IT BEGINS (7)

Chapter 49

It begins (7)

The slight slip was fatal.

In that cursed second — where balance faltered and precision vanished — Kon's boot lost grip against the slippery, black-coated stone floor. His body staggered forward, a moment too slow.

The Deadline puppet twisted its neck with an unnatural angle, the sound that followed was a sickening, bone-grinding crack, like dry wood snapping under pressure — but wetter, more organic. It tilted its head as if amused. Then it lunged.

Its claws slashed toward his throat.

The distance was too short. There was no space, no room to maneuver. And for someone of Kon's size, no time to dodge.

IAM could only watch. His body tensed to act, but there was nothing he could do. Not in time. Not fast enough.

The claws met Kon's neck — viciously, hungrily — and tore through with a sickening sound, not just cutting flesh, but hurling the entire weight of Kon's body across the cave.

He slammed against the floor with a wet crunch, tumbling like a ragdoll tossed by a storm, and landed at IAM's feet.

IAM's heart dropped. For that moment — a brief eternity in his chest — he believed Kon was dead.

But what lands was not a corpse.

A groan.

A strangled breath. A cough.

Kon moved.

Slowly, with shaking arms, he forced himself upright — blood trickling from his neck, breath wheezing.

IAM stood frozen. Disbelief written across his face. That should've been a fatal blow.

Then his eyes fell on something—just under Kon's chin.

Metal. Burnt and cracked. A few damaged scales of armor shimmered there—throat plating. Barely holding on.

Kon had survived because of that. But only barely.

Before IAM could even make sense of it, Mia shot forward in a blur, her blade already out, her entire body in motion before IAM could even blink.

"Wha—" he started to ask.

But Mia didn't look back.

"It's part of my Path, remember?" Kon said hoarsely, stumbling. "Using every part of my body to protect my teammates…"

His voice grew quieter.

"It's... severely weakened now. Because I failed to uphold my concept…"

His eyes dropped. His hands clenched into fists.

"I should have done everything to protect. I didn't. That goes against everything I believe in. Everything that I am…"

He looked up. Guilt and shame carved into every line of his face. His jaw trembled. His chest heaved.

"I… I'm a failure. The only reason I exist on the battlefield is to protect you all. That's all I have. That's all I am."

IAM's mouth opened.

Then closed.

He had nothing. No words. Nothing to soothe what Kon felt.

"Never mind," Kon muttered, sinking to one knee. "I used too much mana… I need time to recover. Cover me."

IAM silently nodded, turning his eyes toward Mia.

She moved like someone possessed by duty, by pain sharpened into purpose. If she was still grieving, she buried it deep — sealed it behind cold focus.

There was no room for grief. Not yet.

Mia was a whirlwind.

The puppet lunged again — but its body twitched awkwardly, its movement restricted to sudden five-meter bursts before it staggered, stopped.

Mia was already in position.

She slashed clean across its side, carving through the bloody skin with practiced efficiency. She didn't even pause to celebrate the hit — she was already gone, backing off before the blood could splatter.

A dance. A deadly, rhythmic exchange.

She struck again. And again.

The puppet's body jerked, twitching with every blow. Its limbs moved like a stringed puppet on fraying cords — brutal yet clumsy. It kept bleeding. From every orifice. Every wound. The backlash of its stolen Method was tearing it apart from the inside out.

And yet it didn't stop.

Mia ducked under a claw, pivoted to the left, and drove her foot upward in a vicious roundhouse kick that caught the puppet square in the chest. The impact echoed, bones shattering under the sheer force.

It flew backward — limbs flailing, blood trailing in the air — and slammed into the wall.

Before it could slide down, Mia was already in motion.

Like a goddess of death.

She surged forward, her blade flashing like a streak of silver flame — and stabbed straight through the puppet's chest.

It did not scream.

Instead, it thrashed. Its head whipped violently from side to side. A sound like bones cracking in a meat grinder erupted from its throat — a twisted parody of a death scream. A broken symphony of agony.

Mia's eyes narrowed, reading the moment.

