Chapter 70: The Genesis of Ruin

  The world trembled beneath the weight of Krishna’s clones, unleashed like four harbingers of annihilation, each carrying out their missions with cold, brutal efficiency. Their creators had crafted them with precision, but what was meant to be a tool of terror had become something far more horrifying—unstoppable forces of nature, embodying the raw potential of destruction.

  The Annihilator’s Retreat

  The Annihilator, his body barely held together by tattered armor, was a shadow of his former self. His once-uncontrollable power had shattered his form, leaving him a fractured being, his energy flickering like a dying flame. The battle had taken its toll—his punches, once capable of obliterating entire buildings, now barely had the strength to crack stone. The wounds across his body were deep, blood seeping through the cracks in his armor.

  His eyes burned with fury as he scanned his surroundings, desperate for a way to recover. With a final, scorched glare towards the battlefield, he activated the emergency warp device embedded in his chest. A harsh red light flashed, and in an instant, he was gone, disappearing into the void as the world around him grew eerily silent. His destination: the lab—the place of his creation—where he would attempt to recover, to rebuild himself, and perhaps, to return stronger than before. But for now, he was lost to the chaos, a broken weapon seeking healing.

  The Murderer’s Silent Massacre in China

  Across the world, in the quiet, sprawling streets of Beijing, The Murderer’s true nature began to unfold. He was not a force to be seen; he was a shadow, a silent specter of death moving through the city like an unstoppable storm. His presence was felt in the suffocating stillness, an unnerving calm before the storm of destruction he would unleash.

  The Murderer’s powers were beyond comprehension—his very touch could reduce any material to dust, obliterating whatever he came into contact with. Nothing was immune. Not steel, not concrete, not flesh. His hand moved like a harbinger of doom, touching and erasing everything in his path. Where others would flinch or fear, he moved without hesitation. No time was wasted—he was the embodiment of genocide, relentless and unforgiving.

  Shanyao, the radiant warrior who commanded the light itself, was the first to fall before him. His Catalyst, Shine, was a beacon of destruction, able to bend light into blinding beams, incinerating everything it touched. He flooded the battlefield with golden light, turning night into day and boiling the very air around him. Yet, The Murderer simply walked through it. The light, once thought to be the most powerful weapon, simply disappeared, absorbed by the darkness that was The Murderer. Shanyao’s eyes widened with disbelief as he realized that his most powerful weapon had no effect.

  There was no time to think, no time to react. The Murderer closed the distance between them in an instant, his fingers like the jaws of death itself. He pressed his hand against Shanyao’s face, and within moments, the warrior was reduced to nothing but ashes.

  China, once vibrant with life, was now left with a silence that spoke of the death toll only The Murderer could orchestrate.

  The Melt’s Entropy in England

  In England, the very laws of physics seemed to bend and break under the presence of The Melt. He was not an assassin—he was entropy incarnate. A being with no fixed shape, no true form, no boundaries. His body was liquid, a constant, shifting mass that defied any attempt to define it. He was the embodiment of collapse, of decay, and as such, his movements were both graceful and horrifying in their formlessness.

  Wherever he moved, The Melt left destruction in his wake. No door, no wall, no lock could stop him. Metal? He slipped through it, passed through its molecular gaps like water through cracks. Electricity? He absorbed it, fed on it, and dispersed it as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. The very fabric of reality seemed to bend to him, as if he were the fluid that once held everything together, now pouring through the cracks.

  By the time England’s defense forces realized that something was wrong, it was already too late. The Melt was inside. He dismantled the security systems with eerie ease, slipping past cameras, bypassing alarms, and rendering every attempt at defense futile. London, once a symbol of strength and resilience, was reduced to an abyss of chaos. There was no resistance; only death and fear.

  The Monster’s Wrath – The Indian Cataclysm

  The most horrifying of them all, however, was The Monster. India, a land rich with history and culture, would become the stage for his unhinged fury. He was not a man, nor was he a creature of reason or restraint. The Monster was a titan, a behemoth of destruction, forged from muscle, blood, and shadow. He was the manifestation of violence, the embodiment of chaos.

