A cold silence fell. The kind that only exists before the storm.
"I told you," Wrath muttered, cracking his knuckles with a smirk. "This is my war… and I'm going to win it."
Without another word, No.2 charged forward like a beast unleashed.
Wrath sighed, tossing his long brown coat back over his shoulder. "Man, this guy's seriously irritating... let's fix him first."
No.2 lunged at him like a wild dog, but Wrath moved faster. He stepped forward, grabbed No.2's head mid-sprint, and vaulted himself up and over with a single elegant motion. His back now faced No.2's, both standing opposite, eyes fixed in different directions.
With a wicked grin, Wrath whispered, "Good night."
Before No.2 could even react, Wrath spun and slammed a brutal back heel kick into the base of No.2's neck. The sound of bones cracking echoed. No.2 collapsed to the ground, limbs limp, unconscious.
Wrath didn't even flinch. He landed perfectly on No.2's back, stepped off like it was a stage, and casually dusted off his hands.
No.1, watching from a distance, narrowed his eyes. "You're always so perfect… a title like Wrath doesn't suit someone like you."
Wrath smirked, tilting his head. "And you? No.1? The almighty Sin of Pride? The guy who abandoned the demon race for love?" He chuckled darkly. "How poetic."
"That was for love," No.1 snapped, rushing forward with a punch loaded with dark aura.
Wrath caught it effortlessly.
"You're not the strongest anymore," he said—and threw a devastating punch straight into No.1's upper chest.
No.1 absorbed it just barely by bracing his legs against the cracked road.
His mind screamed: That… almost shattered me.
Wrath noticed his struggle. "What? Did I hit too hard?"
The ground rumbled. The camera zoomed out. No.1 knelt in the center of a crater. A large portion of the street had been obliterated from the shockwave alone.
No.1 coughed and groaned, "Why… am I fighting 1v2… at my lowest… against my brother… and my rival?"
Wrath shrugged, "Because you're No.1. But let's be real. There's no life left for you now."
Still, No.1 stood up again. Shaky but determined.
"Let's say I kill you," he growled. "What then?"
Wrath grinned. "See it with your own eyes—if you can."
"I'll fight you hand-to-hand," Wrath offered, stretching his neck. "No powers. No tricks. I won't even use my techniques."
"You cocky bastard," No.1 spat. "What are you now? A king?"
"Kinda," Wrath said coolly.
"Then let me show you what it means to be Demon King," No.1 growled. "And break your ego."
Wrath's eyes lit up. "You're barely standing, bro."
Then he paused. Blood trickled down his cheek from a tiny cut.
Wrath touched it. His expression changed.
"Alright then," he whispered. "Let's start this properly."
No.1 glared. "Don't underestimate me."
Wrath cracked his knuckles, smiling. "For sure."
— Scene Cut —
Meanwhile, inside the damaged hospital...
Fallen and Misaki raced through the dark, blood-smeared halls. The ceiling lights flickered. Alarms echoed from distant rooms.
They finally reached the back exit.
Fallen froze.
He stood silently, unmoving.
Misaki arrived beside him, panting from the run. "Fallen?"
She placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
He didn't respond.
She turned her gaze in the same direction—and gasped.
Her eyes widened in horror.
Outside—standing amidst ruins, flames, and rubble—a towering figure in a long brown leather coat stood with one arm raised.
That arm was gripping something.
It was Fallen's father.
Bloodied. Skin torn. Left leg gone.
He dangled helplessly by the neck, like a rag doll.
His face bruised, his clothes barely hanging on. He was barely conscious.
Misaki's scream shattered the moment. "UNCLE!"
Her voice trembled. Her legs buckled slightly.
Fallen's fists clenched. His breath became sharp, ragged.
Inside him, something was boiling.
[Chapter ends]