SHINGG!
The slash tore through the warehouse.
In a single stroke, the massive structure split in half. Its supports gave way, and the entire building began to collapse under its own weight.
CRAAASH!
Steel beams buckled. Concrete shattered. The roof caved in as the warehouse crumbled around them.
A massive cloud of dust and debris erupted from the ground, swallowing everything in its path.
Within seconds, the entire area vanished behind a thick, suffocating haze.
Ghost emerged from the thick cloud of dust, his expression unchanged.
His eyes swept across the ruins, scanning every corner for signs of movement. He searched for traces of Jester and Ishiko, but found nothing.
No footsteps. No presence. Nothing.
They were gone.
Ghost stood motionless amid the wreckage, his gaze lingering on the empty forest before him.
That could only mean one thing.
They had escaped.
Ghost slid his chokutō back into its sheath.
Click.
His face remained utterly still.
No anger. No disappointment. No curiosity about where his targets had gone. Not even the faintest flicker of emotion behind those hollow eyes.
It was as if the destruction surrounding him had nothing to do with him—as if the escape of his targets, the collapsing warehouse, and the wreckage beneath his feet were all meaningless events unfolding in a world he had no reason to care about.
He didn't sigh. Didn't frown. Didn't even pause to think.
He simply turned away.
There was something deeply unnatural about him. Not the speed that had allowed him to tear through the warehouse, nor the terrifying presence that seemed to smother everything around him.
It was the absence of anything beneath it all.
No hatred. No pride. No desire to chase his fleeing targets. Nothing that suggested there was a person inside that motionless shell.
Just a body that moved when it needed to move. A blade that struck when it needed to strike.
And eyes that looked at the world without seeming to see anything worth looking at.
Ghost began walking toward the highway.
Step.
Step.
He walked through the ruins as though following a command that no one had given him, each movement precise and effortless, his slippers crunching over fragments of concrete.
He didn't look back.
For Ghost, the world could burn around him, and he would keep walking.
VOSSH!
A sudden presence stirred behind Ghost.
He turned.
BANG!
Before he could even twitch, a massive metallic weapon slammed into his face, sending him skidding uncontrollably across the ground, crashing through the trees. Dust scattered beneath his feet as he slid several meters before finally regaining his balance.
Silence followed.
Ghost slowly straightened.
Not a flinch. Not a wince. Not even the slightest change in expression.
The impact seemed to mean nothing to him. His cold eyes settled on the figure standing before him, studying the newcomer without a hint of surprise.
A massive, hexagonal metal club rested against the stranger's shoulder. Small spikes lined its surface, catching the faint light as he stood with his breathing steady and his posture relaxed.
It was Mike.
Ghost stared at him.
"Do you remember me?"
His voice was calm, almost indifferent.
But beneath that composure lurked something darker—a restrained fury born from deep-seated hatred and an old desire for revenge.
His shoulders remained loose. His breathing never faltered. Yet every part of his body was poised to move, ready to harden like steel at the slightest provocation.
He adjusted the massive weapon on his shoulder and met Ghost's empty gaze.
"Or have you forgotten what you did?"
Ghost vanished.
In a fraction of a second, he was already upon Mike, his chokutō sweeping upward in a vicious vertical slash.
SHING!
Mike twisted aside just in time. The blade grazed his shoulder, leaving a thin cut.
SWOOSH!
Mike reappeared beside Ghost, swinging his massive club horizontally.
BANG!!
The impact launched Ghost through the trees, snapping branches in his path.
But before he could hit the ground, Ghost hurled his chokutō straight at Mike.
SHOOSH!
Mike tilted his head. The blade whistled past his face.
"Shit,too fast."
He realized his mistake a moment too late.
Ghost was already behind him.
His fingers closed around the hilt of his falling blade.
SHINGG!!
Mike barely managed to react before the sword struck.
His body stiffened.
A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he stumbled backward, boots scraping against the ground. His hand instinctively moved toward his torso, but the sudden pain forced him to stop halfway. His breathing turned uneven, each breath feeling heavier than the last.
His knee struck the ground.
THUD!
Mike braced himself with one hand, struggling to steady his balance. The wound across his torso sent waves of pain through him, disrupting his rhythm and making it difficult to draw a full breath. For a brief moment, even the weight of his massive club felt unbearable.
Still, he refused to let go.
His fingers tightened around its handle as he forced himself to look up.
Ghost stood in front of him, expressionless.
Not a word. Not a flicker of emotion.
He watched Mike struggle as though the outcome had already been decided.