  His rampage began in Mumbai, where the streets that had once been filled with the laughter of families and the hum of commerce were now lined with the echoes of death. The Monster was a towering figure, a hundred feet tall, a force of nature that could not be stopped. His body was a twisted mass of power—superhuman strength, blood manipulation, and shadow control, all combined into a nightmarish form. With each step, the ground beneath him cracked and broke, as if the earth itself recoiled from his presence.

  He tore through the city, destroying buildings with his bare hands, rending flesh and bone with the power of his strikes. His blood manipulation allowed him to shape the very essence of life into weapons, and his control over shadows turned the night itself into a weapon of fear. The Monster’s rampage was not just physical—it was psychological. He was not just a killer; he was a harbinger of madness.

  Where The Murderer was silent and precise, where The Melt was formless and subtle, The Monster was pure, unbridled destruction. And as his rampage continued, the death toll climbed—each life he took added to his strength, his rage, and the growing nightmare that was India’s fate.

  The World on the Brink

  As each clone carved their path of ruin, the world watched in horror, unable to comprehend the scale of what was unfolding. The Annihilator was recovering, hiding away in the lab where it all began, his body shattered but his mind still driven by an unrelenting thirst for destruction. The Murderer was committing genocide in China, his every touch erasing lives without remorse. The Melt was dismantling England from the inside out, an unstoppable force of entropy, and The Monster’s wrath in India was leaving the entire country in a state of utter devastation.

  The world was being torn apart at its seams, and no one—no government, no hero, no military—seemed able to stop the cataclysm. The clones of Krishna were not mere weapons; they were the end of the world made flesh. Their creators may have thought they had crafted the perfect instruments of terror, but they had unleashed something far darker—beings who could not be controlled, who reveled in chaos and destruction. The world was on the brink of ruin, and all that was left was a question: Who would survive when the dust finally settled?

  The Call of Triumph

  The cold, echoing hum of a digital connection buzzed in the darkened room. Yohiko Tenko, the number one villain in the world, his crimson eyes glowing faintly with malice, stood in front of a screen. His expression was twisted with satisfaction, but also with something darker—something that spoke of a relentless hunger for more destruction.

  Across from him on the screen appeared Junko Gacy, his fractured psyche reflected in the shifting mask he wore. A chaotic grin stretched across his face, his eyes filled with an insane glint. Behind them, the shadows of their separate lairs loomed ominously. Yohiko and Junko were not alone in this moment of triumph. Their voices crackled over the line as the four clones of Krishna materialized, each in their own space, having just completed their own personal cataclysms.

  Yohiko’s voice, dark and smooth, broke the silence first. “Well done, my creations. You've brought the world to its knees. Each of you has carried out your mission with... remarkable precision.” His words were laced with a cold satisfaction, a tone as if he were speaking to prized tools, not individuals. "The Murderer, your quiet but relentless massacre in China... truly impressive. You’ve proven that even light itself is powerless against your touch."

  The Murderer, his face emotionless and cold, stood in a dim room, his body still radiating the faintest glow from his earlier carnage. He didn’t speak. The silence was his way of acknowledging Yohiko’s praise, but there was no hint of satisfaction—just the hollow emptiness of a killer who knew no remorse.

  Yohiko’s eyes shifted, now addressing The Melt, who stood in the center of a completely disintegrated structure. “And you, The Melt, an unstoppable force. You did what no one else could—slipping through defenses, dismantling London from within, turning everything to dust. What an elegant display of entropy. You've truly become the embodiment of collapse.” There was a twisted pride in his words, but no warmth. Only admiration for the chaos The Melt had sown.

  The Melt’s form shimmered for a moment, his liquid body reflecting the shadows around him. He said nothing—no words, no gestures. He was formless, a being of destruction that existed beyond praise or thanks. He simply waited, the task at hand completed, and his presence alone spoke volumes.

  "And then there's you, The Annihilator," Yohiko continued, his tone tinged with amusement. "You may have been shattered and broken, but you are still a force to be reckoned with. Retreating to recover was a wise move. You’ve earned it. When you return… we’ll see just how much more you can devastate."

  The Annihilator, though broken and battered, stood tall, his body glowing faintly as the emergency warp took him back to the lab. The damage to his form was severe, but his eyes still burned with fury. His grating breath, muffled behind cracked metal, was his only response—a promise of a return, stronger than ever.

