“What business do you have here?”
The guard was hostile. Mergo showed no signs of matching that hostility—he preferred words.
But Lawrence moved first.
Without hesitation, he charged the armored man, morphing his arm into a monstrous crimson-black spear of flesh.
In a savage blow, Lawrence’s arm pierced the guard’s chest and tore through his back.
He screamed like a madman as tendrils exploded from his arm, bursting through the knight’s body and ripping it into scattered chunks of meat.
Not that the guard’s screams could be heard clearly over Lawrence’s frenzied howling.
As for Mergo, he simply pulled out his usual drink and sipped calmly, waiting.
A few minutes later, the orphanage door creaked open … and out stepped a single man.
From inside, Mergo could see the children peeking from the windows, fear etched in their eyes as they looked to that man. Their hope rested on him, as if he were their only savior.
A man with long, reddish-brown hair. His posture straight like a spear. He wore the robes of a priest, his rugged brown skin hidden beneath them. A golden reading monocle hung loosely over his crimson right eye.
Mergo recognized him. And so did the so-called head of the orphanage.
“Mergo…”
The man’s deep voice echoed, his glowing eyes locked solely on the old drunk.
He ignored the feral beast lunging from the side … Lawrence, who shrieked with madness.
Lawrence’s arm swelled into a grotesque monstrosity as it came crashing down with terrifying force upon the man’s body, unleashing a violent shockwave.
Blood sprayed. The sound of bones shattering and flesh tearing pierced the air.
Lawrence howled, stumbling back as he stared in disbelief at his ruined arm.
What had he struck?
Was it some unbreakable metal?
No .. he had struck flesh. The man still stood, untouched. Not even a scratch.
Even in the haze of his madness, Lawrence could only think one word:
“tough!!”
The man finally turned toward the Imperian, his crimson eyes glowing ominously—as if an insect had dared collide with him.
“Insolent.”
A single word in return for a scream that shook the heavens.
Lawrence charged again, his body twisting into a monstrous shape as black tendrils spiraled violently around him, trying to crush the man before him.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.!
Suddenly, explosions rang out for miles—like someone had set off a series of devastating bombs.
The orphanage director had moved. His arm had struck, like a rocket launcher …no aura, no flashy lights.
Just pure, raw power.
In three rapid punches, he obliterated flesh and bone alike, leaving Lawrence shattered on the ground …his body broken, mouth and eyes wide open in disbelief.
The director raised his fist for a final blow … one that dropped like a reaper’s scythe to reap the soul of the writhing boy beneath.
But the strike never landed.
It was stopped.
Blocked cleanly by a sword that appeared from thin air.
Mergo, holding his blade in one hand, deflected the strike with precision.
“I see you’re harvesting souls on your sacred grounds, Director of the Orphanage… Smough.”
He spoke the cursed man’s name aloud.
Smough responded coldly.
“The only soul spilled here was ended by your own disciple.”
The space around them began to quake as Smough pushed harder, but even that force couldn’t move Mergo.
“A soul for a soul… You know how things work around here, Lord Mergo.”
“My apologies. I never did care for Hollow law.”
They locked eyes, their auras crackling and clashing like lightning around them.
In the next breath, Smough lunged for the kill.
Mergo grinned.
And with one sweeping strike from his Uchigatana, he unleashed a wave that shredded the entire orphanage into thousands of fragments …slashing Smough himself into ribbons in less than a second.
Or so it seemed.
In the chaos, Smough slowly lowered his hand. Mergo calmly returned his sword to its sheath.
Then he chuckled softly.
“Wise choice.”
Smough said nothing. He was still caught up in the vision … what would have happened had that clash been real.
It never happened. The battle had taken place entirely in their minds … a mental clash that showed them both the inevitable outcome. And Smough had realized: fighting Mergo would have been a bad idea.
He clasped his hands behind his back and sighed with restrained annoyance.
“What business do you have with me?”
“Relax. I won’t ruin your feast, oh dear Cannibal… I’m just the messenger.”
“A message?”
“War is coming. So arm yourself. Be ready. The Demon will reign this time.”
“Another war…”
Mergo laughed.
“And not just any war … the final one.”
“After this, the Empire and the Ultras would no longer coexist.”
One would be erased. Completely.
Smough understood. This time, participation was not optional.
A Demon and a Half-Demon had appeared before him. That was all the warning he needed.
Without a word, he turned back toward the orphanage.
“Leave. You’re scaring the children.”
“Ha! What a doting father you are.”
“Ah yes… I am the father. And wouldn’t you know it .. my son has gone astray… and run far from home.”
Smough paused for a moment before confirming to Mergo:
“I will serve… as I always have.”
The Lord of the Ultras nodded in return.
“I’ll be counting on that.”
With a single step, the old man Mergo vanished … carrying the broken Lawrence with him, leaving the orphanage director, Smough, standing alone.
Smough placed a hand over his face as an eerie sound echoed all around him…
A sinister, hollow laughter.
“The time is near… my child born of darkness.”
“It’s time… to come home.”
He turned and stepped back into the orphanage as the doors of Yhosefka’s Orphanage shut behind him once more … until the day came again when another lost child needed shelter.
…
…
…
Elsewhere on that same earth .. but on the opposite side of the coin…
The training ground of the Temple lay shattered, scarred by the ferocity of the last duel.
Huff… Huff…
Frey exhaled heavily, sprawled out on the ground with both arms stretched wide.
In his hands … two blazing black swords.
Weapons that gleamed brilliantly… yet his body could no longer move.
Standing above him was a woman with fiery red hair, a radiant smile gracing her lips.
Her breath was also uneven as she rested her colossal claymore gently against Frey’s neck.
“You’ve lost.”
“No need to say it… I already know.”
The two spoke calmly, ignoring the bloodstains and the deep sword scars etched into the ground around them.
Melina extended a hand to the wounded Frey, who rose to his feet with difficulty, forcing a crooked smile onto his face.
“Lately, I seem to be getting my ass kicked by women a lot…”