Laine still sat on the ground, staring at his arm as though it no longer belonged to him.
The mask had changed. No longer a mere object, no longer just something he had touched—it had fused into his flesh, carved itself into his very existence. His skin had turned pitch-black around it, veins glowing faintly with red fire. At the center, a single crimson eye pulsed, steady and unyielding, like a living heart. Each throb vibrated through his bones, matching the rhythm of his ragged breath.
He lifted a trembling hand, brushing the edge of the blackened steel. It was cold, yet alive, twitching faintly as if eager for something. Then a whisper crawled into his mind, icy and irresistible.
"Feed… more… souls…"
Laine froze, his chest tightening. Goosebumps erupted across his blackened skin. Hunger no longer screamed inside his stomach; instead, he felt anticipation, a twisted craving that wasn't human. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel desperate for bread or scraps. He was desperate for something far darker.
Then came the footsteps.
THUD… THUD… THUD.
Each step was heavy enough to make the earth tremble. The sound reverberated through the alley, drowning out his heartbeat. The shadows at the far end stirred, and from them emerged a figure so massive that even the thugs gasped.
The man towered over Laine, built like a mountain of scarred flesh. Old wounds crisscrossed his body, evidence of battles survived and wars endured. On his shoulder rested a colossal sword, its jagged edge glowing faintly red, as if soaked in the essence of blood itself. The air grew heavy around it, bending under the weapon's sheer presence.
The surviving thugs lit up with joy.
"Boss is here!" one shouted.
"Now this beggar's finished!" another cackled.
The giant smirked, his voice a booming growl.
"A starving rat… wearing a cursed mask? Pathetic. I'll split you apart until even your soul howls in pain."
He roared, lifting the Berserker Sword high, and swung it down with earth-shattering force. The blade ripped into the ground, spraying shards of stone and dirt in every direction.
Laine staggered to his feet, body trembling, chest heaving. He wanted to run, yet something deeper held him firm. The crimson eye on his arm flared suddenly—hot, alive, unrelenting.
WHOOSH!
Black smoke erupted from the mask, writhing violently before condensing into chains of shadow. They hissed like serpents, lashing against the air with a hunger of their own.
CLANG!
One chain lashed out, wrapping tightly around the Berserker Sword mid-strike. The collision rang out like thunder. The massive blade shuddered, cracks of red light racing along its surface as though it sensed it had met something even more savage.
"What—?!" the boss roared, muscles straining. He pulled, veins bulging, but more chains erupted. They snaked around his chest, arms, legs, even his throat, pinning him like prey caught in a spider's web.
Then one chain lunged forward—straight into his chest.
"AAARGHHH!"
The giant convulsed violently. From his body tore something white, glowing, and ethereal—his soul. It writhed like a screaming phantom, clawing desperately at the air. Laine's eyes widened as it was dragged into the crimson eye of the mask.
For a moment, visions exploded in his mind: rivers of blood, armies clashing, countless screams rising into a storm. Then the vision ended with silence, the soul consumed, devoured utterly.
The boss's massive body collapsed with a lifeless thud. The Berserker Sword clattered beside him, its crimson aura extinguished. Nothing remained but dead steel.
The thugs froze. Their rotten grins twisted into pale masks of horror. They staggered back, stammering.
"H-he killed the boss…"
"That mask—it… it eats souls…"
Laine's head tilted upward. His lips curved into a faint, broken smile. His voice came out low, trembling—but filled with something new.
"…You laughed at me."
SHRRAAK!
The chains burst outward like a storm. One thug screamed as a black spike tore through his chest. Another was lifted into the air, strangled by chains coiled around his throat until his body went limp. Their souls were ripped out, screaming silently as they were dragged into the crimson eye.
Blood sprayed across the alley walls, dark stains mixing with the shadows. Screams turned into gurgles, then silence.
When it was over, the alley was nothing but a graveyard. Bodies lay broken, twisted in unnatural shapes, faces locked forever in expressions of terror.
Laine stood at the center of it all. His chest rose and fell in harsh, ragged gasps. Black veins now spread across his torso, glowing faintly like molten cracks in the skin of a demon. The whispers inside his head grew louder—laughter, screams, commands—all woven together into a chilling chorus.
"Feed… rise… dominate…"
His lips trembled. A laugh broke free, hoarse and uneven, yet filled with a savage joy.
"All my life… I begged for crumbs. I was less than nothing. And now… they look at me with fear."
The crimson eye pulsed once, slow and deliberate.
And Laine understood.
He was no longer prey.
He was the predator.