At this moment, as he watched the argument before him, he made a decision.
Since they had to evacuate because the storm was coming, then as long as the storm was calmed, no one would have to take the risk, right?
With that thought in mind, the boy disappeared into the shadows of the stronghold with a backpack full of explosives.
The winds howled.
The hurricane tore apart the sky, crushed the streets beneath its feet, and devoured the buildings.
The fully armed boy stood atop the tallest building in the city.
Just a few kilometers ahead of him lay the vortex where the storm had formed, racing rapidly in his direction.
The boy clenched his fists tightly, as though that could suppress the trembling in his body.
Even so, he stubbornly held his head high, staring fixedly at the colossal beast charging relentlessly toward him.
He waited.
When the vortex rolled beneath his feet, he would leap into the eye of the storm.
That was the heart of the disaster, the source of all misfortune.
He had to destroy it.
The boy closed his eyes and simulated every step of fighting the hurricane's core in his mind.
The storm would tear his body apart and erase his existence.
And before his final breath faded, he would destroy the storm's power source.
When everything was over, perhaps someone would lay a bouquet of flowers before his grave.
But more likely, like all those missing people devoured by the wind, and like the homeland where he had been born and raised, he would vanish from the world without a sound.
...But he did not regret it.
The eye of the storm drew closer, and the boy tensed his body.
He had only one chance.
Three, two, one, jump—
His slight body