His eyes opened.
Slowly, he saw.
He stood in a sea of rubble.
On burned earth.
And everything was bathed in golden light.
It stroked his body.
Warmed him in gold.
The clouds drifted cheerfully by.
Up there in the sky.
Insects buzzed faintly in the distance.
While birds trilled their songs.
The scent of late summer filled the air.
Slowly, he looked up.
At the blue sky adorned with clouds.
Into the golden dwelling.
The field of destruction and death lay there.
Wrapped in golden peace.
He exhaled softly.
Uhra flinched.
Relentless pain flooded him.
Burned itself into his flesh.
His body began to tremble.
As damp sweat formed on his forehead.
And his breathing quickened.
Came in bursts.
Slowly, he looked down.
His shirt was torn.
Blood poured out.
Flowed from a hole.
Carved its path of red across his body.
And dripped to the ground.
Turning everything there crimson.
Uhra staggered.
"Damn," he muttered.
"That's not good."
He fell to one knee.
Sweat ran down his forehead.
Over his body like a damp cocoon.
Between his eyes it flowed.
They were fixed.
Fixed on the hole in his side.
The size of a fist.
His gaze slid over the red flesh.
Over the torn skin.
And the blood that drenched everything in red.
Red.
His gaze reflected the red.
It burned itself into his head.
Into his thoughts.
Red.
Everything red.
Red like blood.
And all that was zero
became red.
Became blood.
Blood that ran over him.
Over his now pale skin.
Red on white.
Like blood on snow.
He groaned.
Slowly, his pale hand moved forward.
Glided through the air.
Toward the hole.
Entered the fall of red.
Of blood.
His breathing quickened.
His body began to tremble.
He shook.
And laughter burst forth.
Out of him.
It filled the air.
Made it tremble.
Dug through the burned earth.
Made the rubble give way.
"Not good at all,"
he chuckled.
Slowly,
still laughing,
he moved his hand.
Pulled it away from the misshapen hole.
Raised it toward the sky,
giggling with a hoarse voice,
watching as drops of blood slid along it.
They ran down his arm,
dripped onto his face,
flowed over his eyes,
and across the smile
that now formed on his lips.
It turned red.
The bleeding smile shone into the world, newly born,
while blood painted him red
and endless pain ate away at him.
Thus stood the bleeding smile.
A shadow flickered past him,
through the ruins' darkness,
over burned earth.
A dark shape loomed above him,
turning everything black.
And then—
a whistling sound.
Something sliced through the air,
rushing toward him.
Uhra jerked around,
smiling faintly, with his bleeding grin.
He lifted his foot,
kicked toward the incoming fist.
The kick met the strike.
A shockwave burst outward,
scattering debris,
making the ground quake.
Both sprang apart.
Uhra staggered to his feet,
slowly looking over his shoulder.
His gaze fixed on him—
the Black-Eyed One stood there,
shrouded in darkness,
his face concealed,
his eyes darker than the night.
Uhra chuckled.
Wiped the blood from his mouth casually.
And shook his leg slightly.
"You bum—you do that,"
he asked, grinning.
He pointed at the hole in his side.
From which blood ran.
From the red flesh.
Uhra rolled his eyes.
Suppressed a painful groan.
"Hurts quite a bit, you know,"
he said with a broad smile.
"Guess your supernatural power is to make people who look into your eyes fall asleep or pass out, so—"
He scratched his chin, pondering.
"Something like half-hypnosis."
No answer.
The black rock towered before him.
Without word.
Without sound.
Only the deep black eyes that appraised him.
Uhra sighed theatrically.
"Too bad for you—"
He fell silent.
His gaze sharpened.
The once-bleeding smile faded.
"I am a Special Killer."
He blurred.
And appeared before the black-eyed one.
He dug his fist into his gut.
The mountain trembled.
Reeled back.
Uhra leapt.
Delivered a kick to the attacker's face.
Sent him flying.
He flew.
Hit hard.
On the burned earth.
Uhra clapped his hands.
Chuckled, invitingly.
A cold smile curled on his lips.
"Come on,"
he ran a hand through his hair,
snickering softly.
"Don't tell me you don't find this—"
He paused.
His gaze locked onto the figure in black lying on the ground.
"—amusing."
The black-eyed one twitched.
Then launched forward.
Crossing the scorched earth.
Cutting through the hot air.
Right fist raised.
Aimed straight for Uhra's head.
Those abyssal eyes pulsing.
The monstrous fist shot forth.
Toward Uhra's skull.
Tearing through the air, colossal and violent.
But Uhra's hand—
blocked the strike with a yawn.
The massive fist slammed into his palm.
The world cracked open.
Rubble and debris blasted away.
Swept aside by the shockwave.
Uhra chuckled as it brushed through his hair,
making him blink.
"Now, now," he whispered,
"We can do better than that,"
his cold voice announced,
dripping with mockery.
His hand wrapped around the giant's fist.
Fingers dug into the flesh.
Puncturing holes.
Clamping down like claws.
While Uhra laughed softly.
"Let's dance,"
he said, grinning.
His gaze bored into the giant.
"You bastard."
His fist shot forward.
And buried itself in the attacker's throat.
No sound came.
No cry.
Only those pitch-black eyes.
And the blood painting his mouthguard red.
Uhra chuckled.
"That red thing on your face really suits you,"
he threw his head back,
laughter ripping from his throat.
"A real fashion icon!"
His fist drove forward again.
Crashing into the dark one's chin.
A loud crack filled the air.
Bones shattered.
Splintered under the weight of his blows.
And Uhra laughed—
as he kept striking.
Again and again his fists thundered forward.
Pounding the black-eyed one's skull.
A storm of death.
One punch—bones snapped.
Two—splinters flew.
Uhra paused.
Fixed his gaze on the dark figure.
The face was crushed, riddled with holes.
Bone fragments jutting from what were once cheeks.
Everything drenched in red.
Only the eyes still stared.
Deep, black—
gazing into Uhra's soul.
Through him.
Inside him.
He tilted his head.
Chuckled softly.
That cold smile glowing faintly.
"That won't work,"
he laughed.
"Bastard."
His face hardened.
The cold smile froze.
His eyes burned into those black pits.
"And now—die."
The hand that had been buried in the giant's fist pulled back.
Uhra tore and ripped—
ripped the arm clean off.
Blood sprayed in all directions.
Onto the scorched earth.
Onto Uhra's blood-painted face.
The dark figure didn't even flinch.
Only the eyes—
huge and black, filled with darkness—
stared back at him.
Uhra's hand shot forward again.
He tore out those eyes.
And crushed them easily in his palm.
Dark voids remained.
Full of shadow and emptiness.
Then Uhra moved to the side.
Struck once more.
A clean hand strike to the neck.
And the black one's head—
was severed.
The head hit the ground.
With a dull sound.
Blood splattered, painting Uhra red.
Who now turned away.
With a wide smile that shone golden.
"Now then, with that out of the way—"
He froze.
Stared at the headless body standing there.
Amid the rubble.
On burned ground.
Surrounded by ruin and blackness.
He staggered.
Swayed around.
And began to change.
Skin tightened and tore.
Flesh split and squelched together.
It grew upward along bones that broke and reformed.
It distorted.
Grew and grew.
Deformed.
Became something.
An upper body had formed.
Sprouted from the colossus.
Torn skin lay in shreds upon the flesh.
All hanging from a frame of bone.
The head was bald.
Blood ran from every crack.
Bones burst through the skull.
A slit opened.
And a loud hiss echoed.
"Hello Uhra" it said
"I am Rero."