The camera pans slowly through the eerie quiet of the Restricted Forest, revealing the dilapidated remains of an abandoned house that had once stood as a shelter for Dark and Nekros. The house, long forsaken by time, seems to groan under the weight of memories long buried. Tendrils of fog curl around its crumbling foundation as if the very air clings to the remnants of what once was. Inside, a grotesque tableau unfolds—a silent, macabre display. Nekros' dismembered remains are scattered like broken pieces of a forgotten past, with his head cruelly placed atop a dust-covered table, its eyes frozen in a perpetual, lifeless stare.
Suddenly, the fragile silence is obliterated as the wall gives way, crumbling under the force of an aggressive entry. Shards of wood and dust explode into the air as Caje strides through the new breach. His form, towering and foreboding, is bathed in the dim light filtering through the fractured roof. His presence radiates power, the long, slender staff he carries vibrating faintly with latent energy that seems to ripple through the air.
Caje's expression shifts when his eyes fall upon Nekros' remains. The arrogant indifference in his gaze gives way to something darker—a mingling of sorrow and a rage that stirs dangerously beneath the surface.
Caje: My little vortex... What did these wretched humans do to you?
His words hang in the air, thick with grief and fury. Without hesitation, Caje raises his hand, fingers dancing through the air with deliberate, ritualistic precision. There is a soft hum, an invocation of power that bends reality itself. Nekros' scattered remains tremble, slowly drawn back together by an unseen force. Piece by piece, the flesh re-knits, bones slide into place, and his once broken form is resurrected from the abyss of death. Starting from his feet and moving upward, Nekros is made whole again—a process that should defy the very laws of nature itself.
This act of resurrection, performed with chilling ease, is a stark testament to the formidable powers that Caje commands. His connection to Nekros runs deeper than mere loyalty; it is woven with purpose, a promise unspoken but understood. As the pieces of Nekros' armor slide back into place, the damage reveals more than the physical. The helmet that once concealed him now shows the man beneath. The right side is shattered, exposing a striking yellow eye that gleams with intelligence and wariness, a stark contrast to the shadowed half still covered in armor. From beneath the rim of the cracked helmet, tufts of dark brown hair spill out, betraying a softness that belies the warrior's hardened exterior.
On the left side, the helmet's mechanical eye, a brilliant LED designed for analysis and intimidation, flickers uncertainly. The damage is clear, and the sputtering light tells a tale of hard-fought battles and near defeat. Yet, in its stuttering glow, there is a resilience—a defiance of failure. The merging of organic and machine in Nekros' form symbolizes not just a fusion of body and technology, but a convergence of will and determination that refuses to be subdued.
When Nekros speaks, the air thickens with the sound of his voice—a strange harmony of the organic and the mechanical. His true voice, rich and full, is intertwined with the modulated tones of his helmet's vocal processors. It creates a strange, almost haunting echo, each layer reinforcing the other, as if two versions of the same soul are speaking in unison. It's a sound that commands respect, a voice that encapsulates his dual nature—both man and machine, both warrior and instrument of vengeance.
Nekros: My lord...
The words fall from his lips with the weight of reverence. With deliberate grace, Nekros lowers himself to one knee, bowing deeply before Caje, his loyalty and submission clear in every movement. He kneels not just before his master, but before the force that had granted him life once more.
Caje: Nekros Vortex, my right-hand man.
Caje's voice is smooth, almost regal in its delivery. There is no need for harsh commands—his mere presence, his acknowledgment of Nekros, is enough. It's a statement of power, of ownership, and perhaps, a veiled reminder of the hierarchy that binds them.
Nekros: Caje Ryo, my lord.
Their voices overlap, creating a resonance that vibrates with shared history and understanding, a camaraderie forged through trials unknown to outsiders.
Caje and Nekros: It's good to see you again.
This mutual greeting, though simple, carries the weight of battles fought side by side, of victories and defeats shared equally. Yet, something lingers unsaid between them—a tension beneath the surface, perhaps driven by the state in which Nekros was found.
Caje: What happened to you, Vortex?
