Joe advanced steadily, the white light surrounding him intensifying with every step. The three white orbs orbiting his figure shot toward his chest in succession. Each one collided with a thud, disappearing into him as if devoured. The light around Joe flared violently.
[Souls stored: 3]
Mikey stared in disbelief, his heart pounding as he absorbed the sight before him. The sheer power emanating from Joe was unlike anything he’d ever encountered. A cold sweat rolled down Mikey’s forehead. “So this is it… an Outsider’s power,” he thought.
Clenching his fists, Mikey ignored the searing pain of the bleeding wound on his right arm. His mana surged, flaring to life with renewed fury. “Not again! I won’t lose to an Outsider again!” he roared, his voice trembling with emotion. In an instant, Mikey dashed forward, his speed leaving nothing but a trail of dust and broken concrete in his wake.
Joe came to a stop, as if purposely inviting the attack.
Mikey accepted the silent challenge. In a blink, he appeared in front of Joe, his right leg stomping down with force. The concrete beneath shattered into jagged cracks as his stance solidified. With a guttural yell, Mikey gritted his teeth and unleashed a torrent of punches. [Strong Fist Barrage]
Joe calmly raised his right hand. With that single hand, he deflected every strike. Each punch was absorbed, and dismissed with ease.
Mikey’s face twisted in frustration, but he refused to stop. His fists flew faster, driven by desperation and rage.
Effortlessly, Joe caught Mikey’s right fist mid-swing. The air hummed from the impact as Mikey’s punch was swallowed by Joe’s palm.
Mikey grunted and sent his left fist screaming toward Joe’s face. Joe tilted his head just slightly, and the blow missed, grazing harmlessly past.
Mikey’s eyes went wide at the display of impossible reflexes. Before he could process it, a sickening crunch rang through the air. Joe’s grip tightened, bones shattering as Mikey’s right hand crumpled in his grasp.
Mikey’s scream tore through the room.
The light surrounding Joe swirled, flowing to his free hand as he clenched it into a fist. A distorted, chilling scream emanated from the light itself. For a moment, it twisted and warped, forming the grotesque image of a tiny, screaming human face. Then, with no warning, Joe drove his fist deep into Mikey’s stomach. [White Fist]
Mikey’s scream was abruptly silenced. Blood erupted from his mouth as his body doubled over, the force launching him across the room like a ragdoll.
[Remaining Souls: 2]
Joe stared at his trembling fist, the aftermath of his attack leaving a noticeable strain on him. He could feel the power within him beginning to waver. The radiant white light enveloping his body flickered, dimming as if signaling its imminent collapse.
"What's the meaning of this, Syr!" His voice echoed unnaturally, a chorus of multiple souls, though his original tone was beginning to emerge, strained and frustrated.
[You've Only Got Two Attacks Left In You. You Didn't Gather Enough Souls To Maintain This State You're In.]
Joe's gaze shifted to Mikey, who struggled to push himself upright, blood dripping from his lips. "Two attacks? That's way too small! That bastard needs to pay!"
Gritting his teeth, Joe’s strides carried him toward The Black Blade, it was Isolated in the bloodied floor. Its edge gleamed faintly, still wet with crimson. Bending down, he grasped it tightly in both hands.
"I guess I'll have to make these two attacks count, then."
As if in response, the room was filled with glowing white orbs. One by one, they emerged from the lifeless corpses scattered across the floor—the bodies of the fifteen children. Each soul, now a floating orb, drifted toward Joe, encircling him in a spiraling halo of pale light.
"Help us! Help us! Help us get our revenge!"
The voices of the dead children whispered urgently in his ear, carried by the ghostly orbs.
[Don't Listen To Them, Joe! You Have Enough Power. Those Two Souls Are Enough To Destroy Mikey. You Don't Need To Gather Any More Souls.]
"But Syr... you've heard them. These kids want a chance—a chance to teach this monster a lesson. They died in front of me. The least I can do is give them a chance to get their revenge!"
The orbs, as if responding to Joe’s conviction, began colliding with him, slamming into his body one after another.
"AHHH!" Joe screamed, his voice breaking under the weight of their force. He staggered, his body convulsing as it absorbed every last one of the souls.
[You Fool! They Will Overwhelm You!]
The white light around Joe erupted into an intense, blinding blaze, drowning Syr’s warning in its brilliance. When the light settled, it was far larger and brighter than before.
[Souls Stored: 17]
Joe’s lips curled into a smirk, though his expression had shifted—twisted, unrecognizable. "Look who’s back, father!" The voices that emerged from him were not his own anymore. They were layered with the chorus of the children, their rage and anguish consuming his own.
Mikey staggered to his feet, clutching his abdomen, his face contorted in confusion. "Kids?"
