I want to become a Kamen Rider

The irony lies in this: an era that should have begun its great journey of conquering the world and annexing humanity was abruptly halted by that stag beetle, the Kamen Rider known as the "Butcher"—Kuuga.

"Drip...drip...drip..."

The curve representing the Butcher's mental state fluctuations swirled violently on the side screen, eventually stabilizing at a chillingly high level. The cold, electronic sound effects, in this deathly silent deep-sea space, were more suffocating than any roar.

"Admit it, gentlemen, the 'psychological warfare' plan has failed. We can no longer bury our heads in the sand. This is not an opponent that can be easily defeated with clever tricks and schemes."

The man with the military knife looked around and calmly spoke.

"It's been promoted again!"

The octopus-headed monster did not respond to his words, but simply stared helplessly at the curve on the screen that was trending upwards.

The grotesque creature with a shark's head leaned weakly against the cold alloy wall, its sharp teeth gleaming coldly in the eerie light, its thick shark tail thumping uneasily against the ground, producing a harsh metallic scraping sound.

"We can't win at all. We can't beat them in a fight, and we can't afford to wear them down. The outposts we sent out to collect resources and materials have been destroyed. Eleven of them were destroyed in one day. Does that guy work non-stop? Are we tireless cyborgs who can fight forever, or is he the cyborg?"

He pointed to another screen where the bar chart representing energy and rare metal reserves was almost empty, with scarlet warning signs flashing incessantly.

"If we're kept stuck at the bottom of the sea like this, we'll starve and freeze to death in this iron coffin before he even lifts a finger!"

An atmosphere of despair spread throughout the base.

Perhaps Fan Kang would repeatedly complain that he wasn't strong enough, perhaps Mizutani Migen saw his master as someone full of bitterness and resentment, always worrying about the future, and perhaps in the stories told by others, the Kamen Riders seemed to have the ability to be in two places at once, always able to arrive in time—but all of this was simply because no one would think from the perspective of the Dark Organization.

Regardless of talent, the weapons and skills one wields, or even one's initial level, existing in that manner, standing before an era with that way of life, as long as one hasn't fallen, as long as one hasn't died, as long as one is still fighting, one will naturally become the strongest, without needing any prefixes or footnotes...

The strongest are always confined to a certain range. Even if one is invincible, there is always the possibility of an enemy coming from the sky. Even if one is given an infinite range, there are still possibilities beyond that infinite range. There is a kind of strength that does not need to be boasted about or brag about, called guarding.

That is the high wall they must overcome as long as they still want to invade the world.

The man with the saber looked at his colleagues and sighed deeply.

"In the very beginning, Kuuga, with his black form, swept through three high-ranking executives of Foundation X. I called for a joint attack, but you all stood by and watched, thinking that although he was powerful, he was only at the level of needing to be eliminated at any cost. Everyone was calculating how to reap the benefits and waiting for a fool to willingly go and die with Kuuga. But there aren't that many fools in the world..."

He stood in front of the huge observation window, his back to the crowd.

Outside the window, a massive, bone-spiky deep-sea monster, the size of a small submarine, swam slowly by, its cold, enormous eyes sweeping over the base and casting a momentary shadow. The shark-like monster's metal tail fin unconsciously slapped the ground, producing a dull "thump, thump" sound, like the prelude to a war drum.

"Later, Kuuga swept through the surrounding area, growing stronger and stronger until he became an unmanageable threat. No one dared to confront him head-on anymore, and the 'psychological warfare' plan was born. Did no one ever think that a man with the strength of a top-level leader, yet more active on the battlefield than the lowest and most despicable combatant, who didn't rely on the disparity in strength and status, would eliminate even the scum of combatants after dealing with the freakish leader we sent, just so that perhaps two fewer people would be injured or killed... Could such a man, with such love and sincerity, be defeated by our half-baked, calculating so-called 'psychological warfare'?"

He took a step forward, his heavy military boots echoing dully but clearly on the cold alloy floor, drowning out the hum of the instruments. On the dome hologram, the golden flame cricket representing the Butcher seemed startled by his footstep, flickering even more intensely.

"Finally, with his crimson form, surpassing the black of our first encounter, no monster or organization dared to oppose him anymore. They all cowered in corners, engaging in petty squabbles and hiding, forgetting our original grand ideal of invading humanity. Answer me, do you now truly deserve to be called that man's opponent, that Kamen Rider's opponent?"

He slammed his saber on the ground and asked sharply:

"Answer me, are you even qualified?!"

Leaning on the military knife stuck in the ground, with the spirit of having nothing to lose yet unafraid to return to the gambling table, his gaze like burning lava, he swept over every strange person he intimidated, repeating for the third time, his voice shaking the dome:

"Answer me—!"

"You are now cowering in the deep sea! Calculating gains and losses! You have even lost the courage to face him! You have even forgotten your initial ambition!"

"you--!"

"Does he even deserve to be called that man's rival?!"

"Does he still deserve to be called the nemesis of Kamen Rider?!"

"Answer me! Are you—qualified?!"