  Finally, Yohiko's eyes fell upon the largest and most terrifying of them all. "And The Monster..." His voice softened, as if savoring the words. "What you did in India... the chaos you left behind in Mumbai... You are a living nightmare, a true force of destruction. The world will never recover from your wrath. You've truly made your mark." His lips curled into a cruel smile, enjoying the carnage The Monster had wrought.

  The Monster, now in the heart of the devastation he caused, let out a rumbling growl of satisfaction. His massive form was covered in blood and debris, his eyes glowing with a violent joy. He let out a low, guttural laugh, one that sent shivers through the air, and for a moment, it almost seemed like he was savoring Yohiko’s words.

  Junko’s voice suddenly chimed in, his tone manic and erratic, as though his fractured mind couldn’t hold back the excitement any longer. “You guys are absolutely insane! What a show! What a spectacle! You’ve turned the world into a playground of carnage!” His laugh echoed through the call, a shrill, disturbing sound. "The Murderer, moving like death itself—how poetic. The Melt, literally melting the world away—how perfectly dissolving." His voice picked up speed, excitement bubbling up uncontrollably. "And The Monster, that absolute beast! Turning India into a nightmare—just the kind of chaos I like to see. Bravo, my beautiful destruction machines, BRAVO!"

  The clones remained silent, each one standing alone in their respective carnage, as if the words of praise from Yohiko and Junko had no real impact. For them, destruction was all that mattered. The world was simply a stage for their true purpose.

  Yohiko’s voice took a darker tone, one that matched his cruel smile. “What’s next, my creations? This world is in disarray—completely fractured. But we aren’t done yet, are we?” His eyes flickered with ambition. “We’ve only just begun.”

  Junko, who had been pacing around like a madman, stopped and fixed his gaze on the screen. His face twisted into a grin that sent shivers down the spine. “Yeah, let’s keep this show going! We’ve only scratched the surface of what we can do!” He threw his head back and laughed maniacally, his voice echoing through the call.

  Yohiko’s smile grew wider, his eyes alight with the dark promise of more. “Exactly. The world is already ours. Let’s see how far we can push it before it breaks completely.”

  The four clones, their faces cold and unmoving, simply stared back. They had no need for words—they knew their purpose, and that purpose was complete annihilation.

  The call ended with a crackle of static, and the four clones turned away, each embarking on their next stage of destruction, ready to carry out whatever horrifying commands Yohiko and Junko would give them. The world would never be the same. The dark shadows of their creators loomed over the chaos they had wrought, and it was clear that this was just the beginning.

  The Clown Bomb – A Final Act of Madness

  The dim glow of holographic monitors cast an eerie light on the abandoned circus grounds, now transformed into the heart of Junko Gacy's twisted ambition. Deep beneath the surface, in the bowels of an underground complex hidden from the prying eyes of the world, Junko toiled like a mad scientist in a lab that defied all logic and reason.

  Around him, the remains of broken carnival rides and shattered dreamscapes littered the space, remnants of a once-thriving circus that had long been forgotten. But Junko didn’t need the circus for entertainment anymore. No, this was the final act—the grand finale that would bring the entire world to its knees.

  Sitting in front of a complex, multi-layered machine covered in wires, lights, and strange symbols, Junko’s insane grin spread across his face. He was on the verge of finishing the unthinkable—a weapon unlike any the world had ever known. A weapon that would warp the very fabric of reality itself.

  The Clown Bomb, as he had come to call it, was far beyond the limits of any ordinary weapon. This wasn’t just a bomb that would level cities, though that would be but a small part of its destructive power. No, this bomb had the potential to unravel the universe as we knew it—rewiring time and space, bending reality until the very distinctions between life and death, order and chaos, sanity and madness no longer mattered. It would be a permanent nightmare, a world transformed into a twisted funhouse of horrors under his control.

  "Is it ready?" Yohiko Tenko's voice crackled through the communication channel, his deep, unsettling tone laced with anticipation. His crimson eyes glowed with malicious delight, as he stood in the shadows of his own lair. His twisted grin stretched across his face as he awaited confirmation from Junko.

