Blood splattered the walls like wild paint strokes from a cursed artist's hand. Crimson pooled beneath Fallen's feet, thick and warm. His breathing was savage, uncontrolled. His eyes glowed like two embers caught in a storm.
He wasn't fighting anymore.
He was devouring.
Bones snapped like dry twigs beneath his fists. Screams echoed—some human, some not. The creatures howled as they fell, shredded like paper under his wrath. With every step, Fallen left a trail of gore and mangled limbs. He was less boy and more beast. Less Fallen… and more something ancient, forgotten.
He didn't count the kills.
He only felt the rage.
One punch caved in a demon's skull.
Another rip tore through a spine like rope.
His foot crushed the last creature's chest into dust.
Silence followed.
Fallen stood in the middle of the massacre, blood dripping from his knuckles. His chest heaved. His skin glistened with sweat, filth, and crimson. His heart beat like a war drum in the distance.
Then, his eyes turned to the man.
The stranger. The instigator. The one who had dragged him into this madness.
The man was smiling—no, laughing. Wicked. Wild. A twisted delight burning behind his eyes.
"YES… YES!!" he howled. "Kid of No.1—come break me!"
With a grin that could split sanity, he sprinted forward.
They collided in an explosion of fists and fury. Stone cracked beneath their feet. Dust rose around them in clouds. Power clashed. Bodies blurred.
Fallen landed a jab—fast, heavy, direct. The man stumbled, sliding back, his boots skidding across the ground. But he recovered in the blink of an eye and countered with a brutal uppercut that made Fallen's jaw crack.
"Not fast enough," the man hissed. "Still not raging enough!"
Fallen snarled, rushing in again, but the man stepped back—taunting, smiling like he was waiting for something more. Then, with a cruel smirk, he leaned close and whispered poison.
"It's good your mother died. If she hadn't…"
He paused, grinning.
"…I would've killed her myself."
Silence.
Time stopped.
The words echoed in Fallen's skull like thunder trapped in a glass jar.
Killed my mom…
KILLED MY MOM…
A scream tore from his throat—not just of pain, but of something more. Raw. Broken. Powerful. It wasn't just anger. It was destruction. A cry from the deepest part of a soul fractured too early.
The man didn't flinch. Instead, he chuckled. "Now you're feeling it. Good. But I haven't even begun."
He shoved Fallen backward, kicking up a gust of wind as he slid across the ground. The man raised one hand to the sky, voice growing darker.
"Let me show you how No.2 plays."
He drew a breath and spoke words like a curse.
"This one belongs to your mother… failed child."
Then, louder:
"GUARDS OF THE GATES!"
The ground trembled.
Cracks split the earth beneath them. A pulse of energy surged outward, rattling the stone like an earthquake. Then they came—dragons.
Two of them, colossal and terrifying, rose from the depths.
One white.
One black.
The white dragon slithered through the air like a river of light. Its body shimmered with purity, but its eyes carried the void. One strike—and the victim would be erased from existence, body and soul.
The black dragon—darker than night, a beast of death incarnate. Its presence was suffocating. One touch, and it was over.
But the man—No.2—only used the white one.
He raised his arm. The white dragon roared like an angel weeping and shot forward.
Fallen had no time to move. No chance to dodge.
It struck.
Light exploded. The impact wasn't physical—it was spiritual. It wasn't pain he felt. It was… nothing.
His rage froze.
His muscles stilled.
His heart quieted.
Everything… disappeared.
His vision darkened into a sea of gray. No breath. No heartbeat. No thoughts.
Just silence.
A place beyond pain.
A place beyond rage.
A place of nothingness.
The man stepped closer, his voice calm now, controlled.
"You're a fine subject," he said, kneeling beside Fallen's fallen form. "Broken enough to rebuild. Strong enough to twist."
He ran his fingers through Fallen's blood-matted hair.
"I'll make you mine. Shape you into the next No.2."
Then he stood tall and looked at the sky.
"And after your father dies… I will be the next No.1."
He laughed—a deep, echoing sound that filled the broken arena.
Louder. Madder. Triumphant.
Fallen didn't hear it.
He lay in silence. His eyes closed. His body still. Floating somewhere between life and death.
No thoughts.
No anger.
No sound.
Just void.
---
To be continued...