There's a subtle edge in Caje's voice, a demand for an explanation that could either absolve or condemn Nekros for his current state.
Nekros: My lord, I was overpowered...by Nature herself. Her powers were more than I could withstand.
Caje's eyes narrow slightly, his displeasure evident, though he hides the full extent of his irritation. A low, discontented tch escapes him, a sound of barely restrained anger. Inside, though, his thoughts burn hotter than the surface of his composed demeanor.
Caje: (Thinking) This accursed witch...she dares to interfere with my plans? My project?
Yet outwardly, Caje's expression shifts back to one of cold indifference. He's always been a master of concealing his true thoughts, and now is no different. His voice, calm and composed, betrays none of his inner turmoil.
Caje: Tell me more, Vortex.
Nekros, however, remains silent, his memory fragmented, as if Nature's power had wiped the slate of his mind clean. His frustration shows in his hesitant tone.
Nekros: Forgive me, my lord, but I...I cannot recall anything after that moment. My mind—it's blank.
For a moment, Caje says nothing, contemplating this loss of information. It frustrates him deeply, but he masks it well, using the moment to tighten his control over Nekros instead.
Caje: It's fine. Come closer, Vortex, and take hold of my staff. Let me restore you, let me give you more power than you have ever imagined.
Nekros rises to his feet, his loyalty unbroken. He steps forward, reaching for Caje's staff without hesitation. As his fingers close around the smooth, cold metal, an electric surge pulses through him. Yellow and blue lightning erupts from the staff, coursing through Nekros' body. His entire frame shudders with the force of the energy being injected into him. The ground trembles underfoot as the power fuses with his very core, altering him.
Nekros' armor darkens as if absorbing the very shadows around him. The black and crimson hues swirl like living things, devouring the once-gleaming metal until his entire form is cloaked in an ominous, dark-red aura. His helmet's remaining LED flares a bright, menacing red, no longer flickering but burning with an intensity that rivals the very fires of the underworld.
The transformation is complete. When Nekros speaks again, his voice is different—deeper, colder, with an edge of malice that was not there before.
Nekros: Thank you, my lord. This time, I will bring you Dark's head myself. Officially.
There's no doubt left in his words, no hesitation in his resolve. He is a weapon now, fully under Caje's control, his loyalty twisted into something darker.
Caje: Meet me at the mothership, Nekros.
Nekros: As you wish, my lord.
As Caje departs, leaving Nekros to himself, the camera pans out, framing Nekros as he stands alone, illuminated only by the flickering, blood-red glow of his armor. He flexes his fingers, testing the newfound strength coursing through him. His body hums with energy, a barely-contained force waiting to be unleashed.
Nekros: Nature... Dark... I'm coming for you.
The scene shifts abruptly, cutting from the dark solitude of the forest to a scene of domestic calm. Dark, Leona, and Tier are seated together on a couch, immersed in the light-hearted escapism of Koditori Levels Up, a show that contrasts starkly with the turmoil lurking just beyond their door.
Suddenly, Dark's expression tightens, a subtle shift, but one that does not go unnoticed by Tier.
Tier: Dark? What's wrong?
Dark hesitates for a moment before responding. His voice is steady, but there is a hint of uncertainty, as if he cannot fully grasp the sensation gnawing at the back of his mind.
Dark: It's Sukojo. He says he senses something... something coming towards us.
Tier: Who?
Dark: Could be someone we've met before.
Tier nods, his mind already calculating possibilities. Leona, meanwhile, has drifted into a peaceful sleep, her head resting gently on Dark's shoulder, completely unaware of the tension building in the room.
Dark: I'll go check it out.
Tier: Alright. Be careful.
Dark rises quietly, slipping out the living room and into the night. The stillness outside is a stark contrast to the tension building within him. The street is bathed in the soft, pale glow of moonlight, shadows stretching long across the empty road. Every sound, from the whisper of the wind to the faint creaking of wood from nearby houses, feels amplified in the quiet of the night.
Dark's footsteps are light, deliberate, as he scans the surroundings. His senses are on high alert, attuned to every shift in the air. He can feel it—a presence, something drawing nearer. His heart beats faster, though his face remains impassive.
