BOOM, BOOM!
The sounds of collapsing infrastructure continuously echoed around Ron, though he could no longer be certain if his ears were even functioning.
Ron clenched his fists, but his hands had long since been shattered by the intense aftershocks. Left with no other alternative, he desperately deployed his remaining nylon cords to bind and stabilize his fractured wrists.
CRASH, CRASH!!
Ron threw a relentless barrage of punches directly into the faces of the anomalous creatures, causing the open gashes on his hands to rip further into jagged shreds. Exposed, crimson stained bone now protruded right through his flesh, yet he did not halt his assault.
Sensing an imminent, fatal threat, Ron ducked his head low, narrowly evading a lethal strike from his opponent.
Latching onto the creature's flank, he twisted his torso, lifting the raging lunatic entirely off the ground before slamming them violently down onto the hard stone floor.
BOOM, BOOM!
Releasing his grip, Ron stomped heavily onto the face of the crushed adversary, using the momentum to vault himself high into the air.
Body Extract:
Speed.
Endurance.
Strength.
CRASH, CRASH!!
Ron delivered a vicious, calculated kick, completely obliterating the face of the unfortunate creature. However, the catastrophic backlash of pushing his physical limits via Body Extract was rapidly catching up to him.
Necrosis aggressively manifested across Ron's frame; his skin turned a bruised, sickly pallor, and his veins bulged violently to the surface as if his entire circulatory system had been violently drained.
His limbs were fractured to pieces, mapping permanent, unhealable trauma onto his body, while his split skin oozed a dense, pitch-black blood.
Yet, Ron still refused to stop. He raised his hand high, baring his razor-sharp claws.
He clawed and gouged through layers of the enemy's flesh as if it were nothing but soft mud, operating his body like a remorseless killing machine.
Despite the horror of his own physical state, Ron's facial expression remained completely vacant. He stared ahead blankly, looking exactly like a hollow shell of a man.
In truth, he had ceased to feel any semblance of pain a very long time ago.
Through Ron's eyes, the hazy, chaotic battlefield began to overlay with long, blood-red ribbons, coiling and weaving throughout the entire space.
They guided Ron's strikes, highlighted the trajectories of approaching enemies, dictated his footwork, and wrapped themselves protectively around his mangled limbs.
BOOM, BOOM.
The ceiling vibrated with terrifying, low-frequency tremors, warping and shifting fluidly through ten thousand phantasmagoric colors.
CRASH, CRASH!!
The architecture twisted, morphing into towering skyscrapers and bustling city streets, only for the buildings to remain completely devoid of human life. An entire modern metropolis materialized out of thin air, hanging upside down, anchored directly to the sky.
Ron had never paid attention to such things before, but the blood-red ribbons suddenly turned fluid, flowing like soft, silken threads—like a gentle tide washing over the very fabric of reality.
Ron's perception was pulled upward into the sky, dissolving into a profound, breathless stillness. The deafening roars of collapse abruptly ceased, granting Ron a strange, momentary pocket of absolute silence.
Yet, the enemy had no intention of waiting. The horde of lunatics lunged forward, intent on tearing Ron apart.
Ron was fully aware of their approach—the silk fabric had already mapped out their vectors. However, his eyes did not look toward his attackers. Instead, he simply vaulted into the dead space above, completely disregarding his extensive physical trauma just to reach out and catch that fragile strand of cloth.
'You truly are a lazy one...'
Ron couldn't identify the origin of that voice. He wasn't even sure if he could hear anymore, considering his ears had been scorched to ash long ago.
Nevertheless, he could swear the cadence emanated directly from that red fabric.
The closer he drew to it, the more he looked like a person who had lost his soul. It was a bizarre state of being for someone like Ron Irus; this was arguably the first time he had ever experienced such a detachment.
The moment his fingers brushed against the crimson fabric, his hand slipped right through it—it was evidently nothing more than an illusion born of his own mind.
Then, Ron dropped heavily back to the ground, plunging once more into total blindness. His eyes had never operated quite as efficiently as they had just now, and that was entirely due to Emy. But at this moment, she had completely exhausted her reserves.
It was time to return to reality.
'Isn't that right? Ron?'