Garron's POV
He should've stayed down.
That was the first thought Garron had as he ducked through the half-scrapped fence behind the factory yard, bootsteps sloshing through mud and rot. Cold rain dripped from the ruined gutters above. Kael's footprints were fresh, heading straight into the deeper waste piles. Dumb kid didn't even bother to hide them.
"Think you're clever, huh?" Garron muttered. His voice came out low and mean. "Think you can sneak off after hours and not get caught?"
The pipe in his hand felt right. Solid. Heavy. He didn't need a reason. Kael had always smiled too much. Worked too hard. Said too little. People like that were dangerous.
There was a flash of blue light in the distance, like a dying sparkstone.
Garron picked up his pace.
He wasn't scared. Not of some ratboy with cracked boots and junk under his nails.
But he was curious.
And when he saw Kael, crouched by a mound of twisted metal, something crawled up his spine. Kid was just sitting there. Still. Too still. Like he was listening to something no one else could hear.
"Kael!" he barked. "You deaf now too?"
No answer. Not even a flinch.
Garron growled and charged.
He should've stayed down.
Kael's POV
The world was... louder now.
Everything had a voice. The metal hummed. The wind hissed secrets through broken vents. Even the sky felt like it was watching.
Kael didn't look back. He already knew who was coming.
Garron.
The system—whatever it was—had quieted, but something lingered under Kael's skin. A low vibration in his bones. A clarity in his blood.
He smiled without turning around.
Then came the swing.
Kael rolled to the side. Garron's pipe hit the scrap pile with a heavy clang. Shards of rust and glass flew.
"Still breathing, huh?" Garron spat, swinging again.
This time, Kael blocked it—with a piece of jagged pipe pulled from the trash. He didn't remember picking it up. Didn't need to.
It was there. That was enough.
They grappled in the rain and smoke. Garron was bigger, but slower. Loud. Predictable.
Kael let instinct move first.
The first hit caught Garron in the ribs. A sharp crack.
He cried out.
The second hit went for his arm. Bone met rust.
The third—
Kael didn't count the third.
When it was over, the scrapyard was quiet again.
Garron lay twitching in the filth, gasping like a fish too stupid to die right. His eyes were wide, glassy.
Kael stood over him, dripping rain and blood. Both mixed together. He didn't know how much of it was his.
He started laughing.
Not loud. Not manic. Just a quiet, shaking laugh that wouldn't stop.
[Feedback Detected: Physical Penalty Engaged]
[Pain Synchronization Active: 32%]
His stomach twisted. Something tore inside him—like nerves being yanked too tight.
Kael stumbled back and coughed once.
Then again.
A splash of blood hit the ground.
He looked down at it. Touched his lips. Still smiling.
"That's new," he muttered, voice hoarse.
The system whispered again. Distant. Faint. Almost tender.
[Bias Amplification Engaged]
[Suppressing: remorse, fear, doubt…]
He turned to Garron's corpse. Not with regret. Not even curiosity.
Just... interest.
Kael knelt beside him and whispered, "Did you think I was soft? Just because I smiled?"
He reached down. Closed Garron's eyes.
"Wrong kind of mercy, pal."
The light in Kael's forearm pulsed gently under his skin—faint blue, like a heartbeat trapped in glass.
He looked up at the dead sky, let the rain hit his face, and whispered:
"I think I like who I'm becoming."