Kujo moved through the shadows of the town, a figure of silent menace as he patrolled the outskirts, keeping his senses sharp for any signs of trouble. He no longer wore the simple clothes of his Academy days but dark, fitted armor that melded into the night, each piece lined with hidden strips of metal he could wield at a moment's notice. To the people of these border towns, he was a myth, a ghost, a relentless protector and merciless executioner to those who dared disturb the peace.
As he walked, the quiet of the night was interrupted by a sudden scream, the unmistakable sounds of a struggle echoing through a narrow alleyway nearby. He didn't hesitate; his steps quickened, his instincts on high alert. Rounding the corner, he took in the scene in an instant.
Two figures—a man and a woman, both middle-aged, their backs pressed against a wall, surrounded by three rough-looking men. The attackers had knives drawn, their faces twisted in cruel smirks as they taunted the couple. The woman clutched her purse to her chest, her voice trembling as she tried to plead with them, while the man held her protectively, his expression a mixture of fear and determination.
Kujo stopped, his heart seizing as he took a closer look at the couple. Recognition struck him with an almost physical force. It was his parents.
The shock of seeing them again, after all these years, after the pain and bitterness that had consumed him, froze him in place for just a moment. He hadn't thought about them in so long; they were a distant memory, people he'd left behind in the ashes of a life he no longer claimed. But here they were, vulnerable and afraid, and, despite everything, he felt an undeniable pull—a visceral need to protect them.
The leader of the robbers sneered, taking a step closer to his mother, the blade of his knife glinting in the moonlight. "Hand it over, lady. We don't have all night."
Without thinking, Kujo moved. In a heartbeat, the metal hidden in his armor sprang to life, coiling around his arms, sharpening into deadly blades as he stepped into the alley.
"Step away," Kujo's voice rang out, cold and unyielding, carrying the weight of a thousand dark nights spent as a vigilante.
The robbers turned, their sneers faltering as they took in the sight of the dark figure before them, his presence radiating an unmistakable threat. One of them scoffed, but it was laced with nervousness. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Kujo didn't answer. With a flick of his wrist, a thin line of metal shot forward, wrapping around the man's wrist, twisting until the knife fell from his hand with a yelp of pain. Another quick movement, and the metal flung the attacker backward, sending him sprawling against the alley wall with a sickening thud.
The second robber took a step back, eyes wide, but Kujo was already moving. He summoned a shard of metal, aiming it with deadly precision, and in an instant, it pierced the robber's shoulder, pinning him to the wall. The man screamed, the fear in his eyes growing as he realized he was at the mercy of something far more powerful than he'd anticipated.
The leader, still clutching his knife, turned to run, but Kujo's metal wrapped around his ankle, dragging him to the ground. He looked up, trembling, as Kujo stood over him, his face hidden in shadow.
"People like you don't deserve mercy," Kujo said, his voice cold, devoid of any warmth. He raised his hand, the metal tightening around the robber's throat, forcing him to choke, his gasps filling the narrow alleyway.
"Stop! Please!" Kujo's mother's voice cut through the darkness, filled with terror as she took in the scene. She didn't recognize him, but her eyes held a plea, a desperate hope that this dark figure would show some restraint.
Kujo hesitated, his gaze flicking to her face, to the raw fear there. And in that moment, something shifted within him. Despite everything—despite the years of distance, the bitterness, the rejection that had fueled his anger—he found himself unable to ignore the familiarity, the connection he'd thought was long dead.
The metal around the robber's throat loosened, and Kujo threw him to the ground, watching him scramble to his feet and stumble out of the alley, his fellow attackers following in a terrified rush. He turned, his heart pounding as he faced his parents, the weight of the encounter settling over him.
They stared at him, confusion and disbelief mingling in their eyes. His father took a hesitant step forward, his brow furrowing. "Who... who are you?"
For a moment, Kujo considered leaving, slipping back into the night as he always did. But something rooted him in place, a part of him that hadn't fully severed the bond he'd once shared with these people. He lifted his head, his gaze hard, but a trace of vulnerability slipped through his expression.
"It's me," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Kujo."
The shock on their faces was palpable, his mother's hand flying to her mouth as she took a step back, her eyes filling with disbelief. "Kujo...?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
His father's face twisted in a mixture of surprise and guilt, his voice trembling. "Son... we thought... we thought you were gone."
Kujo's jaw clenched, his heart a storm of emotions he hadn't prepared for. He had no forgiveness to offer, no warmth. They had abandoned him, cast him out when he'd needed them most, but a small, buried part of him felt a flicker of the bond they'd once shared, a connection that hadn't entirely faded.
"I am," he replied, his voice flat, though a trace of bitterness slipped through. "I'm not the son you knew."
His mother took a step closer, her eyes filling with tears. "We... we made mistakes, Kujo. We were afraid, we didn't know how to handle... what happened."
Kujo looked at her, his gaze unyielding. "And you left me alone. You left me to find my way with nothing, to become something... you wouldn't recognize."
His father's face fell, regret flashing in his eyes. "We were wrong, Kujo. But seeing you like this... it's not too late to come back, to find some kind of peace."
Kujo's lips twisted into a cold, hollow smile. "Peace?" He looked at them, his gaze hard, unyielding. "There's no peace for me. Not anymore."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, the darkness swallowing him as he left them standing in the alley, their faces stricken with guilt and sorrow. He didn't look back, didn't allow himself the luxury of second thoughts. Whatever connection he'd once had to them was gone, a severed tie he couldn't mend.
As he disappeared into the night, he felt the weight of his choices settle over him, a reminder of the life he'd chosen—the life of a ghost, a shadow. And as he moved deeper into the darkness, he knew he was beyond turning back.
YOU ARE READING
Phantom Awakening
Fantasía[ALL CHAPTERS PRE-WRITTEN] a world where those with powerful abilities shape the fate of nations, fourteen-year-old Kujo enters the legendary Academy, a place known to forge heroes-or break them. Gifted with the rare power to control metal, Kujo hop...
