Twenty four hours later, most of Tokyo's population had been evacuated within the barrier surrounding the 20th Ward. The Japanese Self-Defense Forces and the United States military remained powerless outside it, every weapon proving useless against the invisible defense.
Sol stood atop Tokyo Tower, gazing over the city below. Apart from the isolated ward, Tokyo had nearly emptied. The night wind stirred his black trench coat, crimson eyes gleaming against the darkness with quiet amusement.
Behind him stood Yoshimura, Arima Kishou, and the others, waiting.
"The destruction of the American fleet was only the opening move," Sol said, his tone light, almost casual, yet impossible to ignore. "Their government still owes a debt for the nuclear strike."
Yoshimura stepped forward. "What now? You intend to cross the Pacific and go straight to Washington?"
Sol gave a faint smile. "That sounds like a short trip."
Washington D.C., White House Situation Room.
President Johnson stared grimly at the satellite images of the burning remains of the USS Ronald Reagan Carrier Strike Group in Tokyo Bay.
Silence smothered the room.
"We lost the entire Seventh Fleet," the Secretary of Defense said hoarsely. "Destroyed by our own nuclear weapon."
Suddenly, every monitor flickered into static.
Alarms screamed.
Then they stopped.
The silence that followed felt unnatural.
"What is happening?" the President barked.
Before anyone could answer, darkness twisted in the center of the room, and Sol appeared as though he had always been standing there.
Secret Service agents reacted instantly, guns raised.
"Don't move!"
Sol did not spare them a glance. His eyes rested on the President.
"Mr. Johnson, you authorized the strike on Tokyo."
The President went pale.
"You... how did you get in here?"
Sol tilted his head. "I came to settle accounts."
He raised a hand.
The agents, their weapons, even the air around them, crumbled into drifting ash.
No struggle.
No sound.
Gone.
The Secretary of Defense slammed the emergency button.
Nothing happened.
Sol began walking forward.
"This building is wrapped inside my psychokinesis field," he said. "Your security measures are decoration."
The President forced himself upright.
"What do you want? We can negotiate."
Sol laughed softly.
"Negotiate? After trying to erase millions?"
He stopped before him and touched a finger to the President's forehead.
The President convulsed.
His pupils rolled white.
Saliva ran from his mouth.
"What... what did you do?"
Sol's voice dropped.
"Shared a fraction of the suffering you ordered."
Behind him, the Secretary of Defense lunged with a combat knife.
Without turning, Sol flicked a hand.
An invisible force crushed the man instantly.
Blood splattered across the control consoles.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Sol withdrew his hand.
The President collapsed in his chair, mind shattered.
Sol's voice echoed through the room.
"Every senior general tied to today's decision has twenty four hours to surrender."
His crimson eyes swept over the officials.
"Or I visit their families personally."
Several men trembled.
One nearly fainted.
Sol smirked at the reaction, almost entertained.
Then he stepped into the wall and passed through solid metal as if it were smoke.
Gone.
Minutes later, emergency teams forced their way in.
Too late.
The President was rushed away, diagnosed with irreversible psychological collapse, unfit to govern.
But Sol was not finished.
Deep beneath the White House, secret archive vaults opened one after another.
Massive safes unlocked in silence.
Classified files floated into the air, sorted by invisible force.
Decades of covert operations, military crimes, assassinations, conspiracies, every buried secret vanished through walls under Sol's precise psychokinesis.
Then came the broadcasts.
Every television network in the world cut at once.
American officials began confessing live.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs detailed weapons fraud and kickbacks.
A senator tearfully exposed illegal dealings with foreign powers.
At CIA headquarters, the director hijacked his own emergency protocol and publicly listed covert assassinations and regime operations.
The American political system spiraled into chaos within minutes.
The world watched in disbelief.
One week later.
Tokyo began recovering.
With the Washuu Family destroyed, the CCG had fallen under Arima Kishou's temporary leadership, and negotiations with ghoul representatives were progressing.
Sol stood atop Tokyo Tower once more, looking over a city breathing again.
Yoshimura approached.
"The negotiations succeeded. Thanks to you."
Sol raised a hand.
"I only did what interested me."
Yoshimura studied him.
"You're leaving."
Sol remained silent.
The wind moved through the quiet.
At length he spoke.
"There's nothing left here that can keep me entertained."
This world had reached its limit for him.
Nothing more remained to challenge him.
His form began to blur beneath the evening sun.
"Tell Arima," Sol said, a playful grin appearing, "I expect him to become interesting."
His body dissolved into the fading light.
Before vanishing completely, his final words lingered in the air.
"The strong keep walking because the road never ends."
Then he was gone.
Yoshimura stood alone on Tokyo Tower.
After a long silence, he exhaled.
"May you find the battle you're searching for."
Below, Tokyo's lights flickered alive one by one.
◇ I'll drop one bonus chapter for every 10 reviews
(Leave a review/comment)
◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 100
Power Stones.
◇ Read 80 | 100 chapters ahead on [email protected]/_Zeph