The ropes snapped like cheap string.
The sound was subtle—more a pop than a crack—but it silenced the room.
Raito stood.
No words. No dramatic declarations. No flinching as he rolled his shoulders, letting the remains of the restraints fall from his arms like broken promises.
The men stared, frozen in place.
The bat-wielder took a hesitant step back. "H-He was tied down..."
"He was knocked out!"
"He smiled—he smiled!"
Panic bloomed like wildfire.
But Raito... he didn't smile anymore.
That grin was gone. In its place was something far worse: a cold, focused stillness. Like a predator that didn't need to roar to dominate. Like someone who had already killed in his mind—and now was just catching up in reality.
"You know," Kurai murmured lazily, "you never have to kill. But you really wanted to this time. And that's what makes it fun."
Raito stepped forward.
One of the thugs lunged, blade flashing.
Too slow.
Raito caught his wrist mid-swing and squeezed.
Snap.
The man screamed, but it was cut short when Raito drove his fist into the man's throat. The sound was wet and final. The body dropped, twitching once, then still.
The others moved.
One threw a chair. Another bolted for the side exit. A third raised a pistol, hands shaking.
Raito vanished.
To them, it seemed like teleportation—but really, it was just movement honed past human limits, guided by inhuman instincts.
The one with the chair died first. His spine twisted unnaturally as Raito dislocated his entire upper torso with a single palm strike.
The one with the pistol never got a shot off—Raito was on him in a flash, smashing his face into the concrete wall until the skull split like overripe fruit.
Blood sprayed.
Screams rose.
Now they were running. Scattering.
It didn't matter.
Raito moved like a shadow given purpose, cutting through them one by one. No wasted energy. No hesitation. Just brutal, precise violence.
A man tried to hide behind a metal rack.
Raito flipped it over with one hand and stomped down on the man's neck.
Another tried to use one of the babies as a shield.
Raito's fist drove through his chest before the coward could finish the threat, catching the man's heart mid-beat and crushing it like paper.
"Tch tch," Kurai said with a theatrical sigh. "You're always so restrained, Raito. But look at you now. Isn't this freeing? You are justified, after all. They took Emi. They deserve this."
Raito said nothing.
He wasn't listening anymore.
He wasn't thinking.
He was eliminating.
And finally—only one remained.
The leader.
His legs were trembling, palms raised in front of him, trying to summon dignity but failing as piss soaked into his expensive slacks.
"I-It was just business!" he stammered. "I didn't do anything directly—I didn't even touch the kids, I swear! I'm just a—just a coordinator, a businessman! Let's—let's talk this out!"
Raito walked toward him slowly, boots echoing like a metronome of doom.
"Please," the man said again. "You don't understand! If you kill me, others will come! I'm part of a network! You can't stop it! I'm a small piece!"
Raito tilted his head slightly.
"Then I'll rip out every other piece."
That's when it happened.
A sensation pulsed through him.
Hot. Electric. Alien.
Something shifting inside his skin like coiled metal unbinding.
From his forearms—spikes burst out, like jagged obsidian blades, tearing through fabric and flesh alike. Not his own—but theirs.
The leader screamed as the spikes launched toward him—thick, sharp tendrils of demonic energy manifesting into reality. They slammed into him, piercing limbs and torso, lifting him into the air.
The man gasped—gurgled—but Raito wasn't done.
The spikes twisted.
And the man didn't just bleed. He disintegrated.
Flesh. Bone. Clothes. Gone.
All that remained was a smear of dust on the cold concrete floor, drifting like ash in the dim light.
Raito stood still for a long moment.
The warehouse was quiet now—too quiet.
Only the soft whimpers of infants remained, muffled and trembling.
"Well, that escalated deliciously," Kurai said, sounding both amused and oddly proud. "You're adapting. Those spikes... I didn't even teach you that. It's like your rage unlocked something new. See what happens when you let yourself go?"
Raito exhaled slowly.
The spikes retreated into his arms, disappearing like they were never there.
He walked over to the makeshift crib.
Emi was still crying—but the moment she saw him, her tiny hands reached out.
He gently picked her up.
Held her close.
Her crying stopped.
His heart, however, didn't slow. Not yet.
Raito looked down at the other babies—silent now, some too shocked to even move.
He'd have to do something.
He couldn't just leave them.
But that... would come next.
For now, he held Emi tightly to his chest.
And for the first time in hours, allowed himself to breathe.