Chapter 10 — The Ripper of Red
It was time.
Time to focus on the one who still breathed.
In the dead of time, within a world drowned in red, steel met flesh—and the air trembled with the echoes of something long past saving.
Not chaos.
Repetition.
A cycle.
Cut.
Rise.
Cut again.
The screams had long since lost meaning.
He stood.
Still breathing.
Not because he endured—
But because nothing here could decide his end.
Bodies collapsed at his feet, only to rise again, drawn forward by something weaker than instinct.
Hope.
A foolish thing.
His chest rose once—slow, measured.
Not exhaustion.
Calculation.
Every breath was taken with purpose.
Every step… already decided.
Crimson eyes burned beneath shortened strands of black, their edges stiff with dried blood.
Not his own.
Scars marked his skin—not as damage…
But as proof.
Proof the world had tried—
And failed.
He did not see the ruin around him.
It held no weight.
Destruction only mattered to those who feared losing something.
He had already discarded that weakness.
His blade rested at his side.
Quiet.
Certain.
As if it understood—
There was nothing left here worth cutting.
They had given him many names.
But names were tools of the weak—
Attempts to define what they could never control.
Still… one remained.
The child blessed by steel.
The Ripper of Red.
Kurotsuki Touka.
And still they came.
Bodies upon bodies, endless in number, driven by a single purpose—
To bring down the anomaly of that world.
They surged forward without fear.
Without thought.
Without end.
And yet—
None could touch him.
For twelve hours, Touka fought.
Twelve hours of unbroken slaughter.
Steel carving through flesh.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until—
"I can't…"
The words slipped into his mind, uninvited.
"…go on."
His grip weakened.
"I… I'm tired."
The blade fell.
A dull, final sound against the blood-soaked ground.
His hands trembled.
Not from fear—
But from something far worse.
Surrender.
The swarm descended.
A tide of the dead, crashing down upon him.
"At last… the anomaly falls."
Touka did not move.
Did not resist.
The light in his eyes dimmed—not with pain…
But with acceptance.
They tore into him.
Flesh gave way.
Bone threatened to follow.
And for a moment—
It seemed this story would end here.
Then—
Light.
A single ray broke through the suffocating red.
Golden.
Pure.
Unforgiving.
It touched the dead—
And they burned.
Not in flame—
But in truth.
Their movements ceased.
Their bodies fell.
At last—
What they were always meant to be.
Lifeless.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Absolute.
The world of red… grew still.
All because of the sun.
Touka lay among the corpses, unmoving.
A quiet breath escaped him.
"…I get to live another day."
Time passed.
Minutes.
Hours.
He did not move.
"…Oh?"
A voice.
Soft.
Amused.
"You're still alive."
Touka's eyes snapped open.
His body jolted upright, instincts screaming.
That voice—
It didn't belong.
"This early… it can't be them."
The air had changed.
Subtly.
But unmistakably.
Every fiber of his being reacted.
Run.
Then—
The light shifted.
The golden warmth that had saved him…
Faded.
Twisted.
Darkened.
The sky bent into something unnatural.
A rare, terrible phenomenon.
The world itself holding its breath.
An eclipse.
A sharp wind cut through the silence.
Touka turned.
And saw him.
Standing atop the blood-soaked field—
A figure.
Familiar.
Wrong.
Crimson hair flowed like living flame.
Eyes sharper than any blade.
A presence that mirrored his own—
And surpassed it.
Touka's breath caught.
"…You're me."
The figure smiled.
Cold.
Amused.
"Don't insult me."
A step forward.
Measured.
Certain.
"I am what you failed to become."
The air grew heavier.
Darker.
More suffocating with every second.
"I am the truth you abandoned."
He stopped.
Just within reach.
A gaze that held no doubt.
No hesitation.
Only certainty.
"I…"
A pause.
Then—
A declaration.
"…am the true Ripper of Red.