She raised her blade, preparing to deliver the final blow.

Then — her pupils shrank to pinpricks.

She ducked, dropping into a low roll just as a cannonball of black liquid screamed through the air.

It smashed into the ground behind her, missing her by inches. The splatter hissed and squelched — tendrils of oily liquid whipping around as if blindly searching for prey.

Ten seconds passed. Then it stilled.

Silent. Harmless. Now part of the cursed liquid coating the battlefield.

"Shit," Mia hissed, glaring at the Devil that hovered like a shadow behind all of this. Its only response was the slow, jagged motion of its broken jaw and the hiss of more black liquid forming in the pit of its body.

The puppet used that moment of distraction.

It flipped to its feet — twitching unnaturally, still bound by the five-meter curse as a result of of a path method that Mia had used.

But now, it bled more. Violently.

Blood poured from its body in rapid waves. Its pores wept crimson. Its entire form now looked draped in a cloak made of blood, a mask of thick, black filth coating its face like the visage of death.

Its claws dripped, dragging along the floor.

Its head swayed.

A nightmare.

Something only the most deranged mind could ever dream.

"How the fuck has it not run out of blood?" IAM muttered, horrified.

Kon let out a bitter laugh. "I've got no idea why you're asking me. Why don't you go ask it?"

IAM clicked his tongue in frustration.

He wanted to do something.

Anything.

He needed to make this horror end.

Then.

Slurp.

IAM's entire body tensed. His head jerked toward Mia.

"Watch out!!!"

She moved instinctively — dodging with grace honed by war. But her eyes weren't even on the puppet.

They were locked on IAM.

He frowned. Confused. Alarm bells rang in his head.

He turned.

Slowly.

To his right.

Kon stood there. Hand against his chest.

His expression... wrong.

"Kon...?"

Kon turned, sluggishly. There, just under his collarbone — black liquid. It crawled upward across his chest, slithering toward his neck.

Unstoppable.

There was nothing he could do. No time. No method. No defense.

IAM's breath hitched.

He remembered now—

Devil-class Deadline creatures...

One of the reasons they were so hard to deal with was their intelligence — limited, yes, but sharp in all the wrong ways. Enough to mimic patterns. Enough to manipulate.

It had stalled them into a false sense of security by firing only once at a time. By pretending it only could fire once.

And when the moment was perfect — it changed its pattern.

It struck twice.

IAM understood.

And it had chosen the most effective moment.

It had chosen him.

He was meant to die.

But.

Kon.

He.

He—

IAM's voice cracked. His throat burned. He felt like something had reached into his body and torn his soul straight out.

"Why...?" he asked.

That single word echoed through the chamber like a plea.

Kon met his eyes. And smiled.

There was no fear in that smile. No regret.

Only peace.

"Didn't I tell you...?" Kon said, voice hoarse but steady. "My whole purpose is to protect my teammates. No matter what. That's... what fuels me. That's who I am."

His breathing was labored now.

"But... I also made a promise. To someone. Long ago…"

His eyes softened.

"I promised I'd never run away again. Never."

Kon's eyes shone with something gentle.

"I'm glad... I'm so glad... that I could at least do this."

IAM couldn't speak.

Tears refused to fall — but his chest ached like something was caving in.

Kon's smile lingered. His eyes fluttered closed as the black liquid reached his chin.

Then — he raised one arm.

It was covered in metal scales — strong, resilient. Gleaming like polished steel, even as it trembled violently.

Stronger than it had ever looked before.

Kon clenched his fist.

Then, with his last strength —

He stabbed himself in the chest.

Slowly. Deliberately. Right into his own heart.

He pulled it free.

Collapsed to his knees.

Blood poured from the wound, hot and heavy, staining everything below.

Then, holding out his heart — shaking, bleeding, coated in pain — he looked at IAM one last time.

And whispered:

"Dad… this is for you."

Kon died kneeling.

The black liquid slipped from his body, dripping to the floor in slow, final droplets.

And the ground beneath him was painted in blood.