  Junko's fingers danced across the control panel, manipulating the chaos of code, twisting time, space, and the very laws of physics. His laugh was almost manic as he glanced up at the screen, speaking to Yohiko with a gleam of obsession in his eyes. “It’s almost complete. The Clown Bomb is no ordinary device—it will make everything we’ve done so far look like child’s play. Once it detonates, reality itself will be rewritten, as if it never even existed in the first place. Nothing will remain untouched. This world will bend to my will.”

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  The call between Junko and Yohiko seemed to pulse with darkness, a foreboding sense of dread hanging in the air as the two villains spoke.

  “This weapon will not just destroy cities, Junko,” Yohiko’s voice lowered to a whisper, filled with wicked approval. “It will erase the very concepts of life and death. There will be no line between reality and nightmare. Time will lose all meaning, and the laws of existence will be twisted and torn. You've done something truly remarkable, something no one could have predicted.”

  Junko chuckled softly, his mind unraveling as he basked in the validation. “I’ve been planning this for so long. The heroes… they think they can stop us. But what they don’t realize is that this weapon will make everything they’ve fought for meaningless. There will be no world to save when it’s done. Only chaos.”

  The sound of shifting metal echoed through the call as the clones of Krishna appeared, each one lingering in the shadows of their own personal cataclysms. The Annihilator, who had recovered somewhat, stood in front of the screen, his heavily damaged body glowing faintly, a reminder of the power that coursed through him. The Murderer, silent as always, stared at the call with cold, calculating eyes. The Melt, fluid and ever-changing, loomed as a shadow in the corner of the feed. And The Monster, the beast, stood as a towering figure, rage and satisfaction reflected in his blood-soaked visage.

  “It’s about time we finish this,” The Annihilator growled, his voice harsh and guttural, filled with a thirst for more destruction. “Once Junko’s bomb is set off, nothing will stand in our way. The heroes will be powerless. We’ll wipe them out.”

  Yohiko smirked, a glint of dark amusement flashing across his face. "The Clown Bomb will be our final victory. With it, we won’t just win—we will redefine the world. The concept of heroism? Gone. The concept of order? Gone. Chaos will reign."

  Junko let out a soft, chilling laugh, his voice carrying a madness that matched the power of the bomb he had created. “You see, the beauty of this bomb isn’t just in its destruction. It’s in its chaos. It will warp everything—everyone. Those who survive the blast won’t be the same. Their minds will be twisted, their very existence reprogrammed to match the new reality I’ll create. The lines between sanity and insanity, between death and life, will no longer exist. And you, my dear creations, will be the ones to reap the rewards of this new world.”

  The Murderer’s eyes gleamed with cold indifference. He didn’t care for the details of Junko’s plan. He only cared about one thing: the death and destruction that followed.

  “Just tell me where to strike,” The Murderer said, his voice as empty as his gaze. “The world will burn.”

  The Melt’s form shimmered, its fluid shape expanding and contracting as if reacting to the dark energy around it. "The bomb will melt everything away," it whispered, its voice unsettling, the idea of entropy embodied in its every word.

  The Monster, silent and menacing, gave a low growl in agreement. It could already feel the world teetering on the edge of annihilation. There was something inherently satisfying about Junko's plans—a twisted sense of fulfillment. It was as though everything had led up to this moment.

  Junko leaned back in his chair, his fingers playing across the control panel as he initiated the final sequence. The underground base was alive with energy—dark, foreboding energy that crackled with the potential to unravel everything. The Clown Bomb was ready.

  “This is it,” Junko whispered to himself, the madness seeping into his every word. “The world will burn. Reality will collapse. And I will be the one to rebuild it in my image.”

  Yohiko’s voice crackled one last time over the comm. “Good luck, Junko. And once the Clown Bomb detonates, we will see a new world. A world we control.”

  Junko’s insane laugh echoed through the underground complex, sending shivers through the air. He was already envisioning the chaos—the pain, the terror. He was on the brink of reshaping the world.

  And no one would be able to stop him.

  The Red Aura – A Death Beyond Time

  The sky was a canvas of shadows, thick with the impending chaos of destruction. In the distance, an immense creature—a towering beast of raw muscle and fury—stalked through the crumbled ruins of what was once a thriving city. At 25 feet tall, the Anti-Hero was a monstrous figure, its body adorned with thick, coarse fur like that of a bear, its eyes glowing with rage and ferocity. Its Catalyst, the Bear Catalyst, imbued it with unparalleled strength and animal instincts, turning it into a juggernaut of destruction.

