"Amitabha."
Paik whispered the word, yet his voice carried effortlessly on the wind, reaching Dr. Syrio despite the distance between them.
"Why did you leave? We were fighting. And why let the sheep suffer? You are a doctor."
Dr. Syrio did not respond. Instead, he took a step forward. Then another. By the third step, he vanished—along with his scalpels.
And in the blink of an eye, he reappeared just a couple of meters away from Paik, sprinting toward him, his arms flailing behind him like a ninja. With a flick of his fingers, his scalpels shot forward, slicing through the air toward the monk.
Paik's thick brows furrowed as he thrust out his palm.
A colossal translucent hand materialized before him, its shape mirroring his own. The wind-based construct surged forward, colliding with the oncoming scalpels.
Some of the blades wobbled mid-flight, their momentum killed instantly. But the majority curved sharply, changing trajectory like homing missiles—aimed right at Paik's exposed sides.
Still, he did not flinch.
He thrust both palms outward, sending two bursts of wind spiraling to the sides. The force deflected the incoming scalpels before they could reach him.
But in that moment—
Dr. Syrio appeared behind him. A scalpel already in hand.
Paik's arms were still extended. He had no way to counter, and the sharp blade plunged into his back, tearing through flesh before slicing deeper.
"Kh—!" Paik's face twisted in pain.
But instead of stumbling forward, he dropped low.
The scalpel ripped further into his shoulder as he crouched, but he gritted his teeth and swung his leg backward—
Sweeping Dr. Syrio clean off his feet.
Dr. Syrio's eyes widened as his balance was ripped away. But before he could even attempt to correct himself in the air, Paik was already there.
His rugged palm pressed firmly against Dr. Syrio's chest.
"Ho." And then, with a breath, he shot a devastating palm blast, point-blank.
The shockwave erupted straight through Dr. Syrio's back.
The sheer force cratered the ground beneath them, carving into the earth before his body could even hit it. And when his back finally slammed onto the pavement—
He didn't stop. His entire body sank into the ground, driven deep into the earth by the impact.
Dr. Syrio never uttered a final word. His eyes dimmed before he could even attempt one.
So Paik spoke for him.
"You have been blown by the Buddha's wind. Rest, and try again."
Silence followed.
Paik stood at the edge of the hole he had created, offering a silent prayer to the fallen Hero.
His prayer did not last long, however, as a set of heavy footsteps approached behind him.
Paik exhaled, not bothering to turn.
"What took you so long?" he muttered.
No answer came. The approaching figure could not speak.
It was Bjorn.
His suit—once pristine—was now in tatters, soaked in blood.
Paik glanced at him, scanning him from head to toe. Then, without a word, he raised a palm and sent a gentle gust of wind toward him, sweeping away the grime and gore from Bjorn's suit.
"Did the Chained Killer give you a hard time, Brawler?"
Paik smiled as he spoke, and Bjorn nodded in response before signing a quick thank you—followed by something else.
Paik watched his hands for a moment, then let out a breath and smiled.
"Luck plays a huge role in the Game, Brawler," he said, before glancing at Dr. Syrio's corpse. The body was already beginning to dissolve into shimmering particles of light, fading away piece by piece. "Dr. Syrio was strong, but I just happened to be a bad match for him. Amitabha."
And while the two Heroes spoke as if they weren't standing atop a battlefield, Adam watched from a distance—his blade cutting through endless waves of enemy creeps.
One thought would not leave his mind.
The Heroes.
Just how strong were they?
He'd seen videos before—clips captured by drones hovering outside the Dome, zoomed in from thousands of feet away. But those recordings never did justice to the speed, the precision, the sheer destruction these warriors could unleash.
But now?
Now that he was witnessing it in person?
He couldn't help but wonder—
If he became a Hero… what kind of abilities would he receive? This was the first time he ever felt anything like this. His… acquaintances from the scavenger team all raved about the Heroes, and about what they would do upon becoming one.
Some of them even go so far as to treat the goal as a dream. He always thought they were being silly, and that nothing would come from being a Hero other than pain.
He was right, of course…
But this is sort of… fun, no? Do you think we'll ever become like that?
Adam continued to watch Bjorn and Pail mow through the crowd. And for a second, he held his breath. But only for a second, any admiration or thought he had of becoming an actual Hero faded when he saw just how much death and carnage they caused.
Come on, Adam. These people all deserve their fate—they're all the same. If these two Heroes weren't here, they would be killing you. This is what this world is—an endless cycle of nothing but violence.
Watch. Just watch…you too, will become like them. Violent. Because that is what humans are. So, just watch.
But what Adam didn't know was that while he was watching the Heroes, others were watching him.
From those very same drones he had just thought of.
And they were talking.
Oh, they were talking.
[Is it just me… or is that one vet on the West Lane really hard to kill?]
[You mean the one who just got hit by a car? I saw that too.]
[Why's he even still alive?]
[Must be a pre-Hero who dumped everything into Strength. But who is he? I know all the faces of this month's pre-Heroes, but with all the smoke, I can't tell.]
[Look at him now—he's… letting those two other creeps take his kill?]
[Is he helping them? Or does he just want to stay a creep longer!?]
[Okay. We might have another psycho on our hands, folks!]