Underground Hatred - My Hero Origins (MHO)

36: A Villain's Beginning

Word Count: 2660

TW: Severe Gore

(Manolo)

 Manolo glanced up at the abandoned thrift shop, shocking sky-blue eyes fixated on the ghosts hidden inside. His expression remained cold, calculative, as if nothing was wrong. Though, his back lacked the usual stand-tall position. Rather, something pressed against his shoulders, sat there like a small child, pulling his locks of raven black hair as a steering device: a ghost. Just like the ghosts in the building. The ghost of a time that was lost, the ghost of a time that remained in another dimension. Its haunt lacked for years, but now it was more prominent than ever.

"It's strange that I never physically came here after all these weeks," Manolo hummed, entertaining the ghost child and the two men that stood behind him, watching carefully. "So much time and effort, and yet I never faced the beginning."

A round of silence bounced between the men before one from behind called to Manolo: "The confrontation was behind the building, sir."

"I'm not an idiot. Don't treat me as such."

The two men fell silent behind Manolo. Manolo trailed his eyes off the building and to the snow-slicked sidewalk. The fluff made it to below his calves, coating the outside of his boots. He slowly crouched down and touched the snow, fingers rubbing the crystals together before his eyes searched beyond him. His eyelids squinted as they strained for sight.

"There," Manolo whispered, pointing for a moment towards the opening of an alley.

The snow had a perfect coat against the concrete besides for the slightest of divots. Valleys of a winter wonderland led a trail that ran from the opening of the alley to the opposite direction the men came. They were wide apart, as if someone sprinted off from a scene. A gust of wind picked up some ice crystals and jabbed them into Manolo's exposed face, the heavy scent of concentrated rain hanging in the air; yet the sun just peeking above the horizon sent a shimmer of glitter with the ice crystals, tasting of a new morning—of a new beginning.

Manolo's gut twisted.

"Only one person," Manolo stated, straightening once more. His shoulders sagged, the ghost continuing its tagalong. "The indents are hard to make out, but something tells me it's not my son's."

"Is it the girl's, sir?"

Manolo kept his lips pursed at the question, not wanting to give the wrong answer—the answer he dreaded the most. Instead, he started his way towards the alley.

Their feet crunched as it compacted the snow beneath their heels. The alley prevented the whips of the wind that carried small knives along with it, but the scent of a new morning was gone. In its replacement was the stench of garbage in dumpsters. The snow shallowed in the alley with the lack of an opening for the snow to fall through above. It kicked up at each swing of Manolo's feet, occasionally revealing asphalt beneath. Shadows loomed over the men as they wandered aimlessly down the alley.

An unsettling sensation fell over Manolo. The ghost grew heavier upon his shoulders, small whispers blowing into his ears. His face tightened at taunts that came through to him echoed against the walls of the alley. His stomach ached, his throat closed. The ghost laughed at this. It knew—No, Manolo knew what laid before him on the other side of the alley. Again and again his nightmares replayed that one fateful night, and now it was going to replay itself all over again but in real time. The passion and care were thrown out years ago, but he knew that Davis had her heart, her intentions. He tried to prevent that.

And he failed.

After Manolo crossed the Red Sea called an alleyway, he had no need to look over to the scene that played before him. Rather, he mindlessly wandered to the center of the chaos, fell to his knees, and blew out a shaky breath.