Nephiel stood frozen in disbelief and horror at the sight before her.The man bound to the execution frame by four mechanical arms was not being torn apart. Instead—impossibly—the mechanical arms themselves were straining toward him, pulled closer and closer to the center of his body as though caught in an invisible current of crushing force.
"What's going on? Increase the output!" she snapped.
Her first thought was that the machine wasn't exerting enough power. Otherwise, how could Arata still be alive—let alone smirking at the gathered officials with that mocking calm, eyes gleaming with quiet derision?
The execution apparatus was a Heaven Engine Type-II—a next-generation exoskeletal restraint widely sold on the market. Each arm could exert eight hundred kilograms of pulling force, and under overload conditions, that power could exceed a full metric ton.
Someone had once compared it to an ancient punishment from the East—being torn apart by five horses. That method supposedly exerted about three hundred seventy-five kilograms of tension on the human body, with a burst force of around six hundred.But a horse and a precision-engineered mechanical arm were leagues apart.Each of the arms pulling at Arata's limbs carried eight hundred kilograms of tension.By all logic, he should have been ripped to shreds in an instant.
"It's already… already at maximum output!"
The executioner's voice shook. Sweat rolled down his temples as the machine's steel joints groaned under the strain. The arms glowed faintly red from heat, and yet—Arata's body remained intact.
The scene before them defied every law of science they knew.After Arata's capture, they had examined him thoroughly. X-ray scans had confirmed it—he was entirely human. No implants, no cybernetic augmentations. Just flesh and blood.So how could a normal human endure such force?
Nephiel remembered tales from the old world—of strongmen who could hold up stone pillars weighing hundreds of kilograms. But even then, their immense physiques were nothing like Arata's.
His restraint uniform had been stripped away for the execution. Only a tattered pair of shorts covered his lean body.His build was balanced—defined but not bulky, his muscles dense and proportioned, not grotesquely swollen like the old-world bodybuilders.
On the execution frame, Arata's limbs began to draw inward, slowly but inexorably—like steel cables being reeled in by an unseen winch.Metal claws bit into his wrists and ankles; blood streamed down, dripping onto the platform below.And still, he moved.
He was born with divine strength.
Earlier, when he'd joked with Nephiel about the old manga he'd once read, she had misunderstood—believing he was the one who relied on technique rather than power.But she was wrong.He was the one who embodied power.
The mechanical arms screamed in protest, servos shrieking like tortured animals. The metal housings were smoking now, black plumes curling upward.The guards surrounding the execution yard finally realized something was very wrong.They didn't understand how Arata was doing it—but they knew one thing: the execution could not fail.
Dozens of rifles were raised in unison, aimed squarely at the restrained man. If the device failed, they would finish him on the spot.
"Don't shoot!"
The command came from a suited man standing on the high platform above them—his voice trembling with both excitement and madness. "Don't you see? This is the truth… the truth itself!"
His eyes burned with fanatic devotion as he stared at Arata, like a priest beholding his god."Genetic evolution! He's a successful subject—he must be! The serum worked! My God, someone actually survived! Restrain him—I want a live sample!"
Arata's lips curled into a small, sardonic smile.How laughable.They really believed some rebel scientist had given him superhuman strength through gene therapy?
There was no secret serum. No hidden faction behind him.He had been like this since birth—his body a weapon that had never needed the hand of science.
Crack—
With a thunderous report, one of the mechanical arms gave way under the strain.Its joint split open, hydraulic fluid spraying as Arata's right arm tore free.
He moved instantly. Despite the pain ripping through his limbs, his freed arm seized the broken piece of machinery and swung it down in a brutal arc.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM!
Thunderous impacts shook the chamber. Sparks flew.Through the cloud of smoke and debris, a dark silhouette rose—bloodied, but unbowed.Each step creaked like steel under pressure. Bones popped audibly as he rolled his shoulders, testing the limits of what still held together.
He couldn't break the composite restraint cuffs—not yet—but against rigid mechanical arms like these, there was no contest.One of them was bound to break first.
He crouched.Then lunged.Then leapt.
It was almost flight.
His foot came down squarely on the helmet of an armored guard, launching him upward in a blur of motion. He moved through the execution grounds like a phantom dancer, his body weaving between bullets and smoke.
Dozens of meters vanished beneath him in an instant.His gaze locked on the figure atop the high wall—a black-robed elder, face pale with disbelief.
Arata gripped the fractured mechanical arm like a spear, raising it as if wielding the weapon of a god.
"Shoot! Shoot, damn you!"
The elder's composure shattered. He clutched at the suited man beside him, voice breaking with panic."Are you insane!? You wanted to capture him alive? Hesitation will get us all killed!"
He now understood the truth.Those ten martial masters who'd fallen before Arata—they hadn't been killed by luck or trickery.They had been crushed by this monster's sheer, overwhelming strength.
Where had Lord Lufeng found such a creature?Or… had he truly created him—with some unknown genetic catalyst?
The air split with a sound like tearing silk.The elder's thoughts vanished.
A warm, red spray hit the suited man's cheek. The fanatic froze, eyes wide with horror.Then he screamed, "Kill him! Kill him now!"
Gunfire erupted like thunder.But the figure moving through the smoke was no longer a man—it was a blur of shadow and motion.
He was too fast.Far too fast.
Muzzle flashes flared like a row of scythes reaping souls, but they couldn't touch him.
No—soon they realized, he was the scythe.Arata was death itself moving through their ranks.
Alarms wailed. The walls surrounding the courtyard split open, revealing turrets. Dozens of beams lanced through the air, slicing through everything they touched.Soldiers were cut clean in half before they could scream.Only Nephiel remained—collapsed on the ground, shaking uncontrollably, her body drenched in sweat and terror.
She raised her head slowly, praying to see Arata's body among the fallen.Instead, she saw him in midair—ascending, his eyes locked on hers.
Their gazes met for a heartbeat.In his eyes, she saw not rage, not joy—only the cold, bored calm of a man who had already accepted death long ago.
Then, from the heavens, eight streaks of fire descended.
Missiles.
The suited man on the wall was retreating toward the safety zone, a cruel smile twisting his lips—until his expression froze in disbelief.One of the warheads—one that should have struck near Arata—had veered off course.
It was heading straight for him.
The world vanished in a roar of white light.
And then—silence.