As an S class hero, it was his duty to protect the world.

To protect it from the danger it would face in the future.

He had seen his friends die; he had seen the mountains erupt in fire and the skies turn black. He had seen the flood fill the battlefield, drowning everyone as they melted within the liquid. He had heard the screams as their skins fell off their faces, as their eyeballs melted and their bones turned into mush.

The monsters were ravaging the land, and the people were fighting.

He walked past the frozen world and looked into the sky. Clear and beautiful. Empty of the scars of war.

He tightened his fists until his knuckles grew ghostly white. He wouldn’t allow him to grow. He had to end it today. Leaving him alone would result in the same consequence. He had to act.

He looked at his hands. How many people had he killed so far? Too many to count, no doubt. Despite his ability, he had been powerless before the Clash.

He slid his hand into his pocket and walked up to the boy. Then taking the gun out from his pocket, he placed it on the boy’s head and pulled the trigger. When he pulled the gun away, the bullet hovered right in front of the boy’s head.

Another target down. He stored his gun inside his pocket once more and moved away from the area.

He looked back one last time. Then turned his head away and quickened his pace.

Sacrifices had to be made for the sake of the world.

Demund died.