The staff cut through the air with a whistle. I barely had time to shove Seongji aside before the wood cracked against my shoulder. Pain exploded through my arm, and I stumbled backward, my feet slipping on loose stones.
"Baki!" Seongji shouted.
The guard was already moving again, his staff spinning in practiced arcs. He was fast—much faster than I expected for someone his age. The staff came down toward my head, and I threw myself to the side, rolling across the rocky ground. My shoulder screamed in protest.
Seongji charged in from the side, trying to close the distance. His rough, calloused hands reached for the guard's arm—I could see the intent in his movement, the way his six-fingered hands were positioned to grip. But the guard was experienced, twisting smoothly and deflecting Seongji with the middle of his staff before driving the bottom end up into his stomach.
The air rushed out of Seongji's lungs in a painful whoosh. He doubled over, and the guard's staff came down hard across his back, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Stop!" I screamed, scrambling to my feet despite the throbbing in my shoulder.
The guard turned to me, his expression almost sad. "I told you boys not to make this hard."
I lunged at him, throwing a wild punch. The guard sidestepped easily, and his staff caught me across the ribs. I felt something crack. The world tilted, and suddenly I was on my hands and knees, gasping for air.
Behind me, I heard Seongji stirring. I saw him push himself up slowly, his feminine features twisted in pain and determination. This time, he moved differently—more cautiously, his hands held out in front of him in a grappler's stance.
He lunged forward, and the guard swung his staff. But Seongji ducked under it, his hands shooting out to grip the guard's wrist. Those six fingers wrapped around the joint with desperate strength.
The guard's eyes widened in surprise. "What—"
He yanked his arm free before Seongji could fully lock in his grip, then brought his staff around in a brutal arc that caught Seongji across the face. Seongji stumbled back, blood streaming from his nose.
"Interesting technique," the guard muttered, now eyeing Seongji more warily. "But you're too young, too inexperienced."
Seongji wiped the blood from his face, his breathing heavy. Despite the pain, there was a focused intensity in his eyes. His hands were still raised, fingers spread wide, ready to grip.
The guard pressed his advantage, staff whipping toward Seongji's head. Seongji barely dodged, and the follow-up strike caught him in the ribs. He went down hard, gasping.
"No!" I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. Everything hurt. My ribs, my shoulder, my head—it all blurred together into one massive wave of agony.
The guard raised his staff high above Seongji's prone form, preparing to bring it down in a finishing blow.
Something inside me snapped.
I don't know where the strength came from. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was rage at everything that had been done to us. Maybe it was just the simple fact that Seongji was my friend, the only person friend I have in this hell.
I launched myself forward, ignoring the protests of my broken body. My shoulder slammed into the guard's side just as he was bringing the staff down. The blow still connected with Seongji, but weakly, glancing off his arm instead of crushing his skull.
The guard and I tumbled across the rocky ground. I scrambled on top of him, throwing wild punches at his face. Most of them missed or lacked power, but a few connected. The guard's nose crunched under my knuckles, blood spraying across my hands.
He bucked me off easily, sending me rolling away. But those few seconds had been enough—Seongji was moving again, pushing himself up with shaking arms.
The guard stood, wiping blood from his face. His calm demeanor was cracking now. He looked angry. "Enough of this."
He came at me fast, staff raised. I tried to dodge, but my body was too slow. The staff caught me across the chest, and I felt more ribs crack. I collapsed, coughing, tasting copper in my mouth.
Through blurry vision, I saw the guard turn back to Seongji. He was on his feet now, swaying but standing. The guard moved toward him with clear intent—to end this fight once and for all.
But something had changed in Seongji's stance. Despite his injuries, despite the pain that must have been coursing through him, his hands were steady. Those six fingers on each hand flexed. I don't know where he learned to fight like this, but he was very good at it.
The guard swung his staff. This time, Seongji didn't back away. He moved forward, inside the arc of the swing, and his hands shot out like striking snakes. Six fingers wrapped around the guard's forearm with crushing force.
The guard's eyes went wide. "What—"
He tried to pull away, but Seongji's grip was like iron. Those extra fingers gave him leverage that shouldn't have been possible. The guard swung his free hand to strike Seongji's face, but my friend turned his head, taking the blow on his jaw while maintaining his grip.
Then Seongji twisted.
The guard screamed. I heard something crack—not quite a full break, but enough to make the man's face go white with pain. The staff clattered to the ground as his grip failed.
Seongji released him and stumbled back, his own hands trembling from the exertion. The guard clutched his injured arm, breathing hard, fear now mixing with the pain in his eyes.
"You... what did you...?" the guard gasped.
But Seongji didn't answer.
The guard, now more desperate, lunged forward with his good arm, throwing a haymaker punch. Seongji barely dodged it, and the guard's fist grazed his temple, sending him spinning. He crashed to the ground hard.
The guard, cradling his injured arm, kicked Seongji in the ribs. Once. Twice. Seongji curled up, trying to protect himself.
"You little demon," the guard snarled, raising his boot for another kick. "I'll—"
I was crawling toward them, my hand closing around something. A rock—no, a stone, larger than my fist. Heavy. Solid.
The guard didn't see me. All his attention was on Seongji, on delivering punishment to the child who had dared to hurt him. His boot came down again, and I heard Seongji cry out in pain.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" I screamed.
The guard turned, but too late. I swung the stone with every ounce of strength left in my broken body. It connected with the side of his head with a sickening crack.
The man's eyes rolled back. He swayed for a moment, then his knees buckled. He crashed to the ground like a felled tree, blood trickling from the impact site.
I stood there, swaying, the stone still clutched in my hand. Blood coated my fingers—whether it was mine, Seongji's, or the guard's, I couldn't tell.
Then my legs gave out, and I fell beside my friend.
"Seongji," I gasped, shaking his shoulder. "Seongji, you're damn strong!"
My friend's eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then slowly clearing. He looked at his own hands—those six-fingered hands that had nearly broken a grown man's arm—then at the unconscious guard, then at me, then at the stone in my hand.
"Did we...?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"We won," I said, letting a smile out. Everything hurt. We were both badly injured. But we had won. "We won, Seongji. Your grip... that technique... it worked."
Seongji looked down at his trembling hands again, at the rough calluses and the extra fingers that had always marked him as cursed. For the first time, those hands had been a weapon, not a curse. A way to fight back.
He started to smile, then winced as the movement pulled at his split lip. Slowly, painfully, we helped each other stand. The mountain path stretched before us, dark and uncertain.
Behind us, the guard guard's dead body laid.
"Can you walk?" I asked.
"Can you?" Seongji shot back, a hint of his usual spirit returning.
Despite everything, I managed a small laugh that immediately made me regret it as pain shot through my ribs. "Together, then."
We leaned on each other, two broken children who had refused to stay broken. Step by painful step, we began climbing higher into the mountains. Away from the village.