What is happening…?
And for what purpose is all this happening…?
Why Émie, specifically…?
I just wanted to talk to her…
So many things I never said…
I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…
Mark was kneeling,
blood seeping slowly from his chest… drop… by… drop…
and his eyes fixed on the void.
But…
something changed.
Joseph — who moments ago had been a walking catastrophe —
took a step back.
Then another.
His severed hand did not regenerate.
Beads of sweat slid down his forehead.
"W-who… are you?"
The question was not asked with confidence.
It came out broken.
Inside him, for the first time… fear began to stir.
If that blow had hit my head…
I'd be finished.
He is capable of killing me.
With just one more strike.
He was talking to himself,
as if his inner voice was trying to save what remained of his pride.
As for that person…
He did not move.
He did not speak.
He showed no intent.
He just… looked at him.
A cold gaze, devoid of any emotion.
Joseph's breathing grew erratic.
Could he be one of the Guards…?
No… the Guards were the ones who gave us orders.
But… his power…
he is at their level… or higher.
Silence.
A long, heavy moment.
Then Joseph slammed his fist on the ground.
Dust exploded in all directions.
A perfect cover for escape.
This is my chance.
He dashed.
One step—
Then…
he fell.
He did not understand.
He looked down.
His feet… were gone.
His scream tore through the air.
"When…? When did this happen?! Who are you?!"
But something else terrified him more.
His feet… had regenerated.
But his first hand…
had not.
Why…?
Why did these regenerate… and not that one?
The system he had always trusted…
collapsed.
---
(The battle begins)
He did not see him move.
Only…
he found himself hurled into the air.
A punch.
The sound heavier than thunder.
His skull cracked.
The world trembled.
Regeneration.
Then another strike.
Then another.
Every part of his body that shattered
repaired itself…
then shattered again.
Five minutes.
Five minutes only…
but it felt like an eternity.
When he slammed into the mountain,
nothing of his form remained intact.
His body regenerated…
but slower.
Slower than before.
The man approached him.
Grabbed his head.
Returned him to where Mark was… barely alive.
Threw him to the ground.
Then—
he began tearing his arm off.
Slowly.
Brutally.
With a terrifying calm.
And here…
Joseph broke.
"Please… just kill me… you can… can't you?"
The voice that had laughed amidst the blood
trembled now like a child.
The man finally replied.
His voice was not loud.
But heavier than mountains.
"Kill you? That easily?
Didn't you say the weak exist for the amusement of the strong?
Now… serve me."
Joseph's face changed color.
"Please… please… please…"
"No."
"I'm sorry… sorry…"
But he did not stop.
Punch.
Another.
Another.
Joseph's body cracked… and regenerated… and cracked again.
But his voice…
was no longer that of the man who had declared himself ruler of the world.
It was broken.
"I'm sorry… sorry… sorry… sorry… sorry…"
His apologies were not directed at anyone in particular.
They came out of his mouth without dignity, without meaning.
The man did not stop.
Punch.
Then another.
Then another.
Every strike landed with calculated weight,
as if targeting not the body… but something deeper.
"From the beginning…"
Joseph said between gasps,
"I knew my weakness… so… I enjoyed crushing those weaker than me…
watching their suffering…"
He coughed up blood.
"Why…? Why…? Why?!"
He screamed it not in protest…
but in terror.
The fist paused for a moment.
One single moment.
Then the man spoke, his voice cold as ice:
"You want to know? I'll tell you."
Then the fist fell on his face again.
"I could have killed you from the start.
But it would have been an easy death.
Without suffering."
Another punch.
"And I know the only way to kill you…
is by cutting off your head."
He paused.
Bent slightly.
"Or so you think."
"Your body regenerates continuously…
but regeneration does not negate pain."
A strike to his chest.
Shattered.
Regenerated.
"Every injury… comes with pain.
The more the damage… the greater the pain…
and the faster the regeneration."
A strike to his shoulder.
Then his jaw.
Then his ribs, all at once.
A scream erupted from his depths.
"But… when you take damage in multiple places at the same time…
the pain doubles.
And regeneration slows.
And the more concentrated… and intense the damage…
the more the pain grows."
His fist pierced his stomach.
Then another shattered his bones.
"Your body is resilient… yes.
But your nerves… have no limits in transmitting signals.
Unlike humans."
Joseph trembled.
Regenerated.
Collapsed.
Regenerated.
Collapsed faster.
"In the end… your immortal body
will not withstand the pain."
He paused for a moment.
Then whispered:
"You will begin to beg."
The words fell… and Joseph indeed begged.
"Then… your brain will stop functioning."
One final strike.
Deeper.
Harder.
"And regeneration will cease."
Silence.
No more screams.
No more regeneration.
Nothing remained.
The man released his grip.
Joseph's body dangled like a torn puppet.
He looked at him briefly.
"Isn't this a fitting death for your kind?"
No reply came.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Ah… seems you died while I was speaking."
He straightened slowly.
The air was thick with the scent of blood.
The forest silent.
Mark…
still on his knees.
Bleeding.
Watching.
Witnessing the fall of a false ruler.