I left the explosions deep in the sewers and the aftershocks of clashing rules far behind. I had no idea how the showdown between the Name-Catchers and the shadow monster had ended, nor did I care. My desperate sprint strained my newly healed injuries, and my lungs burned, but the growing void in my mind hurt even more-the memory of my mother's face had blurred beyond recognition, leaving only the cold concept that I had once had a mother.
I stumbled out through another exit and crawled back to the surface, emerging at an abandoned construction site on the outskirts of the city. The afternoon sunlight dazzled me, and the city's bustle seemed distant and unreal. I slumped onto a pile of rubble, gasping, my clothes soaked with sweat and grime.
Weakness. Weakness unlike anything I had ever known. Not physical weakness, but weakness at the very core of my existence. The new shackle was like a leech lodged in my soul; every surge of power carried away another memory. At this rate, even if I found the Spring of Birth, the person I called "me" might already be unrecognizable.
Echo's manipulation, the Name-Catchers' pursuit, the notebook's backlash... what lay at the root of it all? This twisted world itself? Or the inevitable madness that came with power?
I looked at the silent notebook in my hands. Could its power only bring about death? Could it only help me struggle to survive in the shadows, or feed the madness of selfish desires?
An entirely different thought flashed through the darkness, illuminating my muddled mind.
What if... the target of this power were no longer a specific "person," but something that embodied a "phenomenon" or a "rule"?
What if the Death Note's power could act on a more abstract level?
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