Clang….clink….creak….
The weight of the armor echoed with every movement—metal plates shifting, brushing against each other. A formidable knight clad in full dark armor.
The armor is intricate, featuring detailed engravings on the chestplate and large shoulder guards, giving an impression of both strength and craftsmanship.
The knight wears a closed helm with a narrow slit for vision, making his face completely obscured, adding to his menacing presence. He wields two swords on each side of his hips.
Around his waist, there is a draped fabric, adding to the knight's imposing presence. The chainmail underneath provides flexibility and additional protection to the legs; the boots extend up to just below the knee, blending seamlessly with the rest of the armor.
Walking out of a forest, standing in front of a cliff. The knight looked into the abyss.
The colors in the sky appeared very strange: grey, black, green, and red. The typical blue color has vanished.
"Hmm?!…"
It was a scene he had never seen before. But anyone would know just by looking at it that it is an unnatural phenomenon.
"Is Mana gathering there? I should go there and find out? Is this what you told me about, master Kaito."
And he moved straight eastward, stepping over Speed Dragon's corpse that he killed in a single strike.
Countless dragons are gathering around him, all trying to land the decisive blow.
The dragons were trying to work together to kill the knight. They understood that going one on one would be a death sentence, but still they were all defeated in a single strike by his sword.
He only drew one sword; the other one rested on his hip.
He calmly walks through the forest, making his way down the mountain. Curious what he will find...
Part 2
—— Kuzawari High School, Japan.——
A boy stood alone, his heart pounding in his chest. His worn sneakers scuffed the cracked pavement as he took an instinctive step back.
The air smelled faintly of wet leaves, but all he could feel was the stench of fear creeping up his spine.
The tallest of the three bullies, grinned wickedly, his fingers curling into tight fists.
Beside him, the other two flanked their leader, their faces twisted with malicious intent.
Their laughter echoed, shrill and unnerving, like the screeching of crows perched in the trees above.
In one swift motion, the tallest one lunged forward and shoved the boy, his back slamming into the wall with a dull thud.
The boy gasped, the air forced from his lungs. Before he could recover, a fist connected with his stomach, sending him doubling over in pain.
He tried to yell, to scream for help, but all that came out was a strangled gasp.
"Hahahahah!!" Their evil's laughter grows louder.
"What is he already down?"
"Weak boy, kick him some more!"
"Now we can give him some more!"
"I want to kick him now!"
"Hahahaha!!"
His vision blurred, tears stinging his eyes as he crumpled to the ground. He could hear the dull thump of footsteps approaching, but his mind was swimming in darkness, a pool of fear and hopelessness.
The concrete beneath him felt like ice, chilling him to his bones.
An other bully kicked his side, and a sickening crunch echoed in the courtyard. He screamed, but the sound was weak, barely a whisper in the wind.
The courtyard seemed to warp, the colors fading into a muted palette of grays and blacks.
The air grew colder, unnaturally so, and the boy's breath came out in short, sharp puffs.
"...."
Part 3
Lying on his bed, looking up at the sealing, his thought drifted to the horrible moment he endured.
It wasn't the first time it happened to the boy; for over ten years, the boy endured beatings like that every single day at school.
He tried reaching out to people—his dad, his mom, his sister, the school, the police.
But no one changed anything about his life, about the situation he found himself in.
And one day he snapped.
The boy drifted into his thoughts.
Why…
Why does it have to be me? I didn't do anything to them.
He had many conversations with his own mind; that way it made him feel like someone was really listening to him, although he was the only one there.
He understood that, but it still made him feel at ease, but this time was different; he could hear another voice—one he had never heard before.
"Just kill them! That will solve everything!"
The voice was cold and heavy, but it felt comforting and protecting.
"You don't have to be afraid anymore; you just have to get up and kill them!"
The voice felt encouraging, like someone was motivating him to do something impossible.
The boy responded to the voice, Yes, if I just kill them, it will all be over!
The boy's gaze shifted from the sealing to his room. It is a simple western-style bedroom with a tall bookshelf filled with books, boxes, and other items.
A large closet stands tall on the right side of the bed, and on the left side hangs a window. The blinds are partially drawn on the window, but his attention was focused on the desk.
On the desk, there's a desktop computer with a modern, thin monitor, a keyboard, a desk lamp, and a small potted plant.
