"Oi…did you see that?"
"He killed him?!"
There were eight of them in total, and all of them were panicking after witnessing him killing their so-called boss.
One of them even puked from the gruesome sight and while others were already walking a step backward, wanting to get out from his predicament.
But Matthew knew that if he let them go, they would tell the authorities that he killed their boss and possibly attract unwanted attention. In order to prevent that, there is only one thing he should do.
"You left me with no choice. I gave you a chance…Now it's too late."
One of the gang members, trembling, tried to bolt. He turned on his heel, sprinting for the mouth of the alley. But Matthew was faster—too fast. In a blur of motion, Matthew was in front of him, blocking his escape. The gang member skidded to a stop, his eyes wide with terror, and before he could scream, Matthew struck.
His fist connected with the man's chest with the force of a speeding train. The blow didn't just knock the man off his feet—it obliterated him. There was no scream, no cry for help. The gang member's chest caved in like a balloon popping under immense pressure, bones shattering and organs exploding in a spray of blood and gore. The man's body splattered against the alley wall like a grotesque, crimson mural, leaving nothing but mangled limbs and chunks of flesh.
The others watched in horror, their faces turning pale. Matthew wiped the splatter of blood off his face with a calm, detached expression, his eyes flicking to the next closest target.
"You're next."
Another gang member, eyes wide with terror, backed away, his hands trembling as he raised them in a futile gesture of surrender. "P-please! We didn't mean it! Don't—" But before he could finish, Matthew lunged forward, his fist crashing into the man's skull.
The head exploded on impact, like a watermelon smashed under a hammer. Blood, brain matter, and shards of bone sprayed in all directions, coating the alley walls and the remaining gang members. The body fell limply to the ground, decapitated, the stump of a neck spraying what was left of his blood onto the asphalt.
The remaining six gang members were now in full panic, their bravado completely shattered. They screamed, stumbling over each other in their desperate attempt to flee. But Matthew was faster than all of them.
He grabbed one by the shoulder, his fingers sinking into the man's flesh like it was made of wet clay. With a single flick of his wrist, he tore the man in half. The body split apart at the waist, entrails spilling onto the ground in a sickening, steaming pile as the upper half was flung across the alley, slamming into a dumpster with a loud clang.
The gang members were no longer trying to fight back; they were prey, and Matthew was the predator. Another lunged at him in desperation, swinging a broken pipe. Matthew barely had to exert himself—his open palm met the man's chest and pushed. The gang member's body crumpled under the force like paper, bones snapping and shattering into dust. His chest caved inwards, collapsing like a vacuum as the internal organs burst under the pressure. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he collapsed, lifeless, before hitting the ground.
The remaining four members were sobbing, pleading for their lives, but Matthew was beyond reason now. His vision narrowed, and the blood rushing in his ears drowned out their pitiful cries.
He grabbed two at once, their limbs flailing uselessly as they tried to escape his grip. Without a second thought, he smashed their bodies together with such force that their bones broke instantly, and their flesh burst apart. Limbs flew in every direction, their torsos mangled and distorted into an unrecognizable mass of gore. What was left of them hit the ground with a wet slap, staining the alley in a deep crimson.
The final two were crawling on the ground, trying to get away, but Matthew wasn't done. He walked toward them slowly.
The first one screamed as Matthew grabbed his head, lifting him off the ground like a rag doll. With a swift motion, he crushed the skull in his hand, the bones giving way like brittle glass. Blood and brain matter squirted out from between Matthew's fingers, dripping to the ground as the lifeless body slumped at his feet.
The last one, Vince, whimpered. "Please... no... spare me…"
"Spare you? You were having fun when you were bullying me every day. Every time I go to sleep, I dream of a moment where I get my revenge on all of you. Now that I have the power to stop you, why should I spare you?"
Vince crawled backward, shaking uncontrollably. "I-I'll leave you alone. I swear! Just let me go... I-I'll do anything!" he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper, his broken hand trembling as he tried to push himself further away from Matthew.
But there was no mercy in Matthew's eyes. The years of torment, the endless humiliation, and pain had built up, and now it was all coming out in one brutal surge of power. He stepped forward, towering over Vince.
"Too late," Matthew muttered.
In a single, swift motion, Matthew grabbed Vince by the throat and lifted him off the ground with ease. Vince's legs kicked frantically in the air as he gasped for breath, his hands clawing at Matthew's iron grip. Matthew's hand tightened, and Vince's windpipe collapsed with a sickening crunch. The sound of bones snapping echoed through the alley, followed by the faint gurgle of Vince's last breath.
Matthew dropped the lifeless body to the ground, watching it fall limply beside the broken remains of his fellow gang members. The alley was now a gruesome scene of blood, shattered bones, and mutilated bodies.
Matthew stared at the massacre he had created, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped off the remaining blood splattered on his face. The cold reality of what he had done hit him all at once, but instead of fear or remorse, there was only a deep emptiness. It was as if some primal part of him had taken control, unleashing a power he hadn't fully understood or controlled.
"I have to get out of here quick."
He wiped his blood-soaked hands on his clothes and looked down at himself. He was a mess—blood, dirt, and gore covered him. He needed to clean up fast. He remembered the river nearby, the one where he used to go with his friends when they were younger. It was secluded and hidden from the main roads. It was the perfect place to get rid of the evidence.
Without a second thought, Matthew took off running. His speed carried him through the empty streets in a blur, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced toward the river. The world around him became a streak of colors as he weaved through the city.
In no time, he reached the riverbank. Taking a deep breath, Matthew stepped into the river. The cold water quickly washed away the blood and grime clinging to his skin. He scrubbed at his arms and face, watching the red stains dissolve into the water, carried away by the current.
As he stood waist-deep in the water, he thought back to the moment he had snapped. The rage, the power—he hadn't been able to control it. And now, those gang members were dead, and it was his fault. Part of him felt justified; they had tormented him for years, and he had finally gotten his revenge. But another part of him was scared. If he couldn't control this power, what was stopping him from hurting more people? His family? His friends?
"I need to figure this out," he muttered to himself, splashing water onto his face. "I can't let this happen again."
Once he was sure he had washed away all traces of blood, Matthew climbed out of the river and wrung out his clothes as best as he could. He couldn't go home like this; his mother and sister would immediately know something was wrong.
He needed a plan, a way to control this power before it consumed him completely. And he already had an idea in mind.