Of course.
How unfortunate that his fist had landed on the one person in the group he already despised—and who returned that sentiment with interest.
Sean exuded an aura that reeked of trouble, the kind of man who belonged in leather jackets and smoke-choked bars, among hell's angels and broken laws. A rough tackle during a street game was one thing—but laying hands on a child who couldn't have been older than eight? That was a different breed of cruelty.
And the two others who stood behind Sean, silent and complicit, didn't make the situation any less vile.
Now toe-to-toe with him, Kiel finally understood the true scale of his adversary. Skates or not, Sean loomed like a monolith, all jagged shadow and snarling bravado. His brows carved sharp lines of rage across his face, his eyes burning with that unhinged fire—daring Kiel to blink, to flinch, to give in.
Kiel didn't. He wouldn't.
He forced himself to meet that glare, rising slightly onto his toes in a futile attempt to close the distance in stature. He probably looked ridiculous—but he didn't care. Because this wasn't about pride. It was about principle.
His hands curled into fists. Five-foot-four wasn't much in a street standoff, but it would have to do. The smart move would've been to run.
But Kiel didn't run.
Not when someone needed saving.
Suddenly, a crooked smile tugged at Sean's mouth, the kind that made your stomach twist. He raised his hand—slowly, deliberately—and snapped his fingers.
The bullies moved like trained dogs. In unison, they grabbed the boy by the collar and hurled him like trash into the farthest corner of the alley.
Kiel sprinted without hesitation.
He hit the ground beside the boy, his chest heaving, his heart burning with rage and disbelief. The kid was breathing, dazed but conscious. But something about him…
Kiel blinked. No—he wasn't just a boy. Not fully.
The ears gave it away—long, pointed, tapering like those of an elf from a forgotten tale. He couldn't be more than eight or nine, but those subtle features screamed what Sean had already sensed.
A Kaiju.
And Kiel's mind spiraled. Why was a Kaiju out in the open? Alone? How had Sean caught him? There were no answers—only the cold rush of urgency.
Behind him, Sean laughed—a slow, guttural sound dripping with cruelty.
"You know something?" he said, voice low and venom-laced. "You're a fool. A stupid, moronic, pathetic fool. A complete idiot."
Kiel heard the words, but they didn't land. They bounced off the wall of disbelief hardening in his chest.
Sean stepped closer, voice rising.
"Now you see it, don't you?!" he bellowed, every syllable sharpened by hate. "He's not human. Just pretending. So why are you helping the disgusting creature?! Thisabomination?!"
Kiel didn't answer. His eyes never left the boy.
"He's vermin! That freak messed with my people. And as their leader—no one gets away with that. No one."
The laughter behind Sean grew darker, crueler. His lackeys crept closer, hunger in their eyes, the kind of twisted joy that came only from shared violence.
Kiel's instincts screamed at him to vanish. To run. To hide in shadow like he always had.
But then…a sound.
A tiny whimper. Barely audible.
A baby chimp—bruised and trembling—clung to the boy's chest.
The Kaiju's eyes, wide with confusion and pain, met Kiel's for the briefest moment. There was something there. Not a plea for help—but defiance. A flicker of fire still alive despite the cruelty.
Kiel's chest clenched.
What a tragedy…
This is the world. The strong mock the weak. Crush them. Destroy them.
The heat inside him swelled—anger, grief, and something unspoken.
He rose.
Slowly.
A breath shuddered from his chest as he turned to face Sean and the others. The fire in his heart had solidified into something sharp.
Kiel's hands moved with controlled precision, each sign clipped and deliberate. His expression didn't waver.
"So… evil's fine," he signed. "As long as it's for your people. Got it."
A pale blue glow flickered in his eyes. Subtle. Steady. The alley shimmered faintly in that light.
Right here. Right now. My kind needs help.
He took a stance. Hands up. Legs firm. Shoulders squared.
Sean's crew moved as one, the tension snapping taut like a wire before the strike.
There was no going back now.
Kiel didn't know why he was doing this. Only that he had to.
The fire in his veins told him:
Protect him. No matter what.