The sound of the Herald of Dawn imploding was not a crash, but a low frequency groan that reverberated in the marrow of every human within a ten mile radius. It was the sound of divine logic being folded, tucked, and discarded.
In the heart of Shinjuku, the rain hissed against the hot asphalt. Ren Hanshin stood in the center of the intersection, his midnight-black coat draped over his shoulders like a shroud of shadows. The crimson light of his eyes was the only thing illuminating the grey, ash-choked air. Behind him, the surviving S-Rank hunters, the so-called "Pillars of Japan" were huddled like frightened children. Tanaka, the 'Iron Wall' whose ribs were now a jigsaw of splinters, stared at Ren's back. To Tanaka, Ren didn't look like a hero. He looked like a hole in the universe, like a void where the rules of the system went to die.
