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   The bandit, pressing his back against the tree while clutching at his broken leg, screamed in frustration, spit flying from his mouth as he bellowed insults into the air.

   “Shit! You bunch of punks!”

   His rage had nowhere to go, so he turned it toward the only target within reach—the boy lying motionless on the ground. Limp and silent, the boy didn’t move as the bandit stumbled forward, dragging his injured leg behind him, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. He collapsed beside him, and with his remaining strength, raised his fists, bringing them down over and over, blood starting to smear across his knuckles as he shouted louder with each hit.

   “Do you think you can screw me over like this?! Huh?! You’re nothing! NOTHING!!”

   One blow.

   Another.

   Then another.

   The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed with dull, heavy thuds. Blood splattered across the dirt as he screamed into the boy’s unresponsive face.

   As he panted, shoulders rising and falling, something flickered in the corner of his eye—a flash of light from beneath the boy’s skin, like something unstable building beneath the surface.

   “What the hell...?” 

   The bandit’s hand froze mid-swing, and his eyes widened just as the flicker burst into a violent surge of energy that exploded outward, slamming into his chest with a force that launched him backward through the air.

   His body collided with a thick tree trunk with a sickening crunch, and he collapsed into the dirt, coughing and groaning, his spine screaming in pain. He struggled to lift his head and peer through the smoke-like mist that now clung to the forest floor, and what he saw sent a spike of cold fear down his spine.

   The boy was standing.

   Not rising slowly, not stumbling to his feet—but already standing, perfectly upright, like something had lifted him like a puppet on strings. His limbs hung loose for a second, then slowly shifted as he took a step forward. Something dark swirled around him—black and heavy, almost liquid in the way it moved—wrapping around his arms and shoulders like it was alive. The air grew colder with every passing second, the shadows near him growing longer, thicker, deeper.

   The boy’s eyes opened.

   Those didn't belong to human anymore.

   A deep, sharp multicolored glow stared out from slitted pupils, locked straight on the bandit with a gaze so unnatural, so utterly wrong, that the man felt his body seize up without warning. The boy’s lips twisted upward into a smile—wide, far too wide—and the bandit’s legs started to shake.

   The bandit tried to speak, to scream, to run—anything—but his voice caught before it left his throat. His limbs didn’t answer. His body had already understood something his mind couldn’t accept. 

   The boy stepped forward—one foot, then another—his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator that had already decided escape wasn’t an option. The ground beneath him didn’t crunch or rustle. It was quiet. Too quiet.

   “W-what the hell are you...?!” the bandit managed to choke out, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

   The boy said nothing.

   He kept walking.

   The bandit finally managed to grip the hilt of his sword.

   He raised it instinctively, hoping the weapon would protect him—but before he could move, the sword cracked. A jagged line split down the blade with an unnatural screech, and a heartbeat later, the entire weapon shattered into pieces, the shards falling to the ground like dead glass.

   Then, the boy disappeared.

   A split second later, a crushing force slammed into the bandit’s chest.

   He hit the tree behind him with a sound that cracked bone, and before he could even cry out, the boy was already in front of him—standing face-to-face, barely a hand’s width away.

   Up close, those multicolored eyes stared into him like they were peeling his thoughts apart.

   The boy tilted his head again, slow and curious, like examining a piece of something broken.

   The bandit felt warmth running down his leg.

   “No... no... please...” he stammered, shaking his head, trying to slide away—but the tree held him in place.

   The boy raised his hand.

   From his fingers, the blackness stretched and reformed around the bandit. It was something that wasn’t solid, but wasn’t fluid either. It twitched slightly, as if breathing.

   The boy didn’t speak.

   He didn’t need to.

   The air said enough. The silence felt final.

   And then—

   Nothing.