Chapter 155: Buster’s Past

Chapter 155

Brandon felt his world crumble as the words echoed in his mind.

He was going to be executed.

For a crime he didn’t commit.

---

A few months earlier...

"Brandon Frontier, congratulations. You’ve been accepted into Awakener Hall."

The words on the letter left Brandon speechless. His hands trembled as he read it again, unsure if he was dreaming.

Awakeners were rare—exceptional individuals blessed with unique powers. Gaining admission to the Awakener Verse, a colossal university-city, was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Nearly eighty percent of those who entered the Verse awakened their abilities and became recognized across the continent.

Brandon’s acceptance had shocked many. With his muscular build and imposing presence, he’d managed to survive the grueling entrance trials—something most applicants failed. Though people expected him to awaken a powerful combat skill and pursue heroism, Brandon had a different dream.

He wanted to be a researcher.



Despite that, his charismatic personality drew others to him. He quickly befriended three fellow candidates:

Simon: A green-haired powerhouse with a build nearly matching Brandon’s. His perpetually stern expression made him look intimidating, but he had a kind heart—even if he wasn’t the brightest.

Kelly: Bright, cheerful, and always kind. She radiated warmth and made everyone around her feel safe.

Cassie: A short red-haired boy with a serene smile. He was brilliant—an extraordinary strategist—and always knew how to lift the group’s spirits.

The four of them grew close quickly, bonding over trials, close calls, sleepless nights, and shared victories. They were like siblings, inseparable through thick and thin.

Eventually, they reached the Awakening Ceremony. Most students received E- or D-rank skills. A-rank was nearly unheard of.

Brandon awakened a C-rank ability. Kelly and Simon both received B-rank powers.

But Cassie...

He awakened an A-rank skill—becoming one of the stars of the academy, a prime candidate for elite hero guilds.

Despite the growing disparity in their potential, the group stayed united. Still, paths inevitably diverged.

Brandon entered the Research Department, while the others joined the same Hero Guild. Their communications became less frequent, but their bond never truly faded—until the message came.

It was from Simon.

Just one line:

"Brandon, help me. I’m going to die."

Panic surged through Brandon’s chest. He dropped everything and rushed to the location Simon sent—a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, far from prying eyes.

He came armed. Concealed beneath his long white coat was a high-powered energy gun—strong enough to take down even an A-ranker.

The warehouse was eerily silent. Shadows flickered as Brandon crept through the rusting corridors. No signs of life.

Then he saw it—a crimson puddle at the far end of the room.

Blood.

He unholstered his weapon immediately. Despite being a C-ranker, the gun in his hands leveled the playing field. Step by step, he edged toward the scene. Every breath felt heavier than the last.

And then he saw it.

Simon’s lifeless body.

And standing over it... was Cassie.

His hands were soaked in blood. His peaceful smile was gone. In its place was an unreadable, almost haunted expression.

Brandon’s hands shook. "Don’t move."

Cassie took a step forward.

"I said DON’T MOVE!"

Another step.

The gun charged with a high-pitched hum.

BOOM!

A flash of light and sound erupted as Cassie was blasted across the warehouse, slamming into the metal wall with a deafening crash.

Brandon rushed to Simon’s side. He knelt, checking for a pulse—nothing. The body was cold. Simon had been dead for some time... and brutally mutilated.

"Why?" Brandon whispered, eyes brimming with betrayal, rage, and heartbreak. "Why would you do this, Cassie?"

Gun still in hand, Brandon turned toward Cassie’s crumpled form. He was alive—but barely. The blast had left him writhing in pain, bones shattered, blood pooling beneath him.

Brandon stepped forward, gun raised again. His heart thundered with emotion. Answers. He needed answers.

Cassie looked at Brandon... and smirked.

That twisted smile sent a chill down Brandon’s spine. He couldn’t understand it—until the warehouse doors exploded inward.

BOOM!

Dozens of black-clad figures stormed in, weapons raised, masks on. In seconds, Brandon and Cassie were surrounded.

Enforcers.

The elite police force of the Awakener Verse. While most were only E or D-rankers, their training, numbers, and weapons made them deadly even to A-rank Awakeners.

Cassie’s smug expression faltered slightly—but only for a moment. Blood still dripping from his hands, he stumbled toward the leader of the enforcers, putting on the act of a victim barely holding on.

"He... he killed Simon," Cassie croaked, pointing weakly at Brandon. "I tried to stop him... but he shot me. He almost finished me off before you came."

Lies. All of it.

Brandon’s eyes widened. "That’s not true! He—"

But the damage was already done.

Every weapon instantly turned to Brandon. And from their perspective, the story made sense: Cassie was wounded, barely standing, and Brandon was holding a charged, top-tier energy gun. Blood smeared his coat and hands. Simon’s mangled body lay cold behind them.

