Saffron lay face-down on the filthy ground, blood streaming from his nose and several teeth scattered beside him like broken pebbles. He groaned, lifting his head just enough to glare at Harian and George. His words slurred horribly through the gap in his ruined mouth.
"Hhhow… hhhow dare a peashant touuuch… a noble…!"
The sentence didn't even sound human. His tongue stumbled over every syllable thanks to his missing "dental ornaments," as he would've proudly called them.
He pushed himself up on trembling hands, looking less like a noble's nephew and more like someone who had been run over by a horse cart. His blonde hair was matted with dirt, and the fury in his eyes looked feral.
Around him, his hired goons immediately closed in, forming a loose ring around George and the black-haired kid who had just turned the entire situation upside-down. But none of the goons dared move beyond that. Because Harian now held the electric cane.
Fully charged. Crackling with violent blue sparks at the tip.
It didn't matter that they outnumbered the boys six to two no one wanted to end up convulsing on the ground like George had just minutes earlier. Their feet shuffled. Their grips tightened on their makeshift clubs. But hesitation weighed on them heavily.
Harian spun the cane once in his hand, its electric hum filling the alley.
"It's the same everywhere,the people at the top, the ones who are supposed to protect others… are always the ones causing the suffering."
"So what!?" Saffron spat, even angrier now that his mouth barely functioned. A vein throbbed violently on his forehead.
He staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand.
"Everything in this city especially this slum is my plaything!.My family gave you parasites food, clothes, protection out of our good will! And instead of gratitude, you dare show defiance!?"
Several of the goons shifted uncomfortably. Even they knew "food and clothes" meant stale leftovers and rags thrown in the slums twice a year to make the nobles look generous. But Saffron didn't care. Not about truth. Not about fairness. Not about the lives here.
To him, these streets were toys. The people were insects. George and Harian? They were nothing but prey that dared bite back.
George could only stare in awe at the unexpected savior standing in front of him.
The black-haired boy looked even skinnier than George frail, underfed, barely strong enough to hold the electric cane that crackled angrily in his hand. Yet the confidence on his face was something George had never seen before. His expression was fearless. Defiant. Almost… proud.
And his gaze never once drifted away from Saffron, as if he were challenging the noble brat's very existence.
George lowered his eyes for a moment. He clenched a handful of dirt beneath his trembling fingers, squeezing it so hard the soil crumbled between his knuckles. He gritted his teeth.
How is someone like me supposed to make a difference… when even standing feels impossible?
Saffron's furious scream snapped him back.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!? GET HIM!"
But his goons hesitated. Their eyes darted between the cane and the boy wielding it. The last thing they wanted was to be the next person spasming on the ground with smoke rising off their clothes.
Saffron clicked his tongue, then shouted something that made all their eyes widen.
"One gold coin for whoever brings me that brat's head!"
Gold. In the slums, that was more than treasure. That was survival. Food. Clothing. Shelter. A chance to live like a human being even if only for a little while.
Feral hunger ignited in their faces. One of the goons grinned crookedly. "We'll just jump him all at once. Whoever grabs him first wins." His eyes were wild.
Another muttered darkly, "No hard feelings, kid. The jungle decides everything. And you and your big friend are stuck at the bottom."
Harian only grinned wider.
"Fine by me," he said. "Because I'll beat the shit out of the first idiot who tries."
The cane crackled louder as if eager. A breathless silence hung in the air. Then...The first goon lunged. He charged with his arms outstretched, ready to tackle Harian to the ground. Harian flinched he was slow, weaker than the man by far and the goon managed to grab him, locking his arms around his torso. For a split second, the goon's face lit up with triumph.
Got him.
Even Harian's eyes widened in panic. But he still swung the cane.A sharp CRACK exploded through the alley as the electric rod slammed into the back of the goon's neck.
The man convulsed violently, his body jerking like a puppet with its strings cut. Foam formed at the corner of his mouth as he collapsed face-first onto the dirt. Motionless. Smoke curled from his shirt.
The rest of the goons froze. Surprised and anxious suddenly realizing the "skinny kid" wasn't nearly as helpless as he looked.
Harian shoved the unconscious goon off him and scrambled back to his feet. The electric cane in his hand was still violently crackling, arcs of blue light snapping at the air like angry snakes. Somehow by luck or stupidity he had survived that exchange.
The second goon didn't hesitate. He lunged with a shout, arms wide, aiming to crush Harian under his weight. This time Harian managed to throw himself sideways. He hit the ground hard, rolled, and swung the cane blindly as the man stumbled past him.
It connected. A burst of electricity exploded across the goon's ribs, and he dropped like a felled tree, limbs twitching. Harian barely had a second to breathe.
The third goon was already on him.
A heavy kick smashed into Harian's stomach and sent him flying. The air was punched right out of his lungs, pain stabbing through his torso like fire. Harian hit the ground and bounced, rolling across the dirt until he crashed against a broken crate.
He coughed, choked, tasted blood. Before he could recover, the same goon grabbed him by the front of his shirt and flung him like a ragdoll. Harian crashed and skidded across the street, his body screaming in agony.
George watched in horror.
His savior, the one who stepped in front of him without hesitation was being tossed around like a toy. Harian was small, skinny, hungry, exhausted. And now, he looked… helpless. The cane still crackled weakly in his hand, but his grip was slipping.
Yet even so… Harian stood. Slowly. Unsteadily. Barely able to straighten his back. Blood dripped from his lips, but that same infuriating grin pulled across his bruised face.
"You sly bastard…" Harian spat out, wiping blood from his chin. "Attacking while your friend was on top of me…"
The goon smirked. "That's how it is down here. Give up, kid. You're done."
Harian lifted the cane. His hands trembled. His breathing was ragged. But his grin never faltered.
"Give up? Unfortunately I don't know that word."
He pointed the crackling cane at the goon, sparks dancing between his fingers.
"Come on then," Harian taunted, eyes blazing despite the pain. "I'm still standing."
The goon's smile faded. Harian smiled wider. Blood ran down his chin. And he waited ready to take the next hit, ready to swing again, ready to die if he had to. Because that was who Harian was and for the first time in his life, George was seeing what true courage looked like.