At a safe distance, Zeke hovered among the rubble. The ground, stained with ash and dust, groaned beneath his boots. He raised his hand, focusing on the Presence Sense Skill—a beacon within ripping through the ash-filled mist. Auras appeared, but what it revealed was impossible to ignore.

  Men and women ran in every direction, limbs missing or charred, dragging themselves to the brink of despair. In that sea of desecrated bodies, something caught Zeke’s eye: a father, a mother, and their daughter—clinging to one another even in death. Their blackened corpses gleamed like living coal. The father’s face was frozen in a silent scream, eyes popped with terror; the mother and daughter’s arms were entwined in a fury of eternal love.

  A knot formed in Zeke’s throat. The ice in his chest melted—replaced by rage.

  “I will save as many as I can. I promise, Yuzuki!” His voice cut through the air like a blade, echoing through the ruined alleys.

  And he went to work. First a dozen, then dozens more, until a trail of the helpless followed him like shadows. In every collapsed room, in every smoke-choked alley, Zeke banished fear, extended his hand, and dragged a life back into the light.

  Suddenly, the ground groaned as if alive. Stones leapt into the air, cracks opened among the debris, and toppled pillars shuddered as though made of clay. A dense, suffocating energy descended like thick fog over the city. The ashes that cloaked the sky began to tear apart like an ancient veil, and the rain, once trapped in the black clouds, finally fell.

  A rift of power ripped open Salem’s sky. The ashes that had held back the rain at last gave way—cold droplets pierced the veil, stealthy, drenching the parched earth. And as if lifting a shroud, a dark-green energy burst forth among the streets and houses.

  At that very moment, the golden light of the Tree joined the setting sun, bathing the city in an untamable glow. The weariness on every face turned to wonder. A new eclipse beckoned on the horizon: the Golden Tree bloomed more vibrantly than ever—each petal a ray of promise.

  An old man, standing atop a pile of rubble, raised his arms to the sky:

  “AAAH! She smiles… she dances for us!”

  Zeke’s heart trembled. A slow smile spread across his lips:

  “Yuzuki, show them why Kugutsu Island is feared.”

  And then the city awoke.

  And in the fury of that rebirth, Yuzuki found his own redemption—a fire impossible to quell, even in the face of madness.

  The energy roared like a starving beast—a call for destruction. The dragon’s spine trembled and pulsed, alive, like a vein about to burst. Kerchack’s eyes widened like a poisoned flower before the light. An emerald-green glow burned in the distance, reflected on Yuzuki’s body.

  “O great King Lepra… O great Leper… I serve you… and only you…”

  The chant issued from the dragon’s throat like a profane melody. It echoed among the city’s ruins, as if each shattered wall answered with a note of agony.

  Yuzuki laughed. His smile was an abyss. At his side, Amok appeared—a corrupted mirror image. His lips quivered, spitting saliva, teeth vibrating like the strings of a war instrument. The resemblance between him and Yuzuki was disturbing.

  “It was about time…” Amok said firmly. “Use the new blade. The energy transfer will be stronger.”

  Yuzuki drew his sword. The hilt bore the symbol of a dragon biting its own tail. Kerchack, in the distance, cracked his throat dryly. For the first time, he said nothing.

  “Amok!! Ventriloquist Slash!!!” Yuzuki shouted.

  The blade spun in a frenzied arc, so fast its image multiplied. Spectral cuts tore through the air, like the voices of hungry ghosts. Kerchack’s eyes went wide in disbelief. His wings beat in a desperate instinct, forming a golden wall before him. But it was not enough.

  Amok descended. He moved as if dancing with the wind. The air bent in reverence to his presence.

  “Symphony of Death…” he whispered.

  And the blade sang—a macabre melody, full of dissonance. Kerchack’s vision flickered—the world around him contorted, as if reality itself trembled with the sound.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  It was in that split second, that sensory gap, that Yuzuki advanced.

  His cuts were not mere blows—they were executions. Fragments of the dragon’s golden hide flew like dead scales. Beauty turned grotesque. The eyes were pierced, the mouth torn, the chest laid open in raw flesh.

  “You bastard!!!”

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHH!”

  The roar was sharp, full of despair. The dragon collapsed to one side. Its blood spattered, staining the charred city ground. Yuzuki, theatrical, stared down at the fallen creature.

  “Your skin is golden… but your blood is red like mine.”

  Amok plummeted in free fall, a whirlwind of madness. A green aura—alive like new leaves sprouting on dead soil—merged with the wind. His blade cut through the air and ripped one of the dragon’s wings with brutal precision.

  Kerchack raised his neck in a primal bellow. From his throat, a dense energy began to pool, bubbling like lava.

  Then he spat.

  A blast of golden fire—a tempest—surged forward like divine wrath. The explosion engulfed an entire kilometer—streets, houses, corpses—all lost in a blazing flash that thundered toward Yuzuki and Amok.

  The golden fire exploded from Kerchack’s chest, sweeping everything before it like liquid thunder. Amok and Yuzuki leapt in opposite directions, but there was no full escape. The houses behind them simply evaporated, disintegrating in an instant. The ground shook. The sky darkened, even though it was daytime. It was as if the world recognized: a god was screaming.