"Arrest him," the lead enforcer ordered calmly.

Two enforcers stepped forward.

Brandon’s jaw clenched. If he was taken now, the outcome was certain: execution. And worse—he was innocent.

He ran.

The moment their grips reached for him, Brandon unleashed his gun, blasting a massive hole through the warehouse wall. Debris scattered, smoke filled the air, and he bolted through the breach.

They chased him hard, but Brandon was prepared. He used every trap, gadget, and narrow alley he’d mapped in his head. Wounded and bleeding, he still managed to escape.

But barely.

---

Three Months Later...

Brandon kept to the shadows. His body slowly healed—but his mind burned with a single goal: the truth.

He dug deeper, risking his life again and again, gathering fragments of information. What he discovered made his blood boil.

Cassie had been running illegal operations for over a year—weapon smuggling, essence trafficking, black-market awakenings. Simon had found out. At first, he tried to reason with Cassie, begging him to stop.



But the corruption only grew worse.

Cassie’s crimes eventually led to the deaths of innocent civilians—collateral damage in a deal gone wrong. That’s when Simon decided to expose him. He ran, hiding, sending secret messages... but Cassie found him first.

And murdered him.

Brandon’s grief turned to hatred. He wanted to tear Cassie apart.

But instead of seeking revenge, he did the right thing. He gathered every piece of evidence he could and presented it to the enforcers.

He expected justice.

Instead... they arrested him again.

Cassie had already spun the narrative. Every crime—every death, every illegal deal—was pinned on Brandon. Somehow, the files were altered, the witnesses silenced, and the truth buried.

When Brandon tried to resist, a chilling message arrived:

"If you keep fighting... your grandmother dies next."

He froze.

They knew. She was the only family he had left. If anything happened to her... he would never forgive himself.

So Brandon stayed silent.

And now, the sentence was final.

Death.

All for a crime he didn’t commit—framed by the one person he once called a friend.

---

Back to the present...

Snap!

A sharp sound yanked Brandon out of his thoughts.

One of the enforcers in the transport van leaned in close, smirking. "Hey, monster. You scared?"

Brandon slowly lifted his eyes, staring at the three enforcers seated across from him. They looked amused. Mocking.

"Don’t worry," one said with a chuckle. "If it’s Wind Hand who executes you, it’ll be over fast."

"Yeah," the other added. "But if it’s Flame or Lightning Hand... it’ll hurt. A lot."

They laughed.

Brandon said nothing.

The Hands of Judgement.

They were elite Awakeners—executioners sanctioned by the government. Their sole duty: deliver swift death to those condemned. No trials. No appeals. Just justice... or something that looked like it.

Brandon sat in silence, surrounded by enforcers in the van. Their eyes drifted to him—some with disgust, others with false pity. But behind every glance, he could see it.

Mockery.

They love this, Brandon thought bitterly. They used to envy me—when I was one of the stars of the Awakener Research Division. Now, they get to watch me fall.

He clenched his fists. Anger burned in his chest.

He was innocent—yet condemned.

All because Cassie was considered "more valuable."

Brandon wanted to scream. To kill. To make them all pay.

But he remained still, cold fury in his eyes.

---

Suddenly, the van screeched to a halt.

Not just Brandon’s van—all of them. Every transport vehicle carrying condemned criminals came to a stop on the road.

Confused murmurs rose among the enforcers.

"What’s going on?"

"Why’d we stop?"

The driver said nothing.

Doors slammed open. The enforcers poured out, weapons ready, walking toward the front of the convoy to investigate.

Brandon shifted forward, straining against his restraints to see what was happening.

Then he saw it.

A barricade.

Metal barrels stacked across the road, forming a crude blockade. But what made everyone freeze wasn’t the barrels—it was the man standing on top of them.

He wore jet-black robes, tattered and wind-blown. A bloodstained cape flowed behind him, and on it, scrawled in crude red letters, was a single word:

DEATH.

His long black hair danced in the breeze. Two horn-like bones jutted from either side of his shoulder, giving him an eerie, inhuman silhouette.

The enforcers froze in place.

They knew that name.

Death.

A name that sent shivers through even the strongest.

A living nightmare. A criminal so dangerous that even the Hero Guild had issued a single order regarding him:

> "If seen—do not engage. Run. Alert the guild. Then run again."

Before anyone could follow that order, the man turned his head toward the crowd of enforcers.

His expression was... bored. As if he’d expected something far greater.

"Hmph," he muttered. "So few of you..."



He scanned them with apathetic eyes.

"And so weak."

Disappointment settled in his voice.

"You’ll die too quickly," he said, almost as if mourning wasted effort.

Then he jumped down, landing softly before the stunned force—like a groom disappointed by his own wedding.

He looked at the trembling enforcers.

Then asked a question in a calm, almost polite tone:

"So... which one of you wants to die first?"

---

To be continued...

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