Then, out of the silence, a faint clinking sound reaches his ears. It's the unmistakable sound of metallic footsteps, deliberate and slow. The sound grows louder, more distinct, cutting through the quiet like a knife.
A figure steps from the shadows. Nekros.
The transformation is clear in every inch of his being. His armor, now a deep black and crimson, seems to absorb the very light around him, leaving him in an ominous silhouette. His left LED eye glows with a menacing red light, a stark contrast to the destruction that marred the other side of his helmet, exposing a piercing yellow eye underneath. His movements, although mechanical, carry with them an unnerving sense of purpose.
For a moment, Dark stiffens, recognition flashing in his eyes. He knows who this is—and what he's capable of. But he doesn't retreat. He doesn't flee. Instead, he takes a step back—not out of fear, but to give way to something else, something stronger, darker.
In that instant, Sukojo surges forward from the depths of Dark's consciousness, taking control.
There's no grand, outward transformation—just a subtle shift in posture, in presence. The calm, watchful gaze of Dark turns into the sharp, predatory glare of Sukojo. His lips curl into a faint, cruel smile, and his eyes, now narrowed, shine with disdain.
Sukojo stands taller now, the weight of his arrogance palpable as he locks eyes with Nekros, who remains silent, awaiting the confrontation.
Sukojo: So, you're the fool who killed Gilmuar?
The question is more of a taunt, each word dripping with mockery. There's no concern in his voice—only cruel curiosity and a faint sense of amusement.
Nekros, undeterred by Sukojo's words, takes a step forward, the crackling electricity from his right arm casting brief flashes of light across his darkened form.
Nekros: What if I am?
His voice, now modulated through his helmet, has a grating metallic edge. It's a voice that should inspire fear, but Sukojo only finds it amusing.
Sukojo's smile widens, showing the glint of his teeth in the moonlight.
Sukojo: You hold your head high... for someone who'll soon be on their knees.
Without another word, Nekros charges forward. His right arm, alive with electrical energy, swings toward Sukojo's face with the speed and force of a wrecking ball. But Sukojo doesn't flinch. He stands motionless, his hands still tucked lazily in his pockets.
As Nekros's fist closes in, a white aura materializes around Sukojo, an invisible force field that halts the attack mere inches from his face. The ground beneath Nekros shatters from the sheer force of his blow, but Sukojo remains unmoved.
The camera zooms in on the tiny distance between Nekros's fist and Sukojo's face, capturing the raw tension of the moment. Time seems to slow as the sheer power of the invisible barrier becomes evident.
The camera zooms out as Sukojo remains completely unfazed, the smirk on his face replaced by a cold, emotionless stare.
Sukojo: Pathetic.
Without warning, Sukojo strikes. His hand moves with blinding speed, gripping Nekros's robotic arm in a vice-like hold. The sound of metal creaking under the pressure echoes through the night as Sukojo tightens his grip.
Sukojo: Lay low, you mechanical brat.
With one swift motion, Sukojo pulls Nekros to his knees, overpowering him with ease. The sheer force sends Nekros crashing to the ground, his knees digging into the fractured pavement. His helmeted head lowers, as if involuntarily bowing before Sukojo's strength.
Nekros: (thinking) What is this...? This can't be Dark...
A moment of confusion and frustration passes over Nekros. His mind races to comprehend what he's facing. But before he can regain his composure, Sukojo leans in closer, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper.
Sukojo: How weak can you be?
Nekros grits his teeth in silent fury, refusing to yield. But it's clear—he's outmatched.
Nekros: (thinking) This... This isn't right... I've failed... again?
For a brief second, Sukojo's eyes seem to drift, his focus fading as if his mind is elsewhere. Nekros, sensing this shift, sees an opportunity.
Nekros: You alive in there?
He stands, his body shaking with rage and newfound determination. With a swift motion, Nekros pulls out his weapon, the blade glowing with a faint, deadly light. He spins it once, preparing for an attack.
Nekros: You see... I'm quite overpowered when it comes to close combat.
His confidence builds as he steps toward Sukojo, intent on taking advantage of the perceived distraction.
