The other man was ready. The instant Roger grabbed him, he reacted, yanking the other way—trying to pull Roger back through.
No—trying to wrench free.
At first, instinct made him catch Roger's forearm, but he let go at once and put every ounce of strength into slipping his hand out of Roger's grip.
Like an eel squirming out of a fisherman's fist, his hand curled and shrank, trying to slide through Roger's palm.
But Roger had seized him with effort. He wasn't letting go that easily.
So he tightened down.
Seeing he couldn't break loose—that his strength didn't match Roger's—the man resorted to that gesture again.
A clenched fist with a raised thumb.
In a snap, the thumb pressed down.
Roger froze for a heartbeat. He remembered: the instant that gesture appeared earlier, the towering, rock-hard Titan statue had exploded, and the blast had almost swallowed him whole.
So that was his ability—[Detonation]?!
But…
How did he trigger it?
Roger didn't know. He'd always believed that without explosives there could be no explosion. In that split-second, he couldn't imagine someone willing an explosion out of nothing—so he didn't dodge.
That hesitation bled strength from his fingers. He wavered on whether to release.
At that knife-edge moment, dark red lines flared from his heart, racing through his body and pooling at his wrist, shaping into a band cinched tight around it.
[Let go!!]
A filament of sigil bored into Roger's mind; the parasite shouted.
Roger didn't know why the parasite insisted, but he knew too little about these other mysteries—especially the black holes and the being within. In a case like this, trusting the parasite wasn't unreasonable. It fed on him, yes, drank his blood, took its nutrients from him—but it was still part of him. If he died, it wouldn't last long either.
Besides, the hand in that "black hole" was riddled with unknowns. He was already on the verge of letting go.
Fine. Then let go, he thought.
Thought and action aligned; his fingers loosened.
Roger released the other man's hand. The pose remained, thumb cocked—but the expected explosion never came.
Regret pricked him. He reached to grab again.
But the hand withdrew.
Panicking, Roger snagged a cuff button between his fingers and clenched it in his fist.
The hand vanished, and the hole with it.
Roger held the button until the presence was gone, then opened his palm and studied the neat little disk.
Exquisite—fine patterns etched across its face.
He'd never seen such workmanship inside the Walls. So the owner had to be from outside—or from somewhere else entirely.
The parasite spoke again.
[Put the button in your other hand.]
"What?"
[Change hands.]
[Anything this one touches becomes a bomb.]
[I will sever your wrist to block further harm.]
[…Got it.]
"Understood."
Without another thought, Roger tucked the button into a pocket.
"Do it," he said.
[…All right.]
The dark red tracery swarmed anew, circling his wrist and cutting.
Blood welled in moments.
Roger watched his wrist as if it weren't his own.
The parasite felt a flicker of respect.
It could regrow a hand quickly after severing, but to stare at the cut without flinching—Roger's cold resolve was something it couldn't imitate.
Too ruthless, it thought.
Did he even feel pain?
The cut went smoothly. White bone flashed, then parted.
Snap.
The hand dropped to the ground.
Titan power took hold. Steam hissed off it; the flesh sublimated and drifted away on the wind.
Meanwhile the parasite stitched the wound with its power.
Steam rolled from the stump; Roger's right hand reformed quickly, whole again.
"That should do it, right?"
Roger asked.
[Mn. Maybe.]
[I know little about him—only that anything he touches can become a bomb.]
"What's his name?" Roger pulled the button back out and examined it in the light. "You can tell me the truth now, can't you?"
[…]
[Kira Yoshikage. His name is Kira Yoshikage.]
[There are many others. He's just one.]
[As for what they want, I don't know. But they killed me—and accidentally let me escape.]
[I'm alive today thanks in no small part to your father.]
"My father?"
[Current alias 'Benson Tybur.' He should be serving as a general under the Tybur family.]
"He saved you?"
[No. He's one of them—but not the same as the rest.]
[Like you, he's bent on revenge.]
[All his scheming to send you to Paradis Island—he hoped you'd avenge him.]
"He wants me to kill them?"
[No.]
[He wants you to protect this world.]
[To give you the power to do it, he made sure you inherited the Jaw Titan early and started training.]
[I've followed you this long because I've been guarding you from the shadows.]
"Heh. Then…" Roger smiled thinly. "My plan to seize the Founding Titan and wipe out Marley—also his handiwork?"
[No…]
[Once you gain the Founding Titan, you'll know how to use it.]
"Oh, I know how to use it," Roger said, eyes hardening. "You should have told me all of this earlier."
[Knowing now does you no good.]
[They're waiting for you to find the Founder.]
[You can guess the rest.]
[Once you have it, they'll kill you—the way they killed me.]
[In your world, Titan power is weaker than the 'Demon' power in mine.]
[If you can't defeat them, not only will you die—the fate of your world is erasure.]
"Then what are my odds?" Roger asked.
The parasite hesitated, then sighed.
[One percent. Or… zero.]
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