The sunlight burned into Max's eyes the moment the iron door slammed open—CRAKK! Two guards dragged him out of the elevator, hauling him through a narrow hallway that reeked of rusted metal and stale sweat. Their footsteps echoed off the cracked concrete floor. Max stumbled forward, the chains on his wrists clinking—cling, clang, cling—matching the heavy rhythm of his steps.
At the end of the corridor, a massive door swung open.
And instantly—
"KILL HIM!"
"TRAITOR!"
"HANG MAX THARIONS!"
A deafening roar exploded from hundreds—maybe thousands—of people. Max squinted, trying to adjust to the blinding light after weeks trapped in a pitch-black cell.
He wasn't in a courtroom anymore.
This was a public execution.
An execution Max had chosen himself. Strangely enough, they approved it immediately. Too quickly. Too… conveniently. As if the government had been waiting for this exact outcome from the start.
A tall wooden platform stood in the center of the open field, solid like an altar for sacrifice. People pressed against the iron fences, hands raised, faces twisted with rage and bloodlust. Some hurled stones, some screamed insults, some simply watched with satisfied smiles.
Max stood on that stage, surrounded by a sea of hatred.
"Max Tharions!" the executioner—a huge man wearing a black leather mask—boomed through the loudspeaker. "You have been found guilty of treason, mass murder, and cannibalism!"
The mob erupted even louder.
"KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"
Max didn't react. His head lowered, eyes fixed on the wooden boards beneath his feet.
Twelve years.T welve years he had spent working for The Veil.
And in the end, the organization itself betrayed him.
That was why he was standing here.Why people looked at him as if every sin in the world belonged to him alone. Plenty of monsters out there were worse than him—but he was the one chosen to be destroyed. A symbol of rebellion, of hope… a symbol that made great entertainment when it fell.
Ironically, none of that mattered to Max anymore.
The executioner stepped forward and pulled a lever.
CRAKK—
A gallows rose from beneath the stage. The noose swayed gently in the wind.
"The sentence to be carried out—hanging!"
The crowd went wild with cheers, whistles, applause.
Max was dragged closer. His shackled hands were yanked behind his back. The rope slid around his neck—rough, cold, suffocating. The executioner stared into his eyes.
"Any last words?"
Max slowly lifted his head. His gaze drifted toward the bright blue sky, where white clouds drifted peacefully—mockingly.
Then a face surfaced in his mind.
A man with brown eyes and a scarred face.
They had been together for over a week. The guy's rambling—annoying at first—had somehow stuck in his head. Max even secretly agreed with some of what he said. Maybe because long before all of this chaos, back when he was just a kid, Max had already been questioning God. He prayed, whispering His names in every language, from every religion.
He questioned everything.Why did God create life in the first place?Why humans?Why burden them with suffering… and then demand their worship?Why build a world, only to tear it apart with His own hands?
A faint, bitter smile tugged at Max's lips.
His mouth moved—barely a whisper.
"…God…"
The executioner leaned in. "What?"
Max closed his eyes.
"If You really exist…If You're really listening…"
The executioner stepped back and raised his hand.
"PULL THE LEVER!"
BRUKK!
The platform beneath Max's feet collapsed.
His body dropped. The rope snapped tight—CRAKK!—jerking his neck so hard the bones cracked. His breath vanished instantly.
"Ughhh—akhhh—!"
Pain exploded across his entire body, like invisible claws ripping his throat apart from the inside. His eyes bulged, tongue protruding, legs kicking helplessly in empty air.
The world spun.
Colors drained.
The crowd's screams faded, distant and warped—like they came from a nightmare slowly sinking underwater.
Ah… is this it?
Max shut his eyes.
He didn't care anymore whether God existed.
But for the first time in years… he prayed.
If this is the end… then let it end.
I don't care about heaven or hell.
Just—let it end… just this once.
***
Darkness swallowed him.
Then—
Light.
A blinding white light forced his eyes open.
Max gasped—like a drowning man yanked back to the surface. Air rushed into his lungs so violently it burned his throat.
But—wait.
Pain?
Wasn't his neck just broken?
He coughed hard, hands instinctively reaching for his neck—yet all he felt was the cold metal of the cuffs around his wrists.
He touched his neck frantically.
No injury.
No bruises.
No pain.
But a moment ago—seconds ago, minutes ago, he didn't even know—he felt the rope choking him. He felt his neck snap. He felt his world darken while his legs kicked at nothing.
It was real.
Too real to be a dream.
What… what happened?
His breaths came fast. His heart slammed inside his chest like it wanted to explode.
