The city was quiet at this hour. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made a man’s thoughts louder than they had any right to be.

Blade stood on the edge of a ruined balcony, overlooking the remains of an old battlefield. It was an abandoned world—one that had long since been discarded by history. The remnants of shattered ships and collapsed buildings lay beneath the eerie glow of an artificial moon, their skeletal remains whispering of wars fought and lost.

The wind carried the scent of rust and decay, a fitting perfume for a place where time had no meaning. Somewhere in the distance, a single neon sign flickered in and out, as if the world itself couldn’t decide whether it wanted to keep existing.

Blade exhaled slowly.

He wasn’t sure why he had come here. Maybe he had been looking for something—proof that destruction had an endpoint, that ruin was finite. But as always, the answers eluded him, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

His grip tightened around his sword, and for a fleeting moment, he considered it.

But he already knew how this would end. The same way it always did. The wound would close. The pain would fade. And he would keep walking.

The wind howled through the ruins, as if the ghosts of the past were mocking him.

Another mission awaited. Another battle. Another cycle of death and rebirth with no conclusion.

Blade turned, his crimson eyes reflecting the dim neon light. And with that, he disappeared into the night, a wandering specter with no grave to rest in.