"What a sad scene,"
The Usurper mused, his voice laced with mockery.
"Oh well, off to kill God again. Though this time…"
He didn't finish.
A twisted flash—then the mansion's roof exploded into the night. Splintered wood and shattered stone rained down as shadows descended.
The three killers emerged first, their movements sharp, deliberate. Then, the boss stepped forward, his masked face unreadable.
They had felt it. The shift. The surge of power that did not belong.
Something was very wrong.
The Usurper's grin widened. His stolen body stretched unnaturally, fingers twitching like a marionette testing its strings.
"Useless little things… came all this way just to visit me, I see."
Sir Denis moved first, a flicker of silver flashing in the firelight. His blade sliced through the air, aimed directly for the Usurper's throat. A perfect, precise cut.
The Usurper didn't dodge.
He didn't need to.
The blade connected—no, it should have. But something was off. Denis's wrist twisted wrong at the last second, his own blade veering away from its target as though reality itself had changed its mind.
"What—?"
Denis barely had time to question before his feet vanished from beneath him.
One moment, he stood firm. The next, he was midair, upside-down, his body unraveling into ribbons of flesh.
Not cut. Not burned. Simply rewritten.
Like he had never been a man to begin with—just a mistake that the world had finally erased.
His mouth opened in a silent scream before he was gone.
Karfilka wasted no time. A snarl ripped from her lips as she extended her power, forcing her grotesque, slumbering creature into a violent awakening.
It roared, a fusion of twisted limbs and gaping maws, its body pulsating with raw, ugly hunger. It lunged.
The Usurper sighed.
With a casual flick of his fingers, the thing—that writhing horror Karfilka had so carefully controlled—imploded.
Skin, bone, and screaming mouths collapsed inward, folding into themselves like a paper figure crushed in an invisible hand. It left behind nothing.
Not even dust.
Karfilka staggered. Her connection to the beast severed in an instant, her body recoiling as if her own organs had been ripped out with it. Blood spilled from her nose, her mouth, her ears.
She clutched her head, trembling. The Usurper tilted his head at her.
"Oh. You were connected to that thing?"
His grin widened.
"How inconvenient."
Karfilka screamed.
The sound never finished.
She folded. Not into herself, not into some grotesque corpse—just gone. She had never existed.
Jorsh was next. He didn't hesitate. Runes flared along his arms, his entire body igniting with a power meant to burn through the impossible. He moved faster than thought, faster than humanly possible.
But he wasn't fighting a human.
The Usurper watched him.
That was enough.
Jorsh's body convulsed mid-motion. His limbs bent in directions they weren't meant to. His mouth opened wide, wider, wider, jaw unhinging far past the limits of bone. His eyes bulged—his entire being stretching, pulled by unseen threads.
"No,"
The Usurper whispered, rewriting him.
And so Jorsh became something else.
A statue. No, a mockery of one. His body left frozen in an endless scream, his stretched jaw cracked and split, his fingers clawing at nothing.
A warning, left behind for the world.
And then, there was only the boss.
He hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken.
The Usurper's stolen eyes landed on him.
"Oh?"
He hummed.
"Still here? I expected you to run."
The boss inhaled. His presence was iron—unyielding.
He knew what he was up against.
Still, he stepped forward.
No desperation. No hesitation.
Only quiet, measured intent.
The Usurper… paused.
Not in fear. Not in hesitation.
But in curiosity.
The boss reached into his coat, pulling something free. A small, gleaming object—a single gold coin.
The Usurper blinked.
Then he laughed.
A deep, sickening laugh that cracked the air itself.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?"
The boss flipped the coin.
It spun, catching the light, its arc flawless.
Then—he moved.
Faster than Denis. Faster than Jorsh.
An attack too fast for the human eye.
For a brief, fleeting second—it looked like it would hit.
And then, it didn't.
The Usurper caught the coin midair, twirling it between his fingers.
His other hand sank into the boss's chest.
Not punching, not slicing—sinking.
His arm melted through flesh, fingers pressing against the man's heart.
"How disappointing."
The boss exhaled. His hand trembled—but he didn't scream.
He didn't even flinch.
Even as the Usurper crushed his heart in his hand.
He only exhaled once.
And then, he fell.
The Usurper stepped back, flexing his stolen fingers. Blood—his blood—still dripped from them.
And yet…
He looked bored.
"Well, that was dull."
The bodies—if you could call what remained of them bodies—lay scattered in the ruins of the mansion.
One erased. One folded. One frozen. One gutted.
Not a single one had landed a blow.
The Usurper sighed. He stretched, yawning as if he'd just woken from a nap.
"Guess I'll be going, then."
He turned his back on the slaughter.
…
…
…
No…
I can't.
I won't let him win.
He took everything. Every last piece of my life, my will, my soul. He will pay.
The Usurper turned, ready to take flight—but then, he staggered.
His breath hitched, his body seizing.
"Pitiful attempt to take back control,"
He sneered.
His heart—pounding. Too fast. Too erratic.
"Stop that. It's useless."
A thin line of blood ran from his nose.
His smirk faltered.
"Urg… w-what? How are you doing this?"
His consciousness slipped.
A force beyond him—a will stronger than his own—was pulling him out.
He clawed at the fading edges of reality, his screams growing more desperate.
"STOP!"
But it was too late.
The body was no longer his to claim.
The Usurper was banished.
"Argh—h-how…? No, no, not again—NO!!!"
…
Silence.
…
I breathe.
I am back.
My body felt weak.
Sluggish.
Like waking from a dream too deep, too dark—where time had lost all meaning.
But I was back.