Exit from Salem

  Zeke led the last group of survivors through the ruined streets of Salem. Haunted children, elderly leaning on makeshift crutches, the wounded wrapped in filthy bandages—all marched on, exhausted but determined. When the energy of Y?g? erupted, Zeke shuddered:

  “‘He… is alive. Stronger than ever.’”

  The blood at his feet formed greenish pools—the echo of power flowing in the distance. Without hesitation, he raised his hand and called out:

  “‘Onward! This man is our hero. May his strength guide us!’”

  And the displaced quickened their pace, confident in the invisible protection pulsing through the air.

  Silent Refuge

  Atop a nearby hill, Gotier kept watch. Beside him, Kaien rested with Akari on his shoulders—the young woman still slept, too exhausted to wake. The wind carried sparks of ash, but Gotier smiled as he felt the same current of energy Zeke had detected:

  “‘He prevailed… and survived.’”

  Kaien bowed his head, exhaling a soft rumble like a grave relief after the storm. Akari murmured in her sleep and settled back, while Gotier closed his eyes in silent gratitude.

  Distant City

  In a faraway metropolis, Paige and her mother sat down to a simple meal of bread and broth. Suddenly, the air seemed to vibrate. Paige looked up, feeling a familiar warmth in her chest—the mark of Yuzuki still resonating in her soul.

  “‘He… once saved me. Now, he’s saving the world.’”

  Paige grasped her mother’s hand and closed her eyes. A whispered prayer escaped her lips. Those who had witnessed Salem’s cruelty recognized in that moment a new guardian rising on the horizon.

  Iron & Ash Bar, Sazhen Gate

  Taida, the Kugutsu traitor, raised his mug:

  “‘Welcome… to the stolen home. To the redeemed soul. And to the power reborn!’”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  His friends toasted, uncertain why, but Taida—smiling predatory—sensed:

  Someone from Kugutsu is in Pangea.

  And as the entire continent bowed before the power of Y?g?, a new era of blood and redemption began to dawn.

  The air lay heavy. Dark clouds, soot, and ashes drifted downward in a mournful rain. Salem had become dust—its streets a graveyard of shattered homes and charred bodies. Nothing remained but emptiness.

  Yuzuki stood amid the rubble, dust, and death, gazing with calm relief at the crater where his greatest enemy had plunged. His emerald eyes gleamed as he stared into the horizon.

  “‘I am afraid…’” he whispered, voice trembling, hands and teeth quivering.

  Within the silence of his mind, Amok listened. Hidden in Yuzuki’s thoughts, he studied the young warrior. Yuzuki needed a friend—someone to counsel him—yet Amok claimed he was not that person.

  Then Amok’s voice drifted softly through his mind, “‘Yuzuki, what is it that frightens you so?’”

  Yuzuki’s reply was a choked confession: “‘Of being myself…’” He strained his head upward toward the ashen sky, body wracked by sobs.

  Rain fell—slow, heavy, mingled with ash and dust. Blood began to seep through the debris at his feet.

  “‘You knew what might happen in Salem.’” Amok’s tone was direct.

  “‘Exactly!’” Yuzuki’s voice snapped with anger. “‘I knew—and that is the problem.’”

  He looked down and saw them: the bodies of the blacksmith and Isabella, side by side in death.

  Yuzuki dropped to his knees, head bowed in guilt and grief. “‘I’m sorry!’” he cried. “‘You died because of us. Kugutsu’s island is a plague—its culture a curse!’”

  Rising slowly, he gathered their bodies and carried them to the city’s main square, miraculously intact despite the surrounding wreckage. With trembling hands, he cleared away broken stone and fallen beams until he stood before the ruined fountain.

  Once a symbol of beauty—an angel atop it pouring life-giving water—it now gushed blood, mixed with ash, stone, and fragments of flesh.

  In silence, Yuzuki dug a grave with his single remaining hand. As he worked, a cruel laughter thundered in his mind:

  “HSAHHAASHAAAHAHSAHAHAHAHAH!!!

  WHAT A GLORIOUS MOMENT—I’M HAVING AN ORGASM. IT’S TIME, OUR GREAT VILLAIN YUZUKI: EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH DIES. YOUR BROTHER WOULD BE PROUD OF YOU.”

  It was Mao’s voice—sarcastic, merciless—relishing Yuzuki’s torment.

  Yuzuki’s hand shook. He clenched his fist, inhaled deeply, and tried to count to ten:

  “1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6…”

  “‘That’s right, keep counting. Is this how you coped when your little brother lost his head? Let’s count together, Kanji.’”

  “1… 2… 3… 4…” Mao counted alongside him, each number driving Yuzuki deeper into frustration and rage. Memories flooded him—his brother taken to the King of Kugutsu, his parents’ smiles as Yuzuki remained imprisoned.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

  " STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!”

  His scream of despair, loneliness, and madness rang out so fiercely that Zeke, across the ruined city, heard it. Those he had saved looked up, panic in their eyes, seeking confirmation of the tragedy.

  In Yuzuki’s mind, Mao laughed—a wild, pleasure-filled cackle:

  “HAAAAAHAHAAAAHAAAAAAAAA

  HHHHHAHAAHAHHAAHHAH”

  And so the chapter ends: Yuzuki collapsed in the shallow grave of Isabella and her father, yielding to madness—laughing, weeping, tearing at his hair. A dark energy swirled around him. It was Mao, haunting Yuzuki’s fractured mind.

  We must ask ourselves: why?