Chapter 1: Unlikely Encounter

 The sun crept in through half-open blinds, streaking the room in a lazy orange glow. A fat old TV hummed in the corner, still running from last night. The screen flashed with muted chaos — paused mid-fight. Nearby, a battered handheld console blinked, frozen on a screen that said “Victory?” in jagged letters. 

The floor was a battlefield: dumbbells, socks, crushed snack bags, and a school blazer half buried under it all. Spark lay in the middle of it — tangled in sheets, one leg dangling off the bed like he’d lost a bet with gravity.

His phone buzzed. Then again. Then ten times in a row.

He groaned, face buried in the pillow. 

 Another buzz.

He finally rolled over, black eyes half-lidded, hair an unholy mess. 

The phone screen read: “First day of school. Don’t be late. — Lura”

He swiped the message away and dragged himself up.

 A quick trip to the bathroom confirmed the damage: tired eyes, scruffy jaw, hair doing its own thing. 

 “Perfect,” he muttered. “First impressions? Crushed.”

⸻ 

 Kitchen — 7:40 a.m. 

The fridge had one thing inside it: disappointment.

 On the door was a note, written in the rushed handwriting of his older sister: 

“Hey Spark! It’s Lura. Went to work early — I’ll be out of town for a few days. Take care of the place, and don’t be late, okay? :)”

 Spark stared at the note.

“…Great,” he said flatly. “Instant noodles it is.”

 ⸻ 

Orange Flower High — 8:35 a.m. 

 The second Spark stepped onto campus, something slammed into his back.

“What the—?!”

 He turned to see a familiar face: tall, blond, smug. Ed, his best friend since middle school. 

“Look who finally showed up!” Ed grinned.

Spark blinked. “It’s you?”

“Five months and you don’t even message me once? Cold.”

“I was… busy.”

“Doing what?”

Spark shrugged. “Sleeping.”

⸻ 

 They walked through the school gates like no time had passed.

“Place hasn’t changed at all,” Ed said.

“Still smells like shit really”

“You know what’s weird?” Ed added. “I feel like I should be excited. But I’m just tired already.”

“You’re already planning your retirement and we haven’t even gotten our ID cards yet.”

Ed smirked. “Fair. So… wanna hang out after class?”

 “Depends. Is there food involved?”

“Always.”

 ⸻ Classroom 2-B — First Period 

 Spark sat in the back row by the window, zoning out as the teacher droned on.

 Sleep hit him fast. The kind of sleep where your body sinks into the desk like it’s made of clouds. Then— 

“Teacher! He’s got a hard-on!”

 The whole class turned.

 Spark snapped awake. “What?!” 

 Laughter exploded like fireworks. 

 “What’s on your mind, huh?” 

 “Disgusting.” 

 “Already?”

 A red-haired girl from the front pointed dramatically. "Stand up.” 

 He stood.

Silence.

 Then even louder laughter.

 The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose.

 Spark sat back down, cheeks burning.

⸻

4:10 p.m. — School Gate 

Spark walked in silence, dragging his feet like each step owed him money.

His first day of high school was officially dead. Not from violence. Not from some tragedy. But from public humiliation and an accidental morning boner.

Ed was waiting for him near the gate with the same red-haired girl, Rio.

“I heard what happened,” Ed said, barely holding in laughter.

“Go to hell,” Spark replied, keeping his pace.

“Come hang with us,” Ed offered. “We’re grabbing something to eat.”

“I’ll catch up. Just need to pick something up first.” 

 “You sure?” Spark nodded and slipped away.

 ⸻ 

Pepper Town – Backstreets

Taking the long route home never felt this tense before.

It was quiet — too quiet. The kind of quiet where every sound felt loud. The buzz of street lamps. The flutter of torn flyers.

Then he heard it.

A scream.

Not a yell. Not a cry for help. A full, guttural scream that felt like it didn’t belong in a place like this.

Spark froze.

Then, like something pulling at him, he stepped toward it.

Around the corner, in a narrow alley behind an abandoned shop, he saw it.

A man — impaled through the chest, mouth, and face — by twisted black spines. His body hung limp, suspended in the air like a broken puppet.

Beneath him stood something that shouldn’t exist.

Its flesh was raw and wet, stretched over jagged bone. Its limbs looked like blades, curved and pulsing. There were no eyes. Just the sound of slow, wet breathing.

Spark couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move.

Then — the creature turned toward him.

His heart dropped.

A flicker of red surged through his eyes. 

 And then— he ran.

⸻

He didn’t look back. Didn’t have to.

The sound was enough. The screech. The metallic scraping. The crash of something massive landing behind him.

He vaulted over a fence, skidded through gravel, nearly slipped on a metal grate, and kept running.

The creature followed like a nightmare on four limbs, slashing through garbage bins and air conditioners like paper.

Spark turned a corner. A dead end.

No—

A stairwell. Narrow and steep.

He jumped.

One foot hit the railing. He launched himself off it, spinning midair, and landed on the pavement below, rolling once before breaking into a sprint.

Up ahead — a road. A crosswalk.

The light was red.

Didn’t matter.

He flew across it, horns blaring, tires screeching behind him.

His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But he kept going.

He crashed into a city garden, tripped over the edge of a small hill and hit the ground hard.

Behind him—

The creature soared through the air.

Blade arms outstretched. A mass of rage and rot

And then—

BAM.

A delivery truck plowed into it with full force. The creature’s body snapped in half with a sickening crunch and was thrown across the intersection like a ragdoll.

The truck skidded to a stop, smoke pouring from the hood.

Spark lay there, staring up at the gray sky.

He was shaking. His chest heaved. His brain was trying to process what just happened and failing completely.

After a long moment, he whispered:

“…Holy shit.”