Beneath a crimson sky adorned with two blazing suns, a lone man stood battered and bleeding, his majestic sword with a dragon coiled hilt clenched tightly in his hand. His face was a canvas of complex emotions—anger, sorrow, and relief all swirling within him. The metallic scent of iron filled the air, its source no mystery. Countless bodies littered the ground, allies and foes alike lying lifeless side by side.
"Death knows no distinction," the man thought to himself, his senses overwhelmed by the aftermath of the brutal war.
*Tap! Tap! Tap!*
The sound of footsteps reached his ears, prompting him to turn toward the source. "Brothers!" he exclaimed, welcoming the approaching men with a warm embrace. For a fleeting moment, the grim reality of the battlefield faded away.
"I'm glad you're alive," one of the men said with a smile. Like the lone man, his head was adorned with two majestic horns—a trait they all shared.
"It would take more than this to kill me," the lone man joked.
"We know!" one of the men replied with a sinister grin.
"That's why we made some arrangements," another added.
"What arrangements?" the lone man asked, backing away. He could sense something was wrong—the way they looked at him, the tone of their voices, the unmistakable contempt on their faces. It all sent a chill down his spine.
"What is the meaning of this?!" the lone man demanded as the four men drew their weapons, their intent clear.
"It's exactly what it looks like," one of them sneered.
"The end of your rule," another added.
"You all know the four of you can't beat me, even in this state. Please, stop this madness. I don't wish to stain my hands with your blood," the lone man pleaded.
"You think too highly of yourself, brother," the leader of the group said coldly.
"The only blood that will spill today is yours," the leader added, brandishing his weapon.
"If this is the path you've chosen, then I hold no sympathy," the lone man declared, charging at the group.
The clash was ferocious, the ground trembling as their blades met. The lone man dodged a blow aimed at his neck and countered with a roundhouse kick, sending one of his assailants crashing to the ground. The others unleashed a flurry of attacks, but the lone man blocked and countered each one with precision. His sword moved like an extension of his body, his fighting style fluid and flawless, leaving no openings for his enemies to exploit.
"Just die already!" one of the men yelled, delivering a horizontal slash that the lone man parried effortlessly.
The lone man sidestepped to avoid a downward slash and punched another assailant in the face, knocking him unconscious.
---
*Ring!!!*
An alarm blared in a dimly lit room, abruptly cutting short a young boy's dream.
"Ugh," he groaned, yawning as he groggily sat up in bed. Heavy bags under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. "Again with this cursed dream," he muttered to himself, dragging himself to the bathroom. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his pitiful appearance staring back at him.
Black hair, a skinny frame, pale skin, and lifeless eyes, he was the epitome of average, a prime target for bullies. Within minutes, he rushed out of the bathroom, got dressed, and headed out of his dorm.
"Another torturous day begins," he muttered as he walked through the academy grounds. Some students ignored him, while others cast scornful, mocking, or pitying glances his way. He paid them no mind. Such treatment was nothing new to him. After all, he was Drake Jagger, the lowest-ranked student in the entire academy and arguably the weakest human to ever exist. Did they really think their petty mockery could hurt him?
A few moments later, he reached the hallway where his class was located. As he walked, a group of boys blocked his path.
"Hey, dweeb!" one of them sneered, shoving him against the wall. "I thought I made it clear you should never let me see your pathetic face again. So why the hell is your ugly face the first thing I see this morning?"
"Maybe you're just attracted to me. You probably have a thing for ugly," Drake retorted with a sly smile.
*Pfft!*
.
The boy's friends struggled to hold back their laughter, and for a moment, the bully's face flushed with embarrassment.
"Quite a mouth you've got there." the boy said, his cheeks still red. "Looks like you're asking for your daily dose of spanking," he added with a devilish grin.
"Please, no! It was just a joke!" Drake pleaded as they dragged him into the men's restroom. What followed was ten minutes of unrelenting screams and pleas. The boys left the restroom with satisfied smiles, while Drake remained on the floor, tied up, wet, and bleeding.
"These bastards peed on me," Drake muttered, picking himself up from the damp floor. Most students would have been in tears or worse, but Drake was long past feeling sorry for himself.
*Noobs!* he thought, fixing his appearance in the restroom mirror.
His nightmare of a life had begun when he was eleven. Since then, he had endured torture and humiliation in ways that would make anyone's stomach churn. To make matters worse, he was an orphan with no memory of his parents. Even his last name, Jagger, was given to him by the government.
"Shit! It's 9:30!" Drake cursed, dashing to his class. He was an hour late, and Mr. Ken wasn't known for his leniency.
*Creak!* The door groaned as he stepped into the classroom.
"You're late, Mr. Jagger," the stern-looking man at the board said without even glancing in his direction. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to watch the interaction.
The dynamic between Mr. Ken and Drake was a tale as old as time or at least as old as Drake's time at the academy. To some, it seemed Mr. Ken had a personal vendetta against Drake. To others, Drake was simply a delinquent who deserved every bit of the treatment he received.
"I had some minor inconveniences." Drake said with an awkward smile.
"You are an inconvenience." Mr. Ken muttered under his breath.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that." Drake replied.
"The principal wants to see you. Now get the hell out of my class!" Mr. Ken roared, slamming the door shut.
"Tsk. What an unhappy man." Drake muttered to himself as he made his way to the principal's office.