The warehouse stank of death.
It soaked the air. Thick. Metallic. It clung to the back of the throat and pressed down on the lungs like smoke from a fire that never went out. Corpses—shredded, dismembered, and torn—lined the floor in grotesque arrangements, twisted like broken mannequins.
Ren stood in the center of it all, drenched in blood.
His arms were trembling, but not from fatigue. The blade in his hand still dripped crimson, shaking softly as if even it was recoiling from what had been done. His clothes clung to him, soaked in sweat and gore. His body ached—he could barely see through the swelling in his face.
And yet, none of that mattered.
Because when he turned around—
Emi was pointing a gun at his head.
His breath caught.
"…Emi?" he asked, voice cracked and low.
Her hands were shaking violently, her knuckles white as she clutched the weapon. Tears poured down her cheeks, and her entire body trembled like she was going to collapse at any moment. Her lip quivered, but her eyes—they were broken.
"I don't trust you," she whispered, the words barely getting out through clenched teeth. "You… you lied. You were just going to kill me too, weren't you?"
"What?" Ren's voice came out barely audible. "No—"
"You would've done it," she cut him off. "You still would. If it meant getting out of here. If it meant being free. You would've—" her voice cracked, and she let out a choked sob, "—you would've left me behind."
He didn't know how to answer.
He didn't even know what to feel.
But for the first time in his short, miserable life—he felt it.
Hurt.
Real, raw, fucking pain.
Not physical. Not from fists or blades. But something far worse—something that spread through his chest like rot. The words coming out of her mouth didn't just stab—they dug in, twisted, and left something ugly behind.
Her hand trembled, and she finally dropped the gun. It clattered against the bloodstained floor with a soft clang.
Then she screamed.
And punched him.
The blow rocked his already bruised face. He stumbled back, but she followed—threw herself on top of him and began swinging.
"Why did you do it?!" she cried, her fists slamming down into his cheeks, his mouth, his jaw.
Ren didn't fight back.
"You should've just killed me!" she sobbed, hitting him again. "If it meant escaping—why didn't you?!"
He grunted as another punch landed, splitting his lip. The warmth of blood filled his mouth.
"Why did you protect me?!" she screamed.
She was crying so hard now she could barely speak. Her punches came slower, weaker, but they still hit—just as much emotionally as they did physically.
"We're broken!" she howled. "This world is shit! We've lost everyone we've ever loved. You don't even remember your family—there's nothing left. Nothing worth saving. We should've just died, Ren. We should've just…"
She paused, slamming her fists into his chest once more.
"We should've never been found."
Ren's head was spinning. His face was swollen. One eye barely opened. But somehow, through all the pain and blood, he managed to lift his eyes and look at her.
His voice was a whisper. A raw, honest murmur barely hanging on.
"…You."
She froze.
"Life is worth living," he rasped, "when I'm with you."
Her hands trembled.
"You shouldn't throw your life away," he said, coughing blood between words. "Someone like me… someone as irreparable as me… I didn't have a reason to live. Until I met you."
Her eyes widened.
"I don't understand it," Ren said, "but as long as you keep living… I don't care. That's enough for me. Which is why…"
He gritted his teeth through the pain.
"…I planned to kill myself. So you could escape."
She sat there, silent. Shaking. Her eyes filled with disbelief… and something worse—guilt.
"Ren…" she whispered, voice cracking. "I…"
She got off him slowly, staggering back. Her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers found a stray pistol on the ground. She held it with trembling hands. Not toward him—this time, toward herself.
She pressed the muzzle beneath her jaw.
Ren's eyes widened in horror.
"Emi, no—!"
She looked at him, and for a brief moment, smiled.
"I care about you, Ren. You're more human than I could ever be. You tried to protect me… even when I didn't deserve it."
Her eyes softened. "Promise me… you'll live. Grow up. Marry a beautiful girl. Have a kid. Be happy. Even if it's without me."
"EMI—!"
BLAM.
Everything stopped.
A spray of red mist filled the air. Bone fragments. Skin. Hair.
Ren watched her body collapse, lifeless, into a pool of her own blood.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream. Couldn't even blink.
His legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees beside her.
He reached out—desperately trying to put her back together. To make it stop. But her head was barely recognizable. His hands trembled, trying to fix what couldn't be fixed. Like patching a broken vase with dust.
"…Emi…" he whispered.
No tears came. He couldn't cry.
Instead, his head began to ache. Deep. Pulsing. Like a hammer smashing the inside of his skull.
