The horde closed in. Berserkers, Skulkers, Shriekers — a living tide of teeth, claws, and wings. Shojiro's chest heaved, muscles quivering with exhaustion. Vythra barely flickered — 1%. His body screamed for rest, but he had no intention of stopping.
He planted his feet in the cracked asphalt, blood pooling around him. His veins glowed faint crimson, then flared as he whispered:
"I become the bomb. I do not die — I obliterate."
Immediately, his muscles began reallocating themselves, folding, stacking, and expanding outward in perfect synchronicity. His torso, limbs, even neck expanded into a second outer layer of dense, hyper-contracted muscle. Veins bulged like cables, skin stretched taut, and a humming resonance filled the air.
The horde hesitated for a split second — instinctive fear.
Shojiro's eyes, bloodshot and burning with feral determination, scanned the incoming demons. He flexed, contracting his tendon fibers into a coiled kinetic trap. Every punch, every kick, every slash he had thrown before — stored as energy in the outer shell.
Charge Phase:
Muscles pulsed and twitched violently. Blood boiled in his veins. The outer shell shimmered white-hot, glowing across the battlefield. Screeches and howls of the hybrids faded against the deep, low hum of coiled muscle. Shojiro gritted his teeth; every heartbeat sent shockwaves through the shell.
He extended his fingers — each one ballooned to double size, veins screaming crimson light, tendons coiling like loaded springs.
The hybrids lunged. Claws struck the shell — impactless. Talons shattered against the dense muscle exterior, the force stored like tension on a drawn bow.
Shojiro's mind snapped forward — a single thought: now.
Detonation:
The outer shell ruptured in a blinding explosion of concussive force. Muscle shredded outward in cathedral-like arcs. The sound was deafening — a deep infrasonic boom that rattled broken steel and cracked concrete.
Demons were thrown like ragdolls. Black ichor sprayed in all directions, some caught in the sheer velocity and shredded midair. The air burned; the ground buckled. Muscle shards, still hot from the explosive release, tore through the nearest horde like blades, shredding them from limb to spine.
The shockwave flattened lighter hybrids outright. Medium-strength Berserkers were staggered, their momentum imprint sending them skidding across streets, leaving gaping internal trauma.
Shojiro's body remained intact, encased now in the thin glow of residual Vythra, his chest heaving like a drum. Muscles quivered violently from exhaustion; his limbs were spent, knuckles cracked, ribs aching.
For a heartbeat, he couldn't move. The world felt hollow.
And then — slowly, he opened his eyes.
The battlefield was silent. Hundreds of demons lay broken, shredded, dismembered, or vaporized. The smell of iron, burnt flesh, and ozone hung heavy. The ground itself had been carved into deep fissures by the release.
Shojiro coughed, spat out a little blood, and flexed his recovered limbs. Yggdrasil had stitched him back together, restoring his biological integrity.
He stood — trembling, exhausted, and yet victorious.
"Alright," he rasped, voice raw. "That's… how you finish a damn army."
And somewhere, distant, the red moons gleamed over the ruined skyline, pointing the way west — toward Last Vegas.
Shojiro's legs ached, his fists still trembling from the Muscle-Reconfiguration Detonation. The shattered city stretched endlessly before him, a wasteland of blackened steel and broken concrete. The distant glow of the red moons beckoned, promising salvation — or at least a way forward.
He took a step. Then another. Each footfall sent tremors through the rubble-strewn streets. He had fought and survived against thousands of demons. He had survived the apocalypse that had been unleashed around the radio broadcast. For the first time in decades, he allowed himself a fraction of relief.
A soft, mechanical hum echoed through the air.
"Finally… moving in the right direction," Shojiro muttered.
Then, without warning, the world around him twisted. The air seemed to ripple, the sky bleeding into darkness. His vision blurred. The ground fell away beneath him, and gravity inverted itself.
Before he could react, Shojiro slammed into the cold, unyielding floor of the Tower of Flesh and Bone. A hollow, oppressive atmosphere enveloped him. The scent of iron and decay filled his nose. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls.
"—Kaiser?" Shojiro spat, wiping blood from his mouth. "What the hell is this?"
From the shadows, the familiar voice came — calm, almost teasing.
"Oh...ye boy," Kaiser said, stepping into the faint crimson light. "I forgot to mention one thing."
Shojiro's brow furrowed. "Forgot… what?"
Kaiser's eyes glimmered. "I don't keep count of how many times you've nearly died." His tone hardened. "But the shard does. And it has… rules."
Shojiro clenched his fists. "Rules?"
"Rules," Kaiser repeated. "If you hit a certain number of near-death experiences… the shard punishes you. And rewards you — all at the same time. We call this NDA (Near Death Ascensions)."
Shojiro's heart skipped a beat. "Punish me… how?"
Kaiser's gaze was unwavering. "The punishment… is simple. You die. But only if you cannot kill the next floor boss." His voice dropped. "The reward… is that if you succeed, you gain the ability of that floor's boss. You can kill this floor boss the same way you killed the last one crush it's orb."
Shojiro's stomach turned. "So… every near-death I've survived counts? And the shard's keeping score?"
Kaiser nodded. "Exactly. And you, boy… have pushed it to the limit. You've already hit the threshold for the first punishment and reward."
Shojiro exhaled slowly, gripping his ribs where muscle and bone ached from the previous fight. "Great… just when I thought I could finally take a breath."
Kaiser's shadow shifted across the blood-stained floor. "No rest. No mercy. You live because you fight, and you fight because you live. Now… go on. Face the next floor boss."
The crimson light of the shard pulsed faintly beneath Shojiro's chest, syncing with his heartbeat. He could feel it — the shard thrumming, testing him, waiting for the next trial.
Shojiro rose to his feet, flexing his fingers, every fiber of his body trembling with exhaustion and anticipation.
"…Alright," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Let's see who wants a piece of me next."
The walls of the Tower shifted, flesh and bone twisting upward into grotesque staircases. The next floor waited. And this time… the stakes were higher than ever.