The rain hadn't stopped.
It poured just as relentlessly as before, yet something about it felt… different now.
Quieter.
As if even the storm itself was holding its breath.
Aren Voss stood in the middle of the alley, unmoving.
Water dripped from his hair, sliding down his face in thin streams, but his expression remained unchanged—empty, distant, almost unnatural. The bruises that had covered his body moments ago no longer seemed to matter.
Pain existed.
But it no longer reached him.
"What… what the hell is wrong with him?" one of the boys muttered, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound tough.
Aren didn't respond.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even breathe noticeably.
He simply watched.
And that was enough to make them uneasy.
"Oi! Stop acting creepy!" another snapped, stepping forward, trying to reclaim control. "You think just staring is gonna scare us?"
He grabbed Aren by the collar—
The moment his fingers touched him—
Everything changed.
Aren's hand moved.
Not fast.
Not forceful.
Just… precise.
He caught the boy's wrist mid-motion.
A simple action.
Yet impossible.
The boy froze, his expression twisting in confusion. "…what?"
Aren slowly tilted his head.
As if studying him.
As if seeing something beyond flesh and bone.
"Let go!" the boy snapped, trying to pull back—
But he couldn't.
His arm didn't move.
It felt like being trapped in iron.
"W-what the hell—?!"
Aren's grip tightened slightly.
A faint crack echoed.
The boy screamed.
It wasn't loud at first—more like disbelief than pain—but it quickly turned into something raw, something desperate.
Aren released him.
The boy collapsed instantly, clutching his wrist, his body shaking as panic replaced arrogance.
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
The others stepped back.
Instinctively.
Because something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
"You… you're messing with us, right?" one of them said, though even he didn't believe his own words anymore.
Aren finally moved.
One step forward.
That was all it took.
They flinched.
"…run."
No one argued.
Fear had already made the decision for them.
They turned and bolted, shoes splashing through water as they rushed toward the alley's exit like prey escaping a predator.
Aren watched them go.
For a moment—
He did nothing.
Then—
He walked.
Not hurried.
Not rushed.
But each step felt inevitable.
Like fate itself was closing in behind them.
One of the boys glanced back.
And that was his mistake.
Because what he saw—
Wasn't someone chasing him.
It was something approaching.
Unstoppable.
"WHY IS HE STILL COMING?!" he shouted, panic breaking through completely.
"I DON'T KNOW—JUST RUN!"
But running had never been the answer.
It never saved Aren before.
And now—
It wouldn't save them.
One of them tripped, crashing hard onto the wet ground. He tried to scramble back up, his hands slipping against the concrete as fear consumed every thought.
Aren stopped in front of him.
The boy looked up.
Eyes wide.
Tears mixing with rain.
"P-please… I won't—"
Aren raised his hand.
The boy flinched—
But the blow never came.
Instead, Aren simply… paused.
His fingers hovered in the air.
Shaking.
For the first time since he stood up—
There was hesitation.
Inside him, something stirred.
Not the darkness.
But something weaker.
Familiar.
Human.
This is wrong.
The thought was faint.
Distant.
But it was there.
For a brief moment—
Aren Voss was still Aren Voss.
Then the voice returned.
"Why stop?"
Cold.
Sharp.
Unfeeling.
Aren's body stiffened.
"They broke you."
Images flashed through his mind.
Every beating.
Every insult.
Every moment he had been less than nothing.
"This is justice."
His hand lowered slightly.
The hesitation cracked.
"Or are you still weak?"
Something snapped.
Not outside.
But within.
Aren's eyes darkened.
The last trace of doubt—
Gone.
His hand moved.
Fast.
A single strike.
The boy's body went still.
The alley fell silent once more.
The rain continued to fall.
Uncaring.
Unchanging.
Aren stood there, staring down at what he had done.
No anger.
No satisfaction.
No regret.
Just…
Nothing.
And that was the most terrifying part.
Because in that moment—
Aren realized something.
He hadn't gained control.
He had lost it.
Somewhere deep inside the darkness—
Something smiled.