Nekros: And now that you've zoned out in the middle of a fight... I'll take my time beating the crap out of you.
But just as Nekros swings, that same white aura appears once again, catching the blade before it can land. The weapon shatters in his hand, the force of the impact splintering it into pieces.
Nekros stares in disbelief as the remains of his weapon fall to the ground.
Nekros: What... the hell?
The shock in Nekros's voice was palpable, his confidence shattered as easily as his broken weapon. He stared at the shards of his sword, disbelief sinking into his very core, while Sukojo remained unbothered, his gaze sharp and cutting.
Sukojo looked down at him with an expression of utter disgust. The disdain was palpable, a gulf between them that no amount of power could bridge.
Sukojo: Weak... and a coward. What type of warrior are you?
Nekros felt his chest tighten. His breathing grew shallow. Yet, somewhere deep within him, a flicker of defiance sparked. His body, still crouched, tensed with renewed determination. He could not—would not—allow Sukojo to dismiss him so easily.
With a low, mechanical growl, Nekros suddenly sprang back, his movements almost robotic in their precision. His armor whirred to life as compartments opened across his arms and chest, revealing intricate layers of technology hidden beneath. Thin streams of energy crackled to life as they danced across his limbs, charged with electrical might. The air around him seemed to hum with latent energy, building with intensity.
Nekros: (Thinking) No more hesitation. No more failure.
Nekros raised his hand, and from his gauntlet emerged a cluster of energy. Without warning, the energy dispersed, forming into a spiral of darkened bolts, a storm of destruction.
Nekros: Vortex Barrage!
The storm launched toward Sukojo, swirling with chaotic, destructive force, its path obliterating anything in its way. Yet, despite the onslaught, Sukojo simply stood in place, his hands still in his pockets, watching the chaotic display with a faint smirk.
Sukojo: (Thinking) Is this it?
As the storm descended upon him, Sukojo shifted slightly, raising his right arm. With a casual flick of his wrist, he summoned a translucent barrier, a mere ripple in the air. The storm crashed against it, but no damage was done. The bolts of energy fizzled out as they made contact, harmless against his impenetrable defense.
Sukojo yawned.
Sukojo: (In a sleepy tone) This is tiresome.
Nekros's mind raced. His hands shook. This was not just a fight. It was survival. And he was losing. Fast.
With a snarl, Nekros activated another ability, the gears of his armor clicking and shifting. His robotic systems surged with power as he tapped into the core of his enhancements. His helmet, once sleek and untouched, now began to crack under the strain, revealing a part of his face—a human face. The left side of his helmet shattered completely, exposing his piercing yellow eye, gleaming with desperation and fury. Beneath that eye, strands of dark brown hair became visible, stuck to his sweat-drenched forehead.
Nekros: (Breathing heavily) This isn't over...
His voice, now free from the distortion of the helmet, sounded more human, more desperate. Nekros activated a hidden mechanism within his armor, causing metallic wings to erupt from his back, glowing with energy. The wings stretched wide, pulsing with dark energy, as he prepared for his next attack.
Nekros: I'll show you what true power is...
With a roar, Nekros shot into the sky, his wings propelling him at lightning speed. His form shimmered as he took on a new state—a second transformation, augmenting his already formidable robotic abilities.
Nekros: Cybershade Transformation—Mode Two!
In this form, his entire body became a conduit for dark energy, crackling with raw power. His mechanical arm morphed into a cannon, and with a low hum, it charged with violent, pulsating energy.
Nekros: Annihilation Burst!
The cannon fired, a beam of concentrated energy, larger and faster than anything Nekros had unleashed before. It tore through the sky, splitting the air with a thunderous crack. The sheer magnitude of the attack shook the ground beneath them, as the beam made its way directly toward Sukojo.
But once again, Sukojo barely moved. Instead of raising a hand, he simply stepped forward, his expression unreadable. As the beam neared, Sukojo vanished, reappearing in front of Nekros in an instant. With a casual swipe of his hand, Sukojo knocked the cannon aside.