And then—
Clapping.
Slow. Mocking.
Ren turned slowly as Elder Daizen stepped out from the shadows, his black coat still untouched by the carnage.
"Well," Daizen said with a chuckle. "Didn't actually think she'd go through with it. She was braver than she looked."
Ren didn't answer. Didn't move.
Daizen's eyes narrowed. "What? No words? No screams?"
Still silence.
Irritation flashed in his expression.
Then—BOOM.
A fist crashed into Ren's cheek with a sickening crack, the world tilting sideways as he flew back across the blood-slick concrete. His body hit the ground hard, skidding through half-dried pools of red until his back slammed against a pillar with enough force to rattle his skull.
He didn't move.
Didn't resist.
Daizen didn't stop.
The old man came like a storm.
Another punch. Crack. Bone shifted. Ren's jaw snapped sideways under the blow, his mouth suddenly full of copper. Daizen didn't pause—he was methodical, monstrous, his fists heavy like iron.
Then a hand clamped around Ren's shirt and lifted him like he weighed nothing.
BAM. Daizen drove him into a steel beam. The impact shook the entire structure. A guttural gasp escaped Ren as the air was crushed out of his lungs.
Then came the knee—straight to his gut.
A wet, awful sound followed as Ren's body convulsed, vomiting up a stream of blood and bile. It spilled down his chin, mixing with the dirt.
"She was a weakness," Daizen snarled, grabbing him again. His voice wasn't angry—it was cold. Cold like the inside of a coffin. "And I don't tolerate weakness."
CRASH. He slammed Ren down again, spine-first into concrete. Something cracked. Maybe his back. Maybe his ribs. Ren wasn't sure.
He didn't care.
The pain didn't matter.
Nothing did.
"You can't even cry," Daizen spat, towering over him. "The one person you cared about just killed herself, and you're lying there like a fucking corpse. This is how detached from humanity you are. Something as in disposable as that, you could be the ultimate assassin."
Ren wheezed. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, his ears. He stared up, but not at Daizen. Past him. Through him. As if he wasn't even there.
"You get it now?" Daizen barked. He grabbed a fistful of Ren's hair and slammed his skull into the floor. Once. Twice. A third time. Blood splattered across the concrete. "You're not human. You're a product of yourself."
Ren didn't flinch. Didn't speak.
The words hit harder than the blows ever could.
"You think this is about pain? About punishment? No. This is clarity, Ren. You don't get to grieve. You don't deserve it. Because you bring death to everyone that loves you."
Another hit.
"You want to know why your parents died? Why your precious family's gone?"
Ren blinked slowly, barely breathing.
Daizen leaned down, his voice now barely a whisper—a knife behind the ear.
"It's because of you. You did it. You're the reason. You bring death wherever you go. It follows you like a shadow."
Something cracked inside Ren.
Not a bone. Something deeper.
He tasted the blood and bile in his mouth. He felt the cold seeping into his skin. And for a moment—just a moment—he wondered if maybe Daizen was right.
Maybe he was the mistake.
"You know why I keep you alive?" Daizen's voice dropped. "Because you're useful. That's it. A tool. A weapon. Point, stab, kill. That's all you'll ever be."
Ren's vision blurred, his body trembling involuntarily from the trauma. He wanted to scream, to curse, to cry, but nothing came out. There was no anger left. No sadness.
Only a numb, pitiful emptiness that filled every corner of him like rot in a house.
"The hospital helped you. Molded you. Raised you for a year. And they still couldn't fix you," Daizen said, standing tall. "Because you're not broken."
He raised his fist one last time.
"You're the flaw."
CRACK.
The final blow knocked Ren out cold.
He didn't even feel it. His eyes rolled back, and his bloodied body lay still. The world slipped into black.
And deep, somewhere inside that darkness, Ren thought:
He's right.
I ruin everything.
Everyone that loves me dies.
No matter what I choose, it's always the same ending.
I am what's wrong.
When Ren opened his eyes again, he was back in the Syndicate.
Alone.
Unbandaged. Unwashed. Sitting on the cold floor of his room.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move. Couldn't move.
The light above him flickered softly, and blood still clung to his skin like glue. His swollen eye barely opened.
Then—a memory. Faint, but warm.
He and Emi, in the hospital. She had asked him something once.
"What do you want, Ren?"
Back then, he couldn't answer.
But now—
He slowly raised his hand toward the ceiling. Fingers trembling.
And for the first time in his life… tears fell from his eyes.
"I just… want to be loved."