The kids outside were crying as the fire set the house burning, its flames rising like a beast that wanted to eat everything. Screams mixed with the sound of houses collapsing, swords piercing through someone's body, and the evil faces of bandits killing and taking everything they could. But it wasn't just that—there was something else, something hellish happening in that night.
The tears, the memories, the laughs, the adventures with someone so close… all of them broke apart when you see their souls being taken by death right in front of your eyes. The body becomes soil, the dreams become dust, and killing becomes killing. Is this really a world where nothing good exists? And even if something good does appear, we humans somehow make it worse. Not because we are born evil, but because sometimes it's the nature that grows inside us without even noticing.
A memory flashed. "I have won! I became the youngest winner ever!" Carlos said proudly with a strong, powerful laugh. "I am proud of you," Aron said, smiling. That moment felt like a lifetime ago. Now Aron saw Carlos lying on the bed… a knife stabbed through his neck. His grandpa had the same torn neck. Two bodies. Two silent souls. Two lights gone. For a moment Aron couldn't breathe. His mind screamed the same thing again and again—Please breathe Carlos… please… The wooden floor creaked under his steps as he slowly walked forward. Tears fell nonstop, his chest felt tight, and his throat hurt like someone was crushing it from inside.
And then Aron screamed.
He ran and grabbed Carlos in his arms. Carlos' body felt cold, soulless. His eyes were covered in blood coming from his neck. Aron screamed again, louder, harder. His tears fell onto Carlos' face, washing a bit of the blood away and dripping on the floor. Aron hugged him tightly. He was broken—so broken that even his breath was shaking. He held Carlos close, his face resting on Aron's chest. With trembling hands, Aron pulled the knife out. Blood covered the whole room. The walls, the floor, the bed—everything drowned in red.
"WHY!?" Aron shouted. "WHY MY BROTHER NEEDS TO FACE THIS CRUELTY!? WHAT SIN DID HE COMMIT!? HE WAS JUST A PURE SOUL!" His voice broke, his body shook. "He wanted to stay here… forever… with me…"
Wood appeared moments later. He ran until he saw Carlos lying like an angel in Aron's arms. Aron's eyes were swollen and filled with water. The grandpa's body was lying still beside them. Wood crouched down, tears welling up in his own eyes. "Go," Wood said in a low but sharp voice, "find who did this. He may still be close. Now go."
Aron slowly gave Carlos' body to Wood. His hands were shaking, blood staining his fingers. He looked around and saw the blood trail leading outside the house. Rage erupted inside him. Without thinking, he followed it toward the forest, barefoot and barehanded, with nothing but hatred driving him forward.
Inside the forest Aron saw a man. A homeless man carrying a bag. His feet were covered in blood. He dropped the bag on the ground and wiped sweat from his forehead. Then he saw Aron approaching, a kid with fire in his eyes. As Aron got closer, he noticed a small wooden hut behind the man. The sight fueled his anger even more. He didn't wait. Aron punched the man so hard the man flew back across the ground.
The homeless man crawled away, crying and begging. Tears fell from his face as he tried to speak. "I-I didn't do anything—" But Aron didn't let him finish. Aron sat on him and punched him again. "Die…" Another punch. "Die…" Another punch. "DIE!" The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed through the forest. One punch after another, nonstop. Aron's knuckles tore open, his bones started showing. The man's nose was crushed, his eyes gone, his skull cracking under the force. The man screamed endlessly, terrified and drowning in pain. Aron's tears fell the whole time, mixing with blood until the screams finally stopped.
With his last bit of strength, the man whispered, "I… I didn't do anything… I was promised one bag of ri–rice… if I helped them load the cart… I saw blood… but I couldn't do anything… my little daughter was hungry…" His voice cracked and faded. "They were right… in this world… there is no place for the homeless…" And he died.
Aron froze. His entire body trembled. What did he just do? His breath became uneven. His mind shattered with the man's final words echoing again and again. His rage disappeared, replaced with horror. He looked at his own hands—bloody, broken, shaking. And then from the small wooden hut behind the man… a little girl stepped out.
She was three years old. Holding a small doll. Her hair messy from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and walked toward her father. She shook him softly. "Papa… papa…" she said in a tiny voice. Aron crawled backward, his eyes wide. His heart broke. He had taken a meaningless life. A father whose only mistake was helping for a bag of rice… and now a child stood alone. The way she shook her father's body… calling for him… Aron couldn't take it. He grabbed his hair, pulling it, shaking his head, whispering, "Why… why… why…" over and over.
The little girl looked at Aron. She stepped closer, scared but innocent. She sat down next to him. "Brother… papa…" she whispered. Aron couldn't answer. His mind felt destroyed. That night was hell. Hell walking in every breath. A beautiful land drowned in death.
Later, Aron sat alone, far away from everyone. Down in the village, people cried over their dead, houses burned, and the bandits were either killed or scattered. Aron didn't move. His thoughts were empty, yet heavy. He didn't know who he was anymore.
Meanwhile, far away, Luxorious reached a cave. He walked inside but found nothing. From his pocket he took out a paper—the paper marked with the letter N, the same one Zord had sent. Luxorious narrowed his eyes. Something bigger was happening.
"Looks like he couldn't catch us, did he?" Zeiris said, sitting on his throne inside the Kingdom of Hell. Rogard sat beside him. Zeiris smiled. "Looks like the battle has finally begun…"
The next day arrived. A fresh morning. Yet hundreds of lives were lost. The village mourned. Carlos was buried near Aron's field, under an apple tree that would give shade to him forever. Wood, Lily, Master—everyone was there. Everyone except Aron. He had disappeared since that night. No one knew where he went. Only the apple tree stood silently, its leaves dancing in the wind. The green fields looked peaceful again. Flowers swayed and scented the whole village. It looked like peace had returned.
But it was only the silence before the calm.
Volume 2 Ended.