HENRY'S POV
My name is Henry Rhodes, and all my life, I've always believed in one thing… That I was strong.
But right now, I'm lying on the cold asphalt, bruised, battered, and bleeding under the pale, indifferent glow of the streetlights. The night wind bites at my skin like a pack of wolves, and every breath feels like fire in my lungs.
For the first time in years, I can't move.
For the first time in years, I'm afraid.
I've fought thugs, delinquents, and every kind of scum on these streets that thought they were tough. And I've always come out on top. Always. But the man standing, no, the 'Thing' standing before me, is not normal. He's something else. A monster in human skin.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's go back to where it all began.
Ever since I was five, I've stayed at Mrs. Lina's Home. An orphanage tucked in the quieter parts of New York. The building's old, the walls creak, and the paint's long faded, but it's still the warmest place I've ever known.
Mrs. Lina herself? She's an angel. The kind of woman who can scold you and still make you feel loved in the same breath. Her smile could melt ice, and her hugs, God, her hugs—made even the worst days feel survivable.
The kids at the orphanage, grew up happy. They found new families, new hope, and new dreams.
But me? I was different.
The void my parents left behind wasn't because they abandoned me. They didn't walk out—they were killed. Victims of a clean, professional assassination. I still remember the smell of iron that night. The way their lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. I remember my small hands trembling as I reached for them, thinking maybe, just maybe, they'd wake up.
That was the moment something inside me broke… and something else was born.
I realized if I ever wanted to be safe, I couldn't rely on kindness or luck.
I needed strength.
So, I trained.
Ten years of sweat, pain, and obsession. I pushed my body until it screamed. I broke bones and kept going. Every scar was a reminder of why I couldn't stop. By fifteen, I could beat up grown men twice my size.
Then suddenly fame I didn't even know about spread fast. From the slums to the backstreets, from underground fighting rings to shady clubs, people heard it. At first, it brought me a twisted kind of fame. But fame in my world doesn't buy you peace. It paints a target on your back.
Two more years passed. My fists hardened, my instincts sharpened, and my arrogance bloomed right alongside my skill. By then, I was confident enough to think nothing and no one could touch me.
Turns out, life loves proving me wrong.
It was late one night when everything changed.
The streetlights cast long, orange streaks across the wet pavement. The air was cold, the kind that fogs up your breath. I was heading home from the local mart, plastic grocery bags swinging in one hand, mind lost in the usual noise of the city.
Then I saw them—men in black leather jackets, loitering by the corner. Scarred faces. Tired eyes. The kind of people you could tell had seen too many fights and survived them all.
Looking at them I chose to avoid a confrontation, I'd learned not to pick unnecessary fights. , But the look on their scarred faces said otherwise, as one of the men stepped out, blocking my path.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a mustache stretching from nose to cheek, his face half-hidden under the shadows. From the way the others stood behind him, he was clearly their leader. And from the way he looked at me, I could tell he wasn't planning to move.
He gave me a piercing glance
"Hello boy, we're looking for someone, can you help us?" His voice was deep, rough, like gravel grinding under steel. I remained silent trying not to provoke.
"You see, based on the description, you seem like a perfect match, right?" the leader sneered, turning slightly to one of his members behind him. The man then gave a light nod to the leader.
And that was enough for me to realize, these men weren't random punks. They were here for me.
"Hmm, you surely don't look like much." The leader commented, before his men began to move.
I scanned the circle forming around me. They numbered thirteen in total
.
My heart rate didn't spike. My breathing stayed calm. I'd been in worse odds before, or so I thought.
I slowly lowered the groceries to the ground, keeping my gaze locked on his. Then, without warning, I drove my fist straight into his gut.
THUD!!
He immediately gasped for air and clenched his stomach in pain. Silence fell for half a second before chaos exploded.
The rest of his men roared and charged.
I moved first. Spotted a weak point to the left of their formation, darted through it before they could close in. My body acted with no hesitation.
The first two came at me with straight jabs, the commitment behind them was too much making it easy to dodge. I sidestepped the first one and tilted for the second before delivering a hook straight to his side. The other came in fast only to meet a elbow to the nose.
Three more rushed in, shouting curses but the rush of the fight blocked my ears. I drove my feet into the nearest one's gut, as he clenched his stomach his body blocked his comrades, giving me the chance to rush in and deliver a devastating roundhouse kick to the other two's faces. Knocking both out with resounding Thud!.
The rest froze, hesitation flickering in their eyes.
I didn't give them time to recover as the fight wasn't over. I shot forward, my fists a blur to them, each punch landing clean and heavy. Seven more fell like dominoes.
The last one, desperate, grabbed a steel pipe and swung wildly. I ducked under it, feeling the air cut past my ear, then kicked him square in the jaw.
THUD!
He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Just like that, it was over.
Thirteen men, down.
I let out a breath, flexing my sore knuckles, then crouched to pick up my groceries. My eyes drifted to their bodies, scattered like trash bags across the street. Something about the whole setup felt… off.
I checked their pockets. A few wallets, some cash, a few phones. Then something else, I found in the leader's coat. It was a sleek, black card with only the letters A.A.O printed on it in gold.
"What is this?" I muttered, flipping it over.
Before I could think further, a cold hand rested on my shoulder.
"You're talented in combat," a man whispered behind me, his voice smooth, quiet, and dripping with malice, "but you don't kill?."
Every muscle in my body froze. The air around me instantly shift to something thick, something dense.
I didn't hear a single footstep. Not a single breath. Not even a shift in the air. That realization alone terrified me.
I spun around instantly, jumping back on instinct. My heart pounded like a war drum.
"How had he gotten so close?"
He stepped into the light. Black jeans, a long white jacket and a black turtleneck . His eyes were sharp, calm, unblinking, they made my stomach drop.
"You've trained your body well," he said, voice still unnervingly composed. "It moved without you realizing, and because of that you didn't die."
I could feel sweat pouring down my face. My breathing grew shallow. My instincts screamed danger. This man wasn't a thug. He was something far beyond that, the invisible aura he was emitting was enough to completely change the atmosphere.
"I've heard the rumors about you," he continued, slowly rolling his shoulders. "I wanted to see for myself."
Then he disappeared.
No sound. No movement. One second he was standing still—and the next, he was right in front of me, hands wound up and ready
All I saw was a blur.
Then came the impact.
THUD!!
His fist connected with my chest, and the next thing I knew, I was airborne, crashing through a nearby wall like a rag doll. The world spun. My blood painted the concrete. Dust filled my lungs. Pain shot through every nerve in my body.
I could barely keep my eyes open, but through the haze, I saw him walking toward me with slow, deliberate steps echoing in the silence.
He stopped a few feet away, looking down at me with cold disappointment.
"Is this really all you amount to?" he muttered. "If so, then I have no use for you"
His words hit harder than the punch itself. My vision dimmed, the edges of the world fading to black. And as consciousness slipped away, one thought burned itself into my mind—
The man standing before me wasn't human.
He was a monster.
A monster wearing human skin.