A fragile figure stumbled down a narrow alleyway, his sneakers scraping against the rough asphalt. Flickering streetlights cast long, eerie shadows that stretched and swayed, making him appear like a puppet on broken strings. He clutched his chest, each breathless gasp a searing pain in his lungs. The air, thick with the stench of discarded trash and exhaust fumes, muffled the distant hum of the city's nightlife.
Ragged steps echoed through the oppressive silence of the alley. His school uniform—a once light blue shirt, now torn and frayed, and worn black trousers—hung loosely, testament to his utter exhaustion. Bruises mottled his exposed skin, his lips were cut and bleeding, and his cheeks were red and swollen. His left eye, nearly swollen shut, throbbed with excruciating pain with every beat of his heart.
Damian's blurred gaze locked onto his relentless pursuers: five boys in rival school uniforms, their faces twisted into snarls, eyes burning with a fierce, almost predatory determination. Sweat-soaked shirts clung to their bodies, reflecting the intensity of their unyielding chase. The pounding of their footsteps against the ground sounded like a death knell closing in.
Fear and resignation washed over Damian. His legs trembled, threatening to give out completely. With a defeated sigh, he stopped running, turned to face his tormentors, and slumped to the grimy asphalt, his eyes scanning their vicious faces. A profound weariness settled over him, and he closed his eyes, the world fading into a dizzying darkness.
A single, desperate thought echoed in his fading consciousness: "If I'm ever reborn, I hope I won't be a weakling again." The enemies' footsteps grew louder, but Damian's heart remained still, his spirit utterly crushed beneath the weight of his defeat.
As they approached, their sneers deepened. The red-haired leader, Lyon, stepped forward, his voice dripping with menace. "How long did you think you could keep running, punk?" His gaze pierced Damian's defeated form, hanging in the stagnant air.
Lyon closed in, eyes blazing with indignation. "You're a nobody," he spat, his voice laced with contempt. "You stole our school's international prize." He sized up Damian's tattered uniform and battered body with disgust. Damian swayed, exhausted and in agony, his eyes dull and lifeless.
Lyon's face reddened with incredulity, frustrated that his principal had assigned him to such a feeble opponent. Yet, a part of him was thankful; a stronger adversary might have been unbeatable. The principal's investigation had revealed Damian's utter vulnerability: an orphan with no powerful connections or backing—no noble family, no support from the prestigious Hunter Guild Association or the formidable Mage Association. Just a lonely figure from the slums, surviving on a scholarship he'd won in Oakwood High's inauguration quiz. That scholarship had granted him a full ride to graduation.
Damian's exceptional academic talent had defied expectations, carrying him to the cusp of graduation. Many students at Oakwood High had anticipated Principal Rotswinkston discarding him due to his perceived "human weakness."
Lyon gazed at Damian with a mix of contempt and a flicker of something akin to pity. He was momentarily tempted to end Damian's suffering right there. Damian knelt, eyes still closed, clutching a plain metal cross pendant—his parents' last gift to him. He hugged himself, trying to shield the pendant, even as he knew it was futile.
Lyon's glare intensified. "This is what you get for stealing the international prize," he snarled, bending down. His eyes blazed with anger. "What cheat method did you use?"
Damian's face reddened, his eyes flashing with a spark of defiance. "I didn't cheat!" he protested, his voice firm despite the underlying fear. "I won because I was better. You can't handle that, can you?"
Lyon's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. "You're going to regret saying that, punk." His fist crushed into Damian's left cheek with a sickening crack, sending a spray of blood across the grimy floor.
Damian's head snapped back, his body crumpling to the ground as he groaned, clutching his rapidly swelling cheek.
Lyon's chest heaved with ragged breaths, his eyes still blazing with fury. He assessed Damian's crumpled form, his mind reeling with disbelief. How could someone so weak and frail possess such a brilliant mind? Frustration simmered within him. Lyon had worked tirelessly for this competition, confident in his own abilities, securing a respectable second place for his country, Eldrida, and Ravenswood Academy. But Damian's upset victory in the finals had left him seething. His ego severely bruised, Lyon's anger boiled over, craving brutal, lasting revenge. He wanted to inflict pain that would haunt Damian beyond his lifetime.
Lyon's resentment extended not just to Damian, but to Oakwood High, Damian's school, and Valtania, his home country. "They're as weak and pathetic as he is," he thought, scorn racing through his mind. Eldrida and Ravenswood Academy were superior, and he simply could not tolerate Valtania and Oakwood High stealing the spotlight.
