on the other side of the Rooftop,
MOHITO was about to become something more than a monster.
The helicopter's rotors thundered,
fuel scent thick in the air.
The man in the formal suit stood beside it,
face tense,
eyes fixed on the approaching shadow.
"Kill him."
His voice was steady—
But his hands trembled.
Soldiers lined up,
raising their rifles at MOHITO.
HE stood still—
no words, no movement.
Only red, silent eyes
that cared for no living thing.
He whispered:
"Level up…"
He didn't finish.
His feet vanished.
No one saw how he moved.
Only what remained.
In less than a heartbeat—
Three heads burst from their shoulders.
One rolled.
Then another.
Then a third.
The air flickered with the sword's black shine.
Gunfire erupted—
But bullets flew through the space MOHITO had already left.
He walked among them in silence—
each strike precise, emotionless,
as if filing paperwork.
In seconds—
The rooftop went still.
Bodies everywhere.
The man in the suit turned pale,
stumbling backward toward the helicopter.
Then froze.
He looked down.
His legs—
were lying several feet away.
Blood poured warm beneath him.
MOHITO stood behind him,
not panting,
not tired—
not even acknowledging him.
Just those eyes.
Eyes of something once human…
Now something else.
The man shrieked:
"Please!
I'll talk!
I'll tell you everything! Just let me—"
MOHITO spoke softly, lifelessly:
"You don't have the answer."
He raised the sword slowly—
giving the man time to understand—
One clean stroke.
The head fell.
Lifeless.
Meaningless.
"Mission complete,"
MOHITO whispered.
The rooftop doors burst open—
More soldiers are charging out.
The blood hadn't dried.
MOHITO hadn't even lowered his sword.
They saw:
• headless corpses
• blood still warm
• a man with a black sword…
who looked like he hadn't begun fighting yet.
"OPEN FIRE!!" The commander screams
Bullets flooded the air.
MOHITO didn't react—
not at first.
Then he moved.
Silently.
Like a shadow choosing its victims.
appeared behind a soldier—
a soft glide of the sword—
and the man collapsed before realizing he was dead.
Three sidesteps—
a gentle spin—
a shimmer—
another soldier fell…
and another…
They dropped in perfect rhythm,
as if death itself had arranged the order.
One soldier crawled away,
desperate to survive.
MOHITO walked past him—
not even looking.
He wasn't hearing the screams.
He was hearing something else.
A voice from deep inside:
"Give me more…"
"More…"
A light slash, effortless—
The crawling man went silent.
The commander tried to retreat,
lifting his rifle—
only for the barrel to split in two.
He stared at MOHITO.
"Wait!"
There was no second sentence.
The blade slid into his chest—
slowly.
Calmly.
His eyes locked onto MOHITO's empty gaze
until the light left them.
The sword withdrew.
Silence reclaimed the rooftop.
Blood glistened in the helicopter's lights.
MOHITO wiped the blade on a dead soldier's vest—
a motion he'd performed countless times.
Then he turned toward the stairway.
The hallway knew—
Death was coming.
***********
At the Exit Door on the Lower Level
THE HOUNDS stood ready,
weapons raised,
prepared for the final fight.
CLAY whispered:
"Get ready…"
The door opened.
It wasn't an enemy.
It was MOHITO.
He strolled—
His footsteps were silent,
But they felt heavier than thunder.
And blood covering his face,
hands,
and clothes.
Not a single stain from one person—many,
layered upon each other.
And in his hand—
The black sword.
Not held.
But worn—
as if he had been born with it.
THE HOUNDS froze.
Every eye fell on the BLACK BLADE.
Then on MOHITO.
Their eyes widened—
as if they'd seen a ghost from a nightmare long buried.
CLAY whispered, horrified:
"MO… that sword…
that's—"
MOHITO didn't look at them.
Didn't justify anything.
He said in a voice devoid of heartbeat:
"Get out… now."
The path outside was paved with corpses.
Each one testified to MOHITO's descent into the machine of death.
HE had awakened from his long sleep—
The true battle had already begun…but this time
It was inside him