Dead silence.

Absolute silence. Only the hum of a saber plunging into the ground vibrated in the air.

The octopus-headed monster's tentacles trembled violently. In its enormous single eye, bewilderment and fear were gradually replaced by a flame mixed with shame and resentment. It suddenly slammed its three tentacles hard onto the ground.

"Not qualified! We... aren't even qualified to be his opponents! We're like a bunch of rats hiding in the gutter!"

His voice became shrill with excitement, carrying a strained, electronically synthesized tone.

The shark-like monster straightened up, its eyes blazing with an incomparably fierce light. The most primal ferocity of a deep-sea predator was unleashed. It growled, its sharp teeth grinding together: "Damn it! I've had enough! Rather than rotting here like a salted fish, I'd rather... bite off a piece of his flesh! Let him know that deep-sea sharks also have fangs!"

The snake woman slowly stood up, her full head of snake hair seemingly infused with life, instantly standing on end, scales opening and hissing. Her cold, vertical pupils burned with resolute killing intent: "I will inform the other organizations of my decision. If they still want to kneel and wait to die, or want to break their spines to survive, then let them be... We will charge."

"Yes! Charge!"

"Fuck that butcher!"

"Let me see the dignity I've been waiting for!"

A deep, blood-soaked roar gathered in the deep sea, mingling with the heavy murmur of deep-sea monsters swimming, like a battle song echoing from the depths of hell.

As Dasmada looked at his colleagues, whose ferocity had been reawakened and whose eyes burned with fighting spirit, a faint, almost imperceptible smile of satisfaction and...evil smirk crossed his face, which was covered in black armor.

He slowly pulled the military knife from the ground, its blade gleaming coldly in the pale blue light.

He raised his saber high, the tip pointing directly at the glaring golden caterpillar-shaped mark on the dome:

"very good!"

Even if we can't move that high wall...

"We must also take something from him, and smash the road ahead into blood..."

"Let him remember! Even in the depths of the abyss, there are souls who dare to devour the light!"

"Target—" Dasmada's voice was like the clang of steel, resounding and filled with the madness of facing death and the pleasure of revenge, "'Operation Anchor Break,' final phase—initiate!"

"For the great ideal of invading humanity!"

"For the final glory of us freaks!"

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Arriving on Ice (3K)

At this moment, at the port, it is dusk.

The setting sun, like blood, dyed the murky sea a burning golden-red. Abandoned shipping containers, like the skeletons of a giant beast, lay haphazardly piled on the rusty dock. The sea breeze, carrying the salty, rusty scent, howled past, stirring up clouds of dust.

A man holding a military knife stood at the end of the broken breakwater, with a dark mass of silent figures behind him.

Dozens of strange figures of various shapes and sizes stood here—there were beetle warriors covered in armor, cyborgs crackling with electricity, and bio-beasts reeking of decay… They were once Cressis, Destrom, Black Satan, Bataan, and Galshka…

Now, these once-powerful dark empires have turned to dust, leaving only the last remaining embers of their spirit. At this moment, their eyes show no fear, only an almost frozen resolve, like moths about to fly into a flame.

Dasmada stood at the forefront of all the strange men, his jet-black armor gleaming coldly in the setting sun. The oddly shaped military knife in his hand pointed diagonally at the ground, and the sea breeze made his tattered cloak flutter behind him.

He gazed at the distant sea, where the eye of the storm lay.

coming!

Where the sea meets the sky, a point of crimson suddenly shone brightly. Then, that point of crimson rushed towards us at a speed beyond the limits of vision, not riding the waves, nor soaring through the air, but treading on ice.

There was no running, just walking.

With each step he took on the surging waves, the violent seawater made a piercing freezing sound the instant it made contact, instantly solidifying into a crystal-clear sheet of ice, which then carried him forward.

One step, two steps... the crimson figure moved across the "boiling" sea as if on flat ground. By the time he got closer, the azure sea before him was a smooth road.

Behind us was a wide road made of pure ice, shimmering in the afterglow of the setting sun, which cut straight through the surging waves and led to the port. On both sides of the ice road, the waves were pushed aside by an invisible force, forming frozen ice walls several meters high.

A road was built across the sea, traversing ice to reach it.

The warrior who should have been wielding the ultimate flame can now traverse the vast ocean and ice, a field not his forte. His deliberate choice to fight here did not even serve to buy him a little more time.

"You're getting stronger again."

He drew his military knife.

"Who are you?" The crimson figure arrived at the edge of the ice at the dock, less than a hundred meters away from the group of monsters. A cold voice came through the mask.

Dasmada slowly and solemnly raised the saber in his hand, the tip of the blade pointing directly at the crimson war god: "The soul of the fallen of the Crysis Empire."

"Oh." Kuuga's voice remained calm. "So, you were the weirdo who escaped back then."

Ironically and shamefully, in countless stories, it is often these beings, residing on the fringes of the world, who pontificate before heroes, playing the role of invincible demon kings. Yet here in the human realm, before the being named Kuuga, they are the ones forced into a corner, trembling in fear… the weaklings.