"That’s right, dad! And we’re going to make you suffer for what you did!"
"What are you talking about? I took care of you, you ungrateful brats!" Mikey spat back, his voice laced with bitterness. "I gave you everything you could dream of! You were supposed to help me change this world! We were supposed to show The Union that even the discarded could be useful!"
In response, the black blade in Joe’s grip began to glow. The white light surged around it, filling its form and even extending its length beyond the blade’s original form. [White Lancer]
[Remaining Souls: 14]
"You never cared about us, Dad! You just wanted to use us. You wanted wealth, power—and you preyed on our desperation to control us. You even planned to expand this twisted ‘business’ beyond this town one day... but no more. No more, Dad! You’re going to die here today!"
Mikey’s aura exploded in fury, his presence intensifying. “You kids were bad children... and bad children need to be disciplined!”
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With that, Mikey lunged forward, his speed breaking the air around him. His figure blurred, leaving afterimages in its wake. The ground beneath cracked violently as he closed the distance, zigzagging unpredictably. [Afterimage]
Joe’s eyes darted, his pupils straining to track Mikey’s movement.
From above, Mikey descended with terrifying speed, mana flaring like wildfire around his clenched right fist. [Burning Fist]
“Di—”
The word was cut short.
A flash of white light tore through the room—a perfect, crescent arc that sliced through Mikey’s right arm in an instant.
He barely registered the attack as his severed limb fell away. [Perfect Arc]
[Remaining Souls: 10]
Mikey’s scream was gut-wrenching as his body collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, his severed arm painting the floor in blood.
Joe didn’t allow him a moment’s respite. He stormed forward, seizing Mikey by the neck and yanking him upright with effortless strength.
Mikey’s gasping breaths turned into shrill cries as Joe’s palm slammed against his face. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the room, reverberating with a grotesque finality. Joe’s fingers pressed against Mikey’s skull, threatening to cave it in entirely.
“Now do you feel it, Dad? The pain you made us feel?” Joe’s distorted voice dripped with cruel satisfaction as his lips twisted into a sadistic smile.
Without warning, he hurled Mikey into the air with enough force to send his broken body spiraling. Blood from Mikey’s wounds trailed after him in a macabre arc, droplets raining down like crimson tears.
Joe tilted his head back, his unblinking gaze fixed on Mikey’s ascending form. Slowly, he raised his blade, the white light coiling around its length like a living entity. At the weapon’s tip, the light condensed into a brilliant, searing orb.
“Goodbye, Father!”
The orb erupted, a blinding beam of energy surging skyward. It struck Mikey mid-flight, the impact driving him through the roof with a thunderous explosion. Debris scattered as his body was carried into the heavens.
As Mikey’s form was propelled ever higher, his consciousness began to slip. Memories clouded his final thoughts.
That boy… why is it that he reminds me of you, Rebecca…?
The light consumed him, blinding and relentless, yet the memory remained—a single fragment of the past.
He could still see her. A girl shrouded in a black cloak, her long, flowing black hair dancing in the wind, and her piercing purple eyes cutting through him like blades. He remembered the way she looked down at him after their battle had ended, her voice cold and resolute.
“I’ll let you go for now, Mikey. But if I see you again, I will kill you. I don’t know how you’ll survive now that you’ve failed to get your license, but that’s really none of my business. Pray that you and I never cross paths again.”
Her words echoed, lingering like a curse. They were the last thing Mikey remembered before the light overtook him completely, shredding his body to nothing.
The children outside watched in silence as Mikey was swallowed by the light.
Tears filled their eyes—some streaming freely, others held back in shock. A few screamed and clung to one another, overwhelmed by relief. Others knelt on the ground, sobbing as they tried to process their emotions. The mixture of grief and celebration painted a confusing picture, but one undeniable truth lingered.
Mikey had been defeated.
[Inside The 'Big Junk']
Joe collapsed to his knees, gasping as the radiant white light around him dimmed, flickering like a dying flame.
[Souls Remaining: 3]
"Get out! Get out of my head!" Joe’s voice, raw and strained, was mostly his own again. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the whispers gnawing at the edges of his mind. “You got your revenge! Now get out! This is my body!”
The voices came in unison, dissonant and unrelenting.
“Get out? We can’t do that! Not yet, anyway. You have to help us, Joe. Help us kill the townspeople! They also killed many of our brothers and sisters!”
Joe’s breathing grew ragged. “You got Mikey! Aren’t you satisfied?”
“No!”
“Well, too bad—because I’m reclaiming control of my body!”
“No! We won’t let you! We still have a duty to fulfill. We will get revenge for every one of us who was killed in this town!”
Joe’s scream ripped through the air, primal and agonized. He clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as it felt like his very mind, body, and soul were being torn apart.
“Get out! Gey out!”
