Yuki stumbled through the shadows of a dying city, his vision blurred, mind half-shattered by the surreal horrors of The Void. The ground beneath him was wet with blood, his hands trembling, sticky with crimson. As he staggered into the pale light of dawn, the world sharpened. A man’s lifeless eyes stared back at him from the pavement.

The realization hit him like a blade through the gut.

These were no sinners. These were innocents.

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The weight of their screams, their pleading faces—images once justified as the punishment of the wicked—now seared into his memory. He had been a monster, a pawn of something greater, something sinister. His heart pounded as he stumbled past the lifeless bodies, his legs carrying him away from the city and into the dense, whispering woods.

He ran until his lungs burned, until the world became a blur of green and shadow.

When exhaustion finally claimed him, he collapsed beneath the canopy, the forest’s darkness consuming him.