“How… how is it possible…”

“To use a sword… to harm… my… soul…”

A samurai sword without a hilt, embedded in his elbow; a puppet-like boy assembled from broken pieces, within five minutes, forced Bai Lan to jump from the building, severely damaging his soul and failing to escape the world.

The intangible soul, invisible to ordinary people, was directly cleaved by Hyakki’s sword.

Across time and space, the illusion cast by Rokodu on him had long dissipated. As he hit the ground, his mask fell off, revealing pitch-black eye sockets and varying degrees of burns beneath the bandages. With his grotesquely twisted visage that greatly disturbed Bai Lan, who feared seeing dogs, Hyakki drove him to a frenzied attempt to flee.

This mental shock was intensely sharp, wiping out his sanity in an instant. Survival instincts took over, leaving him unaware that he had abandoned his most powerful strength.

How fragile is the soul?

In a matter of seconds, the sin-laden soul wrapped in flames dissipated into nothingness.

The red, intense flames left only afterimages in the darkness.

“The demon is dead.”

Hyakki stood alone in the apocalypse, his body severely burned. Even the ponytail that Dazai liked to tug at didn’t escape; the hair tie burned off, leaving his scorched, disheveled hair falling over his shoulders.

He resembled a walking corpse, utterly ruined, as if barely held together by sheer will.

The last human.

The entire world had lost its light, devoid of any signs of life.

He didn’t have time to wonder why the system hadn’t reacted. The ground beneath him vanished, his mind spun for a few seconds, and his hand instinctively reached for the fallen mask but failed to grasp it.

In the next second, he was back beside “Dororo,” the world brightening once more.

The five minutes had passed.

Pink smoke appeared at the cliff’s edge, and the battered black-haired boy swayed, reconnecting with the illusion, dazedly touching his scarred face.

“The mask… is gone…”

Noticing Hyakki’s return, Dazai held his breath, his pupils trembling. His thick eyelashes couldn’t hide the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He had thought the predictable events wouldn’t concern him, but he was gravely mistaken. He couldn’t accept that Hyakki had endured so much pain.

This was his puppet, his friend, someone who continued to strive to live despite missing body parts.

The fleeting moment of ugliness yet resilience when the illusion failed—

It was the most primal life force of humanity.

“Don’t touch your face; it will cause infection,” Dazai, no longer concerned with anything else, wanted to support him but hesitated. Blood seeped through the other’s bandages, the stench of charred flesh evident. Dazai couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of relief that Hyakki hadn’t regained his sense of touch, imagining the excruciating pain severe burns would cause.

“If it were me, I’d be in so much pain I’d want to kill myself…”

Dazai’s ability, “No Longer Human,” would dispel the illusion, but the illusion-created skin acted as the best armor for Hyakki, isolating his muscle layer from the air.

“Hyakki, follow me. I’ll take you back for treatment.”

Dazai led the way, using his life force to guide the staggering Hyakki.

Hyakki moved slowly. The illusion couldn’t hide his disheveled appearance. His left hand clutched his prosthetic right arm, trembling as he struggled to reattach it. Besides that, his right leg was strained, and his internal organs were slightly displaced, making it hard for him to control his body effectively.

A white-haired youth peeked out from a hiding place, inexplicably frightened. With the shared abilities of the parallel dimensions, he could clearly sense the death of one Bai Lan.

Kill a Bai Lan in five minutes?!

Who is the real demon lord, you or the world-destroying Bai Lan?!

Swallowing hard, he signaled “death” to Dazai, who nodded, satisfied that the job was done. Then, Dazai focused entirely on leading Hyakki back to the clinic, making frantic calls to summon Mori. The head of the Port Mafia became their on-call barefoot doctor.

Mori hurried back, draping a heavy black coat that looked unbearably hot over his arm. His meticulously combed hair was now disheveled from his frantic movements. Despite his weary expression, he quickly reverted to his professional persona as the underworld doctor.

“How did Hyakki suddenly get severe burns?”

He pulled out a scalpel and cut open the bandages wrapped around Hyakki’s muscle layer. The boy’s black yukata was opened and draped around his waist. Under the influence of the illusion, his skin emitted a warm, smooth glow, like a beast sheathed in a delicate exterior, starkly contrasting with the burns and stench beneath.

In short, it was quite the sight, likely to provoke the darker side of human nature.

Mori calmly examined the injuries…