  The beast let out a guttural growl as it smashed through the remnants of buildings, its massive paws slamming against the cracked ground with every step. The very air seemed to shudder with the force of its movements, as if nature itself recoiled in fear of this unstoppable force.

  But that fear would prove to be irrelevant in the face of Yohiko Tenko, the Destroyer.

  From a distance, Yohiko watched the beast with a casual, almost bored expression on his face. His eyes, crimson and glowing, reflected nothing but contempt for the creature’s brute strength. For him, power was a delicate art, one not defined by physical prowess or sheer size. His power—his true power—was in the ability to destroy.

  With a slow, deliberate motion, Yohiko extended his hand toward the beast, his fingers curling slightly as his red aura began to pulse around him, crackling like lightning. The air grew heavy with a malevolent energy, a force that twisted reality itself. He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy that surged within him, the dark, destructive aura that he wielded with casual ease.

  The Red Aura—his signature weapon—rippled outward from his body, extending into the atmosphere like a consuming tidal wave. The beast, unaware of the danger approaching, let out another roar, the sound vibrating through the desolate surroundings. But Yohiko wasn’t concerned with the beast's physical might. He was far beyond that.

  The aura of destruction enveloped the beast in a flash, sinking into its very being. Time itself seemed to slow as the first effects took hold. The bear’s massive form began to twitch, its movements stiffening. Its eyes widened in confusion as the aura seeped into its body, twisting and distorting the very fabric of its existence. The Catalyst's power couldn't protect it from this—this was far beyond physical strength.

  The beast staggered, its fur darkening, the once-mighty muscles bulging in agony. The aura of decay and entropy surged into the creature’s core, and Yohiko’s grin grew wider as he watched. The beast’s body began to wither before his eyes, the flesh aging in an instant, its bones creaking under the immense strain.

  The Red Aura did not kill it through conventional means—no, it aged the beast. It forced its body to accelerate through time, every cell deteriorating, every organ crumbling into ash. The very essence of life was being siphoned away by the pure destructive force that Yohiko unleashed. The bear's powerful frame, once impervious to harm, began to disintegrate in a sickening, slow-motion decay.

  Flesh cracked and turned to dust, sinew and muscle turned brittle and weak. The beast's roar turned into a shrill scream of terror, but it was too late. It tried to resist, but the power that Yohiko wielded wasn’t one that could be fought with brute force. The Red Aura ignored the Catalyst’s defensive powers, peeling away its vitality like paper in a flame.

  In the span of mere seconds, the mighty bear collapsed to the ground, its body reduced to little more than a heap of ashen remains, the last remnants of its once indomitable strength crumbling into the wind. The beast was no more, its life snuffed out as if it had never existed at all.

  Yohiko slowly lowered his hand, the Red Aura dissipating into the air like smoke after a fire. He stared at the pile of ash that had once been a fearsome Anti-Hero, his expression cold and emotionless.

  "Pathetic," Yohiko muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Strength without purpose is nothing more than a ticking clock. And once that clock runs out, even the most powerful of creatures are reduced to dust."

  He turned away from the decimated battlefield, his crimson eyes flickering with an unholy light as he began to walk away, his mind already fixated on his next move. The world was his playground, and he was the architect of its end.

  "One less nuisance," Yohiko said, as the remnants of the bear’s body blew away in the wind, leaving nothing but an empty void where it once stood. His power had struck with precision, wiping out the beast without breaking a sweat. It was another victory, another display of the supreme might he had over life, death, and time itself. And it was only the beginning.

  As Yohiko moved forward, his laugh echoed faintly in the distance, a chilling prelude to the destruction that would soon follow. The universe was his to tear apart.

  The Touch of Oblivion

  The battlefield was quiet now, the dust of battle settling like a suffocating shroud over the remains of what had once been a thriving metropolis. The air hung heavy with the lingering scent of burnt metal and the faint acrid trace of decaying flesh. The remnants of buildings, twisted and broken, were scattered around the ruined landscape. Amidst this devastation, a single figure stood at the center of it all—Yohiko Tenko.

