Smoke rose from the blackened ruins of the greenhouse, carrying the bitter scent of scorched soil and melted plastic. Ash drifted through the air like gray snow, settling over the bodies of three defenders who had tried to hold the gate. Around them, the sanctuary lay in silent, broken pieces. Thirty-two survivors knelt in the central courtyard, their hands bound behind their backs with heavy plastic zip-ties. Many of them were bleeding from minor cuts, their faces pale and hollowed by sudden, overwhelming despair. They had spent months building this place, planting crops, and believing they were finally safe from the horrors of the ruined world. Now, their hard work was nothing but kindling for the Coalition's fires. This wooden sign had once read *Welcome Home*, but now it was just splinters beneath a heavy boot. Vance paced before them, his heavy combat boots grinding those shattered remains into the dirt. "Look at this pathetic little garden," Vance sneered, kicking a crushed tomato plant into the dirt. "You people actually thought you could hide from the new order. You thought a boy with a fancy fishing rod could shield you from the realities of the wasteland." He stopped pacing, turning his cruel, narrow eyes toward an elderly man kneeling in the front row. Old Mark, who had once run the camp's small kitchen, refused to look down. He kept his chin high, even as a thin trickle of blood ran from his temple down to his gray beard. "Leo will come back," Mark whispered, his voice trembling but defiant. "He always comes back for us." Laughter erupted from the dozen Coalition soldiers standing guard around the perimeter. They laughed with the easy, arrogant cruelty of men who held all the guns and all the food. Vance joined in, a dry, grating chuckle that made the hairs on the back of the refugees' necks stand up. "Leo is dead, old man," Vance said, drawing a silver-plated revolver from his hip holster. "He took a one-way trip down into the subterranean river. Nobody survives that fall, let alone the apex predators nesting in those black waters." He pressed the cold barrel of the gun against Mark’s forehead. "But don't worry," Vance continued, his finger tightening slowly on the trigger. "You'll be joining him soon enough unless the rest of you start showing some proper respect to the Sovereign Coalition." A young mother in the second row squeezed her child closer to her chest, trying to stifle the boy's terrified whimpers. Vance’s gaze shifted to the crying child, his brow furrowing in irritation. "Keep that brat quiet, or I'll silence him myself," he warned, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Actually, let's make this simple. Swear your lives to the Coalition. Tell me where Leo hid his stash of core stones, or watch this old fool die first." A heavy silence stretched over the courtyard, thick and suffocating. Even the wind seemed to die down, leaving only the crackle of the dying fires and the sound of the child's muffled breathing. "Nothing?" Vance sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Very well. Let's see how brave you all are when the brain matter starts flying." He pulled back the hammer of his revolver with a loud, metallic click. Suddenly, the temperature in the courtyard plummeted. A freezing, oppressive pressure descended upon the ruins, making it difficult for anyone to draw a full breath. It felt as if a massive, invisible hand was squeezing the chests of every person present. "Who's there?" Vance barked, spinning around and lowering his gun from Mark's head. "Identify yourself! Soldiers, defensive formation!" These Coalition men raised their rifles, their eyes darting nervously toward the smoke-filled corridor. Footsteps echoed from the darkness of the ruined hallway. Slow, heavy, and completely devoid of hesitation. Each step sounded like a heartbeat, heavy and filled with a cold, terrifying purpose. A figure emerged from the smoke. Leo stepped into the dim light of the courtyard, his presence immediately commanding the space. He was different. The soft, empathetic boy who had left them was gone, replaced by a hardened warrior. Wrapped in black leather, his hands held his cosmic fishing rod with an easy, lethal familiarity. His face was a mask of cold stone, his jaw clenched, and his eyes—once bright and full of warmth—were now dark, empty pools of absolute resolve. He wore a dark, dust-covered coat that billowed slightly in the cold draft. "Leo!" Mark cried out, a sob of relief tearing from his throat. "You're alive!" A wave of movement stirred the remaining refugees, a ripple of desperate hope washing through the crowd, their eyes scanning their savior's face for the usual comfort. But they found none. Leo didn't look at them. His gaze remained fixed entirely on Vance, never wavering, never showing a single shred of the kindness he had once possessed. He didn't offer any comforting words, nor did he reassure them that everything would be alright. "Well, look what the river dragged up," Vance sneered, recovering his composure as he gestured to his armed men. "You look like you've seen a ghost, kid. Or maybe you've finally realized that your little fantasy of saving everyone is over." He raised his revolver, pointing it directly