“I ran away back then,” Dasmada’s voice suddenly rose, with a desperate roar, his saber drawing a sharp arc in the setting sun, “but this time—I won’t run away!”

He swung his long sword horizontally with a decisive movement, as if he had cut off all his escape routes.

"The Cressis Empire is gone! The Distron Empire is gone! The Black Satan Empire is gone! The Bataan Empire is gone! The Galshka Empire is gone! We... no longer want to sit and wait for our demise!"

His voice, like the roar of a dying beast, echoed in the empty harbor, stirring up the long-suppressed anger and resentment of the strange people behind him. However, Kuuga's voice remained calm, carrying a suffocating silence.

"So we'll just gather them together? That's fine..."

An insurmountable wall, the strongest knight in the world, his compound eyes sweeping over the dozens of distorted yet resolute faces, he nodded slightly, as if confirming something insignificant:

"Thank you."

These two words are like sparks thrown into boiling oil.

"Roar--!!!"

"kill--!!!"

"Roar! Ro ...

The extreme silence that the monsters had suppressed was instantly shattered, and dozens of monsters of various shapes and sizes erupted like a powder keg that had been lit, unleashing deafening roars.

The last vestige of hesitation in their eyes was ignited, transforming into rage, into pure, destructive madness.

The massive drill tore through the air, high-frequency particle blades slicing with ear-piercing shrieks, corrosive liquid cascading like a torrential downpour, and the pulse cannon muzzle flashing with destructive light... Like a black torrent bursting its banks, carrying overwhelming killing intent and a resolute determination to perish together, it surged from all directions toward the lone crimson figure standing on the ice.

Thirty minutes later.

The sun was half-submerged in the sea, leaving only a desperate dark red on the horizon. The sea breeze carried an overwhelming, pungent smell of blood and burnt food.

Blood stained the sea.

The shattered remains of the monster floated in the murky seawater and melting ice shards, turning the area a shocking dark red. Twisted steel supports were laden with severed limbs, and burning flames leaped and crackled above the piles of corpses.

The air was thick with the stench of death, so heavy it was suffocating.

Dozens of strangely shaped and menacing figures have now been reduced to cold corpses, scattered across the broken ice and charred concrete.

Some had half their bodies shattered by the immense force, some were instantly vaporized by the extreme heat, leaving only scorch marks, and some were frozen into twisted ice sculptures by the extreme cold before shattering... The battle ended faster and more brutally than expected. That crimson figure, like a rock in the eye of a storm, remained unmoved no matter how the black torrent surged forth. Every strike was precise, efficient, and carried devastating power, reaping the lives that dared to approach.

Dasmada knelt on one knee in the mud of ice and blood.

His black armor was covered with deep cracks and charred marks, and his left arm was severed at the shoulder. As the ruler of the Krexis Empire, he was now struggling to even maintain a kneeling position, and every breath was accompanied by violent coughing and spurting blood.

Only the military knife in his hand remained firmly gripped, its tip pressed against the ground, preventing him from falling completely.

A crimson figure, treading through sticky blood and melting ice water, walked step by step toward him.

Its fiery compound eyes calmly surveyed the dying enemy, whose crimson armor remained pristine with only a few barely perceptible scratches, proving that the fierce battle just moments before was no illusion.

With his last ounce of strength, Dasmada lifted his head. His helmet was half-shattered, revealing a distorted, cracked face. He grinned, letting out a slurred, hoarse laugh:

"You think...you've won?"

Every word was stained with blood.

Kuuga looked at him silently: "I've never thought that way."

He turned his head, as if looking into the distance, and said in a calm tone, as if stating an objective fact, "I have never even truly regarded you as opponents."

Dasmada's laughter stopped abruptly, then erupted into an even more frantic and desperate laugh.

"I see... Hahahaha... I see!" He abruptly stopped laughing, his single remaining eye burning with the most vicious flames of curse. "Then... you'll have to pay the price!"

With all his remaining strength, he let out a roar that sounded inhuman, and thrust the broken military knife in his hand into Sougo's chest.

"clang--!"

Sparks flew everywhere.

The saber pierced the crimson breastplate, leaving only a shallow white mark before it could go no further. Unable to withstand the immense recoil, the blade groaned and broke in two. The remaining tip spun and flew off, landing with a clang on the ground.

But he still vomited blood, cursing his opponent who fought for justice:

"I curse you... Kuuga... I hate you... Kuuga... I will make you understand... the price of becoming a Kamen Rider..."

In fact, they never truly gave up their "psychological warfare plan." This extremely fierce battle, which nearly depleted their last reserves, was nothing more than a ploy to lure the enemy away from their prey.

"What you thought was a decisive battle... was actually just a diversionary tactic... While we were being entangled here... our comrades... had already set off..."

A vengeful glint flashed in his eyes, and with his last ounce of strength, he roared:

"They—will make you lose what you cherish! Your loved ones!!!"

The sea breeze swept across the desolate battlefield, stirring up bloody dust.