Was that a dream?
Then why did it feel so real?!
He dragged his hands over his face, trying to calm himself—pointless. His mind overflowed with the memory of the execution. The crowd's screams. The wooden stage. The burning pain in his neck.
Everything still lingered.
Then—
"Hahahahaha! Look who's awake!"
That voice—he knew it immediately.
Max jerked, whipping his head toward the sound.
In the corner of the cell stood the man with brown eyes and a scarred face—the man who always stayed in that corner, never moving.
But something was different now.
The shackles that once bound him—gone. His hands were free.
And his expression—completely different.
His eyes were wide, mouth hanging open in disbelief. Like someone who had just witnessed the most absurd miracle in existence.
"Hahahahaha! OH MY GOD! I can't believe this!"
The man stepped closer, staring at Max like he was some bizarre creature from another dimension.
"You… you actually healed!"
Max flinched back, pressing himself against the cell wall.
"W-what… what are you talking about?!" His voice was hoarse, shaking with confusion and fear.
The man stopped, still staring in disbelief. He scanned Max from head to toe, like confirming he wasn't hallucinating.
"I—I…" Max tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. "I was hanged! I felt my neck snap! I died!"
The man fell silent for a moment—then grinned. A slow, unsettling grin full of twisted amusement.
"Died?" He laughed. "No, Max. You didn't die."
Max's eyes widened, body frozen.
The man stepped closer, excitement flickering in his eyes.
"You know what I heard after they dragged you out for your first execution?"
He paused, savoring every second.
"I overheard the guards while they carried you back to this cell. One of them—the one with the scar on his chin—said something very interesting."
The man crouched in front of Max, his eyes glinting.
"He said… you might be a special-grade Immunis. A regeneration type."
Max's breath hitched.
Regeneration…? Extreme regeneration?
"They said you didn't die when they hanged you," he continued. "Even after five full minutes. Even after your neck snapped. Even after you stopped breathing—your body kept repairing itself."
He chuckled.
"And tomorrow… they're going to execute you again. But this time with a different method. A method they reserve for people like you—those who can regenerate."
Max stared blankly, his mind racing. He tried thinking of every possibility. Every reason he could suddenly regenerate. Something he might've done in the Western Zone? In the Dead District? He dug through his memories—but nothing made sense. He hadn't done anything special before entering the prison.
He looked at his trembling hands—then slowly calmed his breathing.Twelve years with The Veil taught him how to stay calm when everything fell apart.
His breathing steadied.
His hands stopped shaking.
His mind clicked back into place.
Fact one: he felt death. It was real.
Fact two: he woke up in his cell, unharmed.
Fact three: the guards confirmed regeneration.
Max raised his head, eyes sharper now.
"You said the guards talked about it," Max said quietly. "What exactly did they say?"
The man's smile widened.
"There it is. You're thinking straight now."
He leaned in closer.
"The guard with the scar—he told his partner that you didn't die. Even after hanging for five minutes. Even with your neck broken and your breath gone… your body kept moving. Regenerating."
He tapped Max's neck.
"He said this was the first time they'd seen regeneration this intense. Not even Rank-A Immunis heal that fast."
He snickered.
"So they're going to try a new execution method tomorrow. One they use for people with extreme regeneration."
Max stayed silent, mind spinning.
Why? How?He wasn't special. He was Rank E. Low-tier. Nothing but slightly faster and stronger than average humans.
He took a long breath.
"I don't have regenerative abilities," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I'm just an E-rank Immunis. No special powers."
The man nodded.
"That's what you think. But your body disagrees."
Max exhaled, long and heavy.
It made no sense. Yet the truth was sitting right in front of him.
He remembered dying. And now he was alive. His body was whole. No marks. No pain.
Which meant—
He looked up.
"What method will they use tomorrow?"
The man raised his brows, impressed.
"I don't know the details. But from what I heard… they're going to burn you alive. Fire's one of the few ways to kill regenerators."
Max nodded slowly, mind shifting into gear.
Fire. They'd try to destroy his entire body.
Regeneration could heal wounds—but not if nothing was left to regenerate.
He rubbed his face, exhaling deeply.
"All right," he murmured. "Okay… I get it now."
The man chuckled.
"You think you understand? You don't even know what's happening to you."
Max stared at him flatly.
"I don't need all the answers right now. I just need the basics."
He pushed himself to his feet, still shaky but steady enough.
The man stood too, watching him with something like admiration.
"You're calmer than I expected," he said. "Most people would go insane after something like that."
Max let out a small, bitter smile.
"I've been insane for a long time."