He took a step forward—not toward the citadel, but into the empty air. And he walked upward, as if climbing an invisible staircase.
Kensuke cracked his knuckles—a sound like rifle shots. He looked at the dark citadel on the horizon, where a tyrannical warlord known as the “King of Erasure” had outlawed all art and storytelling. He took a step forward—not toward the citadel,
Kensuke Morita, hailed as the “God of Manga” for his decades of masterworks, set down his fude brush. Across the table lay the last page of his final chapter—a double-page spread with no dialogue, only the raw, kinetic fury of a martial artist’s fist meeting a dragon’s jaw. The ink was still wet. only the raw