A burly guy, his necktie wrapped absurdly around his head, his trousers rolled up to his knees, stepped forward, his face reddening with a hint of embarrassment. "Lyon, finish him off quickly," he urged, impatience edging his voice. "We need to report back for headcount. We can't afford to be left behind. At least we've secured the Luminous Lyre as ordered."
Lyon's face hardened, irritated by the interruption. "I know," he replied nonchalantly, not even bothering to turn. The burly guy's skeptical gaze lingered, unconvinced by Lyon's casual tone.
Lyon grasped Damian's chin, forcing his gaze upward. His voice was low and menacing. "Any last words?"
Damian squinted through the pain, his eyes fixed on Lyon. With a hard, unwavering glare, he rasped, "Just... make sure... I don't survive..." He struggled to continue, taking deep, ragged breaths.
Lyon waited, his hand still gripping Damian's chin. "If I do..." Damian's voice dripped with venom, "I'll rip your head off and feed it to the forest hounds."
Lyon's amusement sparked in his eyes. "Really?"
Damian's face set in steely resolve, his eyes locked on Lyon's, refusing to break contact.
Lyon's face twisted in sudden fury, his eyes flashing with irritation as Damian's determined gaze unsettled him. "You don't deserve life," Lyon snarled, gripping Damian's shirt tightly. "I won't spare you." He delivered a crushing punch to
Damian's other cheek. "Even if you come back, I'll kill you again." Another punch landed with a sickening thud. "Say hello to my grandmother in hell!"
A flurry of punches followed, each one connecting with a sickening crunch. Damian's pained grunts echoed through the alley, blood gushing from his lips.
Sweat dripped from Lyon's brow, his eyes blazing with merciless intensity.
Damian's eyes fluttered closed, his body going limp, his mind reeling. "Where does that courage come from?!" Lyon taunted, still pummeling. "You're nothing but a weak, pathetic punk!" His words dripped with contempt, but Damian lay bleeding, his vision blurring, already losing consciousness. Lyon's rage showed no signs of abating. His uniform, once crisp, was now stained with sweat and blood.
His sleeves were rolled up, forearms tense. His tie loosened, knots undone. Trousers wrinkled and stained with grass, dirt, and blood. Scuffed shoes completed the outfit, bearing the marks of their struggle.
Damian's vision blurred, time slowing to a crawl as everything doubled before fading into an all-encompassing darkness. Today was meant to be triumphant—a noble prize for Oakwood High, graduation in just two days, and a sponsored scholarship to a magic institution. His childhood dream of becoming a Light Elemental Mage, walking alongside the Pope as a revered Guardian of Faith, had seemed so tantalizingly close. But now, as life slipped away, those dreams remained tragically unfulfilled.
"Is this death?" Damian thought, fragmented memories racing through his mind. He accepted his fate, a silent belief that a curse had doomed his family's bloodline. There was no struggle left, only surrender. Hardship and rejection had defined his short life. "If not for my intellect," he mused, "I'd have succumbed long ago. I've suffered enough; let me rest, away from cruel humans."
Then, everything went black.
Lyon continued to pummel Damian's seemingly lifeless body, unleashing the last of his pent-up rage. "You can't even last a round!" Lyon taunted, oblivious to Damian's actual demise. Only when Damian's body went utterly limp, unresponsive to his blows, did Lyon finally realize his terrible mistake.
Lyon's eyes widened in horror, his face pale and slick with sweat. His mouth hung agape, frozen in a silent scream. His eyes darted wildly, like a trapped animal, his forehead creased with pure shock and fear. His gaze drifted back to Damian's motionless body, unable to comprehend what he had just done. His whole body vibrated with a sickening mix of fear, adrenaline, and disbelief. Lyon had crossed a point of no return. He had threatened to kill Damian, but in his rage, he hadn't truly meant to carry it out.
"Let's go!" Lyon urged his accomplice, but the burly guy intervened again. "We can't leave the body here. It'll spark a major investigation, and we'll be caught. We need to dispose of it properly."
Lyon's face scrunched in displeasure, but he knew the burly guy was right. "Fine, let's get it done!"
They dragged Damian's body deeper into a dark, more secluded part of the alleyway, hastily covering the lingering bloodstains with loose dust and debris. Then, they swiftly exited, eager to distance themselves from the horrific scene.