  His crimson eyes gleamed with an unsettling calm as he surveyed the aftermath of his latest act of destruction. The Red Aura had rippled out, swallowing everything in its path. And now, standing before him, was another victim—a towering beast, its form imposing, a massive, hulking figure, towering at 30 feet, with the signature strength of the Beast Catalyst. This beast, though massive and fearsome, was just another obstacle to Yohiko.

  The beast bellowed in defiance, its mighty limbs flexing with power. It roared, and the ground trembled with its anger. This creature had the strength of an entire army, its body armored by hardened, steel-like fur, each step shaking the earth beneath. But even as it howled in defiance, it was nothing but a dying thing walking.

  Yohiko took a single step forward, his gaze never wavering from the creature. He raised his hand slowly, his fingers curling slightly. The Red Aura swelled around him, flaring with a deep, blood-like intensity. There was no grand gesture, no dramatic speech—just a movement, a subtle flex of his hand.

  The Red Aura responded with unholy precision, coiling around his body before flowing outward like liquid fire. In an instant, Yohiko's fingers made contact with the beast's iron-clad form. The result was immediate and irreversible.

  Steel, solid and unyielding, began to melt beneath his fingertips, its integrity crumbling as if it were nothing more than soft clay. The once-imposing, metallic fur of the beast writhed and dissolved under the power of Yohiko’s touch. The air around him shimmered with the heat and intensity of his energy. The creature howled in agony, but it was powerless against this force of destruction.

  Flesh followed the same grim fate. What had once been an impenetrable, thick hide began to blister and wither, as if it were caught in a flame. The very cells of the creature’s skin seemed to disintegrate into nothingness with each passing second, turning to ash that drifted away with the wind. The beast’s blood boiled as the heat spread, causing the veins beneath its skin to burst. Within moments, it began to shrivel, its form collapsing under the weight of the energy seeping through it.

  The beast's enormous paws, once capable of crushing stone and bone, now simply flaked away, the muscles and tendons burning to ash as Yohiko’s touch reached deeper into its core. There was no time for the creature to fight back, no time to resist. As Yohiko’s aura consumed it, the beast’s body crumbled like a brittle, forgotten relic from an age long past.

  The bones beneath the beast's skin snapped and shattered into dust, their once-immense density now meaningless in the face of Yohiko's unrelenting power. The structure of the beast—its very existence—collapsed, reduced to nothing more than a pile of smoldering ashes and blackened remnants, scattered by the wind.

  Yohiko stood motionless, his hand still extended, his fingers curled as if they had just released a great burden. The creature’s corpse—if it could even be called that now—was little more than a smoldering, blackened heap at his feet, a testament to the sheer devastation his touch could unleash.

  His crimson eyes flickered with an emotionless satisfaction as he withdrew his hand and slowly lowered it. His breath, shallow and deliberate, filled the air as he looked down at the remains of the Beast Catalyst, now a symbol of utter obliteration.

  “How simple,” Yohiko mused aloud, his voice devoid of emotion. “Strength is nothing. It breaks and fades, no matter how powerful it seems. It’s nothing more than a ticking clock, and once that clock runs out, even the strongest become dust.”

  He turned his back on the crumbled beast, stepping away from the aftermath of his actions. The ground beneath his feet was scorched, the landscape marked by the irreversible effects of his power. The battle was over. The beast had been vanquished, not by conventional means, but by the touch of oblivion itself.

  His crimson aura flickered one last time before vanishing into the air, and Yohiko’s footsteps faded into the distance, leaving behind only ruin and the remnants of a world on the edge of collapse.

  “Another victory,” he whispered to himself, his grin widening slightly. “And yet, we are just beginning.”

  The Wrath of the Abyss

  The air was thick with tension, as the ground beneath Yohiko Tenko's feet trembled in the presence of an extraordinary power. Standing before him was a colossal figure, a hybrid of strength and primal ferocity—an unstoppable Beast Catalyst who had merged with the essence of a dinosaur. Towering at over 40 feet, its form resembled that of a massive, armored T. rex, its muscles rippling with untold power. With scales as thick as steel, claws sharp enough to rend metal, and teeth that could crush concrete with a single bite, the beast was a force of nature.

