Lazareth's shadows shot out in all directions. Tentacular, furious.
But Salomé still dodged them.
Or rather…
She no longer really dodged.
Her movements lost precision. Her breath grew short.
It wasn't Lazareth growing stronger.
It was her… growing weaker.
Lazareth (growling):
— You see? You're slowing down. You're weakening. You're starting to understand, huh?
You're a Satsujin Otoko. You're part of him, whether you want it or not!!!
He leapt again, his shadows stretching like blades.
Salomé dodged the first strike.
The second.
But on the third, she was hit — a brutal blow to the side.
She collapsed to the ground, spat blood, grimacing.
Lazareth (enraged):
— Why?! Why don't you counterattack anymore?
You want to die like this?!!
Without defeating me, the one who wants to massacre your family?!
Salomé slowly stood up. Trembling. Head bowed.
She wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. Silent.
Lazareth (panting):
— FIGHT, LITTLE SATSUJIN OTOKO!!
Take back that look that belongs to you so much!!
He launched a gigantic shadow thorn, covered with black spikes, straight at her.
Salomé stretched out her arm.
Her violet mana burst forth like blazing flames.
The shadow cracked on contact — then shattered into pieces, like broken glass.
Lazareth (twisted smile):
— You're finally deciding again?!
Salomé raised her head. Her eyes were dark, lucid.
Salomé:
— Don't you think you've done enough already, Lazareth?
You don't even recognize yourself anymore.
She stepped toward him.
— You want at all costs to give me an identity.
The identity of the Tyrant Killer Man, to justify your hatred.
But Lazareth… I am not him.
Whether you want it or not, I have nothing to do with him.
Except that he flows in my blood.
But our intentions…
They are nothing alike.
Lazareth (shouting):
— SHUT UP!!!
His shadows howled with him.
They raged throughout the room, engulfing floor, walls, sky.
Salomé sprang into the air, twirling.
Salomé (in the air):
— You see?
When I refuse to become that Tyrant… it tears you apart.
Because it's not me you want to kill.
It's him.
Your tormentor. The one you never could defeat.
Lazareth (guttural growl):
— AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!
The shadows exploded in furious bursts.
Salomé advanced.
Her violet aura grew heavier, hotter.
She shattered every shadow that attacked her.
Salomé (calm but sharp):
— You wanted to beat him. But you didn't dare when he was there.
You were too scared… or you felt too weak.
So today, you look for a substitute. An easier target.
Me.
Lazareth (torn):
— HOW DARE YOU?!!
You're just a kid!!
He raised his arms. A circle of shadows opened in the sky.
Shadow arrows shot out like black rain, piercing everything they touched.
Salomé dodged them all. One by one.
She broke them with her aura, advancing relentlessly toward him.
She leapt and struck.
BAM!
A violet punch exploded on Lazareth's temple.
He staggered, fell to his knees.
His already cracked mask shattered completely.
Tears slid down his cheeks.
He remained there, kneeling, his gaze empty toward the sky.
Salomé approached slowly.
Salomé (softly):
— You've suffered so much, Lazareth.
The Tyrant's gaze…
It's all you have left of him.
She knelt beside him.
— But you never really understood.
She looked him straight in the eyes.
— By trying to beat your tormentor…
you became exactly like him.
Silence fell.
Salomé (last breath):
— Tell me… what was it really for?
To survive? To seek justice?
Or because… you got lost somewhere along the way?
The shadows had fallen silent.
He was there on the ground.
His mask, broken.
His breath, hoarse.
His eyes, fixed on the sky, red with tears.
Salomé (gently):
— So, Lazareth?...
Lazareth turned his head slightly toward her. He said nothing.
Then he slowly lowered his eyes.
A glint caught his attention in the rubble at his feet.
A piece of broken glass, probably a window shattered by their fight.
He bent down. Picked it up with his fingertips.
Looked at it.
What he saw…
Was not only his current face, hollowed by tears and fatigue.
It was his gaze.
An empty, lost, sad gaze.
A gaze… foreign.
Then, slowly, that reflection changed.
He saw his own face distort in the glass, blacken, darken, and become…
That of the Tyrant Killer Man.
Same gaze.
Same sadness.
But on another man.
Lazareth recoiled violently, as if burned.
Lazareth:
— No… no…
When… when did I accept becoming as much as him?!
He clenched the broken glass in his hand, cutting his palm.
His body trembled.
He gasped, shaken by spasms.
Salomé (calm but firm):
— Maybe…
the day you stopped crying.