[-20 Rank Points From Your Psychological Attributes]
[Your Psychological State Is Unstable]
[The 3 Souls Are Weakening Your Psychological Attributes To Possess You]
A dark, inky aura burst forth from Joe, his mana surging with a life of its own. The oppressive white glow that had surrounded him began to dissipate, replaced by the roiling black energy of his own power.
The voices faltered.
“What’s this? How can a single human mind resist our influence?”
[+10 Rank Points To Your Psychological Attributes. Your 'Mental Strength' Is Assisting You In Resisting The Souls And Their Possession]
[Your Psychological State Is Regaining Is Regaining Its Stability]
Joe’s mana flared one final time, his eruption of power rattling the very walls of the room. The voices grew fainter and fainter, until they were no more than whispers drowning in the storm of his will.
Then, as the mana began to settle, Joe’s body went still. His vision darkened, the room around him blurring and fading.
Finally, everything turned black.
[14 Years Ago]
“You dare talk back to me, Grace!”
The crack of Joe’s father’s slap echoed through the living room as his mother was sent sprawling to the floor.
Joe stood frozen, his small body trembling, eyes wide with shock.
“Stop hurting Mother! Stop it!”
Chloe, tears streaming down her face, rolled her wheelchair forward to shield her mother. Her voice wavered as she pleaded with her father.
“Please…”
The response was brutal. A sickening smack rang out as Joe’s father struck Chloe across the face. Her head snapped to the side, a deep red imprint blooming on her cheek. The force nearly tipped her wheelchair over, leaving her shaken, tears spilling freely now.
“You don’t get to tell me how to treat my wife!”
Joe’s father turned away, staggering toward the table. The half-empty bottle of alcohol sat waiting for him like an old friend. As he grabbed it, his gaze landed on Joe, still standing there, motionless but unblinking.
“Why are you glaring at me?” His father’s voice was venomous, slurred but sharp. “Do you want to do something, Joe?”
Joe said nothing. His fists clenched at his sides, but his glare burned into his father’s eyes—fury and hatred unmistakable.
The man scoffed.
With the bottle in hand, Joe’s father brushed past him, shoving him roughly to the ground as he passed. Joe’s body hit the floor with a dull thud, but his eyes never left his father.
“Know your place, boy!”
Joe saw it—the cold, empty look in his father’s eyes as he spat those words. Without another glance back, his father trudged to the door, bottle in hand, and disappeared into the night, slamming the door behind him.
The sound reverberated through the house, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in its wake.
[Present Moment]
Joe’s eyes fluttered open. A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed in his head as he sat up slowly, groaning. “Why did I have to remember that now, of all times?” he thought, his mind still lingering on the memory.
His gaze darted across the room, landing on Shelly. She was crouched among the children, their faces tear-streaked and hollow. Judging by their expressions, they had just learned about the others—those who had died in Joe’s battle with Dan. Some kids wiped their tears away; others still wept softly, their grief too heavy to hide.
“You’re awake.”
Shelly turned toward him, her voice soft yet strained, as though forcing herself to stay strong. She pushed herself upright, walking toward him slowly, the discomfort in her steps evident.
Reaching him, she extended her hand for a fist bump. “We did it. We brought down Mikey.” Her lips curved into a small, weary smile.
Joe hesitated, his voice cracking. “But the other ki—”
Shelly gently cut him off, her tone both tender and resolute. “Yes, we couldn’t save them… but look at all the children we did save.”
Joe tried again, his voice trembling. “No, Shelly, they’re—”
Before he could finish, the kids suddenly spoke in perfect unison, their voices soft yet firm:
“Thank you so much!”
They bowed their heads in gratitude, their movements synchronized as if they had rehearsed the moment.
Joe froze. Overwhelmed, tears welled in his eyes and spilled over, his breath hitching. The children smiled warmly as he wiped at the tears—tears that refused to stop no matter how hard he tried.
“Let’s go.”
Shelly extended her hand toward him. Joe looked at it for a moment before gripping it tightly. She pulled him to his feet, though the strain was evident on her face despite her best efforts to hide it.
Now standing, Joe and Shelly led the rescued children toward the exit of the Trash Can. Even those they had knocked unconscious earlier were now on their feet, part of the group.
But as they stepped outside, they were met with unwelcome visitors.
Standing just beyond the gates was the chubby shopkeeper from earlier. He was alive—but barely. His entire body was wrapped in heavy bandages, his face almost entirely obscured.
Beside him stood four individuals, their presence immediately imposing. Each wore identical blue cloaks, pristine and emblazoned with bold white letters across their backs: “FROZEN WINGS.”
“There!”
The shopkeeper’s voice was a rasping growl as he lifted a trembling hand to point at Shelly.
“That's the girl I want you to kill!”