The plaza fell utterly silent as the Duelist Exterminator raised his arm. His duel disk pulsed in deep crimson, veins of light crawling across its frame like living circuitry. Twenty opposing duel disks flickered in response, each belonging to a duelist trapped within the shadow field. None dared move. The air seemed heavier now—thick with tension and static.
The Exterminator drew his opening hand in a single smooth motion. Five cards fanned perfectly between his gloved fingers, the holographic edges glinting like blades under the flickering glow of the barrier. For a moment, he simply stared at them—his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his cap. Then, a slow, restrained smile tugged at his lips.
A soft breath escaped him.
"Perfect."
His voice was calm, composed—so unnervingly polite that it only amplified the dread crawling through every duelist present. He could have been commenting on a meal or a fine wine, yet every syllable carried the certainty of a man who already knew how this duel would end.
He raised a card between two fingers, the crimson glyphs reflecting off its polished surface.
"I activate the Spell Card—Final Countdown."
The words struck the crowd like a thunderclap. The air shimmered as a massive holographic spell circle materialized behind him—gears turning, numbers spiraling, and a burning timer searing itself into existence above the field.
Gasps erupted immediately from the surrounding duelists.
"No way—Final Countdown?!"
"He's not actually doing that, is he?"
"You've gotta be kidding me! That card's suicide in a field like this!"
The Exterminator remained unmoved. "As the effect states," he continued evenly, "I pay 2000 Life Points."
His Life Point gauge dipped instantly, glowing red as it halved.
[Exterminator LP: 4000 → 2000]
From the center of the holographic display, a counter appeared—bold, bright, and blood-red.
Turns Remaining: 20.
A faint hum filled the square as the timer pulsed once, syncing with his heartbeat. The Duelist Exterminator lowered his hand, eyes glimmering faintly beneath his cap.
"In twenty turns," he said softly, "I win the duel—whether any of you are standing or not."
His gaze swept over the twenty opponents surrounding him, each one frozen somewhere between disbelief and indignation. When he spoke again, his tone was still quiet, yet it carried like a bell tolling through the field.
"You all have twenty turns to stop me. Once my turn ends… you're welcome to try."
A nervous laugh escaped one of the duelists—a hollow, forced sound that cracked halfway through. "He's bluffing! There's no way he can stall all of us!"
Another clenched his fists, glaring. "This guy's insane. Even if he's got traps, twenty duelists? He's done by next round!"
But none of them moved yet. Something in his stillness—his confidence—made every instinct scream wait.
Then, without hurry, the Exterminator slid another card forward.
"I summon Big Shield Gardna in Defense Position."
The ground shuddered as the hologram materialized—an immense armored warrior kneeling behind a shield taller than a man. Jagged plates of iron gleamed in the crimson light as the creature slammed its shield into the marble with a deep boom.
[Big Shield Gardna – DEF 2600]
The tremor rippled outward, and a few duelists stumbled back, shielding their faces from the wave of displaced dust and energy.
One of them cursed under his breath. "A wall that tough on the first turn? He's really planning to turtle behind that thing!"
"Just wait," muttered another, unease creeping into her voice. "If he's got traps, this could get bad."
But the Exterminator wasn't finished.
He reached for another card, sliding it into the spell zone with crisp precision. "Next, I activate the Spell Card—Pot of Greed."
The hologram shimmered, and the grinning visage of the Pot appeared briefly before vanishing in a burst of light. Two new cards slipped smoothly from his deck into his waiting hand. His movements were deliberate, controlled—every gesture practiced to the point of ritual.
"I draw two cards," he said, voice as calm as before. "Excellent."
He regarded his new hand for only a heartbeat before placing another set of cards down—one after another in a measured rhythm that echoed faintly through the plaza.
"I set four cards face-down."
The field around him erupted in light as four holographic panels appeared in sequence, encircling his defensive monster like sentinels. Their forms flickered briefly before dimming to a menacing crimson hue. Each was a silent promise—hidden power waiting for anyone foolish enough to test it.
