The park was quiet. The moonlight fell on the broken swings, on the cracked pathway, and on Laine sitting alone on the bench.
In his hand, the small flower rested gently. A gift from that little girl.
Laine stared at it for a long time. His lips moved softly, almost like he was afraid of his own voice.
"…Not alone. Maybe… not anymore."
The mask's crimson eye glowed faintly. A low whisper crawled in his head.
"You're lying to yourself. You are always alone."
Laine squeezed the flower tighter.
"…Shut up."
Before silence could return, footsteps echoed from behind. Heavy, fast, angry.
"There he is!"
"Finally caught the freak!"
"Kill him before he grows stronger!"
A group of thugs—maybe ten, maybe more—emerged from the shadows. Each one had a weapon in hand. Rusted knives, broken pipes, even chains.
Laine stood up slowly, picking the Berserker Sword that leaned against the bench. The blade hummed faintly, as if sensing blood nearby.
One of the thugs spat.
"You killed our brothers, rat. Tonight, we send you back to the gutter."
Laine's voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"…I'll say this once. Leave now."
They laughed.
"Leave? Or what? You think a piece of scrap metal makes you scary?"
"Take him down!"
They rushed forward together.
The mask's eye flared. Chains of black steel shot out from Laine's arm, striking the ground, coiling like serpents. One thug screamed as the chains wrapped around his neck, yanking him off his feet. Another's arm snapped as he tried to block the Berserker Sword.
"Wh-what the hell is this?! He's not human!"
Laine's eyes narrowed.
"I warned you."
"Don't stop," the mask whispered inside him.
"Their fear… their pain… feed me more!"
Laine's teeth clenched.
"…No. I decide."
But his body moved anyway. His sword slashed, his chains tightened, and the screams grew louder. Blood stained the ground, step by step, cry by cry, until nothing but silence remained.
One last thug crawled away, dragging his broken leg.
"Monster… you're a monster…" he whispered before collapsing.
Laine stood in the middle of the bodies. His chest rose and fell, his breath shaking. The Berserker Sword dripped with red. The chains slid back into the mask, disappearing like shadows into his flesh.
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then slowly, carefully, he opened his palm.
The small flower was still there. Not a single petal crushed.
Laine's lips trembled into a faint, broken smile.
"…If even one person smiled at me… maybe I'm not only a monster."
The mask pulsed again, the voice like a growl.
"You belong to me. You'll always belong to me."
Laine whispered back, his tone sharp, almost like a promise.
"…Then watch me fight you."
He turned away from the blood, holding the sword in one hand and the flower in the other, walking deeper into the night.
The moon followed him, silent and cold.