Chapter 3: The First Strike
Damian's head tilted slightly as he dodged Hather's clumsy punch, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could pierce steel. The group of boys didn't notice the flicker of dark intent that crossed his face; to them, Damian was just the weak "chosen one" with no real power.
"You're too slow," Damian said coldly, straightening up. His voice was devoid of fear, and his demeanor only served to irritate the three boys further.
"Think you're smart, huh?" Pâte Row sneered, stepping forward. His muscular frame towered over Damian. "Let's see if your fancy academy training makes you tougher than you look."
The other two boys, Hather and Lian, flanked Pâte, smirking as they cracked their knuckles.
Damian didn't respond. Instead, he slowly removed his outer cloak and folded it neatly, placing it on a nearby rock. His movements were deliberate, precise—eerily calm for someone about to face three older boys.
"What's the matter? Scared?" Hather taunted.
"Scared?" Damian echoed, his voice a low whisper. He raised his head, and for the first time, the boys noticed the faint smirk playing on his lips. "No. Just making sure I don't dirty my clothes before I dirty my hands."
Without warning, Hather lunged again, this time with more force. But Damian had been training—every morning, every sparring session with his father, every second honing his swordsmanship had also sharpened his reflexes. He sidestepped Hather's punch with fluid grace, grabbing the boy's wrist mid-swing. With a twist and a pull, he sent Hather crashing into the dirt.
"You dare!" Pâte growled, charging at Damian.
Damian braced himself, dodging the first punch and ducking under the second. Using his smaller frame to his advantage, he stepped in close, delivering a sharp elbow to Pâte's ribs. The larger boy stumbled back, gasping for air.
"Is this all the great village bullies can do?" Damian asked, his tone mocking. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and disdain. "How disappointing."
Lian, the quietest of the trio, tried to take Damian by surprise, rushing him from behind. But Damian had already anticipated the move. Pivoting quickly, he tripped Lian with a sweeping kick, sending him sprawling.
"You're not worth my time," Damian said, brushing off his hands as if he'd just finished dealing with a minor inconvenience. He stepped over the groaning boys, picking up his cloak.
Pâte struggled to his feet, his face red with anger and humiliation. "This isn't over, you little freak!" he spat.
Damian paused and turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, it's far from over," he said with a sinister smile. "This is only the beginning."
As Damian walked away, his mind raced with plans. He had always intended to exact revenge on the human race, but now he realized that small victories like these could pave the way for his ultimate goal.
"They'll all pay," he thought to himself, his heart filled with dark satisfaction. "One by one, I'll remind them why the world once feared the Shadow King."
Back at home, Damian's parents were unaware of what had transpired. His father greeted him with a hearty laugh, his mother with a warm embrace. Their love only fueled Damian's hatred further.
"One day," he thought, watching their joyful expressions, "you'll learn the truth. And when you do, it'll be too late."
As night fell, Damian lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The echoes of his past life whispered to him, promising power and vengeance. He clenched his fists, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Revenge begins now."