02 — Prologue (2)
The alleyway seemed to shrink as the remaining five thugs closed in. To the two boys huddled in the corner, the air felt heavy, charged with the lethal intent of men who had spent their lives breaking others. Yet, the boy in the black hoodie didn't move. He didn't shift into a fighting stance or reach for a weapon. He simply stood there, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his posture slumped as if he were waiting for a bus rather than a beating.
"Kill him!" the leader screamed from the ground, clutching his shattered wrist.
The first thug, a tall man with a jagged scar across his knuckles, swung a wide, desperate hook from the left. The boy didn't even blink. He waited until the fist was inches from his face before he dropped, a fluid motion like water receding from a cliff. As he ducked, he extended his leg in a sweeping slide kick. The force wasn't just enough to trip the man; it sent him spinning into the air before he crashed face-first into a pile of rusted metal crates.
The second thug saw an opening. Thinking he could catch the boy while he was low, he mirrored the first man's move, swinging a heavy kick from the same side.
The boy didn't sweep again. Instead, he exploded upward. In a blur of black fabric, he dashed forward, closing the gap before the thug's foot could even land. He slammed his shoulder directly into the man's sternum. The impact sounded like a muffled drum. The second thug went flying backward, his breath leaving him in a violent spray of spit, and he collided with the third man who was charging behind him. Both went down in a heap of tangled limbs and groans, out cold before they hit the pavement.
The last two thugs skidded to a halt. The aggression that had fueled them seconds ago vanished, replaced by a cold, paralyzing dread. Fear was written in the frantic sweat on their brows and the way their eyes darted toward the mouth of the alley, looking for an exit that was now blocked by the monster in the hoodie.
One of them fumbled at his belt, pulling out a jagged hunting knife. His hands were shaking a rhythmic, uncontrollable tremor that mirrored the shaking of the boys in the corner holding their food bag.
The other thug reached into the small of his back and pulled out something far more terrifying. It was a sleek, black pistol, but it wasn't a standard firearm. Violet sparks danced along the barrel, and a faint, humming sound echoed off the brick walls. A Mana-enhanced weapon.
The boy in the hoodie tilted his head. A small, cold smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Oh? Look at you two," he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of mockery that stung worse than a slap. "Shaking just like the ones you were trying to scare. It's not so fun when the person in front of you can bite back, is it?"
The thug with the knife let out a panicked yelp and lunged. The boy didn't wait. He sprinted toward him, his speed doubling in a heartbeat.
The man with the gun hesitated. His finger hovered over the trigger, but his partner was in the way. He couldn't get a clean shot without risking a hole in his friend's back. In that split second of hesitation, the boy reached the knife-wielder. With a casual flick of his wrist, he smacked the blade aside, the steel humming as it flew out of the man's grip and embedded itself in a wooden pallet.
In a blink, the boy stepped into the man's shadow. He struck the side of the thug's neck with the edge of his palm a precise, surgical strike. The man's eyes rolled back, and he dropped instantly, hitting the ground like a sack of stones.
Now, only the man with the violet-sparking gun remained. He was trembling so hard the weapon rattled in his grip.
"Stay back! I'll do it! I'll kill you!" the thug shrieked.
He didn't wait for an answer. He pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The muzzle flared with a violent purple light, launching a mana-infused bullet meant to tear through flesh and bone alike.
At that exact moment, for the first time, the boy moved his right hand out of his pocket.
It wasn't a normal movement. His hand moved like a flash of light, a silver streak against the darkness of the alley. With a single, sharp strike his bare hand acting as a blade he sliced through the air.
A sharp shring echoed. The bullet didn't hit him. It split in two, the halves whistling past his hood and denting the brick wall behind him. The momentum didn't stop there. The shockwave of his hand-strike continued, slicing the pistol in the thug's hand clean in half.
The boy's hand stopped just a millimeter away from the thug's throat. The wind from the strike was so sharp it left a thin red line on the man's skin.
The thug stood frozen, his mouth hanging open. He looked at the smoking remains of his high-tech gun, then up at the crimson eyes glowing inches from his own.
"A-a-an Awakened..." the thug muttered, his voice a terrified whisper. "A high-ranker..."
The boy's smile vanished, replaced by his usual look of bone-deep boredom. He pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket.
"Grab your buddies and get out of here," he said flatly. "The smell of trash is starting to give me a headache."
The thugs didn't need to be told twice. The conscious ones scrambled to their feet, dragging their limp comrades by their collars. They tripped over their own feet in their haste to reach the neon-lit street.
"Hey, wait!" the boy called out suddenly.
The last thug stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders hiking up to his ears. He slowly turned around, tears of pure terror pricking his eyes. "W-what is it?"
The boy rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, a mischievous grin returning to his face. "You guys seem like you've had a productive night. You probably have some cash on you. How about a 'navigation fee' for my troubles?"
The thug didn't even hesitate. He dipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out two heavy silver coins, and tossed them toward the boy. He didn't stay to see them caught; he turned and sprinted away as if the devil himself were chasing him.
"We'll remember your face!" one of them screamed from the safety of the street. "You better watch your back! The Syndicate doesn't forget!"
The boy caught the coins with a deft flick of his fingers and flipped one into the air. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone says that."
He turned toward the two boys in the corner. They were still huddled together, looking at him with a mixture of awe and terror. They didn't see a monster; they saw a miracle.
"Thank you... thank you so much for saving us," they said in unison, dropping into a deep, respectful bow.
The boy blinked, his cool demeanor flickering for a second. He scratched the back of his messy hair and looked away.
"Huh? Saving you? Don't get the wrong idea," he muttered, his voice losing its sharp edge. "I didn't do it for you guys. I just got lost and happened to walk into this dump. Those guys were just in the way of my exit."
The older of the two boys stood up, still clutching the bag of food. "Even so... if you hadn't come, we would have lost everything today. Our family would have gone hungry. Thank you once again, sir."
The boy in the hoodie started walking toward the mouth of the alley, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder.
"Suit yourselves," he called out.
He stepped out of the smoky shadows and back into the neon pulse of the city, the two silver coins jingling in his pocket. He was still lost, he was still tired, but at least now he could afford a decent dinner.