…Am I dead? I think I am.
My blood spills from my body; the pain of my shattered spine stabs into my mind—agony tearing through every nerve, whispering that death is pulling me into another world.
A roaring fills my ears.
A deafening rumble, like two distant titans bellowing at the edge of the sky—as if summoning me toward some blooming shore beyond life.
So… I'm going to die, huh?
With the last of my strength, I turn my body and see the darkness at the top of the staircase. Scarlet threads shimmer within that darkness, glowing faintly—beckoning me closer.
Yes. I really am dying.
I leapt down those stairs at the Blue Demon—and it twisted me apart like a rag doll. My intestines hang across the hall. My lower body lies ten meters away.
Life is leaving me… and I am so unwilling.
Did they make it out?
My friends—are they safe?
Did my sacrifice mean anything?
I don't want to go. I refuse to go.
Those crimson threads… I want to touch them. Just once.
Somehow, the dying man found strength from nowhere—perhaps the last desperate spark of a soul clinging to life.
He began to crawl, dragging himself across the floor. His entrails slithered behind him, leaving grotesque, snakelike trails of blood.
The warmth fled his chest. A chill burst from the core of his heart, spreading outward as the final drops of life drained away.
Sweat and blood alike deserted him, fleeing from a body no longer truly alive.
Ten steps.
Each one agonizing.
Through his blurring vision, he could see only those coils of glowing red thread.
He crawled into that cold bell tower, inching forward beneath the dim daylight, watched by the countless severed heads locked within their glass cases.
A whisper brushed his ears—hallucination, or were the heads truly speaking? He could no longer tell.
"Unwilling… unwilling… how could one rest easy? Killed by monsters… defiled, tortured to death… how could anyone not hate?"
The scarlet threads pulsed, alive, luring him onward.
He climbed the makeshift stairs of shattered cabinets, pressing the hateful heads beneath his palms. Strange emotions flooded into him—rage, sorrow, despair, vengeance.
He reached out.
His arm was changing—growing darker, harder. The skin turned a deep indigo—the color of nightmares.
And in that moment, he thought not of the Blue Demon… but of the one he had secretly idolized all this time.
In his heart, that figure stood tall and unyielding—brimming with courage, tearing through every obstacle with unstoppable might.
He had followed that idol's path, exploring one haunted place after another, drawing courage from the same shadows his hero faced.
Perhaps this sacrifice was, in its own way, an imitation— an echo of what it meant to be brave.
He was a fan of the Fall Guy.
He had never missed an episode.
Hidden from the others, he'd watch those videos with trembling excitement—watching that pink, absurd figure stride into darkness, tearing monsters apart with reckless valor.
That image filled the restlessness of his youth, that hunger for defiance and courage.
And now—wasn't he doing the same?
Not to be closer to his idol… but to prove himself. To prove that his courage still existed.
He grasped the scarlet thread tightly, soaking it in his own blood until it glowed even brighter. The hue spread through his flesh, tinting him with a faint, ghostly blue.
Power surged through him.
He could even hear it—his heartbeat, pounding louder, stronger. "Ah… ahhhh…"
He growled through clenched teeth. The heads within the glass cases began to tremble, their jawbones clicking together.
Awakened by this man's desperate courage, they shook with voiceless hatred toward the Blue Demon.
The threads quivered violently in his grip.
The long-frozen gears began to turn—rattling, grinding, sending dust swirling into the air. The enormous clock that had stood silent for decades began to move.
"AAAHHHHH!!!"
He roared hoarsely, tears and sweat mingling on his face.
He fell backward, rolling down the stairs, still clutching the blood-soaked red thread.
This was the struggle of an ordinary man— against the monsters of the world.
The crimson thread ripped free, and the gears meshed with a thunderous clatter. The trembling wires smashed into the glass cases, shattering them.
The severed heads tumbled down the stairs, rolling around the half-dead man as he changed—clicking, rattling, whispering.
And then—
the bell, silent for who knew how many years, tolled. Dong… Dong…
The long-frozen clock hands finally moved again, pointing straight up—twelve o'clock.
The dial below read six o'clock sharp.
Perhaps it was the hour this mansion had lost—a moment that should have come decades ago. Maybe one evening, long ago, before dusk could fall, this tower was sealed in its current state. From that day on, this mansion would never again greet twilight—forever trapped, forever missing that cursed hour.
It wasn't evening now.
But that didn't matter anymore.
The bell had rung.
The Blue Demon's mansion would finally see its end.
Though the sun still blazed outside, a chilling gloom spread through the entire estate. Within that darkness, the ancient, solemn bell echoed through the halls.
Birds burst from the forest canopy.
Trees rustled like something waking from a century's sleep. Inside, the battle raged.
The Fall Guy and the Blue Demon clashed endlessly—one a creature of fear and fury, the other lost in exhilaration and joy.
Walls crumbled, furniture splintered beneath their blows.
Then—the moment the bell rang—
everyone froze.
Beads of sweat formed on the Blue Demon's bulbous head.
Without a backward glance, it sprinted toward the center of the hall. But the Fall Guy wasn't about to let it go.
He lunged, wrapping his arms around the Blue Demon's torso.
The two titans crashed to the floor, rolling to a stop in the middle of the grand hall. The Blue Demon's skull smashed against an iron railing, breaking it apart.
The railing fell from the fourth floor, struck a statue of a sword-wielding goddess, and clattered to the ground with a deafening clang.
The Blue Demon's gaze fell upon the broken figure lying nearby—
The man's left hand was wrapped in red thread, knotted and tangled like a web.
The upper half of his body gleamed faintly blue. That color spread, consuming him—
turning him into the next Blue Demon.
The Blue Demon glared at him with venomous hatred.
But the dying man's eyes were fixed on the wolf-headed Fall Guy.
He could hear his heart pounding—loud, alive—urging him to muster his courage one last time. The Fall Guy slowly raised his head.
The dying man had imagined this countless times—what it would be like to be seen by those eyes.
He never thought they would be so deep.
Those eyes, behind that absurdly pink and black mask, radiated a strength so immense that even the Blue Demon couldn't break free.
And in that moment—
the Fall Guy pressed the monster down.
Unyielding. Unstoppable.
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