What Is Fearful Is Doing Nothing 12: Death Is Not Fearful.
What Is Fearful Is Doing Nothing Battle became the only existence.
Time lost all meaning.
Pain faded to numbness.
Fatigue was forcibly suppressed by a stronger will, a soul-burning resolve.
Mercy, or rather, the “hunter” wrapped in golden light and black filth, had become the most terrifying sight upon these ruins.
Her fists became the embodiment of destruction.
There were no flashy techniques.
Only the most primal, most brutal jabs, hooks, and uppercuts.
Every punch was accompanied by a piercing sonic boom and a faint distortion of space.
The golden light was no longer a gentle shimmer.
It had become scorching flame, capable of evaporating everything, winding around her arms.
The Voidrangers that charged at her, whether common skirmishers or the more powerful tramplers, crumbled like sandcastles before her fists.
Their energy-constructed bodies were blown apart by pure force, scattering as splatters of black, viscous “blood” that carried the stench of destruction.
This dark fluid, writhing and corrosive as if alive, coated her arms, tainting the once-sacred gold with an ominous darkness from the abyss.
Her arms could no longer be recognized by their original color or shape.
They had become twin weapons of terror, constantly dripping black gore, yet burning within with unyielding golden flames.
“Come on, you scum!
COME ON!!!” Mercy let out a hoarse roar.
Her golden pupils held no madness, only a cold, machine-like precision of killing intent.
With one punch, she reduced a hound-like Voidranger that had tried to flank her to a cloud of black mist, head and torso included.
She spun and delivered a kick, swatting another leaping Voidranger out of the air like a fly, sending it crashing into distant rubble where it exploded into flames.
She did not know how many punches she had thrown, how many energy beams had grazed her, or how many explosions had thrown her back.
Her clothes were tattered, and her exposed skin was covered in burn marks and countless fine wounds.
But [Ultra Regeneration], forcibly sustained by the system’s energy, worked at a speed that was practically draining her life force.
Wounds closed within seconds, leaving faint red marks before new ones were added.
She was like a tireless, unceasing engine of slaughter, rooted firmly at the center of this scorched community.
She crushed every single Legion unit that tried to cross her path, that tried to harm the survivors behind her.
The remaining residents of the community, hiding behind whatever cover they could find, watched through the cracks.
They stared at the figure who stood like a valkyrie, or rather, a goddess of death.
They watched as she was swallowed time and again by the black tide, and time and again she tore through it with even greater ferocity, never falling.
That figure, burning with golden flames yet stained black, was seared into their hearts, a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
“It’s…
the Guide’s daughter…” “She’s protecting us…” “Aeon above…
please watch over her…” Soft prayers rose from beneath the shelters, creating a strange resonance with the sounds of battle outside.
But the Antimatter Legion’s assault was far from over.
The sky suddenly darkened.
A pressure that made the soul tremble descended from above, as if the entire sky were about to collapse.
The clouds were violently torn apart, and a shadow of unimaginable scale descended slowly.
It was a terror forged from twisted metal, shattered planetary cores, and pure destructive energy—a Doomsday Beast.
Like a moving mountain range, its shadow covered half the ruined city.
Countless crimson energy nodes on its body glared like malevolent eyes, locking onto the tiny golden spark on the ground that radiated the “harmony” and “existence” it so despised.
“It’s…
a Doomsday Beast!” a knowledgeable survivor screamed in despair.
This was a weapon of war capable of destroying planets, a symbol of ultimate destruction.
The Doomsday Beast let out a deafening roar, like countless worlds collapsing at once.
A torrent of crimson destruction energy, over a hundred meters in diameter, fell like a divine blade of judgment toward Mercy and the area behind her.
Space itself warped and crumbled wherever the energy passed.
This single strike was enough to erase the entire community, along with the ground beneath it, from the face of the planet.
Facing this apocalyptic blow, Mercy’s golden pupils reflected the descending flood for the first time.
But there was no fear in her eyes.
Only a dead calm.
And a trace of mockery.
“That’s it?” She murmured to herself, as if judging a dish that did not suit her taste.
She did not dodge.
She could not dodge.
