Amber of its cruelity

[Scene shifts — dusk, old ruins burning, embers in the air.]

Tai, breathing hard, stands over the smoldering body of the fat man — flames flickering off his sword.

Tai (wipes sweat, mutters):

> "Flame of Explosion… Blow of Destroy…"

He lowers his sword, ashes swirl around him. He looks up at the dark sky.

Tai (under his breath):

> "I'm coming for you, Kon."

Ren walks up from behind, hands in pockets, smirking a little at the burnt wreckage.

Ren:

> "Wow. You really drafted that guy into dust. Not bad, kid. Really not bad."

Tai (keeps staring at the fire):

> "Yeah… I guess. But it's not enough. I'll have my revenge — no matter what."

Ren (more serious):

> "What he did… no one's gonna forget that. We'll pay him back. But you — you still got a lot to sharpen up, Tai."

Tai (nods, fire reflecting in his eyes):

> "I know. I've got so much more to improve. If I stop now — I'm dead anyway."

The ruins crackle behind them. The wind shifts, blowing sparks past Tai's face — his resolve burns hotter than the flames

[Scene — Kon's quiet chamber. Candlelight flickers on the parchment. Victor steps forward.]

Victor:

> "My lord… may I disturb you?"

Kon doesn't glance up, brush gliding calmly.

> "No."

Fuko enters behind Victor, curious but cautious.

Fuko:

> "My lord, what's this? What does it mean? I'd like to know."

Kon pauses — the brush stills in his ink-stained fingers. He lifts his cold eyes at them — the parchment between them, the horror sketched in black and smears of deep red.

And then — his voice, smooth as water, merciless as a blade:

---

Kon:

> "These? This person — he's being punished.

Punished for seeing the stone for what it really is — Nothing.

Punished for saying no when they said kneel.

Punished because he didn't need a god to tell him how to breathe.

They took his eyes — locked them in glass — called them holy.

They tore off his face — wore it like a mask — laughed through it like puppets.

They stitched his mouth shut — but still his throat moved, words burning the thread.

They crowned him in needles — each spike a prayer they forced in because they fear the truth more than any hell.

Look at the sky — fire, fire on.

No heaven. No mercy. No garden.

Only the punishment they call holy —

because if one mind stands free, the chains break for everyone.

So they chain him.

They feed the stone with his ribs, his heart, his silence.

People say: 'Mock the god — be punished.'

But they mock each other's gods every day.

No thunder falls.

No god comes.

So they punish him instead — because he showed them the ghost was just a stone.

So stand here — look close.

If you ever say 'no' to the stone, they'll crown you in needles too.

That's what this is — a promise they made him keep with his flesh.

A warning they carved in his bones.

And if you feel fear when you see it?

Good.

Fear tells you the stone is still winning.

Break the stone — wear the needles — or kneel like the rest."

---

The room goes quiet — only the crackle of the candle and the brush tapping the bowl of ink.

Kon lowers his eyes again, unmoved — another cruel line sweeps across the paper. The promise remains.

Victor, calmly admiring the painting:

> "I always see the beauty, my lord."

Kon, steady, still painting:

> "Exactly — the beauty. But even if you say it's good, it doesn't matter to me. What matters is whether people understand it. Right, Fuko?"

(He glances at Fuko.)

Fuko, nodding with quiet loyalty:

> "Yes, my lord. Even I can say this — what you show makes us understand you. That's why I chose to stand by your side."

Kon, lowering his brush:

> "Good. Now — I should change my clothes."

Fuko, about to speak —

Victor steps in smoothly:

> "Come, Fuko. Lord Kon needs privacy."

They start to step out. Door clicks. But —

Kon, eyes still forward:

> "I know you're here. Show yourself."

A ripple in the air — a tall, horned figure like a goat — old symbols twisting behind it — steps forward, calm and imposing.

Kon, unfazed, voice flat:

> "A devil. I can sense that much — but not exactly who. Baphomet? Lucifer?"

The horned figure, voice smooth, amused:

> "Exactly. Some call me Baphomet — but Lucifer works fine."

Kon, watching him, not moving:

> "So my guess was right. It's is you fallen angel morning star

Lucifer, stepping closer, studying Kon's eyes:

> "I'm impressed. Truly. You stand alone, twist cruelty into truth. You have the potential — power — the same hunger I have.

Join me. Become my right hand — I'll give you more than any corpse-king you dig up. More than Dracula ever was."

Kon, still sitting, eyes calm:

> "I see the same thing in you. The intention. You'd use me — feed on me — once I do what you can't."

Lucifer, grins — places a cold, clawed hand on Kon's shoulder — but Kon doesn't flinch:

> "I'd rather not waste potential. — you see your cause will crack. When it does — come to me. Or I'll come to you.

Power. Freedom. All of it."

Kon, silent. He just watches Lucifer's face — says nothing.

Lucifer, tilts his head slightly — final, calm:

> "So be it. I'll wait."

He fades into the shadows — the horns the last thing to vanish.

Kon, alone — still calm — turns back to the brush. Dips it in ink. Keeps painting.

Not a single word.

Kon sits alone in the old chair, shadowed, his coat draped like a shroud. The air is cold — grey dust drifts. His eyes tilt up, tracing nothing in the sky. For a moment, there's no movement — just the soft curl of a small smile at the corner of his lips.

Ten minutes pass — slow, like the world is holding its breath.

Victor appears from the fog, careful, his boots quiet on the stone.

He bows his head slightly.

> Victor: "May I disturb you, my lord?"

Kon, eyes still on the grey sky, voice low, flat:

> "No."

Victor hesitates — then softly:

> Victor: "Someone came. I can sense the trace. Who was it?"

Kon, that smile gone — only calm, unbothered:

> "Someone who wants to talk to me.

Someone… very close, really."

He says nothing more. The wind moves through the dead branches. The stone stays cold.

Kon sits motionless, eyes half-open toward the grey sky above the balcony. The wind carries the salt of the distant sea.

He whispers only one word:

"Serpent."

A hush — then the ocean churns. Water spills like a curtain from the cliff edge below, and through it, a vast serpent rises — scales dark as oil, eyes dim yet ancient. It coils halfway up the stone, its head bowing just within reach of Kon's chair.

Serpent: "Yes, Lord. What do you ask of me?"

Kon does not look at it — only lets his fingers hover, then rest against the creature's cold crown.

Kon: "The previous thing. You remember it, my adorable serpent?"

The Serpent lets out a rasp, a sound like shifting tides.

Serpent: "Ah… that thing. Yes — I have already asked many. Swallowed two who will serve you well, my Lord."

Kon's mouth curves — just slightly. His palm strokes the rough scale once.

Kon: "Good. I will be needing you soon — you know what to do."

Serpent: "For you — anything."

Silent as the tide, the serpent coils back down — slipping into the sea's restless darkness once more.