A cacophony of violence cracked through the dim alley as Sean's friend was hurled against the grime-stained sidewalk. Undeterred, the bully rose on shaky legs, fueled by pride more than strength, and charged back into the chaos. But again, he was no match for the boy in the yellow hoodie. The alley sang its brutal symphony once more, ending with a sickening thud as the bully's body slammed against a closed dumpster—unmoving, unconscious.
Damn it! The Kaiju clenched his jaw, every muscle coiled with frustration. How am I supposed to protect him and fight these guys off at the same time?
Then it hit him—sharp and cold, like plunging into ice water.
Why am I protecting him at all? he thought bitterly. Helping people's never brought me anything but pain.
For several relentless minutes, Kiel had been locked in combat, each moment carved from willpower and fury. A wooden bat cracked against his ribs, staggering him—but his eyes never left his attackers. Beneath the fury, his mind waged its own war, flooded with flickering memories he couldn't place, echoes of something long buried.
But still, he stood his ground—not out of pride or heroism, but necessity. This wasn't courage in the traditional sense. It was survival born of trauma. Fear burned in his chest, but retreat was a luxury he couldn't afford. The Kaiju fought not to win, but to exist.
To the untrained eye, his gaze shimmered with life. But look closer, and you'd see something else entirely—a soul stitched together by grief. Loss, fleeting joy, regret, defiance—all pulsed behind those eyes like ghosts desperate to be heard.
Sean, watching his underlings flounder, stepped forward with a scoff. "If you want something done right..." He peeled off his glove with a dramatic flourish, "…you do it yourself."
His fingers curled, and the air shifted. Gravity obeyed his command.
"Sink even deeper into despair. Output level… 40," Sean growled, venom dripping from every syllable.
The ground shuddered as invisible pressure crushed down on Kiel. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath his feet as the force pressed him to his knees, then to his chest. Breathing became a chore. Moving, impossible.
And then… something changed.
From the corner of his eye, Kiel caught movement—a shadow where there should be none. His breath caught. The gravitational force meant nothing in that moment. His mind locked onto the silhouette.
At first, he thought it a hallucination. But as it stepped forward, bathed in the alley's faint light, it took shape.
A nightmare made flesh.
It towered over them—eight feet of horror. Its grotesque frame was a patchwork of exposed sinew and ash, with bone-like wings folded at its back. Long, tangled black hair clung to a skull-like face with sunken eyes, a hooked nose, and a jagged mouth twisted into something unreadable. It didn't speak, but its presence screamed.
Kiel's breath hitched.
He had seen this creature before. In dreams. In screams. In the darkest parts of himself.
The monster moved with an otherworldly grace, slipping past Sean and his gang like mist. As it passed, its shape shifted—flickering like static. The alley fell silent as it condensed into something smaller. Familiar. Worse.
A boy.
His younger self. Twisted. Wrong.
Seven years old, maybe. Wrapped in chains. His outline shimmered like a glitch in a broken VHS tape. His very existence crackled with instability. Only Kiel saw him—of that he was certain. The others remained unaware, frozen in time while this specter crept forward.
The boy stood at the alley's edge, head tilted down, shaggy black hair veiling his expression—until he lifted his face.
Rows of dagger-like teeth gleamed in a smile that dripped with cruelty. His red eyes blazed within soulless black corneas, boring into Kiel's soul. The air turned colder.
Kieru.
The name—his name—whispered like a breath inside his skull.
Kiel jolted. His eyes darted around.
Gone.
The boy had vanished, melted into the shadows like a memory slipping through fingers. But the fear remained. Heavy. Ancient.
His legs trembled. His thoughts spiraled. The line between memory and madness frayed.
Then, from the silence, the voice returned—closer this time. Not in his ears, but inside them. "Kieru..."
---
Have you ever seen him? Or is it just me?
The boy.
He never says much. He doesn't need to. He just stares—always from the corner of my vision, lingering like smoke. He's been with me for as long as I can remember. I just didn't question it. His presence became part of the background noise of my life, like the hum of a refrigerator or the flicker of broken streetlights.
You know those floaters in your eyes? The ones you chase with your gaze but can never pin down? Now imagine that, but instead of a speck, it's a reflection of yourself—twisted, watching, waiting.
He never blinks. Never moves unless I look away.
When I was a kid, I thought I imagined him. But even then, I could feel his stare like a needle under my skin. Every nightmare ended the same way—his silhouette crouched in the shadows, smiling that impossible smile. Watching.
And now, years later, he's still there. Same expression. Same hair. Same red eyes that never look away.
Why does he wait?
What does he want from me?
And why… why do I feel like I already know the answer?