Then, as if nothing about the situation was extraordinary, the Exterminator straightened. He clasped his hands behind his back, head tilting slightly upward to glance at the counter still hovering above the field—20 Turns Remaining—its numbers glowing like molten iron.
He looked back at his opponents.
"Your move."
The air within the shadow field pulsed like a living thing. The twenty duelists—all locked in the same crimson circle—stood frozen for several heartbeats after the Exterminator's calm "End turn." The stillness was suffocating.
For the first time in Battle City's history, a single man had forced twenty opponents to hesitate. Their duel disks hummed softly, syncing to the energy web that stretched between them, each one feeding the power of the Shadow Game.
A tense murmur broke through the silence.
"Whose turn is it?"
"Someone go first!"
"Come on, he's just stalling!"
Finally, one of them—a brash young man with spiked green hair and a sleeveless vest lined with silver studs—stepped forward. His duel disk flared to life, emerald holograms sparking as he drew his card in a single, dramatic motion.
"Fine! You want to stall, tough guy? I'll start us off!"
The others gave him space, relief flooding their faces that someone had finally taken the initiative. The teen glanced at his card and smirked. "Heh. Guess luck's on my side. I drew Heavy Storm!"
But before he could play it, the crimson aura of the field pulsed again—deep, resonant, like the heartbeat of the city itself. The Duelist Exterminator tilted his head slightly, his voice cutting clean through the static-filled air.
"Anti-Spell Fragrance."
A faint clinking echoed as the card flipped face-up on his field. A heavy, perfumed mist began to drift across the dueling area, golden and sickly sweet. The scent thickened, swirling into translucent glyphs that burned their way into the air above each duelist's disk.
The Exterminator spoke as the symbols settled, his tone as polite as ever. "While this is active," he explained, "all Spell Cards must be set for one turn before activation."
The green-haired teen froze, blinking. "What?! You—you're choking our plays from the start!"
Another duelist, an older man with dark sunglasses and a bandana, slammed a hand on his duel disk. "You're forcing us to wait a full turn just to use spells?! That's—!"
"Unfair!" a woman snapped, clutching her deck. "How are we supposed to coordinate when we can't even use our cards right away?!"
The complaints echoed across the square, a chorus of outrage and panic. The mist coiled thicker, like incense in a tomb.
The Duelist Exterminator didn't respond. He didn't even blink. His pale eyes tracked the field with quiet focus, watching as the opponents' frustration turned to uncertainty.
The green-haired duelist gritted his teeth. "Fine! I'll just hit you where it hurts. I summon—Breaker the Magical Warrior!"
Light spiraled from his duel disk, forming into the red-armored mage whose sword shimmered with crackling energy.
"Breaker's effect activates!" the teen declared triumphantly. "When he's summoned, he gains one Spell Counter, and by removing it, I can destroy your Anti-Spell Fragrance! Say goodbye to your fancy air freshener—your stall plan's over!"
The Exterminator's head tilted slightly downward. The faintest trace of amusement flickered at the corner of his lips.
"Chain activated," he said quietly. "Skill Drain."
A low hum reverberated through the field—like machinery powering up deep underground. Then, a dark wave rippled outward from the Exterminator's duel disk, sweeping over every hologram in the plaza.
The red mist thickened into shadowy chains that wrapped around Breaker's form, silencing his energy. The Spell Counter on his armor fizzled out with a hiss.
"All monster effects on the field," the Exterminator said with quiet finality, "are now negated. Regardless of who controls them at the cost of 1000 life points."
[Exterminator LP: 2000→ 1000]
The words struck harder than the spell itself. The duelists' collective confidence cracked audibly.
"What—what did he just—?"
"He negated everything?"
"That means my combo's dead! All our effects—gone!"
The green-haired teen's bravado faltered. "That can't be! You're killing your own monster's abilities too!"
"I have no need for effects," the Exterminator replied, his voice calm as ever. "Only certainty."