  Yet Yohiko Tenko stood unwavering, his crimson eyes gleaming with the deadly calm of a predator ready to strike. His body radiated an aura of chilling certainty as he took a step forward, his hand hovering near the machine gun strapped to his back. The very air around him seemed to grow colder as the Red Aura swirled around him, feeding off the chaos and rage that surrounded him.

  With a sudden, almost imperceptible movement, Yohiko’s hand shot out and grasped the machine gun. He raised it with ease, his eyes never leaving the beast. The gun itself seemed almost laughably inadequate against such a monstrous creature, but Yohiko had no intentions of simply shooting. The gun, as it would turn out, was nothing more than a conduit for the terror he intended to unleash.

  As he pulled the trigger, the deafening roar of gunfire shattered the silence. Bullets tore through the air in a relentless barrage, ripping into the beast’s armored hide. But the creature, built to withstand tremendous impact, merely grunted in pain, shrugging off the shots like a mere nuisance.

  Yohiko’s lips curled into a grin. This was no ordinary battle; this would be a lesson in absolute destruction.

  The machine gun, in Yohiko’s hands, began to glow with the intensity of his Red Aura, the bullets transforming mid-flight into tendrils of dark energy that spiraled into the air. These dark tendrils—thousands of them—emerged from Yohiko’s body like serpentine shadows. Each was a manifestation of his will, an extension of his chaotic energy, poised to inflict agony like no other.

  The tendrils slithered through the air, their black coils writhing with a life of their own, seeking out the beast. Unlike ordinary weapons, these tendrils were not bound by the constraints of mere matter or physics; they moved with a predatory grace that mirrored Yohiko’s mind itself. They were not limited by distance, for they stretched and extended miles, their reach vast and merciless.

  The beast roared, its massive jaws snapping as it tried to lunge at Yohiko. But it was too late.

  The tendrils struck like a storm, flashing through the air with unnatural speed. They impaled the beast’s thick hide, tearing through its armored scales with sickening ease. One by one, the tendrils sunk deep into the creature’s flesh, their black coils wrapping around its body, slicing through muscle, bone, and tissue as if they were nothing. The beast screamed in pain as the tendrils tore through its massive form, dragging out organs, tearing apart its sinew, and snapping its bones.

  Each tendril, controlled with horrific precision, seemed to inflict not just physical torment, but a deeper agony—an existential pain that shattered the creature’s mind. The tendrils twisted through the beast’s body, as if tormenting it on a level that surpassed mere survival. Flesh was peeled from bone in gruesome strips, muscles shredded, and veins burst under the pressure, sending blood spilling into the air in torrents.

  But Yohiko didn’t stop there. As the beast struggled, the tendrils wrapped tighter around its limbs, lifting the creature off the ground. The tendrils constricted, tightening like noose around its chest, squeezing the breath out of it. The beast’s eyes widened in panic, but there was no escape. The tendrils crushed with a deadly finality, puncturing the creature’s lungs and heart, and soon its massive body was contorted in a twisted, grotesque display of agony.

  But Yohiko’s power was not just about pain. No, the tendrils were far more than simple instruments of suffering—they were instruments of complete and utter obliteration. As the beast's body was shredded and suffocated, Yohiko’s tendrils dug deeper, pulling the very essence of the beast into the abyss of decay. The creature’s life force seemed to unravel, its energy consumed by the darkness of Yohiko’s will.

  Within moments, the colossal figure of the beast was nothing more than a ragged shell, its body torn apart, its spirit broken. Yohiko stood amidst the remains, his tendrils retracting back into his body as the creature crumpled before him. The once-mighty Beast Catalyst had been reduced to ash and ruin, its form utterly destroyed, wiped from existence.

  The machine gun, now silent, hung loosely from Yohiko's arm. His crimson eyes flickered with satisfaction, his grin widening ever so slightly. He stepped forward, his boots crushing the remnants of the beast underfoot.

  “Stronger than a T. rex...,” Yohiko whispered with a cold chuckle. “But even a creature like that can't withstand the erosion of time. Everything eventually crumbles.”

  The world around him was still. The battle was over. The beast was gone. And in its place was nothing but the ruin of a once-powerful being, completely annihilated under the weight of Yohiko’s wrath.

  He turned, ready to move on to the next target, the Red Aura around him flickering and burning with anticipation.

  “Onward,” he muttered. “Nothing and no one can stop me. Not even the strongest.”