The old man stood at the center of the vast chamber, staring at the floating cube. His arms were clasped behind his back, his posture ramrod straight—unbowed despite the white hair that betrayed his age. He radiated absolute authority, as though the entire world bent to his will. Lost in thought, he waited for something to happen. The room had fallen into an eerie silence, so complete that even the flutter of a fly's wings would have echoed like thunder. Strangest of all, his breathing was imperceptible, perfectly controlled; one might believe he wasn't breathing at all.
Then, abruptly, he spoke, shattering the stillness.
"For decades I hunted that power. It lived inside my head, gnawed at my bones, starved me until hunger became the purest obsession I ever felt.
Because of that obsession, I clawed my way to the top and made this whole rotten world kneel.
After decades of pulling every string… isn't this the perfect moment to finally pluck the fruit?"
He paused, then added softly, "No one can stop me. Not even you, little Black."
The words stripped the infamous name of all its terror, spoken with casual indifference—as if the presence behind him were no more threatening than a passing stranger.
Tap. Tap.
A hooded shadow emerged from the darkness. Plain black mask, two hollow eye-holes, nothing more. He looked like darkness given form.
The air around him turned poisonous.
Lethal Black—death cloaked in human skin—advanced with calm, lethal grace, every step measured, every movement tracking his prey. One wrong twitch from the old man, and he would die without ever knowing what struck him.
"So you're the bastard," he hissed, voice thick with venom. "Decades of engineered wars. Millions dead. Children screaming for mothers turned to ash. Entire countries crushed… all for that little toy floating there?"
The old man didn't blink. The accusations slid off him like rain on steel. His expression remained calm, authoritative, his sharp gaze reducing everyone around him to ants.
"Isn't that what every animal secretly craves? A lawless world where the strong take whatever they want? Don't blame me; blame the fools who thought they were the heroes of some fairy tale. I just played the game better. Cleansing the planet of weak, selfish dreamers… call it mercy."
"Enough!"
WHOOSH!
A storm of black needles tore through the air, hurtling toward the old man's back—mere inches from piercing flesh.
But he was gone.
Vanished in an instant.
*As expected,* Lethal Black thought, unsurprised. He spun, blade already slashing at the space behind him.
CLANG!
Steel met bare palm. The impact rang out like a hellish church bell, a shockwave rippling through the chamber with enough force to sting the eyes.
Tsk.
Annoyance flickered across the assassin's mind. He shifted, driving his left fist forward in a blur.
CLANG!
Caught again. The old man's fingers clamped down, ready to pulverize bone. In a heartbeat, Lethal Black wrenched free and kicked backward, creating ten meters of distance in a single explosive motion.
To any ordinary eye, the two had merely flickered—then clashed once more.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Sparks flew. Screaming metal filled the chamber like a battlefield cage. Black needles buried themselves deep into the walls like enraged hornets. Wave after wave of thunderous shockwaves rolled outward; had the room been anything less than unbreakable, it would have shattered instantly. The combatants moved as blurs—appearing, vanishing, reappearing—trading blows as fist met blade in a whirlwind of violence.
All the while, the black cube floated serenely in the center—untouched, patient, waiting.
One hour later…
The chamber bore the scars of relentless battle. Deep gouges and craters scarred the floor like the aftermath of a meteor shower wrought by blades. Neither fighter looked entirely human anymore.
"Is this everything you have?" the old man asked, his voice still ice-calm as he dodged and blocked every strike from the assassin with the casual ease of disarming a child wielding a toy knife.
"Shut your mouth!" Lethal Black snarled.
*Shit… this is bad,* the assassin thought.
Behind a sudden veil of smoke, his free hand pressed against something hot and wet beneath his ribs. A memory surged unbidden.
*Not now… not yet…*
He glanced at his blade. Once razor-sharp, its edge now resembled broken teeth—dull and chipped.
That fleeting loss of focus did not escape the old man's predatory gaze. He had been toying with his opponent until now. In an instant, he vanished in a blur.
Shock slammed into Lethal Black as the truth hit: this battle would not end in his victory. He needed a plan, and fast. But the old man had already read him. Reappearing directly in front, his hand shot forward—through flesh, through bone—until bloodied fingers erupted from the assassin's back.
"You didn't come for the cube," the old man whispered into the dying man's ear. "You came because I planned it from the start. Those wars weren't chaos. They were a furnace—to forge the strongest, most tenacious human ever born. The perfect sacrifice to awaken it."
He glanced at the cube.
"And I was never foolish enough to offer myself."
His hand remained buried in the assassin's body, his expression devoid of even a trace of pity or hesitation.
"You… filthy… old… monster…"
Lethal Black spat blood, then drove a desperate kick into the old man's chest with every ounce of remaining strength. He broke free.
THUD.
He crashed to the ground, body trembling violently. The old man merely walked forward, dragging the broken form toward the pulsing cube.
The cube responded.
A violent gravitational pull wrenched the body forward. Light flared within its depths—then vanished. Nothing happened. The cube fell silent once more.
What the old man had expected did not come to pass.
Realization struck him like a sledgehammer. This assassin was no longer the sacrifice he sought. This entire confrontation had been a trap—designed for him.
Frustration boiled over. He glared at the cracked mask. Lethal Black's eyes remained open, burning with defiance. One hand clutched a small remote. A wet, bloody laugh bubbled from his throat.
"Heh… heh…"
*Me? Strongest? Most tenacious? That was true… until that man arrived in this rotten world.*
Behind the mask, a faint smile formed as the assassin thought of someone he knew. Then he pressed the button.
Every door leading to the chamber slammed shut.
Rage twisted the old man's face crimson, veins bulging as if ready to burst. His fists clenched with the urge to pulverize what remained of his foe. But he restrained himself. The instant the doors sealed, instinct screamed of mortal danger. He had to escape—now.
He charged the nearest door, right fist cocked.
BOOM!
His punch tore a ten-meter-wide hole through the first barrier, revealing another door thirty meters beyond.
Ten meters…
One…
BOOM!
The second door merely dented, unyielding. He glanced back.
A blinding white light erupted, accompanied by a roar louder than judgment day itself. It swallowed everything.
"Is this… the end?"
Regret flashed in his eyes.