His eyes flickered to the Big Shield Gardna, whose massive barrier gleamed under the crimson light. The creature knelt motionless, unfazed, its defense intact.
Meanwhile, the opponents' holograms began to sputter. Monsters flickered and froze mid-animation, their powers shackled by the invisible weight of the Skill Drain's field.
The Rare Hunter, still watching nervously from outside the circle, clutched his hood. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no… he used that combo again. Anti-Spell to slow them down, Skill Drain to crush their effects. Classic Exterminator lockdown." He shook his head, voice trembling. "These poor suckers don't even realize—they're already playing his game now."
Inside the circle, panic spread like wildfire.
"He's boxed us in!" one shouted.
"All our effect monsters are useless!" another groaned.
"Damn it—he's turning this into a grind!"
The green-haired duelist slammed a fist against his disk. "You think you can just sit behind that wall forever?! We'll break through it eventually!"
The Exterminator lifted his gaze slightly, meeting the boy's eyes from across the crimson haze. His expression didn't change. But when he spoke, his words cut colder than steel.
"You have nineteen turns left," he said simply.
The counter above his field ticked down by one.
Turns Remaining: 19.
The eerie chime that followed was almost musical, like a countdown clock echoing across eternity. Every duelist felt its weight—a reminder that time itself was now his weapon.
The green-haired duelist stumbled back, teeth clenched. "Y-you're bluffing! We'll see how long that calm act lasts once we start tearing into your Life Points!"
The crimson haze of the Shadow Game deepened with each passing turn, pulsing like a dying heartbeat as the countdown above the Exterminator's field glowed ominously. Turns Remaining: 19.
The team of duelists—once loud, confident, defiant—had been reduced to fragments of their former selves. The weight of inevitability pressed down on them with every passing moment. Yet even now, someone among them refused to give up.
Each turn passed after that with escalating despair.
The duelists tried everything they could think of.
On Turn 5, A trembling voice rose from the far side of the circle. "I—I use my face-down card—Mystical Space Typhoon! Since I set it last turn, I can activate it now!"
He slammed his palm against his duel disk, and a cyclone of shimmering energy burst to life, spiraling toward the Exterminator's Anti-Spell Fragrance. The glowing mist wavered under the gale, the scent thinning as the attack struck.
"Let's see you stall without that cursed perfume!" the duelist shouted, desperation cracking through his voice.
The Exterminator's head lifted ever so slightly. "Chain activated," he murmured. "Imperial Custom."
From one of his remaining face-downs, a golden sigil flared open, radiating a regal light that clashed against the roaring storm. His calm voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk.
"As long as this card remains on the field, all face-up Continuous Trap Cards I control cannot be destroyed by card effects—or battle."
The Anti-Spell Fragrance shimmered, its mist re-forming instantly, untouched by the cyclone's fury. The duelist's face fell, his last spark of hope snuffed out before it even caught fire.
"No… that can't be—"
"It can," the Exterminator replied softly. "And it is."
Turn 8 brought another desperate effort: a second Breaker the Magical Warrior hit the field, its sword glowing for mere seconds before that, too, faded to nothing—just another powerless fighter standing against the Exterminator's wall.
Without spells. Without effects.
They were nothing but powerless pawns—ordinary monsters with no tricks, no weapons, no hope.
The duel had become a slow bleed.
Each round ended the same way: with the sound of the countdown ticking lower and lower.
15… 12… 9… 6…
Every chime echoed like a funeral bell.
Some duelists began passing their turns altogether, unable to bring themselves to attack the unmovable wall before them.
A boy near the northern edge of the circle let his cards fall from his trembling hands, eyes glassy with defeat. "There's… no way to win," he whispered.
A girl across from him sank to her knees, her duel disk dimming as she sat cross-legged on the cold marble. "We can't break through it," she murmured. "He's not even trying to win by damage. He's just waiting."
The Duelist Exterminator didn't answer.