Behind her were her siblings.
Behind her was the last shred of hope.
She simply lowered her center of gravity slightly, crossing those two arms, blackened by destructive energy but still burning with golden fire within, before her.
Every ounce of power, every shred of will, all her grief and rage, was compressed and focused into her arms.
“Martial Artist…
Hunter Mode…
Limit…
RELEASE!!!” “BOOM—!!!!!” Her crossed arms, like twin holy swords defying the heavens, collided head-on with the torrent of destruction.
There was no explosion, only a grating, ear-piercing shriek of energy annihilating energy.
Golden light and crimson destruction devoured, consumed, and obliterated each other in a frenzy.
A massive vortex of mixed gold and crimson formed around Mercy, tearing at everything nearby.
The ground cracked inch by inch, and rubble sucked into the vortex was instantly ground to dust.
“BREAK…
FOR ME!!!!” Mercy let out a roar that seemed to tear her vocal cords.
Her crossed arms thrust forward with all her might.
The planet-destroying torrent of energy was forced back.
And the golden flames wrapped around her arms, like a relentless plague, traced the stream of energy back to its source, instantly spreading across the Doomsday Beast’s colossal body.
“GRROOOAAARRR?!!!” The Doomsday Beast let out an incredulous, almost fearful roar.
It tried to shake off the golden flames, but they seemed to have a life of their own, burning wildly into its energy core and physical structure.
In the instant she pushed back the torrent, Mercy’s form became a black-and-gold streak of lightning that tore through space.
She followed the path she had carved, ascending against the heavens.
First punch.
It struck the thickest armor on the Doomsday Beast’s surface.
The armor shattered like fragile glass, revealing the writhing energy core beneath.
Second punch.
She drove her fist directly into the core.
Golden flames erupted from within, and the Doomsday Beast’s colossal body convulsed violently.
Third punch.
The most resolute of all.
Mercy poured every last ounce of her power, all her will, all her love and hate, into this single strike.
She slammed her fist into the heart of the beast, that core as massive as a small star, the source of its destruction.
“In my mother’s name…
rest in peace…
you filth.” “BOOM—!!!!!!!!!” A soundless explosion detonated on the level of the soul.
The Doomsday Beast’s immense, arrogant form burst apart from the inside, consumed by golden light.
It disintegrated into the finest particles of cosmic dust, its terrible will of destruction purified and annihilated along with it.
Golden light exploded like a supernova, illuminating the darkened sky for an instant, even temporarily dispelling the clouds of destruction that shrouded the planet.
On the ground, every survivor stared blankly at the miracle in the sky, forgetting to breathe.
Mercy’s form drifted slowly downward from the epicenter of the explosion.
The golden glow around her had dimmed considerably, and the black “blood” seemed to have grown thicker.
She landed on the ground, stumbled, but stood firm.
She raised her arms, now completely black, with only faint golden traces flickering between her fingers.
Her cold gaze swept over the Legion forces, which had fallen into a brief lull at the destruction of the Doomsday Beast.
“Who…
else?” Her hoarse voice was not loud, but it carried a terror born of wading through mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
Even the soulless Legion constructs experienced a flicker of hesitation in their programming.
The battle continued.
But without the Doomsday Beast’s suppressing power, the remaining Legion forces, though still vast in number, could no longer mount an effective breakthrough.
Mercy was like a tireless reaper, holding the final line.
The “corpses” at her feet—the remains of Voidrangers and condensed destruction energy—had piled into a true mountain.
Three days.
Through endless slaughter, time finally ran out.
When the familiar roar of Harmony fleet engines echoed from the distant sky, when Penacony’s signature dreamlike ships pierced through the clouds, casting light of purification and hope, the Antimatter Legion forces on the ground began to recede like the tide.
They seemed to have received new orders, or simply lost their target.
The battle stopped abruptly.
The surviving residents cautiously emerged from their shelters.
They looked at the ruins, at the mountain of Legion remains, and at the figure standing atop that mountain.
Mercy stood there.
The golden light around her had vanished entirely.
Her arms, now completely black, as if forged from destruction itself, hung limp at her sides, dripping thick black fluid.