But the one thing that caught his attention was the medium-sized kitchen knife lying on the desk next to the keyboard.
"You know what you have to do." The voice called out to him.
The boy got up out of bed, his eyes glowing a blood red color.
Grabbing the knife, he grinned wickedly.
"Yuto Kuzawari, Haruki Yamada, and Ren Sato. I swear that I will kill you."
Part 4
The school bell rang, its shrill sound echoing through the busy halls of Kuzawari High. Some students rushed from place to place while others walked nonchalantly and slowly.
The boy also walked through the hallway.
"Today everything would be over," he said quietly to himself.
Bzz….Bzzz
He got a notification on his phone. It read.
—Group B 2nd year—
"Our math class is changed from classroom 105 to 305 because Mr. Donaldson is sick, and the substitute teacher will take his place, be there at 12:30 pm."
This is the first time Mr. Donaldson is sick; he never thought to see the day.
Mr. Donaldson is the most typical math teacher there is.
He's in his mid-60s, almost bald, but the hair that he got left hangs in a neatly combed-over style. He wears simple, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His attire is practical, consisting of a button-up shirt (usually in dull, solid colors like light blue or beige), paired with a well-worn sweater vest that gives off a slightly old-fashioned vibe.
He also come from America.
He always wears neatly pressed slacks and comfortable, brown loafers.
But it is a strange change, changing from floor one all the way up to the third floor. Couldn't they have moved over to another classroom closer by?
Signing, he made his way over to the classroom.
Sitting quietly in the classroom, no one was there but him—no teacher, no other student—just him.
He looked at his phone.
—12:30 pm—
He usually got to the classroom before the other of the students, but never were they late, and the teacher also hadn't arrived yet.
Did I go to the wrong classroom? He double-checked the sign.
"305"
I am at the right place, but where is everyone?
The room turned cold almost at instinct; he knew something was off.
Faint footsteps could be heard in the distance.
The boy knew the footsteps weren't from random classmates.
He recognized them—the pattern of the steps, the shuffling of their feet.
A cold sweet dripped from his face; his legs and arms trembled as he puzzled the pieces together.
The math class didn't change from 105 to 305; it was set up and he was being framed.
The squeaking of the sliding door made the room full of terror.
"Hahaha! He really came what an idiot."
Standing in the doorway were the three bullies. All grinning wickedly like they caught their prey in their trap.
No! No! It was a setup. I don't want to be kicked all over again or punched around the room.
The tallest one walked up to the boy.
Yuto Kuzawari's hair is spiky, and he wears a collared student uniform.
The boy stumbles back and spreads his arms wide to make himself bigger, although he knew it didn't make a difference.
"Stay away or..." Making an attempt to appear less afraid, he called out to him.
"Stay away or what?"
"I'm going to kill you!!"
For a second, Kuzawari stopped walking towards him but then burst into laughter.
"Hahahahaha!! You gonna kill us!!" And he rushed and punched him in the face.
The boy fell to the ground, his back against the wall; he was cornered.
Kuzawari grabbed a chair and swung it, the metal clanging as it struck his side.
Pain erupted through his body, and he collapsed, gasping for air, eyes wide with shock.
The other boys laughed cruelly, their faces blurred with malice.
"Come on! You said you were going to kill us!"
A voice-whispering.
"Kill them"
It was cold, low, and twisted, but he recognized the voice; it was the same as last night's.
The voice grew louder, more insistent.
"They hurt you. Kill them."
Slowly, he rose to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his body. "Do it!" The voice seemed to pulse, drawing closer as he took a slow step forward.
His lips parted, a chilling smile stretching across his face. His hand reached into his pocket, where the knife from the night before was quietly resting.
Gripping it tightly. His eyes appeared the same blood red color as the night before.
"They'll never touch you again," the voice whispered, now overlapping with his own thoughts. "Make them pay. Destroy them!"
Before Kuzawari could react, blood flowed out of his body. A clean cut could be seen in Yuto's throat.
Blood sprayed across the room, and he collapsed. For a moment, the room was silent.
But the boy didn't stop.
The voice surged, louder, more commanding.
"Do it. Finish it."
Yuto's breath came in slow, steady gasps as he lifted his knife again.