He stood silent—immovable—his black coat swaying faintly in the unnatural wind. His duel disk remained active, its red light steady, his expression unchanged.
He no longer needed to speak. His silence had become its own kind of dominance.
By Turn 17, half the field had mentally surrendered. Some had already powered down their duel disks, faces pale and hollow in the crimson glow. The few who still played did so out of stubbornness, not hope.
A reckless duelist tried to push through, summoning high-ATK monsters and sending them charging one after another—only for each attack to clang harmlessly off Big Shield Gardna's massive barrier. The sound was deafening. Sparks flew. Each impact echoed across the marble square like cannon fire. And still, the behemoth stood.
The Exterminator didn't flinch. Didn't taunt. Didn't react at all. He simply watched—calm, detached, his eyes fixed on the glowing countdown.
Turns Remaining: 2.
But then, on Turn 18, a flicker of movement caught his eye. One duelist—older, with gray streaks in his hair and the sharp look of experience—gritted his teeth and activated his last face-down card with a defiant roar.
"Wait—hold on! I've got something that can help us! I activate my Trap Card—Raigeki Break!"
He discarded a card from his hand, the holographic energy bursting into a coiling thunderstorm of destruction. "By sending one card to the Graveyard, I can target and destroy any card on the field! Say goodbye to your Big Shield Gardna! Once that wall's gone, we'll wipe out your Life Points in one go!"
The crowd of battered duelists stirred, hope reigniting in their hollow eyes. Maybe—just maybe—they could finally strike back.
But then, the Exterminator's voice cut through their fragile optimism like ice.
"Chain activated," he said evenly. "Solemn Judgment."
The card flipped up in a blaze of white light, ancient symbols spinning around him like a halo. The brightness was blinding, washing the crimson field in pale silver.
"At the cost of half my Life Points," he intoned, "I negate the activation of your trap card."
His Life Point counter flashed violently:
[Exterminator LP: 1000→ 500]
The roaring energy of Raigeki Break collapsed into sparks, its lightning fading into nothingness before it could touch Big Shield Gardna. The duelist's shoulders slumped, disbelief written across his face.
"No… no, you can't just—"
The Exterminator didn't let him finish. He simply raised his gaze, the faint light from the burning counter reflecting in his cold, pale eyes.
"I can," he said quietly. "And I will. You've had your chance."
The Big Shield Gardna remained unmoved, its shield glinting under the crimson glow. Around them, silence fell again—complete and suffocating.
The Exterminator didn't speak for the rest of the turn. He didn't need to. The oppressive hum of the countdown spoke for him.
Inside the Shadow Game's field, every duelist's expression had turned to resignation. Their monsters stood silent. Their cards—once vibrant tools of strategy—now felt like useless paper.
And the Exterminator, still as stone, stared at the glowing red counter above his field.
The air within Domino Square had long since gone still, thick with dread and defeat. The last traces of resistance had vanished, leaving only silence—and the steady hum of the red countdown glowing above the Duelist Exterminator's field.
Turns Remaining: 1.
He stood motionless in the center of the Shadow Game's circle, his coat whipping lightly in the unnatural breeze. Twenty duelists surrounded him, drained, broken, their holographic monsters flickering weakly or already gone. The crimson glyphs carved into the marble beneath their feet pulsed like veins, alive and hungry.
The final turn had come.
The Exterminator did not reach for his deck. His gloved hand hovered over it for a moment, then fell back to his side.
Slowly, he lifted one hand—index finger extended—toward the burning holographic counter above his duel disk. The number pulsed once… twice… and then, with a sound like a clock striking midnight, it reached zero.
For a split second, time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then, the world detonated.
A pulse of darkness erupted from the Exterminator's field, a shockwave of shadow bursting outward in all directions. The crimson barrier around the square shattered like glass, raining shards of light that turned to smoke before they hit the ground. The marble trembled, spiderweb cracks racing across its surface.
The Exterminator's voice, calm and almost reverent, cut through the chaos:
"Final Countdown."
