Izak opened his eyes to see the face of a man leaning over him, wearing a broad grin.
“Boo!” the man exclaimed cheerfully.
Izak froze, utterly confused.
“What? Not scared?” the stranger added with feigned disappointment.
The boy glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the headless body of a masked man lying nearby. That was supposed to be his executioner. Nausea surged through him, but he pushed it down.
“Who are you?” he asked, still dazed, turning his gaze to the man standing above him.
The stranger looked… peculiar. His slicked-back hair was split into two halves—one blue, the other red—with yellow strands sticking up at the crown of his head. He wore elegant attire—a white shirt, a vest, trousers, and shoes—but his emoji-patterned tie and matching socks completely ruined the formal look. He carried shopping bags as if he’d just returned from the market. But what stood out the most were his eyes, glowing with an intense yellow light.
“He’s awakened. Otherwise, he couldn’t have taken down that terrorist so quickly,” Izak thought.
“Me?” the man asked, pointing to himself. “Just a passerby who heard your cry for help.”
“What cry for help?” Izak frowned. “I didn’t make a sound.”
“Not your mouth,” the stranger chuckled. “Your soul. It was screaming like someone was tearing it apart.”
Izak wanted to respond but froze when he noticed the man gesturing toward the ashen remains of Marcin and Nadzieja.
“Were those your friends?” he asked casually. “A pity—they’re gone.”
Those words felt like a punch to the gut. Rage and helplessness churned within Izak.
“Don’t be so cold to the person who just saved your life,” the stranger added with theatrical sorrow.
“I didn’t ask for your help!” Izak snapped angrily.
The man shrugged and changed the subject.
“Anyway, I ended up here by chance. I was out shopping, ready to pay, but the power went out because they cut the electricity. While looking for cash, I heard your soul’s scream…” His words were punctuated by the rustle of his shopping bags, which he waved proudly.
Before Izak could respond, a shout echoed through the room:
“GET ON THE GROUND! DON’T MOVE!”
Special forces officers burst in, weapons drawn. Izak dropped to the floor as instructed, but his rescuer didn’t budge.
“I SAID GET ON THE GROUN… Wait. What are you doing here… Mr. Nowak?” the commanding officer stammered.
Izak lifted his head to see the man smiling broadly.
“Ah, I see my little shopping detour attracted more than just terrorists,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.
This was no ordinary man. It was Filip Nowak, the headmaster of the school for the awakened.
The officers began securing the room. The scene was gruesome: a headless corpse lay in the center, the severance unnaturally smooth, almost surgical, as if done in one precise motion with a perfect blade. Blood pooled around the body and splattered the walls.
The charred remains, twisted into grotesque poses, looked like burned sculptures. Their cracked, blackened skin revealed exposed bones in some places. One body had a hand raised, as if trying to shield its face from flames—the fingers were reduced to scorched stumps. Another, curled in a corner, resembled a macabre mannequin, with remnants of muscle clinging to the scorched concrete.
Amid the chaos of melted metal, burned wood, and shattered glass, the stench of charred flesh and hair hung heavily in the air, making the room unbearable for anyone who entered.
The commander, taking in the horror, clenched his fists, his expression a mix of anger and frustration.
“Damn it! Another one dead,” he growled, his voice like a hammer strike. His gaze shifted to Nowak. “I thought we’d catch this one alive.”
Filip shrugged, smiling.
“I was protecting a potential student for my school,” he said, winking at Izak, who ignored him and moved toward the exit. Annoyed, the commander turned back to Nowak.
“Why did you come in so late?” Filip asked, his cheerful demeanor replaced with a cold glare.
The officer exhaled deeply, swallowing hard.
“We were negotiating. One of them demanded 300 million zloty for the hostages. I thought we had more time, but it was a bluff. When I heard the screams, I ordered the breach.”
Filip raised an eyebrow, analyzing every word.
“Clever move,” he finally admitted. “But you don’t need me here anymore. Sayonara!”
Before anyone could respond, Filip vanished into thin air. The commander cursed under his breath. He hadn’t had the chance to ask the headmaster the most pressing question: What the hell just happened here?
