PART 1: DEATH STEP
The scent of blood, a coppery, intoxicating perfume, pulled me through the dark embrace of the forest. My bare feet pounded against the damp earth, silent as a hunting wolf. The cold night air whipped past me, but I barely registered it. Every fiber of my being was focused, sharpened, tuned to a single purpose: pursuit.
My legs pumped with an impossible speed, a primal burst of energy I hadn't known I possessed in this new body. Trees blurred past, their branches reaching like skeletal fingers in the moonless night. Roots snaked across the forest floor, but I cleared them effortlessly, my balance preternatural. It was Kenji's speed, Kenji's precision, channeled through the twelve-year-old frame of Jack. The sensation was exhilarating, a terrifying joy that surged through me.
Faster. The silent command echoed in my mind. They won't get far.
The trail of blood, faint but distinct to my awakened senses, led me deeper, away from the familiar, manicured grounds of the Mikus manor, into the untamed wilderness of the Oregon forest. The scent grew stronger, now mingled with the acrid tang of wood smoke and something else… something metallic and stale.
I burst through a thicket of thorny bushes, my skin unmarked, as if the thorns themselves recoiled from my passage. Before me, nestled within a natural alcove formed by a jagged rock face, was a hidden encampment. A crude, wooden stockade, barely visible against the dark stone, sealed off the entrance to what looked like a cave. A thin plume of smoke curled lazily from an unseen vent, hinting at a fire within.
A hideout. My mind instantly processed the information. Well-concealed. Professional.
I crept closer, my movements silent, fluid. The ground outside the stockade was littered with discarded scraps of food, empty bottles, and the tell-tale boot prints of multiple individuals. My senses, heightened to an almost supernatural degree, picked up the subtle murmur of voices from within the cave.
Mary. She had to be in there. The thought sent a jolt of ice through my veins, quickly followed by a rekindled surge of that cold, righteous fury.
I surveyed the scene, my eyes rapidly taking in every detail. The stockade was sturdy, but old, with weak points visible to a discerning eye. A small, reinforced wooden door was set into the rock face, secured by a heavy bar. No guards visible outside, a testament to their overconfidence in the remote location.
How many? My mind quickly calculated. The boot prints, the sounds, the faint scent of stale sweat and unwashed bodies. At least fifty.
Possibly more. A small army of bandits, perhaps mercenaries.
My carefully cultivated persona of the meek, unremarkable child evaporated completely.
What was left was Kenji. The one who relished the challenge, the one who saw every opponent as a puzzle to be solved, a problem to be eliminated.
There were two ways to approach this. Stealth, infiltration, a quiet elimination. Or… direct assault.
My lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Stealth is for cowards.
With a sudden burst of raw power, I surged forward, slamming my bare foot into the wooden door. The impact resonated through the night, a deafening crack that echoed off the surrounding mountains. The aged wood splintered, the heavy bar tearing free from its moorings with a groan of tortured timber. The door, ripped from its hinges, exploded inwards, slamming against the cavern wall with a thunderous CRASH!
Silence. A profound, stunned silence from within the cave.
Then, a cacophony of shouts, curses, and the clanging of metal. Figures emerged from the dim recesses of the cave, their eyes squinting against the sudden influx of moonlight. They were a motley crew: rough-looking men, some armed with swords, others with axes, a few with crude bows. Their faces were hardened by a life of petty crime and violence.
They spotted me. A lone, twelve-year-old boy standing in the gaping maw of their destroyed door, framed by the moonlight.
A wave of laughter erupted, harsh and derisive. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!" a burly man with a scarred face roared, wiping ale from his beard. "A little lamb, come to the wolf's den! Looks like dinner just served itself!"
Another man, lanky and sneering, swaggered forward, a rusted cutlass dangling from his hand. "Lost, little boy? Or did you come to join our merry band? We're always looking for fresh meat!" His grin was predatory, revealing stained teeth.
He took another step, his eyes fixed on me, contemptuous and dismissive. "Come on, kid. Don't waste my time. You can make this easy on yourself."
My gaze, which had been calmly assessing each of them, now locked onto his. The laughter died in my throat. The cold, analytical part of my mind registered his arrogant posture, his exposed throat.
Without a word, I moved. It wasn't a run, not exactly. It was a blur, a sudden shift in position that defied normal human perception. One moment I was standing there, the next I was in front of him.
My bare hand, moving with impossible speed, lashed out. Not a punch, not a grab. It was a precise, almost surgical strike. My fingers, strengthened by something beyond mere muscle, closed around his neck. A swift, horrifying twist.
The lanky man's eyes widened in utter disbelief, a strangled gurgle escaping his lips.
There was a sickening CRACK! that echoed eerily in the suddenly silent cave. His head snapped to an unnatural angle, his body going limp even as he still stood. His cutlass clattered to the ground, reflecting the pale moonlight.
I released him. His lifeless body toppled forward, hitting the rocky ground with a dull thud.
The laughter was gone. Replaced by a stunned, horrified silence. Fifty pairs of eyes, all focused on me. On the dead man. On the boy who had just snapped his neck with a casual flick of the wrist.
My nostrils flared, taking in the fresh, potent scent of his blood, now pooling slowly around his head. It was exhilarating. A rush of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. The beast, fully awake now, purred in contentment. This was familiar. This was right.
I raised my head, my gaze sweeping over the terrified faces of the bandits. My anger, which had been a cold, burning ember, now flared into an inferno. They had dared. They had dared to touch Mary. To bring that blood into my life. And now, they would suffer.
A low growl rumbled in my throat, a sound far too deep, far too primal for a twelve-year-old boy. The bandits recoiled, a collective gasp rippling through their ranks. They were no longer laughing. They were no longer seeing a child.
As my anger intensified, as the primal urges of Kenji surged to the forefront, a strange sensation bloomed behind my eyes. A warmth, then a pressure. My vision seemed to sharpen, the colors in the dim cave deepening, the shadows taking on a more ominous quality.
My new reflection, caught for a fleeting moment in the polished surface of a discarded shield, confirmed it. My eyes, once a dull, unremarkable brown, now blazed with a fierce, unnatural glow.
They were bloody red.