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...Crying

It had been prepared for this, for violence, for destruction.

And now, it was in his hands.

Ash’s breathing slowed as he lifted the blade, his trembling fingers steadying as he pointed its edge directly at Blake’s eye.

Blake’s eyes widened in panic. His lips trembled, his head jerking back as far as it could with the ground beneath him. "Stop! Hey, Ash… don’t- dammit! Just- don’t!" Blake’s voice cracked.

Ash didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink.

In the background, Blake’s lackeys exchanged uneasy glances before taking a collective step back. One by one, they scattered. Liam, ever the coward, lit a cigarette with a scoff. He cast one last look at Lucas, lying on the ground, and then at Blake, pinned and helpless beneath Ash.

"Serves him right," Liam muttered to himself, shaking his head as he turned away. He walked off without a second glance.

Ash didn’t notice. His entire world had shrunk down to the blade in his hand and the fear in Blake’s eyes.

Why is it, Ash thought bitterly, that people like him- people who revel in their power, who laugh when others suffer- turn into this the moment it’s their turn?

He pressed the blade a little closer, just enough for the sharp tip to graze Blake’s skin. Blake flinched, his breath hitching audibly.

"You never think about your victims," Ash said, his voice low and eerily calm. "When you hurt people, when your laugh and enjoy your power, you never stop to think what it’s like. How it feels to beg for mercy. How it feels to know no one will help you." His grip tightened on the dagger, his knuckles white. "But the second you lose, you beg. You-"

"A-Ash."

The voice was faint, barely audible. But it cut through Ash’s haze like a blade of its own.

He froze, his head snapping to the side. Lucas was stirring. His eyes were half-lidded, his face pale, but he was alive. His lips moved again, trembling as he forced out the words.

"D-Don’t do it… A-Ash…" Lucas’s voice cracked, weak and uneven. He coughed, but he pressed on. "He’s… Anthony J-Jack’s… s-son…"

The words hit Ash.

Anthony Jack’s son…? Then he’s the son of Lucas’s dad murderer…

His breath caught, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at Blake, whose panic had only deepened.

"Good," Ash spat. "If he really is his son, then that gives me all the more reason to kill this scumbag."

"A-Ash, no…" Lucas wheezed, his head lolling to the side as he struggled to stay conscious. "It’s… not him… It’s his father. Blake… his father’s… the one who’s evil. He… never taught Blake anything… good. We have to…" Lucas’s voice faltered, his strength fading, but he forced out one final word. "Help… him."

Ash’s grip on the dagger faltered, his fingers trembling again. He turned his gaze back to Blake, who had gone eerily silent.

And that’s when Ash saw it.

Blake’s face, once so smug and full of malice, was now pale and hollow. His lips trembled, his chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths. And his eyes…

Blake was crying.

W-What the hell?!

"Why…" Ash’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Why are you crying?"

Blake didn’t answer. He just looked at Ash with those wide, tear-filled eyes, and for the first time, Ash didn’t see the bully who had tormented so many. He saw a boy. Broken. Lost.

And Ash didn’t know what to do.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blake smirked to himself as he saw the sun rays seeping through his amber-themed window.

Third October. The day Ash and Lucas would finally learn their place.

He stretched. His phone buzzed. Blake reached for it lazily, his smirk widening as he read the confirmation text from Liam: On it. He’s leaving his house now.

Good.

Blake had planned every detail. Lucas was no ordinary kid. He wasn’t like the others Blake had dealt with- cowards who ran at the first sign of trouble or weaklings who crumbled under pressure. No, Lucas was different. He was dangerous. A one-man army. If it came down to a fight, Lucas could wipe out Blake’s entire gang in less than an hour, and they all knew it.

That’s why Blake had taken precautions.

He had messaged Liam early that morning, instructing him to tail Lucas as soon as he stepped out of his house. Liam wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was reliable when it came to following orders. And if things got messy? Well, that’s what the chloroform was for. Blake wasn’t taking any chances.

He imagined the scene: Lucas, taken by surprise, struggling at first- because, of course, he would- but eventually falling prey to the chloroform. Liam and the others dragging him to the hideout, binding his hands and feet, making sure he couldn’t break free. And then… Ash would come.

Blake’s grin widened at the thought. Ash, the little runt, would walk right into his trap. He’d see Lucas tied up, powerless, and he’d finally understand what it felt like to be at Blake’s mercy.