  Yuzuki fell to his knees, rolling through living embers. Amok still danced, spinning with his blade in a zigzag to evade the flame—but the blast hurled him into a stone tower, cracking its structure.

  Kerchack roared again. His scales gleamed, realigning like golden tectonic plates. Then his throat began to pulse once more.

  “Technique: Draconic Resonance.”

  The sound was more than a roar—it was a shockwave. Glass shattered miles away. Yuzuki’s ears bled. The ground cracked in fissures as long as tree roots. People trying to flee the city collapsed, screaming. It was Salem itself breaking apart under the strain of sound.

  Amok ground his teeth, a nervous laugh escaping.

  “He’s playing our symphony… but with the wrong notes.”

  Kerchack advanced. The dragon looked like a falling golden star. His tail rose with absurd force.

  “Technique: Celestial Hammer.”

  Amok shouted:

  “YUZUKI, NOW!”

  Too late.

  Yuzuki tried to block with his blade. The impact struck his left forearm directly. A dry crack. Flesh flew. Blood spurted.

  His arm flew away, spinning through the sky like a crimson leaf.

  Yuzuki fell to his knees, eyes wide in disbelief. Blood pulsed from the stump. His body trembled. The pain… was more than physical. It was humiliation.

  Kerchack laughed.

  “LEPER KING, LOOK AT THIS… HE BLEEDS LIKE A PUPPY!”

  Amok appeared beside Yuzuki, hands shaking with rage.

  “Stand up. NOW.”

  Yuzuki spat blood. He lifted his face. His eyes shone with hatred and… madness.

  “Time for the show…” he murmured. “Time to use… our technique.”

  Amok smiled.

  “Chaotic Puppet.”

  The two spread their arms.

  Black and gold threads exploded from ground and sky, spiraling like serpents. They emerged from Amok’s fingers and Yuzuki’s bloodied shoulder. The strands wrapped around Kerchack—neck, legs, wings, jaw.

  The dragon quivered.

  “What is… this?”

  The threads glowed in a runic pattern, as if the very sky were stitching into his flesh.

  Amok and Yuzuki shouted together:

  “You were always just a piece, Kerchack…”

  “…now you’re only a puppet.”

  Kerchack bellowed, but his movements froze.

  For the first time… he felt fear.

  The streets of Salem fell silent. The sky, once rent by ash and fire, now swirled in grotesque vortices. The energy strands of the Chaotic Puppet stretched into the heavens like veins pulsating with hatred. Each thread bit into Kerchack’s flesh with audible cracks, cutting through muscle, scale, and pride.

  Kerchack roared—a dissonant sound, a collision of storm and the wail of a thousand souls. The ground trembled. Buildings collapsed. Stained glass shattered as if the city itself felt the monster’s pain.

  “YOU… HURT… ME?!”

  Green and gold veins glowed intensely around his body, pulling him as if gravity itself had warped. His limbs moved against his will—each clumsy step, each beat of his wings was not his own… but Yuzuki’s and Amok’s.

  “You are… OUR PUPPET!” Yuzuki shouted, spitting blood, his missing arm dripping red onto the stones.

  Amok laughed in ecstasy. “Let’s dance, golden worm.”

  And they danced.

  The Chaotic Puppet made Kerchack move like a drunken giant, forcing him to punch his own body, beat his wings against the ground—and for a moment… for a moment, the world believed a dragon could truly bleed.

  Impact.

  The earth split beneath the monster’s paws. Three city blocks vanished into a flaming chasm. Nearby houses melted like wax. The concentrated energy of Yuzuki and Amok burst from the technique’s core, creating a ring of light and smoke. People miles away fell to their knees.

  Kerchack collapsed. His body crushed the last standing cathedral, his wings spread like torn sheets.

  Silence.

  Yuzuki fell to his knees, gasping, the stump of his arm throbbing, eyes fixed on the dragon’s form. Amok landed beside him, bare feet burning on the scorching ground.

  But then…

  “…Beautiful.”

  The voice was hoarse, deep… alive.

  The Chaotic Puppet’s strands began to snap… one by one… as if ropes were being severed from within.

  KERCHACK STOOD.

  But… he was no longer the same.

  His scales were blackened in places, cracked like burnt porcelain. His eyes, once golden and wise, were now two points of shining darkness. Blood trickled from his mouth. A great deal of blood.

  “You broke something inside me… and now, I will break something inside you.”

  His claws dug in with force. The entire city felt the weight. A new thunderclap rolled through the air.

  “DRAGON OF A THOUSAND CORPSES—THE NECROPOLIS OF LEPRA!”

  From the ground, bones sprouted. Limbs. Heads. Twisted, desiccated bodies emerging from earth, sewers, and graves. It was as if hell itself had been summoned to fight by his side.

  Kerchack roared—the sound of death.

  Yuzuki and Amok exchanged glances. For the first time, no smiles.

  “Now the real battle begins…” Amok whispered.