Haruki Yamada and Ren Sato frozen, horror spreading across their faces.
"Fukushu, you don't have to," Ren Sato stammered, backing away. But Tatsuya's eyes were locked on Yuto, who lay groaning in a growing pool of blood.
There was no hesitation anymore, no doubt.
He had lived in fear long enough. He had begged for it to stop, but no one ever listened.
"Yeah! That's how it's done!"
The knife came down again. And again.
With every swing, the voice in his head screamed in triumph.
The blade pierced his flesh over and over, sliding through muscle and bone with a sickening squelch.
"Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!!!!!"
With every swing he screamed. Yuto's body twitched, his blood splattering across the desks and floor in crimson arcs.
When he finally stopped, his chest heaved with exertion, but his hands felt steady, calm even.
He looked down at what remained of Yuto—his once-mighty bully now reduced to a broken, motionless heap.
The two other boys stood frozen, too horrified to move, their faces pale. The voice was still whispering softly in his mind.
"Remember what they did to you... and your sister..."
The boy hadn't considered what happened to his sister because of them, but once reminded, he continued.
Yamada let out a strangled cry.
"What? You killed him! You demon!"
Yamada thought. I need to get out of here!
And bolted for the door, but the boy was quicker. In a blur of motion, he threw his knife and flung it with surprising force.
It lodged itself into the back of the boy's neck, and he collapsed to the floor, gurgling on his own blood.
The last one remained rooted in place, eyes wide, his body trembling. "Fukushu, please, you don't have to..."
There was no mercy left in him. While Sato was trying to get through the boy, he silenced him swiftly, the crack of his skull echoing in the quiet room.
"It's done your free."
As he stood among the carnage, the weight of what he had done slowly began to settle in.
Blood dripped from his hands, staining his clothes and pooling around his shoes.
The voice had gone quiet, it's task complete. The redness of his eyes faded away.
"What happened…"
It felt like he awoke from a bad dream, no more like a nightmare.
Why did I come here? Oh, right, my math class changed classroom. He looked at his phone.
—12:35 pm—
Shit, I am late. Better head over to the class; we normally have math; see if everyone is there.
Splash..
Huh? Why is it here wet?
He looked around the room.
Aahhhh!!! What happened!
Then he looked at his hands, blood on all his fingers, and he noticed the knife he was holding.
What have I done? No, this isn't me.
"Fukushu! No!"
Someone called out his name. A teacher stood on the doorway, terrified of the scene before her.
He raised the knife, the blade shaking in his hand.
No, what should I do?
There was only one escape.
I need to kill myself, but... no, don't think about it, just die!!
He placed the tip of the blade against his chest, feeling the cold metal press into his skin.
The sharpness bit into him, the pain mixing with the overwhelming numbness that had swallowed him whole.
For a moment, he hesitated. His breath caught in his throat, a small flicker of doubt.
I am sorry, God. I am sorry, mom and dad. Please forgive me for my sins.
With a sudden, violent motion, he drove the knife into his chest.
The pain was immediate, searing. His body jerked, the blade tearing through flesh and muscle, sliding deep.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision swimming as blood poured from the wound, soaking through his shirt. His hand, slick with blood, moved again.
The blade tore through his chest a second time, the sharp sting of steel ripping through him.
His body convulsed, blood pooling around his feet, staining the floor a deep crimson.
Again.
He couldn't stop. The knife came down over and over, each stab more desperate, more violent. His vision blurred, the world around him growing darker, his strength fading with each passing moment.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, the knife slipping from his grasp. The world spun, the pain overwhelming and unbearable.
Blood soaked the floor, warm and thick, seeping into the cracks between the wooden boards.
He lay there, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, the cold creeping in as his body grew weaker.
The woman in the doorway made no sound, only the sound of his heartbeat, slowing with each passing second.
There was no doubt about it; I killed myself.
Maybe it was the thing I always wanted.
Maybe I'll be feeling better when I am dead; it's not like there were people waiting for me at home with a smile.
I got bullied for over ten years; it's never going to get better, so why keep trying, you know?
Every day is just another fight I can't win.
What's the point? I'm so tired of feeling this way. It's easier to just end it.
As he was thinking his last thoughts, he came to only one conclusion.
"I think I made the right call by killing myself."