"Clean this up, and leave no trace," the man ordered, and immediately the four others beside him moved with precision, disposing of the couple's bodies and the car.
After they were done, one of them asked the man, "What about the kid?"
Rain started to pour more heavily on them. The man observed the kid with a little bit of interest. Watching his parents being murdered right in front of him, a normal kid would've been on the ground, crying, or even running.
But this kid, the man expected the kid to do something or react in a certain way. But no, the kid just stood there, hasn't moved an inch from his position, even after his parents' death.
The man approached the kid and said, "How do you feel?"
The kid turned to look at the man and said nothing. He just looked at him with no expression and lifeless eyes.
The man didn't mind the kid and looked at the sketchbook the kid was holding. The kid held his sketchbook tightly as if it were more valuable than his own life, afraid of losing it.
The man stared at the kid for a moment, then, when he was about to grab the sketchbook from the clutches of the kid, the kid suddenly reacted. The kid took a few steps back and moved the sketchbook behind him, protecting it from the man.
"Hold him," the man said to his colleagues, and immediately they held the kid, preventing him from doing anything.
The man approached the kid again and forcefully grabbed the sketchbook from his hand. He then opened the sketchbook and let out a long sigh.
"Useless," the man said. As he looked at the kid's expression, a thought came to his mind.
He then held the sketchbook in both of his hands, and when he was about to rip it in half, the kid suddenly shouted.
"No!"
Immediately, the kid started breaking free from the grip of the two people who were holding him. He managed to break away from them and immediately ran towards the man, as if he had never done so before.
The man dropped the sketchbook and dodged the feeble punch from the kid. He then struck the kid on the back of the head with the handle of his sword.
The kid immediately dropped unconscious on the ground. The man then nodded at his colleagues; one of them carried the kid, and just like that, they left as if they had never been there before.
*Rumble*
Amidst the heavy rain, thunders roared, winds blew ragingly, and in the same place, the sketchbook that was on the ground suddenly opened because of the raging wind.
The page flapped rapidly until it stopped at a certain page.
And on that page, there was a drawing of a girl. The girl had a hook tattoo right under her right eye, and she wore a very noticeable ankh-shaped necklace, while she was smiling and holding her black umbrella.
Because of the wind, leaves fall to the ground, and slowly, the drawing of the girl starts to be covered in the falling leaves, and in the end, it is entirely covered, buried under the falling leaves.
--- ( This indicates a change in point of view/POV. )
"Urgh... my head hurts..."
"Ahh... you're finally awake."
"Huh?"
I looked towards the source of the voice and saw a boy - a teenage boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen, it seemed. He was sitting in front of me with a little smile on his face.
But wait, that's not the problem here. Am I not supposed to be dead? The last time I remember, I was charging at the enemy's tank, planning to throw my remaining grenades at it.
And as I was about to throw my grenades, I realized that the tank's long barrel was pointing in my direction. And all of a sudden, I find myself here... I am absolutely certain that I was supposed to be dead.
But why am I here? And why... am I alive?
Wait, it... it can't be... have I been reincarnated or transmigrated? But that is impossible. I thought that would only ever happen in those web novels, anime, or any adaptations that I used to enjoy in my past life.
I took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. Some of the most crucial things that I learned in my past life were "Environment or Surroundings" and "Panic." In any circumstances or conditions you find yourself in, you can't panic. Because in the battlefield, a panic attack could determine whether you'll live long or not.
I then observed my surroundings and it turns out that I was in some kind of truck, with everything closed and only a single lamp that illuminated the compartment or box.
Including me and the boy in front of me, there are around twenty people here, and it would seem that there are more girls than boys. Based on their appearance, they seemed to be the same age as the boy in front of me, teenagers.
That would mean, I was about the same age as them as well. I began inspecting my body in this dimly lit compartment. And when I looked at my hands and fingers... they were skinny and my skin was very pale.
These are definitely not my body. But wait, aren't there supposed to be memories left behind by the previous owner of this body? Where are-
"!!!"
Suddenly, as if a cold, freezing waterfall pouring uncontrollably over my head, memories that I did not recognize started appearing in my mind. I watched them like a movie, observing from the side, like a spectator. But, I couldn't stay far away from him, not even five centimeters. So, I never had a chance to gather information about the world where I belong now.
The original owner of this body had the same name as me, Mikael.
No middle, last or family name, just Mikael. He lived with both of his parents, and the three of them lived in a rather growing country, around the border between Russia and Europe.
When he turned three years old, he was diagnosed with an unknown sickness that made him look like a "corpse" - no emotions, lifeless eyes, and pale skin, as pale as a corpse. This made his parents devastated.
When he turned six years old, his parents gifted him a sketchbook for his birthday. However, that gift made his parents regret their decision. Because of that sketchbook, he never got out of his house to play with the neighbors' kids or even to take a breath of fresh air.
Instead, he mostly locked himself up in his room with his sketchbook. This made his parents worried, and they decided to enroll him in school. However, similar things happened; he never interacted with other kids or answered the teacher's questions.
