"Amidst the city's neon embrace, I learned that society's mask of acceptance is often the disguise of betrayal."
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The bustling streets of the city stretched out before me as I made my way home. Another day at school had come to an end.
The useless teasing from Kazuya about my trip to SC room and the exaggerated whispers of admiration (threats) from classmates were like a constant hum in the background of my thoughts. (A/N: SC = student council)
As I walked along the crowded street, lost in my own world, a discordant symphony of violent sounds reached my ears. The commotion came from a narrow, dimly lit alleyway that branched off the main road.
Curiosity tugged at me, urging me to investigate. But my initial instinct was to ignore it and continue on my way—after all, I had my own concerns to deal with.
However, something halted me in my tracks. It wasn't the sounds of the scuffle that caught my attention, nor was it a sense of moral obligation.
It was a pair of eyes that locked onto mine—a flash of recognition and vulnerability that echoed something I had known all too well. It was a fleeting moment, a shared understanding, but it was enough to stir something within me.
The eyes belonged to a young boy, no older than seven, crouched on the ground and surrounded by a group of grown-up thugs.
The boy was being subjected to a merciless beating, his small frame struggling to withstand the assault.
For a split second, I considered leaving. It wasn't my concern, and I had no obligation to intervene.
But as I turned to walk away, my gaze locked with the boy's once again, and I saw a reflection of my own past—the vulnerability, the desperation, the feeling of being at the mercy of forces beyond one's control.
"he..lp" almost as a whimper he said those words. Which somehow seemed to snap a chord in my melancholic symphony.
A soft, almost inaudible whisper escaped my lips, "This could be the perfect opportunity to let out some steam."
I stepped back into the shadows, my presence unnoticed by the aggressors. The familiar coldness settled over me, the numbness that often shielded me from emotions.
In this darkness, I found a sense of clarity. My sliver eyes focused on the unfolding scene, assessing the situation with calculated precision.
The thugs continued their assault, their laughter and jeers filling the air. My steps were silent as I moved closer, my presence like a phantom in the alley.
As I reached the edge of the confrontation, I took a deep breath, my heart rate steady, my mind clear.
"Look what we got here, boys! A pretty boy trying to play hero?" 'sigh' this is gonna be long day.
"Yeah, real smart, kid. You picked the wrong alley to stroll into." lackey 2 followed.
"Think you can just walk away from this? Nowhere to run now, huh?" this lackey 3 is getting on my nerves.....
Their laughter washed over me like a challenge, fueling the fire within. Their words were like sparks, igniting the cold rage that simmered beneath the surface.
But I remained calm, my expression unchanging as I let their words wash over me.
"You're right. Nowhere to run," I replied, my voice dripping with calm assurance. Their taunts were merely background noise to my thoughts, their threats like echoes in the wind.
"You're all alone here, kid. No one's coming to save you."
"Oh, I'm well aware." I almost failed to hold a chuckle escaping my lips.
"You're gonna regret crossing us, kid."
"You think so?" was the only thing I could say raising an eyebrow.
I met their smirks with a raised eyebrow, my own confidence unwavering. Their threats were empty, their false bravado nothing more than a façade.
"Yeah, enjoy your last few minutes, pretty boy."
I chuckled softly, the sound a mix of amusement and something darker. Their arrogance was their downfall, and they were about to learn that the hard way.
"Don't worry, I plan to," I replied with a hint of darkness. The stage was set, the pieces in place. The time for talking was over—the real show was about to begin.
The thrill of beating them all up sent a shiver down my spine, a rush of adrenaline that drowned out their jeers.
In the symphony of chaos that followed, I moved with a calculated precision. The first strike landed with a brutal efficiency, a punch that found its mark with a resounding thud. Thug 2's expression shifted from arrogance to shock as he crumpled to the ground.
Thug 3's mocking grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. He lunged at me, a desperate attempt to salvage his pride, but I sidestepped his advance with a graceful swiftness. My retaliation was swift—a knee to the gut that stole his breath.
Their taunts had fueled the fire within me, and now that fire burned brighter than ever. Each blow was a testament to their underestimation, a reminder that I was not to be trifled with.
As the final thug staggered back, his bravado shattered, I seized the opportunity. A barrage of calculated strikes rained down upon him, a ruthless assault that left no room for escape.
With every punch, every kick, I unleashed the pent-up frustration that had festered beneath my calm exterior.
My fist connected with his jaw, followed by a flurry of strikes that pounded into his flesh like relentless blows from a sledgehammer.
Punch after punch, I unleashed my rage upon him, the sounds of impact punctuating the air like a macabre melody.
My movements were a blur, a dance of violence that left no room for escape. The glint in my eyes was no longer just cold; it was murderous, an abyss of intent that swallowed all mercy.
Blood sprayed from his nose and lips, each strike painting his features in shades of red. The thug's cries of pain were silenced by the savage rhythm of my assault.
The world around me narrowed to the rhythm of my fists, the sound of my breathing, and the thud of my blows against his body.
Amidst the chaos, I sensed movement—a presence that had been pushed to the edges of my awareness. The boy. His wide eyes bore witness to the brutality unfolding before him, his small frame trembling with fear.
And yet, even as he cowered, he continued to watch. His gaze held a mixture of awe and terror, as if he couldn't tear his eyes away from the gruesome spectacle.
Look. Look closely, boy----------as this is the work of 'Morpheus', The ART of Morpheus.
Finally, with a final blow, the third thug went limp, unconsciousness claiming him. I stood over him, my breath ragged, my knuckles coated in blood. My gaze turned to the boy, and for a moment, our eyes locked
—the abyss meeting innocence.
I wiped the blood from my hands onto the unconscious thug's clothes, leaving a mark of my presence on his fallen form.
Turning to the boy who had watched the brutal spectacle, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe, I couldn't help but think of the similarities between us.
In his eyes, I saw a reflection of the anger and desperation that had once consumed me.
The boy's voice called out, timid but filled with curiosity, "Who are you?"
I paused, a sliver of moonlight adoring my earrings with a faint glow on my form. My voice was as cold as ice, devoid of emotion. "Someone who understands."
Offering him a hand I exclaimed "Come on, kid. Let's get you out of here."
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze locked with mine, before he tentatively reached out and took my hand.
As I helped him to his feet, a sense of understanding passed between us—a recognition of the darkness we both carried.
I led him out of the alley, his steps unsteady but determined. As we walked away from the scene of the fight, I couldn't help but feel a connection to the boy—a bond forged in the crucible of adversity.
The city may have abandoned us, but in that moment, we found a common ground—a place where our shared experiences gave birth to an unlikely alliance.