Jace Irons: The Shard of Chaos

Chapter One: Zero to One-Hundred REAL Quick

Let me start by saying this was NOT what I had planned for today.

"DAMMIT, JACE, GET UP!!" Brian yelled as he swung his club at the monster's head. I got up off the ground and scooped up the sword that Brian had dropped, and turned towards the homeless guy that had attacked me. Brian cracked him hard over the head with his club, and the homeless guy just bellowed in rage. The homeless guy was pretty big; seven-feet tall, heavy-set, and wrapped in a tattered hoodie and cargo pants. He had pale, splotchy skin, and I had only gotten a quick look at his face, but it also looked like he had only one, bloodshot eye in the center of his forehead.

The homeless guy shrugged off the blow to the head way quicker than any normal man should have, and immediately grabbed Brian and pinned him against a brick wall, his hands around Brian's neck. I charged forward with the sword in my hand and swiped it across the homeless guy's right thigh. A plume of gold dust flew out of the gash I made. It was enough to make the homeless guy drop Brian and backhand me in the chest faster than I could register that this guy was bleeding gold dust.

He hit me so hard I flew backwards and hit a wall on the opposite side of the alleyway we were in and sank to the ground, dazed as hell. With blurry vision, I looked up to see the homeless guy towering above me, fists raised. Yep, he definitely had one angry, bloodshot eye staring down right at me, all while sporting an evil, toothless grin. I closed my eyes and braced for impact when I heard a sickening chopping sound. I looked up to see Brian's blade protruding from the homeless guy's chest, a look of profound shock on his face. The homeless guy keeled sideways and crumpled to the ground, where he promptly exploded into a pile of gold dust, leaving only a nasty hoodie and tattered pair of cargo pants.

Brian offered me a hand, and said, out of breath, "Need a lift?"

***

I had met Brian earlier in the week, after I had seen him around the boxing gym a couple of times. It was just a normal August day when I was there at the boxing gym working out, and hitting the punching bag when for some odd reason, I felt like I was being watched. I glanced to the side and saw this guy looking at me. He was a wiry African-American guy that looked about twenty or so, and had five o'clock shadow even though it was only about 3:00 in the afternoon. He was wearing a t-shirt, vest, a cap, and jeans, which I thought was odd cuz it was 105 degrees outside in Atlanta that day.

After he saw me, he quickly looked away and walked out of the gym. I noticed he walked kind of funny. He took really shallow steps, like the soles of his shoes barely left the ground whenever he took a step. I didn't think much of it then, I just carried on with my day as usual. The next day, however, he was back, and he bought a membership at the gym. It was another sweltering day, yet the guy was wearing baggy sweatpants. I figured he must've been either really insecure about his legs, or just had a crazy high heat tolerance. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walk over to a heavy punching bag and begin it, but it was clear he had no clue what he was doing. First off, he was way too skinny to be any kind of fistfighter, and no offense to the guy, but his swings were too wild and kinda weak.

Oh well, I guess we all gotta start somewhere, I thought. I just let him be and finished my set and then went to my locker to get ready to go home, if you could call it that. I don't really stay at home that often, especially now.

My mom died three months ago from a drug overdose and liver failure. Whichever came first. She had been bedridden the past couple of years, but that was by choice. She had a drug habit, and it had kept her in bed the past few years. She had done alright when I was younger, but around when I turned 10, she had become entirely dependent on drugs and alcohol to make it through the day. For the past two years, I don't think I've seen her sober. I told her so many times that I wanted to get her help, but I just turned sixteen a week ago, so there was nothing I could do about it other than take care of her as best I could.