The corpse was still there, mutilated beyond recognition, scattered as if it had never been a living being. The warm blood mixed with the dust, and the severed flesh still pulsed with a life that hadn't yet realized it had ended.
Raiden stood above what remained of the stranger, gazing at the scene as if it were nothing more than an unremarkable painting. Then, slowly, he lifted his foot and placed it on the remaining skull, crushing it without hesitation. The crunching sound echoed strangely in the stillness of the air.
He smirked slightly. "Ah, the final touch is always the most satisfying."
But the satisfaction didn't last long.
The moment he crushed the stranger's skull, a whisper resonated from the void, like the air itself was murmuring incomprehensible words. It wasn't a human voice. It was something else—something beyond human understanding.
Raiden didn't move. This kind of phenomenon was no stranger to him.
Then, suddenly, the voice became clear.
"You cannot kill what is already dead."
Raiden blinked, then sighed. "Oh no, not this again..."
He slowly lifted his head, looking around. But there was nothing. No body rising, no shadow shifting, no enemy resurrecting. Just the stillness of the place and the stench of death that filled the air.
"Alright, alright." He stretched his arms lazily. "If you're a ghost, let me tell you—I don't fear you. And if you're a curse, let me inform you—I've cursed myself enough times to be immune to this nonsense."
But the voice didn't reply.
Instead, something else happened.
The ground trembled.
But not like how the earth usually shakes.
The vibration came from within, from an unseen depth. Then the air itself began to change—it moved like a liquid, curling and twisting until it became distorted.
And Raiden saw what was not meant to be seen.
Something was watching him.
There were no eyes, no face, no body.
It was just presence, yet it was clearer than anything else in the world.
Raiden raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, this is interesting."
But this thing wasn't here to play games.
At the heart of the void that had opened before him, there was a door.
It wasn't wooden. It wasn't metal. It was something else—something alive.
Its surface pulsed like a beating heart, as if life flowed through it. And there was a single inscription carved into it:
"When this door opens, the story of the world ends."
Raiden didn't need an explanation.
He understood instantly that this wasn't just a threat—it was a fact.
But the bigger problem?
The door was opening. Slowly.
From within the door, a hand extended.
It wasn't human.
It was completely black, its fingers long like claws, each nail resembling a dagger. But what truly froze the blood was the feeling it carried—the absolute absence of existence.
Then, from within the void, a voice emerged.
"Did you think it would be this simple?"
Raiden wasn't easily surprised. But he felt something unnatural about this presence.
"I'm not a fan of over-the-top dramatics, but I have to admit—you have quite the stage presence."
The black hand moved slowly, extending further, revealing something resembling a face… or at least, a distorted version of the face of the stranger he had just killed.
"You killed me, didn't you…?"
Raiden smirked mockingly. "No, you just took a really long nap and forgot how to wake up."
The voice did not laugh.
Instead, the entire space trembled, as if reality itself was protesting the existence of this thing.
There was no other choice.
The door was opening wider, and the hand was emerging further. If he allowed this thing to fully step through…
Well, there was no need to think about the consequences.
"Alright, alright, I get it." Raiden sighed, then raised his hand.
And suddenly, the Black Butterfly appeared on his shoulder.
Its wings shimmered, bending light itself, and with a single flutter, reality twisted.
"Let's close this ridiculous door."
Without hesitation, he lunged toward the entity, hand raised, ready to end everything.