The air vibrated with razor-sharp threads of energy. Yuzuki’s chest heaved, but his left arm… was no longer there. Only the sound of hot, heavy blood flowing, leaving a living trail through the dead city’s rubble.
Amok landed beside him with violence, his body still trembling with rage. He said nothing—only knelt, placed his hand on Yuzuki’s exposed wound—and the Bar?? energy manifested in a green flash. The bleeding stopped, the muscle sealed… but the limb would never return.
The emptiness in Yuzuki’s eyes met the overcast sky. For a second, he wavered, staggering like a loose leaf in the gale of his own weakness.
That was all it took.
From the shadows within his chest, Mao’s chains emerged—black, liquid, suffocating—and snapped around his throat with a dry crack.
“So weak… so pathetic… WANT TO DIE LIKE A DOG WITHOUT AN ARM, YUZUKI?”
The guttural voice of Mao roared, slicing Yuzuki’s mind like a blade.
Yuzuki’s eyes bulged, his breath forced away. Amok realized too late. Kerchack, seizing the open guard, unfurled his wings and lunged with absurd speed like a ravenous golden bolt.
“RIP!”
Kerchack’s claw pierced Yuzuki’s chest from shoulder to rib. Blood gushed like a living fountain, painting the ground with its essence. A dry rip of tearing flesh echoed through the city.
“YUZUKI!!!” Amok screamed, desperation choking his manic grin.
Yuzuki’s body was flung against the ground, forming a crater at the ruined city’s center. Dust and blood rose like an altar to suffering.
Kerchack hovered above, drooling, eyes wide in ecstasy. The shadow of his majesty scorched everything around.
“YOU ARE BUT INSECTS!” the dragon bellowed. “THE ERA OF HUMANS ENDS HERE!”
Behind him, the corpses summoned by the Necropolis of Lepra ritual advanced like burning puppets, dripping rot and mystical energy. Amok positioned himself in front, spinning his sword in fury—but he stood alone. And even he… gasped for breath.
Then everything stopped.
Amid the blood, dust, and pain… Yuzuki opened his eyes.
He saw Paige’s face.
The small embrace.
The tenderness of her fingers clutching his cloak.
That warmth which, for a moment, drove Mao away.
Then came the memory of Isabella—the strong arm that believed in him.
And of Zyon, who fought for him until he fell.
And of his brother, lost in Kugutsu’s flames.
The pain became an ocean.
And in its midst, Yuzuki sank.
But something… blossomed.
The air shifted.
The energy that welled was not merely spiritual—it was ancestral.
A dry thunder cracked the sky. The continent trembled.
Amok felt it before anyone. His smile returned, but it was… fearful.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“What… are you doing, Yuzuki?” he whispered.
“This bond… it’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt…”
The sky turned dark green.
The light vanished.
Towers in nearby cities collapsed. Animals fled. Waters churned.
Mountains wept.
The wind held its breath.
Everything… stopped.
In Salem, the sky split open.
And on the hidden throne beneath the rot of bones and veils, the King Lepra slowly raised his head.
His lidless eyes glowed.
“So… you have finally blossomed.”
The words fell like a whisper that shattered the heavens.
Back in the city, Yuzuki planted his feet firmly. His skin burned. His aura pulsed in distorted spirals of living, spiritual energy.
He opened his mouth, his eyes shining with a murky light, as if the universe gazed through him.
“‘Y?G?!!!’”
The word roared like thunder.
Amok smiled. For the first time—not as a madman…
But as one witnessing a miracle.
The earth trembled.
Not as in ancient tales, where gods walked valleys and men prayed.
It trembled as if something impure, forgotten even by the gods, had awakened.
Yuzuki was no longer just Yuzuki.
His skin held a livid hue, muscles dancing with unstable energy. His black hair flowed to his shoulders like living shadow, and a silver band hid his eyes—now green and incandescent, like coals concealed by snow.
Draped over his shoulders was a mantle of black feathers, vibrating with chaos’s power. His hood, beak-shaped like a crow’s, gave him the visage of an ancient hunter—an entity come to pass judgment.
His sword, now alive, glowed a dark green that devoured light. It was as if the blade itself were dying… and smiling for it.
“‘Amok…’” he whispered, his voice blending two tones.
“‘…now we are one.’”
Amok—or rather, the part of Amok fused within—smiled in Yuzuki’s mind:
“‘Let’s give him what he deserves, partner…’”
Kerchack backed a step.
For the first time.
The golden king hesitated.
The scent in the air had changed. It wasn’t just blood or power.
It was the stench of certain death.
“‘What are you…?’” growled the dragon, raising the claw that had slain kings.
Yuzuki lifted his hand.
Black and green energy danced around his fingers like strings—puppet cords stitched into the air.
“‘I am the Final Thread. The one that pulls… until all falls.’”
Then he moved his fingers.
And the world bent.
Technique: Act I — Dance of the Corpses
Ropes of energy erupted from the ground, ensnaring corpses, shattered buildings, armor, even the bones of forgotten victims.
Everything moved.
Everything danced.
The summoned puppets attacked Kerchack from every angle—flying, exploding, clutching.
Kerchack roared and unleashed golden fire.
But nothing could stop the animated bodies.
Yuzuki was now master marionettist.
Technique: Act II — Ropes of Redemption
The cords wrapped around Yuzuki’s own body, as if he were a divine puppet. His movements became erratic, unpredictable.
He vanished and reappeared, striking with the sword as if time itself were twisted.
A cut across the throat.
Another at the base of the tail.
Another between the scales around the eye.
Kerchack bled.
The dragon tried to speak but only coughed fire and despair.
“‘THIS CAN’T BE!’”
“‘YOU ARE HUMAN!’”
“‘Not anymore.’” Yuzuki whispered, then with a single curved slash, severed the beast’s tongue.
Kerchack screamed like a dying pig.
Technique: Act III — Smile of the Broken Doll
Yuzuki halted.
He raised his hand.
And the cords lashed to Kerchack’s very body:
Eyes. Jaw. Wing tips. Claws. Eyelids.
Each part was pulled in opposite directions, slowly—
as if forcing the dragon to smile.
Kerchack drooled and howled.
Then Mao’s voice burst like a mental explosion.
“‘ENOUGH, DAMN YOU! YOU SHOULD NOT BE ABLE TO DO THIS! I AM YOUR ORIGIN! YOUR VOID! YOUR ROOT!’”
“‘You are only my shadow…’” Yuzuki replied. “‘…and now, I walk ahead.’”
Mao roared, powerless to stop him.
Yuzuki climbed to Kerchack’s head, walking the cords as if treading the threads of fate.
He drove his sword into the dragon’s skull, letting it vibrate, while Y?g?’s cords wrapped around the beast’s heart.
“‘Time to sleep, golden king.
Your glory ends today… like a broken toy.’”
Yuzuki pulled one last strand.
And Kerchack’s heart exploded.
The entire body shuddered, wings collapsed, eyes turned to dust.
The Dragon plummeted like a dead star.
The crash cracked miles of earth, leaving a crater remembered for ages.
Silence.
Yuzuki stood above the smoke.
The ruined city behind him—
Corpses. Ashes.
And the hot blood of a legend pooling at his feet.
Across the continent, King Lepra squeezed his bone throne so hard the rotten arm fell away.
“‘That boy… will burn the whole world.’”