at Leo's chest. "You're outnumbered, outgunned, and your little home is ashes," Vance taunted, stepping forward. "What are you going to do? Fish us to death?" Coalition soldiers chuckled, though their laughter sounded forced and uneasy this time. Leo remained silent. He slowly raised his left hand, holding the reel of his cosmic rod. This blood-red thread resting against the guide rings was no longer the translucent, shimmering silver of before. It was a dark, blood-red color, looking like a fresh vein ripped from a living body. "Shoot him!" Vance suddenly screamed, his instincts finally overriding his arrogance. "Kill him now!" Three Coalition soldiers stepped forward, their rifles roaring as they unleashed a hail of lead. The muzzle flashes lit up the gray afternoon, deafening and chaotic. Bullets tore through the air, chewing up the concrete where Leo had been standing a second before. But Leo was already moving. He shifted with terrifying, fluid speed, his physical stats boosted beyond human limits by the countless attributes he had fished from the deep subterranean waters. He appeared beside the first soldier before the man could even register his movement. With a swift, brutal strike of his elbow, Leo shattered the soldier's jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. He seized the second soldier's rifle barrel, twisting it effortlessly until the metal groaned and snapped. He kicked the man in the chest, launching him ten yards across the courtyard into a pile of burning timber. Terrified, the remaining soldiers scrambled backward in sheer panic, their formation crumbling instantly. They had never seen a human move with such devastating, effortless violence. Vance's face paled as he took a step back, his hand trembling on his gun. Leo stopped, his breathing steady, his eyes still locked on Vance. He flicked his wrist. This blood-red thread whistled through the air, ignoring the wind, ignoring physical laws. A heavy steel hook sank deep into the soft flesh of Vance's throat, piercing clean through his trachea. A choked, wet gasp escaped Vance's lips as his eyes ballooned in sheer terror. He dropped his revolver, both of his hands flying to his neck, trying desperately to claw at the red thread. Blood began to seep through his fingers, staining his collar. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't scream. "What... what..." Vance tried to gasp, but only a bubbly, red froth escaped his mouth. He looked at Leo with wide, pleading eyes, begging for the mercy he had so easily denied others. Leo didn't speak. He didn't gloat. He simply planted his boots into the ash-covered earth and pulled. This immense force yanked Vance off his feet, sending him flying forward. He crashed face-first onto the jagged concrete, his body skidding and bouncing across the courtyard. Refugees gasped in unison, scrambling backward to avoid the flailing man. Vance shrieked a muffled, gurgling cry as he was dragged over broken glass, sharp rocks, and burning embers. His uniform tore, skin scraping away to reveal raw, bleeding flesh beneath. "Fire! Fire at the thread!" a Coalition sergeant panicked, turning his rifle toward the red line. Every single bullet hit the thread and disintegrated, leaving the blood-red line completely unmarked. Leo kept reeling, his expression entirely blank, like a fisherman pulling a common carp out of a muddy pond. Vance was dragged right to his feet, gasping, crying, his face covered in dirt, blood, and tears. This arrogant warlord who had ruled over hundreds of survivors was now nothing more than a hooked fish. "Please..." Vance wheezed, his voice a barely audible rattle as he fell to his knees in front of Leo. He looked up, searching Leo's face for the legendary mercy the young hunter was known for. "Leo... mercy... we can... negotiate..." Silent and stunned, the refugees watched. They looked at the boy who had once bandaged their wounds, shared his catches, and promised to build a world where no one had to starve. That boy was gone. In his place stood a predator, cold and unyielding, staring down at his prey without a single shred of pity. Thick air pressed down on them, smelling of copper and ozone. None of the remaining Coalition soldiers dared to move, frozen by the sheer aura of death radiating from the young hunter. "You took my family," Leo said, his voice flat, devoid of any anger or heat. "You destroyed this sanctuary." Vance shook his head frantically, blood spraying from his lips. "I... I can help you... the Coalition... they'll destroy everything... you need me..." Leo didn't answer. He didn't care about the Coalition's armies, their threats, or their power. He only cared about the lesson he had learned in the dark, cold depths of the subterranean river. Mercy to monsters was treason to the innocent. Trusting those who wore human skin but harbored hollow chests was a luxury he could no longer afford. He looked at the remaining Coalition soldiers. They froze, their weapons trembling in their hands as they met his dead eyes. They saw their own deaths reflected in his pupils. With a brutal yank, Leo snap Vance's neck, uttering his first cold commandment: 'From this day on, there are no second chances.'

Chapter 50: The Execution of Hope