She was covered in filth and wounds.
Her tall form, born from the transformation, now looked fragile and exhausted, as if she might crumble with the next breeze.
Only her eyes, though no longer golden, remained deep and calm, holding the weight of too much death and grief.
She stood atop the mountain of corpses, her back to the dawn (perhaps the light of the rescue fleet), like an Asura climbing from the deepest blood pool of hell, or a candle about to burn out after guarding to the very end.
The rescue fleet landed swiftly.
Teams of rescue personnel in Penacony Family uniforms began their work, treating the wounded and comforting the citizens.
Among them, one figure stood out.
He was a middle-aged male Halovian, with rare black hair and black wings behind his head, but the halo above him glowed with a warm golden light, just like any other Halovian.
His face was kind and gentle, his eyes carrying the compassion and wisdom of one who had lived through many ages.
He radiated a reassuring, protective presence that made others want to rely on him.
This was Gopher Wood, who had appeared early on as a “disciple” in the guise of a protector.
His immortal nature was manifest in his ability to rise from ashes.
His gaze immediately fell upon Mercy atop the mountain of corpses, and a deep shock and pity flickered in his eyes.
He approached quickly, his voice warm and full of strength.
“Child…
you…” Mercy slowly turned her head toward Gopher Wood.
Her movements were stiff, as if she were a puppet about to fall apart.
Her gaze passed over him, landing on Robin and Sunday, who had been carefully brought out of the ruins by his rescue teams.
They were still lost in their grief.
Robin’s small face was stained with tears.
She clutched a bloodstained shawl their mother had left behind, weeping silently.
Sunday pressed his lips tightly together, his face pale, his eyes hollow, as if his soul had been ripped away along with his mother.
Mercy’s heart twisted in pain.
With great difficulty, she raised her blackened, trembling hand and pointed at Robin and Sunday.
Her voice was so hoarse it was barely intelligible.
“Sir…
these two children…
I entrust them to you.” Gopher Wood nodded solemnly.
“In the name of Xipe, I will protect them and give them a new home and hope.” A faint smile, one that seemed to have used her very last strength, appeared on Mercy’s face.
It held relief, guilt, and endless reluctance.
She slowly descended from the mountain of corpses, her steps unsteady but resolute as she walked toward Robin and Sunday.
She crouched down, meeting the two children at eye level.
With the back of her clean hand, she gently wiped away Robin’s tears, then touched Sunday’s cold little face.
“I’m sorry…” Her voice was soft as a feather.
“Sister…
broke her promise…
I couldn’t stay with you…” “Sister…
wasn’t a good sister…
always teasing you…
making you angry…” “But…” Her eyes finally glistened with tears she could not hold back, yet she refused to let them fall.
“Don’t be afraid…
don’t give up…” “We…
will meet again…” “Someday…
somewhere…” Without waiting for the children to respond, she stood abruptly and turned away, not looking back.
She walked step by step into the distance, into the depths of the ruins illuminated by the light of the rescue fleet.
Then, before everyone’s eyes, her body began to dissolve from her feet upward, scattering into specks of golden dust, like dandelion seeds carried away by the wind.
“SISTER!!!” Robin finally let out a heart-wrenching cry, reaching out her small hands to grasp at the fading lights.
Sunday’s head shot up, watching his sister’s fading form.
His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms, drawing blood, but he felt nothing.
Only heavy tears fell silently.
Gopher Wood sighed and drew the two grieving children into his embrace, enveloping them in his all-encompassing warmth.
The residents lowered their heads, tears streaming, whispering prayers of gratitude and blessings for the Guide’s family.
On the wasteland, the scars of destruction were still clear to see.
But hope had been sown anew with the arrival of rescue.
And the girl who had stood up in the depths of despair, who had used herself as fuel to light the way forward, who had finally become stardust…
Her legend, and the hymn of life and sacrifice that rose from the ruins, would echo forever in the hearts of the survivors.
Death is not fearful.
What is fearful is doing nothing when you are needed most.
Mercy had chosen the most brilliant and most brutal way to write the final chapter for herself and those she loved.
Or perhaps…
the prelude to a new beginning.