Silence… deathly silence.
The battlefield was soaked in blood. Broken buildings, shattered weapons, and bodies lay scattered like fallen leaves in autumn. The air was thick with the scent of iron and decay. The sky, once blue, was now hidden behind dark, swirling clouds. A war had been fought here—a war that had ended in pure destruction.
At the center of this chaos lay a boy, barely eight years old. His fragile body was covered in cuts and bruises, his clothes soaked in blood—not just his own, but of countless others. His white hair was tainted red, sticking to his forehead due to sweat and dried blood. His emerald-green eyes, once filled with innocence, were now barely open, staring blankly at the endless sky above.
A shadow loomed over him. A figure, tall and imposing, stood in front of the child, his face hidden behind a mask. His piercing red eyes glowed under the darkened sky. His hands gripped a long, bloodied sword that dripped with fresh crimson. He took a step closer.
The boy's lips trembled, his voice barely a whisper.
"Who… are you?" His small hands weakly tried to move, but his body refused to obey him.
His vision blurred, but he could still see the gleaming sword raised high above his head.
The masked man's voice was deep, filled with something unrecognizable—anger? Hatred? Satisfaction?
"This… is all because of you."
The sword swung down.
A sharp metallic sound echoed through the battlefield.
Then, silence.
Daeshim's eyes widened. He heard something—a scream, loud and filled with agony. A splash, like something heavy falling into water. And then… darkness.
The sound of birds chirping.
Sunlight streamed in through the cracks of an old, broken wooden window. Dust particles danced in the golden light. The air smelled of damp wood and something old, something forgotten.
A sharp pain shot through Daeshim's head as he slowly opened his eyes. He found himself lying on a thin mattress on the cold floor of his small home. His heart pounded against his ribs, his body covered in sweat. His fingers dug into the rough fabric of his blanket as he tried to process what had just happened.
"A dream…?" He whispered. But it felt too real. The pain, the blood, that masked man—everything was burned into his mind like a scar.
He sat up, gripping his forehead. His mind was racing, but he couldn't remember everything. Only pieces—flashes of something terrifying. He tried to recall his mother's face, his father's voice, but the images wouldn't come.
Then he noticed something strange.
The world… felt different.
Everything around him seemed sharper. The faint sound of the wind outside, the slow creaking of the wooden beams in the ceiling, the distant barking of a dog—he could hear everything with terrifying clarity. His senses were… enhanced.
He glanced at the corner of the room. A small spider was weaving its web near the window.
Daeshim's eyes narrowed as he watched its delicate movements.
He could see every detail—the way its tiny legs moved, the precise way it spun the silk, the patterns of its web. He had never paid attention to something so small before. But now… it was as if he could analyze everything.
His heart pounded.
What was happening to him?
Shaking his head, Daeshim pushed himself up. He couldn't sit around all day. He was already late for school.
His body felt… different. Lighter, stronger. As if something had changed inside him. But he didn't have time to think about it.
He quickly got dressed, grabbing his worn-out bag before stepping outside.
As soon as he walked out, the world hit him all at once. The wind felt colder against his skin. The rustling of leaves in the distance sounded louder. Every person, every movement, every sound—everything was amplified.
He shook his head, trying to ignore it. He had to get to school.
But as he walked through the streets, he felt the stares.
People were watching him.
Whispers followed him as he passed.
"Is that really Daeshim?"
"He looks… different."
"What happened to him?"
Daeshim's brows furrowed. Had something really changed?
Then, it happened.
A boy, dressed in expensive clothes, blocked his path. A spoiled brat from a rich family, someone who loved bullying the weak. He smirked, stepping closer.
"Hey, loser. Where do you think you're going?" The boy sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance.
Daeshim sighed. He wasn't in the mood for this. "I'm late. Move."
The boy laughed. "Oh? You've got a sharp tongue today. You wanna die?"
Before Daeshim could react, the boy shoved him—at least, he tried to.
The moment his hands touched Daeshim's shoulder…
The rich boy stumbled back.
His eyes widened in shock. He had expected Daeshim to fall, to get thrown back like before. But instead, it was him who lost balance.
"What the hell…?" He muttered. "Why didn't you move?"
Daeshim was just as surprised. His body had felt… solid, unshaken.
The bully's face twisted in anger. He clenched his fist and swung at Daeshim.
Daeshim saw it.
He saw the exact angle of the punch. The speed. The force behind it.
And then… his body moved on its own.
With unnatural precision, Daeshim dodged the punch at the last second, stepping to the side effortlessly. Before the boy could react, Daeshim's fist connected with his stomach.
A single punch.
The boy collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
Silence fell over the crowd.
Everyone stared in disbelief.
Daeshim looked at his own hand, his mind racing.
Something was happening to him.
And he needed to find out why.
TO BE CONTINUED…