A Soul Gone Astray

Prologue

Shadows and silhouettes sped by.

Making out clear forms and defined shapes would be a fool's errand, as the whole alley seemed to melt together into a turmoil of shadows.

A figure cloaked in a dark hoodie sprinted down the narrow space, quite as if it was running for its life.

As if hunted by something ferocious, something lusting for its flesh.

Of course, this mysterious figure in mortal peril would be none other than our favourite hero.

One would assume that our dear protagonist was indeed chased by some monstrosity or another, acknowledging how much of a troubled child he always was and always will be.

Sadly though, he was chased not by the beasts he feared when he was younger and taught by others to fear.

He was not hunted by a Manticore, a Hell hound, a Demon of sorts, neither was he hunted by some mad titan or cursed human, nor was he chased for committing heresy or disrespecting someone much more powerful and stronger than him like one would assume.

No, while these would be very reasonable reasons for someone of his kind to die a painful and agonizingly slow death, he was not in the slightest facing one of these problems.

He was desperately trying to escape something far, far worse.

Teenagers.

Not the nice, friendly kind that pretends to be sarcastic and disrespectful just to fit in and be rebellious and in reality reads cheesy fanfiction on the internet and cuddles puppies (all while cradling a cup of their favourite tea and forcing their sleep-deprived eyes open), but the worst kind of teenagers, succumbing to group pressure and taking their anger and hurt out on those weaker or worse off then them.

The kind of sadistic, unforgiving human being that bullies smaller children for fun and would even severely injure one of their victims to be apart of their group, even though their victim is up against a mob of them, even though the victim is all alone, with nobody to run to, with nobody to stand up for them, even though the victim is dying on the inside, just wants somebody to care, to help, to love them.

Even though the victim does not want somebody to stand up for them; after all, they are just another insignificant spare one, not good enough even in the eyes of the own parent, left alone to fend for themselves by their sibling, all alone in this dreadful, perilous, sombre place called earth.

This time, he was chased by a moderately small mob of them; around five; not the worst amount of people he has been chased by before, but they made up for their numbers with viciousness.

Of course, he could have attacked them with his sword, but he seriously wondered if it would work on them: they probably lacked a soul, after all.

Sliding around another corner and cursing himself for nearly slipping in a slightly brownish puddle of sluggish consistence, he belatedly realized he had made a grave mistake.

He was almost laughing a very desperate laugh.

How cliché, how pathetic, how stupid,oh, how his parent had been right: he was an idiot: he was foolish: he was thickheaded: naive: a laughable excuse for a humanoid being: outsmarted by himself: he had

run into a dead-end.

"Well, I guess this is how I end", he thought bitterly.

"At least my father won't be there to witness his idiotic son. It's not like anybody else would care."