Everything was going to go his way.

By the time he arrived at the hideout, Lucas was already there, tied. His head lolled to the side, still unconscious.

Blake walked up to him, crouching to get a closer look. Even now, Lucas looked intimidating. He had this presence, even while unconscious. Blake scowled.

"You’re so dead." he muttered, his voice low.

And then, Lucas woke up. Blake used his phone to message Ash. Blake didn’t know why- but he felt so obsessed with the look of Ash breaking to the point- he couldn’t breathe.

And then- the door burst open.

Ash had come; although Blake did get his nose broken by him, it didn’t matter in the least. What mattered was Ash was here, and Blake had a dagger he needed to show to that jerk.

Lucas came in front of Ash when he was about to get stabbed.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

No matter; Blake thought, Both of them deserve to die.

If Lucas dies sooner, it’ll only work in his favor as he was the tough one there.

Ash then started to go bonkers. Swinging his half-broken stick at him, and yelling. Blake didn’t notice it at first, but actually, Ash was acting on a strategy.

It wasn’t long that Ash pinned him down. His lackeys left, but Blake didn’t dwell on it.

It was when Lucas asked Ash not to stab Blake in the eye, and told him he’s Anthony Jack’s son.

Blake almost scoffed; so Lucas really was a coward.

He knew if they killed Blake, his dad wouldn't let them live. He was powerful, everything Lucas and Ash weren’t.

And then, Lucas said it.

.

.

It’s… not him… It’s his father. Blake… his father’s… the one who’s evil. He… never taught Blake anything… good. We have…to help him.

.

.

Blake’s stomach twisted at Lucas’s declaration. His father? Evil?

His dad might not have been perfect, but evil? No. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t-

Blake’s mind raced, forcing him to confront a truth he’d buried deep.

"Killing is just a way to get rid of human trash," his father had said once, his tone calm, matter-of-fact. It wasn’t just that. His father had told him plenty of other things, too- things that Blake had always taken as guidance.

But evil? No. He’d never thought of him like that.

Had he?

Blake’s chest tightened, his breaths coming faster. His mind clawed desperately for something to hold on to, some proof that Lucas was wrong. And then-

A memory surfaced.

Blake was eight years old.

He could see it so clearly, as if it were happening right in front of him. He’d been sitting on the living room floor, laughing as his mother tickled his sides.

"Gotcha!" his mother had said, her voice warm and full of love as she pulled him into her arms, holding him close.

Blake had felt safe. Happy. Curious about everything.

He remembered closing his eyes, the sound of his mother’s heartbeat lulling him to sleep as she gently stroked his hair.

But then, he woke up.

The sound had startled him- a door slamming open, followed by the heavy, commanding voice of his father.

"Where is he?"

Blake had scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding as his father stormed into the room. His mother had stood in front of him, shielding him with her body.

"You can’t take him," she had said, her voice trembling but firm. "He’s just a boy. He belongs here, with me."

Blake’s father had laughed.

"Belongs with you?" his father had sneered. "Don’t be ridiculous. He’s my son. He’s coming with me."

His mother had tried to block his path, her hands pressed against his chest, but his father had slapped her so hard that she staggered back, falling to her knees.

"Stop it!" Blake had cried, tears streaming down his face as he watched his mother clutch her cheek, her sobs muffled by the hand she pressed against her mouth.

His father had grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back as she pleaded, begged for him to leave Blake alone.

Blake had been frozen, his small body trembling as he watched the scene unfold. And then-

"Okay!" Blake had screamed, his voice desperate. "I’ll go with you. Just don’t hurt Mom. Please."

His father had smirked, releasing his grip on his mother’s hair. "Smart boy," he had said.

The moment Blake agreed to go with him, the man grabbed his wrist and dragged him out the door. There was no goodbye to his mother. His father had made it clear- Blake was his now.

"You need to learn, boy," his father had said, his voice cold as they drove away. "You’re my only heir, after all. Politics isn’t for the weak. You’ll thank me for this one day."

Blake had been too young to understand what his father meant by politics. He’d imagined it was about making speeches and shaking hands, the kind of stuff he’d seen on TV. But the reality was far darker.

It started the very next day. His father took him everywhere- to meetings with shadowy figures who spoke in hushed tones, to rallies where he wore a mask of charm and charisma, and to back rooms where deals were sealed with threats instead of handshakes.

