The Berserker Sword lay on the ground beside Laine, its blade still stained red with memories of blood. The weapon was silent, yet a faint hum seemed to rise from it, like a heartbeat, as if it were alive and hungering for more. Laine rested his hand lightly on its hilt, feeling a strange chill creep through him—as if the sword could sense the darkness buried deep within him.
He walked slowly toward an old, abandoned park. Broken benches, cracked footpaths, and withered trees and shrubs stretched in every direction. Everything was ruined, a silent testament to time and neglect. Yet, amid the decay, a small patch of green grass had stubbornly grown, pushing through the ruins as if life itself refused to give up. Laine's gaze lingered on it, a fleeting moment of fragile hope in the midst of desolation.
He sank onto a broken bench and placed the sword beside him. For the first time in what felt like ages, he experienced a strange, uneasy peace. No screams, no curses, no clanging chains—only the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle whisper of the wind.
Then he looked at his hand. The mask had fused completely with his flesh, its edges almost alive. Slowly, instinctively, as if guided by some hidden, primal urge, he lifted it to his face.
Click.
The mask melded perfectly with his skin, and a crimson eye flickered open, piercing through the shadow that had taken hold of him.
"I am no longer human… I have become a monster."
Whispers spun endlessly in his mind—screams, laughter, bloodlust. Every sound stirred the darkness that had grown inside him, a power that would never allow him to return to the man he once was.
Then—
A small shadow appeared in the corner of his vision.
Through the mask, Laine saw her. A tiny girl, perhaps six years old, wearing a tattered dress, standing barefoot in the overgrown grass. Her face was calm, almost radiant, with a simple, innocent smile. In her hand, she held a small flower she had just plucked from the green patch.
"For you, brother," she said, smiling. "You… look lonely."
Laine froze. He had always known hatred, fear, and curses from people. He had known pain, cruelty, and death. But a flower? He had never known anything like this. The small, fragile bloom felt heavier than any sword, more potent than any darkness, because it carried something he had long forgotten: innocence.
Chains inside the mask shivered, writhing as if they wanted to pull her soul through, and a dark whisper coiled in his mind—
"Even flowers will wither… kill her too."
His hands trembled, the pull of the darkness fierce. Yet, he forced himself to stop. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and took the flower. It was tiny, almost insignificant in appearance, yet the moment he held it, its weight pressed upon him as if it carried the weight of the world. And, for the first time, a strange warmth stirred in his chest—a heartbeat where the human and the monster coexisted.
The girl smiled, laughed, and ran off through the patch of green. Laine was left alone—his hand clutching the small flower, the Berserker Sword lying at his side, the demonic mask fused to his face.
A flower… a symbol of innocence.
A sword… a mark of carnage.
And a mask… a curse that would never release him.
Laine lowered his gaze, feeling an unfamiliar ache deep inside. Yet, even through the darkness, a faint, broken smile formed on his lips. Perhaps… not everything was lost. Perhaps, somewhere in this ruined world, life's quiet heartbeat could still be heard. And even within the monster, a spark of humanity remained, fragile but unyielding.