Lazareth raised misty eyes to her.
Salomé:
— Maybe… you never wanted to become him.
Maybe you just wanted not to be that broken kid anymore.
And the only image you had of a strong man… was him.
Lazareth didn't answer. But he listened.
For the first time… he really listened.
She continued, softer.
Salomé:
— You never wanted to become a monster.
You wanted to be heard. To have a hand extended to you.
She held out hers.
A long silence followed.
Lazareth lowered his eyes to that hand.
Hesitated.
His fingers trembled.
Then, finally… he dropped the piece of glass.
He let go of the hatred, the masks, the shadows.
And he took that hand.
Lazareth (broken voice):
— I'm sorry…
His tears flowed more freely. They were no longer tears of rage.
They were the sorrow of a man who had lost himself… and was beginning to find himself again.
Salomé (whispering):
— It's not too late, Lazareth.
Salomé let out a long sigh.
Salomé:
— Finally over…
She let her body fall to the ground, sitting among the rubble, still breathing hard.
Lazareth watched her silently.
What he saw then was not an enemy.
Not a Satsujin Otoko like the others.
Not an incarnation of the Tyrant Killer Man.
He saw… a peaceful smile.
A true smile.
And that smile reminded him of something.
A distant memory.
It wasn't the first time he had seen such a gaze.
Long ago… among those he had massacred.
Those Satsujin Otoko from the south.
They had that gaze too.
Not the Tyrant's.
No… one of fear.
That of innocents.
And there, before him, this girl bore yet another.
A calming, bright, human gaze.
Salomé (thoughtfully):
— It's still strange...
Lazareth:
— What is?
She gently raised her eyes to him, a half-smile on her lips.
Salomé:
— The Tyrant Killer Man ruined our lives… too.
Lazareth frowned.
Lazareth:
— What do you mean? Wasn't he a member of your family?
Salomé:
— So what?
She paused for a moment, then looked up at the cloudy sky.
Salomé:
— If you could see my father… you'd be surprised.
He looked exactly like the Tyrant.
Lazareth (eyes wide):
— What?!
Salomé (calm):
— Yes. But it wasn't him.
He was some kind of double.
My father and the Tyrant were in conflict.
And if the Tyrant Killer Man disappeared… it's because my father defeated him.
Lazareth remained frozen.
Lazareth:
— That's… not logical.
So your father wasn't the Tyrant?
But then… why did he look exactly like him?
Salomé:
— If it had been him, my mother would never have become his wife.
She would never have stayed with him.
The Tyrant wasn't only hated by you.
He was hated by us too.
Lazareth lowered his eyes. He listened carefully.
Salomé:
— The Tyrant wanted to make our family the absolute evil of humanity.
But the branch where my father was didn't agree.
They lived normally. In peace.
But they were stained by his name.
She inhaled.
— My father was afraid of him. Just like you.
He waited… hoped things would change.
But the Tyrant killed everyone who opposed him.
So one day, he took the risk.
And he beat him.
Lazareth remained motionless.
Salomé:
— The craziest thing is that no one talks about this story.
Because my father never wanted to become a hero.
For him, it was just a family problem to solve as quickly as possible.
And since they had the same face,
he preferred to stay masked,
to avoid shocking those who thought the Tyrant was still alive.
A long silence.
Lazareth (stunned):
— If I understand correctly…
All the Satsujin Otoko…
Salomé:
— … are not all bad.
There are entire families who live like everyone else, in the south or elsewhere.
Others fled the name.
And some followed the Tyrant.
But what we all share,
is the rotten legacy he left us.
Lazareth remained silent.
He recalled… those faces.
Those he had killed.
Their eyes. Their terror.
Babies. Women. Powerless fathers.
He murmured, as if to himself:
Lazareth (soft voice):
— So those…
Those I massacred…
Were innocent…
Victims… of that legacy…
Salomé (intrigued):
— Huh? What did you just say, Lazareth?
He looked up at her.
And for the first time, his gaze was no longer that of the executioner.
Nor that of the survivor.
But that… of a man who wanted to be reborn.
Lazareth:
— Nothing…
Forget it.
He paused.
— And don't call me Lazareth anymore.
Salomé frowned.
— That name… is just a reflection of the Tyrant Killer Man.
A mask. A curse.
He stood up slowly, eyes straight, finally free.
— Call me by my real name.
The one Grijan had given me while mocking my real name, which he called a loser's name.
A name of weakness. Of shame.
That of the kid who was crushed and left to rot.
— Call me… Jacob.