Dusk crept forward, step by silent step, approaching the three sleeping men. His movements were utterly furtive—so sneaky that anyone witnessing the scene would have mistaken him for nothing more than a cowardly rat.
Once he'd chosen the perfect position, he raised his knife high, every muscle in his body tensing in preparation.
'Farewell.'
The thought drifted softly through his mind as the corners of his lips curled into a faint smirk. His arm surged with strength.
A deadly slash sliced cleanly across the throat of the first man. Moving with fluid instinct, Dusk spun around, driving his blade into the neck of the second, then the third.
They writhed in agony, their eyes bulging wide with disbelief—stunned by how suddenly they'd found themselves in this nightmare.
Was it a workplace accident? Of course not. They weren't even working. It was simply misfortune—extreme, merciless misfortune.
Their eyes were filled with unwillingness and desperation. With the last of their strength, they reached out, clawing at Dusk's leg, trying to cling to life.
They wanted to speak. They wanted to scream that Dusk was a cold-blooded murderer, hoping someone—anyone—would come and avenge them. But it was all in vain. Dusk's strikes had been too precise.
Even as the dying men grabbed at his leg, Dusk's expression remained unchanged. The weak grip of the soon-to-be dead was meaningless. A simple flick of his leg was enough to shake them off.
In their final moments, as their bodies convulsed, various objects slipped from their trembling hands and scattered across the ground.
The man sleeping further inside the shelter stirred awake, clearly annoyed. A deep scowl darkened his face.
"Hey! What the hell are you guys doing? It's the middle of the night—I'm trying to sleep here!"
No one answered him. That only made him angrier. He assumed the three men were pulling some kind of prank just to mess with him.
He got up, his steps unsteady with drowsiness, and staggered outside.
Hearing the movement, Dusk shifted his gaze. Even though the fourth man had woken up, he remained calm. After all, now that the three were dead, the advantage in this encounter belonged entirely to him.
'Ha… just one more, and I'll most likely reach Rank 1.'
The pleasing thought flashed through his mind. At the same time, he tossed the knife two meters away from him.
The blade clattered against the ground with a sharp metallic clang. Drawn by the noise, the drowsy man turned his head down to see what had made the sound.
In that instant, a shadow flickered.
Like a wraith, Dusk surged forward with ghostly speed and drove his knee hard into the man's face.
There was a sickening crack—his nose shattered, and fresh blood burst from both his nostrils and mouth. The impact sent him crashing backward.
But Dusk wasn't done. He lunged again, slamming his fist with full force into the man's face. The already broken nose caved further under the blow.
The man reeled in dizziness. His mind, dazed and foggy, could barely process what was happening. He might as well have believed he was trapped in some terrible nightmare.
Just to be sure, Dusk didn't stop. He pounded the man again and again until his body went completely limp.
Then he stripped the man—not entirely, but enough. He took only the undershirt and pants.
Once dressed, Dusk turned to the gas cylinder. He twisted the valve open, letting the gas slowly fill the shabby little shelter. Then he went rummaging for a lighter.
When everything was ready, he struck the flame.
The fire erupted instantly, swallowing the run-down structure in an inferno.
"I should wait a bit longer. I need to make sure there's no trace left behind," Dusk muttered to himself as he sat in a corner, watching the fire consume everything.
But barely a few seconds had passed when the wail of police sirens cut through the night. It came out of nowhere, startling him.
"You've got to be kidding. What the hell are cops doing patrolling a goddamn junkyard?"
He cursed inwardly but didn't waste a moment. No hesitation. He turned and ran.
'Absorb all the hearts in this place.'
He thought to himself as he moved.
Mid-run, a sharp pain slammed into his chest. The simultaneous absorption of three hearts struck like a hammer, and he collapsed to the ground.
"Damn it, why three? But I can't stop now," he growled, gritting his teeth and forcing his body up, continuing his escape.
At that moment, he looked no different from a rat scurrying through the dark—frantic and filthy.
And perhaps, that was exactly what he was. A mortal trying to defy the law... always ends up the same way.
Meanwhile, inside the burning shack, the searing pain from his burns jolted the man awake.
A wave of panic swept over him. He attempted to crawl out of the flames with all the power he still possessed. However, he was only halfway there when a wooden beam fell in front of him, obstructing his path.
He collapsed, his face twisted with unwillingness.
What a damned waste of a life.
From the start, he'd been dealt a bad hand. No family to speak of, no proper education. As a kid, he had to do whatever job he could find just to survive—no matter how degrading. He'd endured the sneers, the looks of pity, and the blatant disdain of others.
And just now… just when he'd finally gotten the best job he'd ever had… this happened.
Rage swelled inside him. A deep, consuming fury.
He hated it all. Hated this wretched world.
Why? Why were people born so different?
Some were handed everything—comfort, education, and opportunity. Others, like him, were born into scraps, fending for themselves from day one.
Had he not tried hard enough? Of course not.
But effort alone… Was it ever enough?
Yes, success required hard work. But it also demanded knowledge, connections, resources, and luck. Things he never had.
Effort couldn't guarantee success. But it was the only damn path a nobody like him could walk.
Then why? Why, just when things were beginning to look up—still far from success, but better than before—did everything come crashing down like this?
Sure, it was Dusk who had brought him to the brink of death.
But the man didn't care anymore.
In his eyes, it was the world that was against him.
Dusk was just another cruel piece of the unfair puzzle life had thrown at him.
And then… as if someone—something—had heard his desperate fury, a strange phenomenon occurred.
From within the flames, a tiny black sprout emerged, cloaked in dark, swirling mist.
Twisting and stretching, the sprout quickly expanded into a little, dark tree. A lone fruit, pitch-black and encircled by ominous energy, hung from its branches.
"Do you want revenge against this world? Then eat it. Through this fruit, I shall grant you power far beyond the reach of mortals."
The voice echoed inside his mind, silky and seductive.
And in that moment—on the brink of death, consumed by rage—the man froze.