"Sword aura."
Brandon's dilating pupils reflected Roy sheathing his blade. As his consciousness scattered, his life flashed before his eyes. Frame by frame, images flowed together like a film reel, slowly playing in his mind. Brandon saw the opening title: "The Final Film." In a trance, he drifted back to the past—that dark childhood he never wanted to remember.
It was a dilapidated apartment building, bustling with hundreds of residents crammed inside. Narrow corridors, poor ventilation, coal smoke from burning charcoal, garbage piled at doorways, stinking shoes and socks placed by door curtains—so foul people could only pinch their noses passing through.
Brandon floated over, finding that familiar small iron door. Before he got close, he heard his father tearing at his mother's hair, viciously smashing her head against the wall.
"Bitch, if you have no money, go sell yourself! I told you the next hand I'd turn it around. Why the fuck won't you listen?!"
The woman wailed, grasping the man's arm, pleading, "You can't take it. That's next month's rent money."
"Rent money, my ass! When I turn things around, you'll eat well and live well! Get out of my way!"
The iron door burst open as the man kicked it. Clutching a few bills, seeing Brandon, he raised his hand and slapped him. "Useless little shit! I was dragged down by you back then!"
Brandon covered his face in silence, watching him leave. Suddenly he thought of his classmate Aaron—he wasn't a bastard accidentally born to a gambler and prostitute. He had loving parents, grandparents who picked him up after school, pocket money to buy snacks, everything he wanted.
He was so jealous, so envious. One day, a wild idea struck—How wonderful it would be if I became Aaron.
The next day, he truly became Aaron, wearing new clothes his parents bought, eating little cakes his grandparents bought, riding in a sedan, living a different life.
Later Brandon discovered Aaron also had troubles. His good friend Mike lived even better. So Brandon became Mike. Then Kelly, then Gibson, then Joshua, becoming all kinds of people. Enjoying different lives, one segment at a time.
Now he clearly still had more "lives" to enjoy, yet was dying here.
"This can't be the end! I won't accept this!"
The severed head glared with rage. The film of his consciousness shattered. Wisps of pitch-black aura connected Brandon's head and neck, driving him to straighten his back again.
Roy, who'd just sheathed his sword, sharpened his gaze. Drawing the cane sword again with a metallic ring, he squinted, raising his guard. His heart grew uncertain.
This was 'Post-mortem Nen'? No. 'More like resentment!'
Because of his unwillingness to perish, selling his soul to darkness as the price, willingly corroded by resentment—this guy's potential in Nen abilities was unexpectedly high.
Roy recalled Jed—likewise corrupted by resentment. In life, he could stand equal with Netero. His own talent went without saying.
"Roy Zoldyck... I... want... you... I... want... to become... you... ahhh..."
Resentment ran wild. Head and body reconnecting, Brandon staggered to stand. Unexpectedly, a sudden change—hundreds of figures abruptly emerged from his corpse. Some hugging his waist, some covering his mouth, some entangling his arms, some tripping his legs—firmly restraining him, refusing to let him stand, as if they'd been awaiting this moment.
Roy silently watched, a sense of déjà vu arising in his heart. Just like the first meeting with Nanno Hiroshi, keenly sensing a trace of "soul" scent.
"They're all innocent victims who died unjustly."
Footsteps sounded from behind. White-haired Zeno walked to the young man's side with hands behind his back, calmly watching Brandon being pulled and bitten, saying expressionlessly, "The parasite is ultimately parasitized. Roy, your blade was too slow. When killing, you must be fast enough that the opponent doesn't know they've already died. Only then can you sever all possibilities of resurrection using Nen abilities and rules."
This was an experienced killer's wisdom. The eight large characters on Zeno's chest, billowing in the wind, were proof of that.
Roy remained silent, quietly watching Brandon wail and extend a hand toward him, yet being quickly dragged back by countless hands. After a moment, he turned to glance at Zeno. "Will Grandfather also become like this after a hundred years?"
Besides Zigg's disappearance, not one Zoldyck had died yet. Roy's question struck Zeno like a thunderbolt.
This former Zoldyck family head, whose name alone could terrify the world, after freezing for several seconds, laughed strangely. "Heh heh heh, depends on whether you brats treat the old man well." Zeno stroked his beard. "Make the old man unhappy, and you'll definitely suffer for it."
"Grandfather jests." Roy could almost imagine what a terrifying scene Zeno corrupted by resentment would be. Perhaps one Dragon Dive would blast the house to rubble? He quickly put on a smiling face. "When that time comes, find my dad. He's the primary responsible party."
"Hmph." Zeno immediately glanced sideways, and said no more.
"Ah, get away, let go of me! Roy Zoldyck, save me! I won't possess you, I—mmph..."
The miserable cry abruptly stopped. Pitch-black resentment dissipated. Brandon crashed heavily onto the deck, his head separating from his body, rolling to Roy's feet. Without hesitation, Roy kicked it powerfully, exploding it into red mist.
Grandfather Zeno's reminder was right—killing must be fast. If not fast, remember to finish them off promptly.
Those innocent victims who died unjustly lost their anchor. Standing dazed for a while, some began kneeling and weeping, some looking skyward howling, some covering their mouths sobbing, some laughing loudly—each showing different emotions.
Roy wasn't a ghost and couldn't comprehend what "liberation" felt like. Just like when he'd asked Nanno Hiroshi if he wanted to speak more with his daughter Shizuku, the reply was he was unwilling to let his family grieve again over his death.
"Thank you." Roy heard faint murmuring.
He raised his head. Hundreds of figures bowed to him in salute, wearing relieved smiles as they transformed into light particles. Swept by the wind, they instantly merged into his body.
Zeno glanced over with surprise. The young man didn't refuse, naturally and calmly accepting. With sudden clarity, he closed his eyes, carefully savoring the novel feelings each life brought him. The status panel's notification echoed in his ears.
[Detected: You purified one hundred twenty-three "remnant souls."]
[Bearing their karma, accepting their entrustment, they voluntarily transfer remaining energy to you.]
[Notification: "Life Energy" +30]
[Host may freely allocate this to the "Constitution" column.]