The impact sent a shockwave through Nekros's body, and the cannon cracked, unable to withstand Sukojo's sheer force. Nekros was left defenseless, his transformation faltering as he stared in disbelief.
Sukojo: Is this all you've got?
In a sudden burst of speed, Sukojo moved, too fast for Nekros to register. With a swift motion, he grabbed Nekros by the chest, his fingers sinking into the metallic armor like it was paper. Nekros screamed as Sukojo tightened his grip, his immense strength threatening to crush the very core of Nekros's suit.
Sukojo: (In a calm tone) Pathetic.
With a violent twist, Sukojo's other hand slammed into Nekros's helmet, shattering it further. The rest of Nekros's face was exposed now—human, vulnerable, terrified.
Nekros: (Thinking) No... I won't lose like this.
Summoning the last of his strength, Nekros activated a final, desperate ability. His entire body began to glow with a dark, ominous light, as if shadows were converging upon him. His voice became distorted, echoing with an otherworldly resonance.
Nekros's voice echoed with unnatural power as his form began to twist, shifting into something far beyond his mortal shell. The dark tendrils of energy engulfed him completely, crackling with an intense force that pulsed through the very air around them. His body reshaped itself, mechanical parts seamlessly merging with shadow and void. His once human face became a distant memory as a darkened helm, forged of energy and metal, covered it, obscuring his features entirely.
Nekros: (Shouting) I invoke the name... of the Titan-King Zairos!
The ground beneath them trembled, reacting to the sheer magnitude of the transformation. Zairos, a being of legend—half machine, half god, the keeper of forgotten realms and conqueror of void-born powers—had been awakened through Nekros's desperate call. This was no ordinary transformation; it was the incarnation of a deity, one who had walked between worlds of flesh and metal, ruling over them with tyrannical power.
Nekros's new form was terrifying to behold. His once robotic limbs were now fused with darkness and void, his chest glowing with the ancient symbols of Zairos, a pattern etched into the metal of his armor, pulsing with raw energy. His voice, when it came again, was no longer Nekros's but something older, deeper, filled with the weight of millennia.
Zairos (formerly Nekros): Behold... the true face of destruction!
His new voice was an unsettling fusion of mechanical distortion and divine resonance, vibrating through the air with unnatural weight. The transformation was complete; where once stood Nekros, now Zairos had taken full control, a titan-god fused with machine and void.
Sukojo, still standing in his base form, watched the transformation unfold with an amused grin. His devious smirk widened as he saw the full extent of Nekros's desperation. He could sense the vastness of Zairos's power, the way it rippled through the fabric of reality around them. Yet, Sukojo's expression was devoid of concern. If anything, it was boredom.
Sukojo: (Thinking) They always think a transformation like this will change things.
Zairos lunged forward, his speed now exponentially greater than before. The ground beneath his feet shattered as he propelled himself toward Sukojo, his hands crackling with immense power. He was faster, stronger, and more vicious than anything Nekros could have been.
Zairos: You will fall before me, mortal!
His mechanical claws lashed out, aimed directly at Sukojo's throat. But in an instant, Sukojo vanished, reappearing behind him without so much as a ripple in the air.
Sukojo: (In a mocking tone) Mortal? Heh... that's cute.
Zairos spun, his eyes—now glowing dark orbs of energy—locked onto Sukojo. The deity's new form gave him strength beyond comprehension, but still, Sukojo remained unimpressed. Zairos unleashed a barrage of attacks—darkened beams of energy and sharp mechanical tendrils that shot toward Sukojo, each one capable of obliterating entire landscapes.
Sukojo dodged effortlessly, barely lifting a finger as he danced around Zairos's flurry of attacks. His body moved like water, fluid and unpredictable, each step placing him just outside the reach of the godly assault.
Sukojo: (Yawning) You done yet?
The casualness of Sukojo's tone ignited a fury within Zairos. The god's form crackled with even more raw energy as his tendrils recoiled back to him. Then, with a guttural roar, Zairos raised his arm, channeling the full force of his divine power into a singular attack.
Zairos: I WILL END YOU!
