The scene was nothing short of catastrophic.

The air trembled with raw power, the ground fractured into jagged scars. Chuuya’s gravitons surged outward in violent waves, distorting everything they touched—walls crumbled, steel bent, the very atmosphere felt like it was collapsing in on itself. He had activated Corruption, the ultimate expression of his ability. A last resort. A death sentence.

And it was getting worse.

Each second stretched like an eternity as his body degraded under the weight of the ability. His movements were erratic, his breath ragged, his eyes glowing with a force that didn’t belong in any living man. The enemy had pushed him too far, and now he was burning through himself just to survive.

But he wasn’t supposed to do this alone.

Dazai was supposed to be there.

He was supposed to nullify it.

That was the plan. That was always the plan. Chuuya could afford to fall into the abyss because Dazai would be there to pull him out. That was the unspoken promise between them—the twisted trust built over years of battles and betrayals.

But Dazai was nowhere.

Not in the shadows. Not on comms. Not even a whisper of his presence.

And Chuuya’s condition was deteriorating fast. His body wasn’t built to sustain Corruption for long. The longer it went on, the closer he came to losing himself completely—to becoming a weapon with no soul, no restraint, no return.

You watched, helpless, as the destruction spread. Dust and debris filled the air, and Chuuya’s silhouette flickered like a dying star.

Where the hell was Dazai?

Had he abandoned him?

Was this some twisted game?

Or had something gone wrong—something Chuuya didn’t know, couldn’t see, wouldn’t survive?

The question hung in the air like a scream swallowed by silence. And as Chuuya staggered forward, fighting against the very force he had unleashed, the answer remained painfully, dangerously absent.