A month had passed since Tiflos's confrontation with Cain—
if it could even be called a fight.
On a rainy day, thick clouds swallowed the midday sun.
Cain summoned Tiflos for a special mission—one he knew would be the final test.
"A group of gifted teenage boys with Red Eyes on the outskirts of the city," Cain said calmly.
"They may become a future threat if they join the resistance."
In the past, such a mission would have ignited Tiflos's fury—his refusal.
Now, he merely nodded.
His silver eyes were as motionless as stone.
---
Tiflos's black car stopped beside the building.
It was an abandoned old school on the far edges of the Central City—
repurposed by young seers into a makeshift sanctuary.
He stepped out and entered.
Under the rain, in the open courtyard, the gifted youths were training—
learning to control their abilities.
They were young.
Full of hope and ambition.
Laughing as they competed to see who was more skilled.
One of them—a boy younger than Orion—looked at Tiflos with bright red eyes filled with curiosity.
"Did you come to help us?" the boy asked eagerly.
"We heard the resistance was sending a trainer."
Tiflos looked at him.
Then at the others, who gathered closer, believing he was from the resistance, waiting for instructions.
His gaze hardened.
His hand moved toward his sword.
But—
He couldn't.
He couldn't draw it.
No matter how much he tried to pretend he was solid, unbreakable—
this was the hardest moment of his life.
---
Tiflos turned back toward the car.
The same teenager followed him.
"Trainer, is something wrong?"
"Won't the resistance take us with them?"
"Step back… and leave me alone," Tiflos said quietly, sorrow heavy in his voice.
"I don't want my heart to die because of you."
The boy didn't understand a word.
He watched Tiflos enter the car, then returned to the others in the courtyard.
---
The engine started.
Just as Tiflos was about to drive away, the phone Cain had given him rang.
He didn't answer.
The ringing echoed in the car.
He knew this was a call even the devil himself would struggle to endure.
The ringing stopped.
Seconds passed.
Then it rang again.
Tiflos answered.
But the voice on the other end was not Cain's.
It was Orion.
---
"Hey, brother…" Orion's voice was bright.
"Looks like you're busy. I wanted to tell you—I got promoted."
"My eyes turned red."
"I was waiting for you to come back to tell you in person, but Cain is here with me. He said I should inform you immediately, so—"
"Tiflos? Can you hear me?"
---
Tiflos was silent.
Seconds passed.
"This… this is good, Orion," he finally said.
"You're progressing steadily."
He opened the car door, stepping back into the abandoned courtyard.
"I'll be back soon…"
He ended the call.
---
Tiflos drew his sword.
And walked straight toward the center of the courtyard.
The teenagers noticed him again.
The same boy approached him once more.
"Trainer… are you done now?"
"Will you train us?"
---
Tiflos raised the blood-red sword.
His hands were shaking violently.
The crimson glow reflected in the boy's eyes.
"No," Tiflos said hoarsely.
"I came to end you."
The sword was unsteady—
swaying in his grip, drowning in hesitation.
Then memories surged.
Orion.
Nour.
Cain's cold, demonic smile.
The boy stared at him in confusion.
The others gathered again, smiles of welcome not yet fading.
---
Tiflos closed his eyes.
And screamed.
The sword in his hand felt like a shard of black ice.
What followed was not a single decisive strike.
It was a silent internal collapse.
A storm.
Dark red energy erupted from the blade—
not targeting, but annihilating.
Shockwaves slammed into walls and doors.
Windows exploded into shards of glass, spraying like rain.
Screams of panic and confusion filled the air—
not fully his, not fully theirs.
They were the screams of something innocent dying in that courtyard.
This was not Tiflos's usual lethal efficiency.
These were chaotic waves.
Sound waves.
Piercing whistles mixing with screams—
including Tiflos's own.
Doors shattered.
Windows collapsed.
Some tried to flee.
Some tried to fight back, firing weak abilities that struck Tiflos's rampaging form.
But the difference in power was absolute.
He trapped them inside.
The screams were short.
He didn't waste time.
A strike here.
A wave there.
Until—
Silence.
---
Then came the quiet.
A silence more terrifying than any noise.
---
Tiflos stood alone amid the ruins.
Rain washed over his face, yet he felt a stain no water could cleanse.
He looked at his reflection in a broken shard of glass.
What have I become?
Blood mixed with rain, flowing like a red stream escaping the courtyard—
carrying with it the last trace of innocence that had existed there.
He stood like a statue.
Eyes broken.
He didn't clean his sword.
Instead, he lifted his face to the sky.
Raindrops struck his skin.
The air reeked of blood and rain.
In a deep, fractured voice, he whispered:
"Who am I…?"
"What am I doing…?"
"Is this really who I wanted to be?"
---
He turned toward another shard of glass.
His reflection stared back—eyes wet with tears.
He screamed hoarsely:
"Who are you?"
"Tell me—are you really me?"
A hollow laugh escaped him.
His face was crying.
Tears poured freely, mixing with the rain—
mirroring the shattered state of his mind.
"Is this really the Tiflos you wanted to become when you grew up?"
"Tell me… is this what you wanted?"
---
He fell silent.
Looked down.
The stone courtyard was red.
The rain carried the blood beyond the gate, as if it still held the fear of those who died—
trying to escape Tiflos's hell.
---
He left, staggering.
This mission was not like the others.
He didn't walk away as if he had completed another routine task.
This one carved itself into him—
A scar that would follow him for the rest of his life.
---
On the drive back, his black car passed a toy store.
He looked at the blood on his long raincoat.
Then at the colorful dolls behind the window.
He stopped the car.
Stepped out quickly.
Stumbled into a narrow alley beside the shop—
And collapsed to his knees.
He vomited everything in his stomach onto the ground.
He raised his head.
Looked at his bloodstained hands.
They didn't feel like hands committing murder for the first time.
They felt like hands that would never escape what they had done today.
He might forget those he killed before—
But today's screams would cling to his heart forever.
---
Tiflos covered his face in terror.
"Father… is this what you meant?"
A memory surfaced.
---
He was young.
He returned home to the palace, beaten badly.
When his father saw him, he asked what happened.
Tiflos explained—
he had misunderstood a situation and attacked a smaller boy, thinking he was bullying Orion.
The boy returned with his older brother.
And together, they beat Tiflos in return.
Agabius laughed gently, as he always did.
"You know, Tiflos," his father said,
"when you grow up, you'll see people who use the law when it benefits them—and break it when it doesn't."
"Most of them do it to oppress others. To take what isn't theirs."
"Do you know who suffers in the end?"
Tiflos answered confidently:
"The one who was wronged."
Agabius smiled.
"No, Tiflos.
The one who truly suffers… is the oppressor."
"Even if it takes years."
---
Tiflos remained in the alley, crying under the rain.
Hours passed.
---
Eventually, he emerged.
His eyes were different this time.
He looked at a store screen ahead.
The news broadcast spoke of horrific crimes committed by a serial killer in Central City.
The name spreading among the public:
"The Head Reaper."
Tiflos knew they were talking about him.
But he felt nothing.
No sadness.
No anger.
No regret.
Only emptiness.
---
Humanity had died.
And the machine was born.