The city of Hiroshima stood as a quiet testament to the fragility of peace, a city rebuilt upon the ashes of its own obliteration. The skyline was a stark juxtaposition of gleaming modernity and the skeletal remains of older structures—an intricate dance between the ruins of history and the ceaseless march of progress. The sun rose lazily over the horizon, casting a golden sheen over the city’s streets, yet even in this moment of serenity, a darker presence stirred—an invisible storm gathering its forces in the sky.

  Gyo was already there.

  He didn’t land. He descended, as if the heavens themselves parted in recognition of his existence. His arrival wasn’t marked by a slow descent or the graceful arc of a mere mortal. No. He fell like a thunderclap, the very atmosphere quivering under the weight of his descent. His form, a hulking mass of sinew and raw muscle, gleamed with a brutal, unnerving radiance as it tore through the morning calm. The air itself seemed to shrink, warping under the pressure of his presence. The ground beneath his feet groaned, buckled, and cracked in reverent submission.

  Gyo had no purpose here. Not like others did. He wasn’t driven by the need for riches, power, or revenge. He didn’t have a target in mind. Hiroshima was simply in his way, and that was all the reason he needed.

  He exhaled—a slow, deliberate intake of breath that rattled the very air around him. As he stood above the trembling city, the crushing weight of his Aura descended upon it. It was more than physical; it was existential. It was a quiet, oppressive force, like the final breath before oblivion. The people beneath, unaware of his exact identity, could feel it. Their hearts stuttered, their bodies locked into place, not by fear, but by something far more primal—a desperate, instinctive knowledge that they were small, insignificant, and about to be erased.

  Without a single motion, Gyo unleashed his power.

  A snap of his arm—a casual flick—and the ground beneath him splintered, the city buckling as if it were little more than fragile glass under the impact of a god. The tower, an impressive monument to human ingenuity, shattered as his fist cleaved through it effortlessly. Concrete and steel exploded outward, their remains scattering like leaves in the wind, only to fall with the weight of inevitability. The sound that followed was deafening—a cacophony of destruction that rattled the bones of those who were unfortunate enough to witness it. The air screamed as it was torn asunder by the force of his movement, a violent roar that reverberated across the city like a death knell.

  And Gyo? He didn’t pause. He never did. He moved forward, a predator in every sense, his movements smooth and fluid, barely even disturbing the ground beneath him. He didn’t walk—he stormed through the wreckage, his body an unstoppable force of nature, a living cataclysm. Buildings buckled under his mere presence, collapsing not through the efforts of bombs or artillery, but because he bent reality itself with every step. It wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t a confrontation. It was rewriting the world.

  Before the first wave of military forces could even gather, Gyo was already in motion, pushing through the chaos with relentless purpose. The helicopters overhead swarmed like agitated insects, their rotors slicing through the air in a vain attempt to challenge the unchallenged. Armored vehicles rumbled, their engines a futile effort to mask the tremors Gyo’s presence created. Soldiers braced themselves in a loose perimeter, their weapons raised, faces taut with an ill-fated determination. They had no idea who or what Gyo was. And within moments, they would learn.

  With a flick of his wrist, Gyo tore through a tank like it was nothing more than paper—an explosion followed, but it was a muted thing. Gyo was already moving again, his form blurring as he crushed the soldiers beneath him, their screams unheeded, their bodies nothing more than pulp beneath the weight of his heel. His eyes burned with the intensity of a mind long since beyond caring for the lives he erased. His only focus was Hiroshima. The city, with all its fleeting beauty, was nothing more than a fleeting moment—one that he would consume in his passage.

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  His Aura surged, and it was not the wind that knocked people to their knees. No, it was the weight of it—the oppressive force pressing against their spirits, causing them to collapse, to crumble inwardly, their very souls warring against the crushing dominance that he exuded. The soldiers—brave, foolish, desperate—were nothing before him. They tried to fire, but Gyo was already too fast. In a single fluid motion, he crushed the barrel of the lead soldier’s rifle, twisting it like a stick, then stepped forward and planted his foot into the ground. A shockwave followed, and the soldiers—now little more than ragdolls—were tossed into the air, their bodies whirling like leaves caught in a storm.

  A distant roar echoed in the sky. Gyo’s eyes flicked upward just as two fighter jets screamed toward him, their engines shrieking, slicing through the air like an unsheathing sword. They were too late. Nothing mattered now. Nothing could stop him. He stood still, the jets racing toward him. He didn’t move. Not yet.

  And then, he was above them. In a blink, faster than even the seasoned pilots could comprehend, Gyo shot upward, his massive form blotting out the sky. His hand snatched one jet mid-flight, ripping it in half like a child tearing through wrapping paper. The second jet fired, but the rounds ricocheted off his body as if they were stones thrown against the mountainside. Gyo tore the second jet from the sky, wrenching it apart and hurling the twisted wreckage to the earth below, where it crumpled like an empty can.

  Everything broke against him. Every weapon, every defense, every attempt at resistance was meaningless. Gyo was invulnerable. He was unstoppable. He was supreme. Hiroshima, with all its history, its efforts at rebirth, was now a playground. Its fate sealed in the moments it took him to arrive.

  The civilians, now scrambling, scattered across the streets. Some ran toward the city’s outskirts, while others, lost and panicked, dashed aimlessly. But there was no escape. They could run, but they could not hide. Gyo had already marked them. Their lives, like the rest of this city, were fated to burn.

  He moved through the streets with the cold precision of a predator hunting its prey. A flick of his wrist, and skyscrapers shattered. A stomp of his foot, and highways cracked, falling into pieces, swallowed by the depths of destruction. Gyo didn’t care about bloodshed. He didn’t care about pain. His victims were nothing but obstacles, pawns on a chessboard, to be swept aside in his march toward conquest.

  Amidst the chaos, a mother clutched her child, attempting to shield the tiny form from the devastation unfolding around them. Her scream, laden with terror and desperation, cut through the carnage. Gyo’s cold, calculating gaze fell upon her—a fleeting moment of amusement flickering in his eyes. The child’s sobs meant nothing. The mother’s pleas for mercy were whispers lost in the winds of chaos.

  The woman tried to shield her child as Gyo stepped forward, the ground quaking beneath the weight of his presence. A flick of his hand, and in an instant, the child was gone—disintegrated, erased as if they had never existed. The mother collapsed, her cries torn from her chest, her entire body trembling as she sank to the ground. But even as she mourned, she knew there was no mercy. Gyo didn’t care. He had already moved on. He was already gone, leaving the ruined city behind him, the remnants of human life scattered in his wake like dust.

  With a final, guttural laugh, Gyo ascended, his body disappearing into the sky as the last remnants of Hiroshima’s skyline trembled under his departure. The survivors—those who had escaped with their lives—would speak of this day. Some would call it an apocalypse. Some would call it the beginning of something worse.

  But Gyo? He didn’t care for their names. He didn’t care for their stories. He was simply The Runaway Conqueror, and to him, nothing stood in his way.

  As he disappeared into the distance, the silence left behind wasn’t one of peace. It was the deep, resonating silence of a world broken, recalibrating itself beneath the weight of absolute power.

  Some forces, Gyo knew, were not meant to be fought. They were meant to be broken.

  Hiroshima had learned that lesson.

  And it would never forget.