward. The blow landed clean, blowing the Berserker's head off its neck in a spray of black gore.
Shojiro stood there, panting. His chest was rising and falling heavier now. His limbs trembled slightly.
"What's… happening to me?" he muttered.
The glow in his veins flickered — weaker, dimmer.
His heartbeat faltered for a second.
"…Don't tell me."
He looked down, placing a hand on his chest where his Life Point burned faintly beneath the skin — the same place Kaiser's shard had fused.
It pulsed weakly, slower than before.
"…I'm running out of fuel."