Aren had just graduated from middle school, and it was time for high school. For the first time, he made a request to his mother:
"Mom, I want to go to a high school far away."
His mother was surprised. "Why can't you go to school here? Is it because of me?" she asked, her voice laced with worry, as she had always felt she hadn't taken good enough care of him.
"No, I just want to be on my own," Aren said, his face completely emotionless. His mother, despite feeling uneasy, accepted his request.
A month before school started, Aren left the city and set off for his new town. He settled into a small apartment close to the school. What he didn't know, however, was that this city was overrun by gangs and mafia organizations. Crime and violence were rampant, with murder becoming almost a daily occurrence.
The sky was growing dark. Aren opened the refrigerator and sighed; it was completely empty. He needed to get something. Quickly, he threw on a black hooded sweatshirt with a dark crown emblazoned on the front. Pulling the hood over his head, shadowing his face, he slipped into some comfortable, stretchy black pants and stepped outside.
The cold wind cut through his hood and hit his face, but he paid no attention to it. The streets were eerily silent, the wind the only sound as he walked. When he reached the market, dim lights greeted him at the entrance. He walked inside and began wandering the aisles. First, he picked up a few apples and bananas from the fruit section. Then he moved to the canned goods aisle and grabbed some soup.
He made his way to the drinks section, taking a bottle of water and a pack of energy drinks. Finally, he added some chocolate and chips from the snack aisle. After finishing his shopping, he paid and stepped back into the cold night.
As soon as he walked out, he noticed five people standing in the dark corner near the store. One of them called out to him:
"Hey, come over here!"
Aren ignored the voice and kept walking. But one of the men rushed up and grabbed his collar. Aren's voice was calm, almost icy as he said, "Let go of me." The anger on the man's face seemed to falter, as if taken aback by Aren's composure.
"We've got business with you," another one said, as the remaining four surrounded him. Aren didn't flinch.
"What do you want?" he asked, still showing no emotion.
"Give us your money," the man growled.
Without hesitation, Aren reached for his wallet. "Here, take it," he said, handing over the cash, his voice devoid of any feeling as he watched their reactions.
The leader of the group studied Aren for a moment before snatching the money from his hand. Struggling to contain his anger, he asked, "You think you're better than us? Is that it?" His voice was low and threatening. The other four closed in, ready to pounce at any moment.
"I haven't done anything to disrespect you," Aren replied, still eerily calm. "You asked for money, and I gave it to you."
A tense silence followed. In that moment, Aren saw something in the leader's eyes—something more than just anger. There was a flicker of uncertainty, perhaps even fear. His indifference seemed to unnerve them.
Suddenly, the leader swung and landed a powerful punch on Aren, sending him crashing to the ground. The pain hit him harder than he'd ever felt before. For a moment, everything else faded. He could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart, a rhythm entirely different from the cold emptiness he was used to.
"Hey, don't hit him so hard! Didn't you hear what the boss said?" shouted one of the men, ignoring the anxious glances from the others. As Aren lay there, something within him began to stir. His body was undergoing a transformation, like he was on the verge of unlocking something.
His heart pounded faster, and his blood surged through his veins like fire. As the voices around him faded, this new sensation began pulling him away from the emotionless shell he had been living in. His body was changing, and this power was reshaping him.
Unknowingly, these men were recreating him. Even as he lay on the ground, Aren felt something awakening inside him. The damage they inflicted was now fueling his potential. There was no turning back—whatever lay dormant within him was ready to be unleashed.
Slowly, he stood up. What was this feeling? The men stared in disbelief as his thin body rose to its full height, but as soon as he was upright, Aren punched one of them hard in the stomach.
The man gasped, clutching his abdomen in pain, but Aren didn't stop. With swift, unyielding speed, he lunged forward and sank his teeth into the man's neck. "Aghhhhhhh!" The man's scream echoed through the street. The remaining four shouted in unison: "Stop him!" They all rushed at Aren, but it was as if he were in another world. He was no longer himself.
This moment—it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Something deep inside him was finally responding to the darkness within. "I want more—give me more!" he screamed, charging at the men.
One of them managed to land a punch to Aren's face, but Aren didn't flinch. His overwhelming rage kept him still. He caught the man's fist and tore into his arm with his nails. "Aghhh!" The man's arm was drenched in blood. The others tried to punch and kick Aren, but seeing the boy laughing maniacally in front of them, their fear grew.
"AHAHAH! Hahahahaha! Give me more!" His laughter was unhinged, a rebellion against the void inside him. Aren leapt onto one of the men, tearing into his chin with his teeth and ripping flesh from his face. "Aghhhh!" The last two men had already fled, but Aren didn't stop; he kept punching the remaining man in the face, savoring each strike. The man's face became unrecognizable, yet Aren laughed harder with every blow. The emptiness inside him was finally being filled by the dark pleasure of this moment.