This resulted in him being bullied by other kids. What's worse is that he never fought back, cried, insulted, or reported this to his teacher or his parents. So every time he came back from school, his parents always saw him with bruises, torn clothes, and disheveled hair.
In the end, his parents decided to take him out of the school and hired a private teacher. And just within a month, the private teacher asked for leave and gave up on teaching him.
And at that point and forward, his parents started to hate him, calling him an idiot, stupid, good for nothing, and all sorts of bad things. But, as usual, he never responded to them and just stayed silent.
Years passed by and the medical bills started to pile up, reaching numbers that his parents couldn't afford. This resulted in his parents borrowing money from loan sharks, but that did not last long. Instead of using the money to pay the bills, his parents used it for gambling, both of them.
And one day, his parents brought him to a gambling house. He didn't know anything or what was happening and just mindlessly followed his parents. But I know what's happening; they bet on their own child, they willingly sold their son just for the sake of gambling.
His parents realized that their son had a charming, handsome face despite his weaknesses: golden eyes, pale white skin, and dark hair. So, they decided right then and there to sell their child to the gambling house.
And as expected, his parents lost. The gambling house then took him and sold him to a brothel. But not even three days had passed when he was returned to the gambling house, with the reason being, "This kid is indeed handsome but he lacks brains."
The gambling house went around the country and even reached out to other countries, but the same results came out. He was returned with the same reason, "idiot, brainless, and stupid."
The gambling house then decided to return him to his parents. When his parents were contacted by the gambling house to get their son back, there was no other expression than confusion.
This sale and return continued until he reached thirteen years old. At that time, his parents suddenly changed their attitude and started taking care of him, providing him with proper meals, and smiling at him more.
And of course, this kid doesn't suspect or realize anything and just goes on with his daily routine, keeping himself in his room, drawing for hours and occasionally stopping just to eat and go to the bathroom.
When I looked at the drawing, I noticed a pattern. This kid never drew something colorful or eye-catching characters. He only drew using a two-color scheme, black and white.
This odd and unusual behavior of his parents went on for a year. When he turned fourteen years old, his parents gifted him a set of expensive coloring pens.
He was very happy, and at that time, he let out a rare little smile on his face. He immediately went to his room, opened his sketchbook, and started drawing again.
One day, on a dark and cloudy day, the kid was still drawing and I, of course, watched him draw like usual. However, when the kid started to draw, I noticed that the character he drew was somewhat familiar to me.
I watched him draw, and when he finished adding the final details, I noticed a distinctive feature on the character.
A hook tattoo beneath her right eye, and the ankh necklace. I couldn't have been wrong; this is who I believe she is... Lady Death, Death of the Endless herself.
But how? All this time, I never saw him read comics or watch TV. He didn't even have any gadgets, such as a cellphone or computer, either. How did he know her?
When I was racking my brain trying to figure him out, a voice suddenly broke me from my thoughts.
"Mikael..."
"!!!"
I turned towards the voice and noticed that this kid was staring at me, smiling warmly.
"You can see me?" I asked, and he nodded in response.
"But how!?" I asked again while scratching my head.
While a smile still plastered on his face, he said, "Because I am you, I have always been a part of you, and my life was just another memory of yours."
His statement made me even more confused, but when I saw the drawing of Lady Death in the sketchbook, it started to make sense. I nodded at him and accepted it.
He nodded back and continued, "My life has always been yours and would continue to be yours. This is your fate, and this is your destiny."
"But, why? What did I do to deserve this? Why me? What purpose do I have? And who-"
Before I could continue, his father suddenly entered the room with food and medicine. The kid ignored me and shifted his focus to his father. His father handed him his food and medicine, and as he drank the water and took the medicine, his body suddenly swayed. Eventually, he fell asleep.
I watched as his father grinned, and I realized that it wasn't his medicine; it was a sleeping drug. He was carried by his father to the car, and obviously, I was dragged along as well.
Two hours later, we reached an abandoned house in the middle of the woods. I frowned and observed the scene playing out. Five people emerged from the shadows, with his father talking about a deal with them.
And suddenly, my eyes widened as one of the five people threw shurikens at his father. Is this the real ninja or perhaps a shinobi? Am I in the Naruto world? No, I think not.
And just like that, his father was dead, followed by his mother who blindly charged at them and ended up getting slashed by a sword.
I didn't feel any remorse or any sad emotions because they made him... made me... suffer.
I glanced at him, and he glanced at me too. When I was about to ask my questions and opened my mouth, I saw him nod at me. I sighed and could only nod back.
I watched the rest of the scene unfold, seeing his sketchbook being snatched from him. And eventually, witnessing his head being knocked by the handle of a sword.
When he was about to lose consciousness, he smiled at me, and I just nodded. As he closed his eyes, my vision grew darker, and in the end, when I opened my eyes, I was back in the truck.
With more than twenty people probably facing the same fate as me, either sold by their parents or kidnapped, going somewhere we were not familiar with.