The words triggered the glyphs beneath their feet. They ignited in an instant—lines of molten red searing into the stone as the sigils came alive, spinning like gears in a great infernal machine.
A deafening hum filled the plaza as the symbols merged into a single, spiraling vortex of light and darkness. The wind roared. The air itself screamed. Tendrils of shadow burst from the ground, writhing like living serpents of pure energy, reaching for the remaining duelists.
The crowd of opponents broke.
"No—NO! I didn't lose—!" one shouted, stumbling backward, clutching at his chest as his duel disk sparked violently.
"Wait—WAIT! Somebody stop it!" cried another, her voice cracking as the circle of crimson light wrapped around her ankles.
They tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. The Shadow Game field had sealed the exits long ago.
One by one, the tendrils struck.
A young duelist screamed as his body froze mid-step, his shadow tearing itself away from him before collapsing into black dust. Another clutched his deck to his chest, sobbing, as if the cards themselves could shield him from what was coming. His eyes rolled back as the shadows dragged him downward, his duel disk short-circuiting with a loud, metallic shriek.
The air was filled with the sound of cracking energy, the hiss of burning circuits, and the fading cries of twenty defeated duelists. Their holograms shattered. Their decks scattered. And then—silence.
Total, suffocating silence.
The only movement came from the faint shimmer of residual darkness fading into the marble, and the lone figure standing amidst it all—the Duelist Exterminator.
He lowered his hand slowly, the gesture calm, methodical. His duel disk powered down with a soft click, the red glow fading into a dull ember. The counter above his field vanished completely, leaving only the faint echo of its last pulse.
The shadows retreated into the cracks they had come from, leaving behind twenty unconscious bodies lying in perfect formation around the plaza's fountain. Their duel disks sparked once more, then went dark.
The Exterminator's gaze drifted over them—not cruelly, not triumphantly, but almost… mournfully.
At the edge of the square, half-hidden behind a pillar, the Rare Hunter stared in absolute horror.
His eyes were wide, pupils shaking, his cloak trembling in his fists. "He… he actually did it…" he whispered, voice barely audible. "He won. Against all of them."
He began to walk toward the Rare Hunter, boots echoing sharply on the cracked marble. The Rare Hunter instinctively took another step back.
"W-we done here, boss?" he asked nervously, his voice faltering. "You, uh… got what you came for, right?"
The Exterminator stopped beside him, eyes fixed on the fallen duelists. "Not yet."
"Not yet?!" The Rare Hunter's voice rose in panic. "You just wiped twenty duelists off the map! What else could possibly—"
The Exterminator cut him off with a look—a calm, steady glance that froze the Rare Hunter mid-sentence. There was no anger in it, no threat, just an unnerving steadiness that made his skin crawl.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate—each word carrying the weight of inevitability.
"We're going after the King of Games next."
The Rare Hunter's breath caught. His face paled beneath the shadow of his hood. "T-the King of Games? You mean—Yugi Muto? You're serious?"
The Exterminator turned away from the plaza, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his cap. "Pick up their location cards," he ordered, nodding toward the unconscious duelists strewn across the stone. "And you can keep their decks. I don't need their cards. Consider it payment for your services."
The Rare Hunter hesitated, staring at the fallen duelists as the faint smoke still curled from their deactivated duel disks. The offer should've thrilled him—rare, valuable cards lying unclaimed, the spoils of a massacre—but instead, a chill crept through him. It didn't feel like a reward.
The Exterminator's words hung in the air like a death sentence.
The Rare Hunter swallowed hard. "Y-yeah. Sure thing, boss." His voice was barely a whisper. "Payment. Got it."
He didn't dare say more.
The Exterminator gave no further acknowledgment, no parting glance. He simply began to walk—silent, measured steps echoing across the shattered plaza. His coat drifted behind him like the shadow of a passing storm.
