Kafka ran.
In a world that was about to meet its demise, Kafka ran. Even as the ground trembled and cracks spread across the streets, he continued running without looking back.
Even when buildings collapsed around him, Kafka ran.
Chunks of stone and debris crashed onto the roads. Clouds of dust filled the air, reducing visibility and making every step uncertain, yet he continued forward.
Even when people around him screamed in panic, Kafka ran.
The cries of strangers echoed from every direction. Parents called out for their children. Children cried for their parents. Some begged for help, others screamed in terror at the sight of the Black Dragon.
Kafka gritted his teeth.
Most of the time, people were all just talk.
It was easy to speak of hatred. It was easy to speak of revenge. It was easy to claim that the world deserved to burn when one was removed from the consequences.
Reality was different.