The air around them shifted as Zairos summoned his ultimate attack—Aether Devourer, a move so feared that it was said to consume not only his enemies but the very essence of space itself. A colossal vortex of pure darkness and energy formed above them, swirling violently, threatening to tear apart the very fabric of reality. The pull of the vortex was immense, drawing in everything around it.
Zairos raised his hand and slammed it down, sending the vortex crashing toward Sukojo with the intent to obliterate him.
Sukojo, still standing in place, didn't flinch. He raised one hand lazily, his eyes half-lidded, bored.
Sukojo: (In a sleepy tone) You really think this will work?
As the vortex descended upon him, Sukojo's hand glowed with a faint red aura. He flicked his fingers, and in an instant, the colossal vortex dissipated into nothingness. It vanished, as though it had never existed. The sheer force behind it was simply erased by Sukojo's will.
Zairos: Impossible...
The god's voice faltered, disbelief creeping in for the first time since his transformation. The power he had summoned was beyond mortal comprehension, yet Sukojo had erased it with a flick of his hand. There was no longer any doubt—this being before him was no mere mortal.
Sukojo laughed, his voice dripping with amusement, his eyes gleaming with a cruel, almost predatory delight.
Sukojo: (Laughing) You thought invoking an ancient god would save you? Tch.
Without warning, Sukojo's aura darkened, becoming more oppressive, more suffocating. He let out a low, ominous chuckle as the ground beneath him began to tremble.
Sukojo: Let me show you... just how out of your depth you are.
With a casual wave of his hand, Sukojo summoned his own power—Ryo Grave Magic: Endless Abyss. The world around them shifted, the ground splitting apart as massive, shadowy tendrils erupted from the earth, wrapping around Zairos's newly formed body. The tendrils weren't just physical restraints; they were infused with the essence of Sukojo's magic, draining the divine energy from Zairos's form as they tightened around him.
Zairos struggled, his new godly form roaring in defiance as he attempted to break free. But the more he struggled, the tighter the tendrils became. His mechanical limbs sparked with energy, but the void that surrounded him siphoned his power, rendering him weaker with every passing second.
Zairos: No... I cannot be defeated... I am a god!
Sukojo: A god? Please. You're nothing but a footnote in history.
Sukojo's mocking tone struck deep. He approached Zairos slowly, deliberately, as the god struggled helplessly against the tendrils binding him. With a devious smile, Sukojo raised his hand, and the tendrils responded, tightening further, crushing Zairos's body under their weight.
Sukojo: (Chuckling) You thought you were invincible because you invoked the name of some long-forgotten deity? How sad.
With a sudden burst of strength, Sukojo leaped forward, landing a crushing blow to Zairos's exposed face. The impact shattered the helm completely, revealing Nekros's human features once again, pale and terrified beneath the god's fading influence.
Zairos's form flickered, the dark energy beginning to dissipate as Nekros's mortal body struggled to hold onto the divine power he had invoked. His glowing eyes dimmed, and the once imposing figure of the Titan-King Zairos crumbled, leaving only Nekros behind, battered and broken.
Sukojo stood over him, his expression now a mix of boredom and disdain.
Sukojo: (In a bored tone) Is that all, Nekros? All that power, and this is what you do with it?
Nekros, lying on the ground, could barely muster a response. The pain was too much, the weight of his defeat crushing him.
Nekros: (Weakly) This... cannot be...
Sukojo: Oh, but it is. And now, you'll meet the same fate as every other fool who thought they could challenge me.
Nekros: (thinking) No... It can't end like this.
Sukojo, showing no mercy, extends a single finger, pressing it against Nekros's forehead. The touch is soft, almost delicate, but the power behind it is immense.
Sukojo: You're strong, Nekros. Don't get me wrong. But our difference? It's immeasurable.
There's a brief pause as Sukojo closes his eyes, as though offering a moment of reflection before what comes next.
Sukojo: Goodbye.
Then, without warning, Sukojo clicks his fingers.
Sukojo: Judgment Click...
Sukojo: Ryonokorosu.
The entire world goes black as the sound of Sukojo's click reverberates through the night, carrying with it the weight of finality. The air around them distorts, and Nekros is hit with an invisible force that sends him crashing to the ground.