The Rare Hunter stood frozen for a moment before kneeling down and hesitantly scooping up the scattered Location Cards, the plastic edges still faintly warm from the duel's energy. Around him, the remains of the Shadow Game's field glimmered faintly, ghostly symbols fading into the marble before vanishing completely.
The plaza had emptied into silence, save for the faint hiss of dying holograms and the distant echo of the Duelist Exterminator's footsteps. Smoke curled lazily through the twilight air, mixing with the acrid scent of burned circuits and scorched stone.
Hunched beneath a shaded vendor stall near the plaza's edge, Weevil Underwood crouched low, trembling. His insect-green hair was matted with sweat, his sharp eyes darting between the unconscious bodies sprawled across the square. Every few seconds, a nervous, involuntary shudder rippled through him. His duel disk was switched off. His hands—normally steady when holding a deck—now shook uncontrollably.
As the Duelist Exterminator and his Rare Hunter lackey passed by, their shadows stretching long under the dying light, Weevil's entire body stiffened. He clamped a hand over his mouth to silence his breathing, crouching lower, praying the stall's tattered cloth would conceal him.
He didn't dare move. Not even to wipe the cold sweat running down his cheek.
When the Exterminator's boots struck the marble near his hiding spot—click… click… click—Weevil's bladder betrayed him. A faint, humiliating warmth spread down his leg, pooling beneath him as he clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't care. He didn't dare care. If that man so much as turned his head, Weevil knew he'd end up just like the others.
Only when the sound of their footsteps began to fade did he finally exhale, the release shaky and ragged. His heart still thundered against his ribs, beating too fast to count.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, Weevil pulled a small, strange object from inside his coat—a Millennium Scale, its bronze plates dull from age but still humming faintly with ancient energy. The artifact glowed in soft, eerie pulses, its curved design catching the faint reflection of the crimson sky.
Weevil swallowed hard, his hand trembling as he held it up. "Come on," he muttered to himself. "Let's see what you really are, freak."
The Scale shimmered, golden light scanning the plaza like a radar sweep. He adjusted the dial with twitching precision, focusing its energy toward the retreating figures of the Exterminator and the Rare Hunter.
The artifact pulsed once… twice… and then—nothing.
The light dimmed. The Scale went still.
Weevil blinked, shaking it as though the device had malfunctioned. "Wha—? No reading?" he hissed. "That's impossible! Everyone has something—even those back-alley duelists have residual aura!"
He adjusted the Scale again, muttering under his breath. The bronze plates responded, sending out another faint wave of golden light. The result was the same—total void.
Weevil's throat went dry. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.
"…He has no Duel Energy."
He froze, staring through the crack in the stall's fabric as the Exterminator's silhouette disappeared down the street.
"No Duel Energy," he whispered again, his voice trembling now. "That's… that's impossible. Everyone has it. Even people who've never touched a Duel Disk have it. Unless…"
His words trailed off as the truth clawed its way into his mind. His eyes widened in horror, the color draining from his face.
The Millennium Scale pulsed once, weakly, as if recoiling from the reading it couldn't comprehend. Then it flickered and went dark in his hands.
"That's the Duelist Exterminator."
The name alone felt like poison on his tongue.
He pressed himself back against the wooden crate behind him, panting through shallow breaths. His knees quivered, the puddle beneath him cold now against his boots.
"King of Games… Yugi…" he whispered, his mind racing. "He's next… he's actually next…"
The thought made bile rise in his throat. For once, the arrogant, bug-loving duelist felt something entirely foreign to him—pity.
Pity for whoever crossed paths with that man next.
Weevil swallowed hard, tucking the fractured Millennium Scale back into his coat. His hands were still shaking, his nerves frayed raw. As he stumbled out from behind the stall, he cast one last look toward the now-empty plaza.
Twenty duelists lay scattered like broken puppets, the fountain's gentle trickle echoing through the hollow silence. The light of the Battle City banners shimmered faintly in the night breeze, as if mourning the fallen.
"Let the King of Games deal with that monster. I'm not sticking around to watch."
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