Warning: Slight gore
The roar of the monster split the air like thunder, shaking the leaves from the trees. Birds scattered into the night, screeching warnings no one would heed. The jungle floor quaked with every step, the soil cracking under the weight of its grotesque body.
Oga's fists clenched automatically, a deep animal instinct urging him to fight. But even he couldn't ignore the chill crawling up his spine. This thing wasn't a punk, wasn't a rival gang leader, wasn't even a demon like Hilda. It was a walking calamity. And Kogen...
Kogen walked toward it.
Not ran. Not braced. Walked. His movements were eerily calm, like a man strolling to a dinner table. His pale hair flowed in the wind, his twin blades catching a sliver of moonlight. His face was expressionless, a mask carved from marble, eyes dead as a corpse.
Oga's gut twisted. It wasn't bravery. It wasn't confidence. It was... nothing. The bastard looked like he had already accepted death a thousand times and found it boring.
Beel squealed against Oga's back, clutching tighter. The baby wasn't crying anymore—he was shaking, his green eyes wide, glued to Kogen.
The giant swung its massive arm down, tree-trunk thick, the kind of blow that would have crushed an entire building.
Kogen didn't flinch.
His body shifted half an inch. The blade flickered once.
Blood sprayed.
The monster's forearm hit the ground a second later, severed cleanly, the cut steaming in the cold air.
Oga's breath caught. That wasn't a strike. That was a surgical execution.
The monster screamed, thrashing violently, knocking down entire trees as though they were blades of grass. Kogen's clothes stained red instantly, a rain of gore painting him like a butcher at work. His face remained blank.
He darted forward, a blur of steel and silver hair. One blade cut tendon, the other opened veins. Flesh tore. Bones cracked. The beast's howls shook the forest, but it only spurred Kogen faster, each movement too efficient, too precise, too heartless.
There was no passion in his fighting. No joy. No rage. No desperation. Only cold necessity, carried out with machine-like perfection.
The giant swung again, blood spraying from its wounds, but Kogen leapt high, twisting midair, blades flashing. Its chest split open under twin arcs of silver.
When he landed, the ground shuddered. The beast staggered, gurgling a sound too grotesque to be called a roar.
Then Kogen's expression shifted—just slightly. Not anger. Not triumph. Melancholy.
As if this wasn't a victory. As if it was just another night, another chore, another meaningless slaughter added to a pile so high it no longer mattered.
He twirled the blades once, then crossed them. A hum filled the air, energy gathering, crackling along the steel.
Oga shielded Beel with his arm as light ripped through the jungle.
Kogen surged forward, a final strike. The twin blades carved into the monster's neck, slicing through flesh, tendon, and bone with terrifying ease.
The head toppled.
The body collapsed seconds later, shaking the earth with a deafening crash.
Silence.
Only the sound of blood dripping from Kogen's hair, sliding down his pale skin. He stood in the middle of it all, soaked, eyes glazed over. Not victorious. Not alive. Just... tired.
Oga swallowed hard, his throat dry. He'd seen plenty of fights, had dealt enough beatdowns to send men through walls, but this wasn't fighting. This was war. This was someone who had fought so long and so hard that killing meant nothing anymore.
He finally understood why Beel had cried.
The baby whimpered softly now, eyes glistening, his tiny hand reaching toward Kogen as though begging him to stop.
Kogen didn't even notice.
With a wave of his blood-drenched hand, runes flared beneath the corpse. The ground cracked, glowing briefly before swallowing the titan's body whole. It vanished into a void—his "warehouse in hell," no doubt. The stench of gore lingered, but the beast itself was gone.
Kogen sheathed his blades back into the parasol with practiced, almost absent movements. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed. For one fleeting second, Oga swore he saw something fragile in that silhouette, something hollow.
And then it was gone.