Bang! Bang! Bang! — — — — — Boooooom! "I told you all, we shouldn’t have provoked that monster, but none of you listened to me!" A man shouted in a panicked voice as he ran, ignoring the sound of gunshots and explosions behind him. "N-no one thought he would be able to find us even in such a distant place," Another short man, running beside him, justified as he tried to outrun his companion. Bang! Another loud gunshot echoed, and a bullet passed by the ear of the first man, narrowly missing his head. The man screamed in panic and almost fell to the ground. Fortunately, just then, the exit of the building finally came into view. As long as he could get outside, he still had a chance of escaping. The shorter man beside him also showed a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he gritted his teeth, desperate to grab the last straw of survival. Both of them thought the one chasing them would try to stop them before they could reach the door. But to their surprise, no one stopped them—not until they reached the exit, opened the door, and finally stepped out of the building. Their eyes lit up with hope as they spotted a car parked a short distance away. They were just about to move toward it when suddenly, a cold gust of wind swept past their bodies, followed by a sharp, stinging pain that engulfed them. "Arghhhh!!!" Two agonizing screams rang out in unison as the hands and feet of both men were cleanly severed by an unseen force. A pool of blood formed beneath their writhing bodies as they screamed in misery, their eyes bloodshot with terror. Tap! Tap! — — — — — Amid their cries, the sound of footsteps echoed—but strangely, it grew fainter, not closer. The short man endured the pain of his severed limbs and slowly turned his head in the direction of the fading sound, only to see a thin figure, like a skeleton wrapped head to toe in black cloth, walking away. The figure held a sharp sword, about one hundred and fifty centimeters long, its blade gleaming with fresh blood. For a moment, the short man forgot the pain and confusion clouded his thoughts, wondering why didn’t the figure kill them? But then he looked around and saw something he had missed in the chaos. All around him, there lay many people in similar condition—limbs severed, moaning or unconscious from pain. ’H-he doesn’t want to kill us... He wants us to feel death approaching while being completely powerless,’ The short man realized with horror. He tried to crawl away, dragging himself forward without limbs, leaving a bloody trail behind. His breathing grew erratic, and he began to feel dizzy from the blood loss. The suffocating knowledge that he was dying and couldn’t stop it made tears well in his eyes. He turned to look at his companion—the one who had escaped the building with him—and saw the same despair reflected in his bloodshot eyes as he too tried to crawl away. "W-we shouldn’t have provoked him..." The short man muttered in a hoarse voice, as if something was stuck in his throat. He stared up at the cloudy night sky with lifeless eyes as a cold wind blew. The moon was hidden behind thick black clouds, and the occasional flash of lightning, accompanied by thunder, lit the sky like a prelude to a storm. Slowly, the short man’s eyes began to cloud over. The screams of the others faded from his hearing. As death approached, his despair gave way to an eerie calm, and he stared at the dark sky, no longer aware of anything else. Within minutes, his vision blurred from blood loss, and his mind began to spin. He no longer felt the pain of his missing limbs and was on the verge of passing out— When suddenly— "What’s with that peaceful expression on your face?" Bang! A cold female voice rang out, followed by the crack of a gunshot. "Arghhhh!" The short-haired man screamed as a bullet pierced his stomach, spilling another pool of blood. The pain and despair he had just numbed himself to returned like a tidal wave. He turned his bloodshot eyes toward the source of the voice. Standing there was a young girl—barely one meter tall—gazing at him with no emotion as she pointed a pistol at him. She had shoulder-length brown hair and wore a tight black suit like a trained fighter. What stood out most were her dark blue eyes—eyes that didn’t look human. As he stared into her eyes, the short man saw her irises rotating slightly, like mechanical lenses rather than anything natural. Tap! Tap! — — — — Just then, footsteps echoed again. The man saw the thin, black-wrapped figure—the one who had severed his limbs—walking toward the little girl. This time, the short-haired man noticed something else and his eyes widened in shock. ’His feet...’ He stared at the figure’s feet and saw they weren’t human—they were made of metal, like a robot. Bang! Bang! Before he could process anything further, two more gunshots rang out. The little girl fired again—this time, into his eyes. The man screamed as the bullets tore into his face, but the little girl ignored him. Without a word, she turned toward the figure wrapped in black clothes and walked back into the building with it, completely disregarding the limbless bodies writhing in pain outside. They passed deeper into the building, their footsteps quiet. All around them, bodies lay everywhere—dead from clean bullet shots. The floors were soaked in blood, the air heavy with the thick, metallic stench of iron. The corpses had wide, terrified eyes. Most had only a single bullet wound—either to the heart, throat, or forehead. Looking at the corpses, the little girl nodded occasionally as if admiring her handiwork and followed the black figure without a word. Soon, they reached the stairwell and began to climb. Each floor was the same—filled with corpses and stained in blood. When they reached the seventh floor, the scene changed. Though still bloody and filled with corpses, the killings here were different. It was.... More brutal. These weren’t clean kills by bullets. Instead, the bodies were torn apart, as if ripped apart by wild beasts. "No. 1, I killed more people than you this time. Don’t you think we should swap names? From now on, I will be No. 1, and you will be No. 4," The little girl said cheerfully, completely unfazed by the gruesome sight. The black-clothed figure—No. 1—didn’t reply and simply nodded. Seeing this, the little girl’s pupils spun a full 360 degrees and contracted to a pinpoint and she grinned widely. After a few more minutes, they passed the remaining floors and reached the final one—the rooftop. As they approached the door, a stronger stench of blood wafted out, far worse than the floors below. "No... Ple-please spare m—" A scream filled with terror echoed from behind the door—but it abruptly stopped. The little girl who had just claimed the title of No. 1 stepped forward and turned the doorknob. Clank! With a clanking sound, the door opened, revealing a scene straight out of hell. Torn body parts—arms, legs, eyes, intestines, and heads—were scattered across the rooftop like a nightmare. At the center, stood a man nearly two and a half meters tall, surrounded by gore. His long, gray hair reached his waist, clumped together with blood. The upper half of his body was bare, revealing a back crisscrossed with dense scars. Some looked like the result of bullets and blades, others like signs of cruel experiments. In his left hand, he held a headless body. In his right—a severed head. The eyes on the head were wide with horror, the mouth frozen mid-scream, as if it had been about to plead before being ripped away. Seeing the man, the little girl’s eyes sparkled, and she immediately raised her pistol. Bang! A shot rang out. The bullet streaked toward the severed head, likely intending to destroy it and splash blood over the tall man. But just before it hit, a lightning-wreathed hand intercepted it, catching the bullet mid-air like it was nothing more than a pebble. Thud! The headless corpse dropped to the ground. Now, the man’s right hand—still glowing with electricity—held the bullet. The man turned slightly, revealing his front. Despite the carnage, not a single drop of blood stained his face. The man’s chest and face were also scarred just like his back—except for the area around his cold, emotionless purple eyes. Those eyes looked more like a robot’s than a living person’s. When the man looked at the little girl, the girl immediately hid behind real No. 1, not daring to meet his gaze. The man said nothing and simply discarded the bullet and head, letting them fall among the mutilated remains, and walked to the far end of the rooftop. There, a spotless wooden bench sat untouched. As he sat down, his voice—dull and emotionless—reached their ears. "The Dawn Breakers are disbanded from now on. You are free to go your own way. You no longer have to follow me." The black-clad figure didn’t react upon hearing the man’s words. But when the little girl heard those words, her eyes bulged wide like zoomed-in camera lenses and she shouted, her voice laced with disbelief. "No way! I just got promoted and became No. 1, and now you want to disband everything and pack up!?"