Walking the streets at night, a young man carried an air of sinister enthusiasm.
Armed with a knife, a gun, and much more, he stumbled around as if drunk. Dressed up in all black, his scraggly black hair covered by a beanie in the rapidly approaching, almost-winter air, he was utterly frightening to be alone at night with.
Arriving near a liquor store, he found some fellow losers, approaching one.
"Ex-cuse me~!" The youth called out, walking over, swaying with a soft grin on his lips. "Not to be a stereotypical bad guy, buuut… can you run in and get me some alcohol? Pretty please, pleasepleaseplease?"
The youth was not a drinker. Having never tasted alcohol in his life, he had heard of the many splendors of it, and thus wished to give it a shot before his soon-to-be death.
"Huh? Fuck off, kid," the man rudely replied, disdaining the brat. It was understandable—being approached at night by a teenager asking for beer was a great inconvenience.
The boy pouted, turning around and letting out an "Awww… bummer," before leaving.
Recycling stereotype after stereotype, the kind he'd seen in movies, the youth walked in circles, loitering outside.
"It's a shame, it's a shame. Nasty. How sad. Boohoo. Sad. Aww. I want liquor…"
Taking a seat on the curb, the youth looked down at the ground. And, inexplicably, he began to cry, sobbing pathetically as if he'd just gone through his first heartbreak.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so so sorry. It's all my fault. I know it is. I'm an idiot sometimes. Well, more like all the time. Pfft, tee-hee."
The ringing of the liquor store's door opening being made clear to his ears, he got to his feet and watched the man walking over to his car.
"Hey! Sir, sir, sir, can I get one?"
"I said fuck off you stupid—"
Drawing a gun, the youth had cleared the gap in the blink of an eye. The distance covered seeming so incredibly unnatural that it felt as if he'd teleported, the youth pressed the barrel against the man's forehead, staring at him with unfalteringly cold eyes.
"I know this is a trying economy… so, sir, how much was that six-pack you bought?"
"Hk… N-nine dollars."
"I see. I'll only take one. What's 1/6th of nine? Hm… Let's see. The six and the nine are both multiples of three. Then, it's gotta be bigger than one dollar, but less than two… how does a dollar and fifty cents sound for one? Actually, for the trouble, I'll round it up to two."
Reaching in his pocket, the youth pulled out two bucks, handing it over to the man as he took a bottle of beer.
"Cheers. Don't drink and drive—it'll make me sad if you crash and die. Love you. Bye-bye."
Walking away, the young man popped open the cap and took his very first—
"Blegh! Shiet!"
Spitting it out immediately, he stuck his tongue out with an "ealgh," shaking his head. "Seriously, adults drink this? For fun? Throwing bricks out the window of my apartment would be more fun."
Deciding to "man up," he took his second sip, and resisted the urge to spit it out. Swallowing it, he started to sway theatrically.
"Woah, woaaahhh! I'm soooooo drunk! Look at me, I'm a good-for-nothing son who wasted seventeen years of his parent's lives!!"
Laughing maniacally at his own humor, the youth walked over to a chain-link fence, sitting on the ground and resting his back against it.
"Hm. Maybe I'll enjoy wine more. Wine probably tastes good. Or maybe those fruity drinks for women? No, obviously I'll turn gay if I drink those. Though, it's not like any woman would want me anyways. Meh, whatevs. I'll be dead soon anyways."
Leaning the back of his head against the fence, he stared up at the sky. The yellow-orange light from nearby streetposts in the corners of his vision, his focus was on the stars of the sky—he could hardly see any.
"...Stupid light pollution. I hate light pollution. Whatever. I don't care anymore. It doesn't matter, after all… I wish I had a cool wife."
Taking sip after sip, he forced the alcohol down his throat.
"...I… I want a wife."
Sniffling, beginning to cry uncontrollably once more, he let the tears fall down the sides of his face.
"Nina… oh, Nina. I love you. I love you, and I'm too scared to admit it. If we were married, I bet our future would be nice, wouldn't it? I love you so much it hurts. I want you. I love you. I want to be your husband. I want to raise a family. I'd do my best to be a good dad, I promise. I love you."
Proclaiming the words he could never muster the courage to confess to her face, he instead confessed his feelings to the stars. Or rather, the lack thereof.
Looking back down suddenly, he wiped his tears with his forearm, sniffling and sobbing.
"But I can't. Of course not. I'm going to kill myself. Neither you, nor anyone else, can stop that from happening. This time, I'll kill myself. Once I'm done killing every servant, once every single one of them is dead—I'll die."
Sitting in silence, he brought his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly as he drank more and more.
"...Heh. If you saw me like this, you'd spit in my face. Well… no, no you wouldn't. You're a kind girl. You wouldn't do that to anyone. Aghhh, that's why I love you. But… but I understand if you don't love me. I'm pretty worthless to begin with. I think if we did get married, you'd have to be the breadwinner. I think that would be sad, being a burden to you like that… yeah, I'm not fit to be a father anyways."
Resting his cheek on his knee, the youth's tears fell to his knees.
"But this time… even if it makes you sad, even if it makes you cry… this time, I'll do it. It's my only option, really."
Sniffling once more, he decided to try to down the whole bottle. He figured that if he could do that, then the effects would kick in faster, and he'd either blackout or he'd feel happy again.
Chugging it as quickly as he could—blegh.
Almost immediately, after the fourth big gulp, he spewed it out onto the parking lot's asphalt, his nose burning with pain as a result of having flown beer shoot out from it.
"Owww, owww, owwwieee, it hurts… yeowch, eoww… oww…"
The brat plugged his nose, breathing heavily. He rose to his feet, staggering out of the parking lot and walking to a recycling bin, tossing the nearly-empty beer bottle inside.
