A deafening scream erupted from the crowd.
Fear is embodied in the most direct form of gore.
No... no...
Another female hero with short-range teleportation abilities, " Phase Walker," looked at the pile of flesh and blood with a deathly pale expression.
Her companion, the always reckless yet courageous " Comet," was gone just like that.
"He must have a weakness... as long as I can get close..."
She told herself that she was also encouraging the remaining heroes around her.
She couldn't believe Deconstructionist so powerful! She wanted to see for herself!
" Amy! Don't go!"
Someone was calling out from behind.
But she had already made up her mind.
The next second, her figure vanished from the spot, and she activated her spatial abilities, instantly appearing inside the upper floors of the building!
Just three seconds later, her body was thrown halfway off the top of the building in an even more bizarre way.
Half of her body still retains the form of human flesh and blood.
The other half, however, became completely integrated with the building's steel and concrete.
It has become a terrifying relief sculpture, half-human and half-architecture, suspended in mid-air, never able to land.
Hope has been completely shattered.
Those spontaneous street heroes proved their powerlessness in the most tragic way.
The crowd's shouts, which had been cheering for these grassroots heroes, turned into prayers for another name.
" Vought! Where's Vought?!"
"Bring Vi out! Bring out the Paladin!"
"Please save us! We beg you!"
The people's fear transformed into complete submission and desire for supreme power.
They no longer believe in free will; they just want a savior to end this nightmare.
And this savior can only be Vought.
Just as the despair beneath the Empire State Building was about to engulf everything.
The crowd seemed to be sliced open by a knife, splitting to both sides.
A figure walked out unhurriedly from the cleared passage.
He wore a large straw hat that covered most of his face.
His faded, worn-out clothes swayed slightly in the cold New York wind.
At his waist hung a long knife and a gourd.
His presence was out of place amidst the surrounding concrete jungle, Flash, and hysterical modern society.
"It's... it's him!"
" The Unforgiven! The legendary the Unforgiven!"
An incredulous gasp erupted from the crowd.
This man exists only in legends!
This powerful and mysterious lone wolf has actually appeared here!
In an instant, that hope that had just been extinguished was forcibly rekindled, even more intensely than before.
Yasuo ignored the stares and whispers around him.
He raised his head, and in the Shadow of his straw hat, a pair of eyes pierced through nearly four hundred meters, landing on the spire of the Empire State Building.
There, a solitary figure stands at the top of the world, basking in the pain of the entire city.
Yasuo sighed softly.
The sigh was soft, yet it carried the weight of the wind, silencing the surrounding clamor.
He did not walk towards that door that had swallowed countless lives.
He walked to the base of the Empire State Building, and the next second, under the gaze of tens of thousands of people and recorded by countless cameras, he did something that completely overturned everyone's understanding.
He started running.
They ran vertically along the exterior wall of the skyscraper, which was at a ninety-degree angle to the ground!
He soared into the sky as if walking on flat ground.
"My God..."
A reporter absentmindedly put down his camera and muttered to himself.
This scene was more shocking than all the previous horrors and deaths.
The spire of the Empire State Building.
The wind howled, Deconstructionist, with his eyes closed, greedily savored the symphony of pain he had composed himself, which was sweeping across the entire city.
A soft footstep broke his reverie.
He opened his eyes and saw the man standing opposite him, one hand pressing down on his straw hat.
"Another bug that's invaded my gallery?"
Yasuo didn't look at him; instead, he gazed down at the groaning city below.
Your painting is very poor.
The Deconstructionist were stunned, then burst into shrill, maniacal the Batman Who Laughs.
"Clumsy? You don't understand! You understand nothing!"
"This is the true face of suffering! This is the most authentic color of the world! I am simply showing it to you!"
Yasuo removed his straw hat and flung it into the distance, finally revealing his true face.
"Pain should be cut off. It shouldn't be framed and hung on the wall for people to admire."
"You... have desecrated pain."
The communication was over in the very first sentence.
Deconstructionist only see the furious rage of those who feel offended.
"Then you'll become part of my collection too!"
He pointed!
The entire spire platform beneath Yasuo's feet began to crumble!
The steel and cement that make up the platform transformed into countless gray torrents that swirled towards Yasuo from all directions.
Yasuo did not draw his sword.
He simply stood there, a towering tornado swirling around him.
Those torrents of matter that tried to approach him were completely decomposed upon contact with this wall of wind, turning into the most primordial dust.
"Impossible!"
Deconstructionist let out an incredulous roar.
He discovered for the first time that his "commands" were not working.
He tried to deconstruct Yasuo's body, to dismantle the long sword at his waist.
But all wills within three feet of the man were neutralized by an invisible yet omnipresent "order".
Yasuo's domain is the wind.
In the wind, everything has its own trajectory.
He took a step forward, and his figure disappeared into the raging tornado.
When he appeared, he was already standing in front of the Deconstructionist.
He did not draw his sword.
He simply extended his index and middle fingers, brought them together like a sword, and gently touched the Deconstructionist's chest.
"Buzz--!"
There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a soft hum from the extreme compression of air.
The extremely sharp wind pressure, condensed to its fullest extent, penetrated the body.
The dark aura of negative emotions that surrounded Deconstructionist burst and dissipated like a punctured balloon.
He was struck dumb, staggered back several steps, and collapsed to his knees.
The power within him, the will born of sorrow and destruction, was completely severed from its source by this single finger strike.
He looked up at the man standing in front of him.
The madness and hatred in his eyes faded, and he seemed to see, through Yasuo's calm eyes, a silent scene from many years ago, on that sunny afternoon at the opera house's opening ceremony, where his wife leaned against him and his daughter slept soundly in his arms...
That "peace" that he had forgotten, even hated.
It turns out that this was the most precious thing he had lost.
His art pursues the ultimate in noise, while the art of the man before me... is stillness.
Extreme noise is used to highlight extreme silence.
He laughed, a laugh more painful than tears, as tears mixed with dust slid down his face.
"My work... is finally finished."
It needs a... perfect ending.
As soon as he finished speaking, a black dagger materialized in his hand, and without the slightest hesitation, he plunged it into his own heart.
In his final moments, his body did not collapse, but instead turned into a cloud of black dust, which was scattered by the gale at the top of the tower and returned to nothingness.
Yasuo stood silently, watching the last specks of dust disappear into the horizon.
He felt neither the joy of victory nor the relief of the battle ending.
His face held only an unchanging, timeless calm.
Just then...
A faint electrical hum came from a miniature communicator that was integrated into his skin.
A calm female voice rang out clearly.
"Performance over, target cleared."
" The Unforgiven, rejoin the team."