As the dust settles, Nekros lies motionless, the weight of defeat pressing down on his limp form. His once-imposing armor now cracked, scorched, and broken, no longer shines with the menacing aura it once possessed. A faint breath escapes him, barely perceptible, a testament to the fact that he still clings to the edges of life. His yellow eye flickers, barely managing to stay open.
Sukojo, still standing tall, looks down at Nekros with cold, unfeeling eyes. His body, now relaxed, shows no signs of the intense battle that had just taken place. He seems almost bored by the spectacle before him, his arms loose at his sides, and the faint crackle of residual energy dances in the air, a last reminder of the destruction he'd wrought.
Dark stirs within his own mind, feeling the weight of control shifting back to him. He pushes against the darkness of his own subconscious, forcing himself to the surface as Sukojo's presence begins to recede.
Dark: (thinking) You done?
Sukojo: (thinking) Hmph, bored already? I was just starting to enjoy myself.
Dark's mind tightens as he takes full control, his body feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in. His posture slumps slightly, his breathing deep and labored as if the very air has grown thicker.
Dark: (in a tired tone) Tch... what did you do?
Sukojo: (thinking) What needed to be done.
Dark looks down at Nekros, the figure of his once-enemy, now reduced to little more than a broken shell. For a moment, despite everything, he feels an odd mix of pity and understanding. The exhaustion that lingers in him isn't just physical—there's a heaviness that clings to his soul, as if the very act of survival had become burdensome.
Tier steps forward from the shadows, his voice breaking through the heavy silence that surrounds them.
Tier: Dark, are you alright?
Dark turns his head toward Tier, his response slow, his voice thick with the weight of the battle.
Dark: Yeah... just tired.
Leona approaches cautiously, her eyes flitting between Dark and the defeated form of Nekros. Her expression is a mixture of concern and uncertainty, as if she's unsure how to process what's just happened. She stops a few feet away from Dark, her voice soft but carrying an edge of worry.
Leona: Is... it over?
Dark: (with a sigh) For now.
Tier steps closer, his gaze moving from Dark to Nekros, then back to Dark again.
Tier: What do we do with him?
Dark glances at Nekros, the question hanging in the air. The thought of just leaving him there feels wrong, but so does offering any form of mercy.
Dark: I don't know... let's just get out of here.
Dark turns his back on Nekros, taking slow, deliberate steps away from the battlefield. His body feels heavy, each step a reminder of the battle they've endured, the weight of Sukojo's presence still lingering on his shoulders. Tier and Leona fall into step beside him, the three of them walking in silence.
Sukojo: (thinking) You're letting him live?
Dark: (thinking) Not my problem anymore.
Sukojo: (thinking) Tch, how very noble of you.
Dark ignores Sukojo's taunt, focusing on the road ahead. His body aches, and his mind is weary. All he wants is to rest, to find a moment of peace in the midst of the chaos that constantly surrounds him.
As they reach the edge of the street, Tier speaks up, his voice low but steady.
Tier: You think this is the end?
Dark: (shaking his head) No... not even close.
Tier adjusts his stance, reaching out to steady Dark as the weight of exhaustion causes him to sway slightly. Dark's eyes flicker, and before he can even react, his body collapses, crumpling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Leona: Dark!
She rushes to his side, her heart pounding in her chest. Tier is already there, lifting Dark carefully onto his shoulders, his movements quick but deliberate. Leona's eyes are wide, her hands trembling as she watches.
Leona: Is he... is he okay?
Tier: He'll be fine. We just need to get him home. Come on.
With Dark securely on Tier's back, the two of them make their way back towards the house, their footsteps echoing in the quiet streets. The atmosphere around them feels heavy, as if the very air carries the weight of everything that has just transpired.
Leona: (in a low voice) Do you think... we'll ever get rid of that thing inside him?
Tier: I don't know... but we'll keep trying.
Leona: Yeah... we have to.
They walk in silence, the enormity of what they've just been through weighing heavily on them. The screen fades to black, leaving the question of Dark's future, and the darkness within him, lingering in the minds of those who walk beside him.
End of Chapter 8.