Bill's mother had taken her own life after realizing she had given birth to a boy—her son had the same organs as his abusive father.
Despite the cruelty of the world, Bill grew up a quiet boy, content with bugs and stones. He spent hours reading old comics of superheroes, staring in awe and dreaming of a life where heroes could make a difference.
His father, however, saw him as a boy with the heart and mind of a girl. That twisted view led to abuse, followed by feeble apologies.
"Why don't you stop the drugs, Daddy?" Bill asked one day.
"They're my medication for this sickness called life," his father replied.
Bill wanted to help his father. He begged for money on the streets, sold whatever he could, hoping to ease his father's suffering. And though his father smiled at his efforts, it never stopped the abuse.
One stormy night, thunder cracked the already broken roof, and rain poured through the holes. Bill was bedridden with the flu.
His father, no longer happy, handed him some of his drugs. They made Bill feel as if he were in heaven, and he ventured into the rain to sell his small wares. But the feeling never lasted.
Later that night, a neighbor returned him home, shivering and weak.
"I'm sorry, Father," Bill whispered, wrapped in a worn blanket.
"No problem, sonny boy. Your daddy's a strong man!" his father laughed, revealing the last of his yellowed teeth.
Bill woke the next morning to find his father speaking to a huge man. He was tiny—only six years old—while the man towered over him. Today was his seventh birthday.
"Happy birthday, son. You're going on a vacation with this man," his father said, shoving a stack of cash into his tranch coat.
"But Father, I want to go with you!" Bill protested.
"No, you're my hero. And my hero needs a vacation," his father replied.
"I want to save you from your sickness," Bill said, tears running down his cheeks.
"I don't want to be saved, Bill."
Bill struggled against the man, but he was too small. He was taken to a warehouse filled with other children like him. Some glanced at him briefly before staring at the floor or ceiling.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Hell," a girl replied, drawing a game on the floor with a stone.
"My dad said I'd go on vacation. Vacations are fun," Bill said.
"They're scum," she said, not looking up. "They bring us into this world, fill us with crap, then throw us away like trash."
The kid spoke like the adults he saa but she was tiny like him . Had his father betrayed him and become a villan?
"I'll defeat him… and all of them… and we'll get out of here!" he vowed. The other children gave him dull stares.
"Suit yourself," the girl said.
When the guard opened the door, Bill struck him with a stone. The man stumbled, and Bill grabbed his gun and oversized helmet.
"Follow me," he signaled to the other kids, but they ignored him, their eyes were like his father's as he had said: I don't want to be saved.
"Fine. I'll do it myself!" Bill said. He ran, spotting a truck passing through a large gate. Guards surrounded him, but one lowered his gun and approached.
"It's just a kid… didn't your mom teach you not to—"
Bill pulled the trigger. Blood splashed his face. "My mom died."
The remaining guards drew knives and guns. Suddenly, a man larger than the first, with an eye patch, appeared.
"You've got balls, kid. I'll give you that," the man said, laughing.
"I don't have the Dragon Balls," Bill muttered.
The man laughed harder. "Put this kid in the war. Teach him the basics."
"But sir, what can a kid do against Ja—"
Thunder cracked overhead, silencing the man as another figure crashed down.
Bill was taught the basics of guns and hand-to-hand combat. They told him the man with the eyepatch had once escaped from Ecardwark and was now trying to instill its culture on him.
Bill believed he was still the hero of his story—the boy who would defeat the villains, save his father, and bring peace. But the war changed him.
His subordinates fell one by one, their bodies mangled and unrecognizable. Bill killed a few enemies by turning his childhood hide-and-seek game into a weapon—becoming both the hidden and the seeker.
"Can you revive him?" Bill whispered over a fallen comrade.
The dying man let out a hollow, defeated laugh. "You only get one life, kid."
The words shattered Bill. He looked around—bodies shot to pieces, bombs bursting, soldiers ripped apart by land mines.
He dropped to his knees, clutching his head, tears mixing with dirt and blood.
"Stop… stop! Stop it! It's not a game anymore. I want to go home. Mommy… why did you leave me?"
His screams echoed through the battlefield. "Stop! STOP! STOP!"
And suddenly—silence.
Bill opened his eyes. Everyone around him was frozen in ice. The battlefield, once a storm of death, was still. He looked at his trembling hands in awe.
From the stillness, a man walked toward him—the priest. Unlike the others, he wasn't frozen. He took Bill in, giving him shelter among Tana and the other children.
Tana became the mother he lost, and the priest, the father he thought he needed. The priest shared Bill's love for comics, though he spent long hours alone, often drawing blood from Bill to "keep his ice powers under control."
The children there were different. Their eyes held something he had never seen before—freedom. All except Tana.
"You have the same eyes as my father," Bill told her one day. "Do you also not want to be saved?"
Tana's eyes filled with tears as she hugged him tightly. "Some people can't be saved, even if they want to. That's the brutality of life."
Years later, as Bill fought Blaze hand to hand, he stared deep into Blaze's eyes. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered—
Did Blaze want to be saved?
Did he not want to be saved?
Or… had he already made peace with his fate?