"Environ… yea."
Walking down the street, swaying side to side, now actually drunk due to being a huge lightweight, he grinned to himself.
It was difficult to move, so he summoned a noose, which wrapped around his waist and carried him.
"...Agh. Hk, eugh… tee-hee-hee~!! La di-da-da-da, la-la-la~~~!"
Humming to himself, he saw a man step out from an alley as he passed down the barren street.
"Agh, oh! Good day to you, sir!" The youth shouted, taking his beanie and trying to tip it, only to take it off and reveal his shaggy and unkempt black hair.
"...Riley Woods, is that you?"
"...Oh."
Utilizing his sixth sense, Riley understood it.
"Well, yeah, that's—"
Without hesitation, the youth—Riley, drew [Shooting], opening fire at the man. The man dressed in white summoned a police riot shield. Though it wasn't expected to fully stop the bullet, he was shocked to find the bullet fired from a 44. Magnum obliterate right through, shooting through his stomach.
"—Hk."
"You're with them, aren't you?" Riley asked, using [Hanging] and flying at hundreds of miles an hour, raising his fist and slamming it downwards. Still blocking with the riot shield, it was shattered with the youth's overwhelming intensity, [Falling] having amplified the power of the strike.
His arm broken, the gruff man—Frank Russo—grit his teeth and summoned an AK-47, spraying Riley in a storm of bullets. The youth grit his teeth, flying away and going up above a building, hiding there.
"Tch, you're mean," Riley complained, looking at his chest.
With each non-servant murder growing the physical body greatly, he was not obliterated from the hail of gunfire. Even still, it had amassed a troublesome amount of pain and bleeding, even if the bullets stopped at his extremely durable bones which rivaled steel.
Riley checked the cylinder of [Shooting], finding that he had five out of the six bullets left.
"Alright, then I'll—"
Up near him, he heard a small clanking sound. Turning to see what the source was, he was unable to decipher what exactly—
White, and loud.
A flashbang grenade amplified by a servant's own ability to summon humanity's technologies had appeared just next to him, and had disabled him easily.
"ARGH, FUCK!!"
The drunkard collapsed to his knees, holding his eyes and ears as he felt pulses of pain and destruction wave over him. In the chest, arm, leg and shoulder, Riley was overwhelmed. When he finally opened his eyes, his vision distorted from the grenade thrown at him, he was able to piece together that he'd been hit with a shotgun.
Looking up, having been run-down by the storm of bullets, Riley saw the man's white robes blow in the wind as he aimed the shotgun at his head.
"Hmph. Weaker than I expected, for someone labeled an 'Enemy of the World.'"
"Hk."
Then, an instant-fire detonation. Summoning [Crashing] just behind him, he did not allow the car to even hit the ground and alert the man. Instantly, it exploded for half a second in order to reduce damage, creating an explosion which sent the two servants flying through the air off the roof.
Riley crashed down onto the street below, forcing himself to stand, summoning [Shooting] and taking pointers from Nina. Seeing Frank struggling to stand, he rushed him down, aiming to put the revolver in his mouth and blow his brains out.
Yet, just when he got close, Frank was able to grab the drunk teenager's wrist and change the trajectory of the shot, moving it away before pulling Riley close, kneeing him directly in the gut with a great deal of blunt force.
Following up with an elbow to the brow which split it open, he summoned an uzi, pressing the barrel against his chest and spraying quickly, emptying a thirty-two round magazine at ten rounds a second, Riley was being completely hit by all of the bullets.
Sweeping Riley's leg out from underneath, using the bullets to keep him down, Frank hit him with a judo-move, slamming him onto the concrete before leaping back and instantly swapping between the uni into an automatic shotgun and adding in two extra shots to Riley's chest.
Riley roared in pain, a burning sensation in his chest from being obliterated by humanity's creation. Coughing up blood, his eviscerated sternum leaked from his open wounds, whilst he rolled over and climbed to his feet, leaning against a brick wall for support.
Unable to breathe, he vomited up alcohol and blood, the kind of pain which felt as though it was cauterizing an open wound in his throat.
"A-aghh, shc—ghl…"
Swapping a shotgun for a sniper rifle, Frank obliterated Riley's leg, shooting it off at the knee and causing him to fall down to the ground.
It was only natural—sniper rifles really are just that amazing.
"AGHH, EFGHH, URGHH, FUCK! AOW, SHIT, MOTHER—RGH!!"
Looking down, and with his blurry, shifting vision mixed by fear and booze, he saw his own leg, far removed from his body. Pulling his thigh upwards, he hugged it to his stomach, his blood gushing from his mutilation.
Looking down the street, his gaze managed to reach the man in white, who held his fingers to his chin.
"...Much weaker than I'd hoped. —Yeah, that's not happening. I won't waste the final hunt of my life on this weakling."
Summoning yet another stun grenade in his hand, he pulled the pin and tossed it at Riley, who turned his head away and covered his ears, only for that piercing noise and light to assault his senses anyways.
It's said that the roar and grumble of a Tyrannosaurus Rex could, quite literally, induce a biological fear into humans. As the roar could be felt in the chest, as well as heard, accompanied by the presence of the great beast, it instilled fear into someone's very flesh, rather than just their mind.
Riley, while not dealing with an incredibly low grumble, had experienced a similar sensation. His drunken senses ruthlessly assaulted, the great sound caused fear at a neurotic level, causing him to cover up.
Then, walking over to him and raising his boot, Frank determined it.
"I'll make you stronger. Someone who's fit to be my prey."
With a great stomp, he knocked Riley unconscious.