Blake had clung to the hope that he could learn, that he could grow into this role his father envisioned for him. But when he voiced that hope- when he asked if he could go to school, if he could have some time to learn properly- his father’s laughter had cut through.

"Learn? What is there to learn?" his father had scoffed, leaning forward to glare at him. "You think I have time to drop you to school everyday?"

He’d held up two fingers, his expression hard and unforgiving.

"Either you stay here with me," he said, "and watch as I deal with things- learn by observing; or you leave. Go live on your own. No money. No help. Survive if you can."

Blake’s stomach had twisted into knots. He’d looked at his father, at the man who seemed larger than life, and then at the door that led to the unknown.

He had chosen to leave.

The memory shifted, fast-forwarding.

Blake remembered standing outside in the cold, a single bag slung over his shoulder. He had no plan, no money, and no idea how to survive. He’d tried to hold onto hope, tried to convince himself that he could make it on his own.

But the world was cruel to an eight-year-old.

He learned quickly that people could be just as ruthless as his father. He’d been shoved aside in the streets, mocked, and ignored. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and he found himself doing things he never thought he’d do- stealing food, sleeping in alleys, and eventually… taking from others.

The first time he bullied someone, he hadn’t even meant to. A boy, not much older than him, had been walking down the street with a shiny new toy. Blake had asked to see it, and when the boy refused, something in Blake had snapped. He’d pushed the boy, snatched the toy, and ran.

The adrenaline had been intoxicating. For the first time in weeks, Blake had felt powerful.

That was the beginning.

He started taking more- money, food, whatever he could get his hands on. He justified it to himself, told himself it was survival. And when people looked at him with fear in their eyes, he found that he liked it.

Blake’s thoughts returned to his mother. He hadn’t seen her since that day his father took him. He’d tried to reach out once, years ago, but what he’d found had broken him.

His mother had fallen into a coma shortly after he left, the shock of losing her son too much for her to bear.

It had been ten years, and she still hadn’t woken up.

Blake clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as the memories surged through him. His father had done that to her. His father had done this to him.

And yet, Blake didn’t find his dad guilty. He was just trying to show him the true colors of the world.

After five years, his dad had contacted him.

And when Blake told him he bullied others for survival- he expected insulting words from his dad. But instead; he was appreciated.

“You are going to become a fine young man if you continue to fight for yourself,” his father had said, “You’ll start your career as a politician when you turn eighteen, and eventually you’ll know. Whoever needs to live, needs to fight. And no one plays safe.”

Blake was confused.

Why was it that he needed to fight for everything in the world to make sense?

Why do people have to fight AIDS, fight cancer, fight terrorism, fight corruption, even fight for food- wasn’t there another way to deal with things?

Blake didn’t know.

He continued his routine- invited tough boys into his growing group, made Lucas the boss, and continued to fight.

But then, Lucas’ voice cut through.

.

.

We have to…help him.

.

.

Help? Who said Blake needed help? He was great at everything, he didn’t need help.

But then…he remembered.

Xavier.

Xavier, yes. He had been different. He hadn’t fought back, hadn’t begged or screamed. He had just looked at Blake with a quiet, almost pitying expression.

Xavier, who Blake strangled and killed out of pure rage- because he wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t, right?

All he did was survive.

.

.

I hope…someone helps you.

.

.

Xavier had said, his voice soft but steady, even as Blake’s hands tightened around his throat.

Those words had haunted Blake ever since.

No one had ever helped him. And he had never let himself believe that anyone would.

Until now.

This was too much. Too much for him to handle. He didn’t need help, he didn’t. He never did. But now, as Ash pinned him down, with a dagger close to his eye, and Lucas gasped for air, bleeding- he understood.

He was human. He was supposed to be raw, vulnerable. But his father forced him to become what he never wanted to be. He never wants to become a politician.

And before he knew it- tears started to surface in his eyes. They spilled before Blake had any chance of stopping them.

He was crying.

Ash didn’t say anything, scurrying away from him. Dropping the dagger, he stood up, shaky but firm. He spared Blake one last glance, before turning away and going to where Lucas sprawled.

Blake didn’t say anything, he just let his tears spill, closing his eyes.

He felt weak, but he also felt light. His heart lightened, and his form trembled.

But he didn’t budge.