Izak was transported to the hospital, where he spent four days. His injuries—several broken ribs and numerous bruises—healed surprisingly quickly thanks to his awakened powers. Physically, he recovered, but mentally… he was a wreck.
A week passed. Izak shut himself in his room, refusing to even attend his friends’ funeral. The thought of facing their families was unbearable. He hadn’t opened his guild’s chat since the tragedy, and the only person he spoke to was his mother, just enough to keep her from visiting.
Each night, the nightmares returned—screams, fire, the lifeless bodies of his friends. And above all, the guilt gnawed at him like poison. I could have done something. I should have done something. The thought replayed in his mind like a mantra.
On the last day of school, Izak finally decided to leave his room. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, his face void of expression. He dressed silently and headed to school.
He didn’t notice anything around him—neither the passing people nor the sounds of the city. When he entered the classroom, the stares of his classmates pierced him like daggers. Some looked sympathetic; others avoided his gaze.
The history teacher entered the room, breaking the tense silence.
“Oh, I see Piłsudski has finally shown up. And right on time,” she remarked with a smile, trying to ease the atmosphere.
The lesson passed quickly, filled with the distribution of diplomas and wishes for a good vacation. As Izak left the classroom, it started to rain. Ignoring the downpour, he walked toward the school gate. Someone was waiting for him there.
“Hey there! How are you holding up?” Filip Nowak asked casually, leaning against the wall.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Izak shot him a glance and walked in the opposite direction.
“If you walk away now, you’ll lose more of the people you care about,” Filip said behind him, this time in a serious tone.
The student froze. “How does he know about the curse?” he thought, turning abruptly.
“How do you know?”
Nowak shrugged.
“Your father told me everything.”
“So, you know how to help me?!” Piłsudski shouted, his voice tinged with desperation.
The director looked at him intently.
“I can help you, but first, you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Feeling sorry for myself?!” Izak took a step toward the director, clenching his fists. “I lost my friends! You have no idea what I’m going through!”
Filip raised an eyebrow, as if the accusations hurled at him were mere trifles.
“You’re wrong. I know that pain all too well. And I know that self-pity will get you nowhere. If you want to protect them, you need to become stronger.”
“Stronger?” the high schooler echoed, his voice trembling. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know enough. I know your weaknesses will destroy you if you don’t do something about them,” Nowak said coldly but convincingly. “Your father believed that a quiet life would protect you from the curse. He was wrong.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me to become stronger himself?!” Izak shouted, tears streaming down his face.
The director sighed heavily, as if he had heard this question countless times before.
“Because he was afraid the power would consume you, just as it did others. But that was his weakness, not yours. You have a chance to be better.”
The high schooler looked at the director, uncertainty in his eyes, before finally voicing the question that had plagued him from the start.
“How am I supposed to become stronger?” he asked, his voice almost pleading.
Nowak pointed a finger at himself.
“I’ll help train you.”
The boy lowered his head. His thoughts swirled, but Filip’s words seemed to penetrate the wall of his despair. “If I have to sit and do nothing...” he thought, “then I’d rather fight.”
“All right,” he said quietly. “Train me.”
The director smirked faintly.
“Excellent. But this won’t be any ordinary training. You have two months to prepare for the entrance exam to my school. This isn’t an ordinary school. Everyone who gets in has to prove they’re worthy of a spot.”
“An exam?” Izak asked nervously. “I’ve never learned how to control my power...”
“That’s exactly why you need me.” Filip crossed his arms. “This summer will be hell because I’m going to prepare you not only physically but mentally. I’ll be your worst nightmare. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Piłsudski clenched his fists, determination flashing in his eyes.
“I’ve never been more ready.”
Nowak smiled widely.
“In that case, we’ll meet tomorrow at six a.m. at the junkyard. For now, go home. Rest. Tonight will be your last peaceful evening.”
“But wait, the junkyard is outside the permitted zone,” the boy replied, puzzled.
A sinister smile spread across Filip’s face.
“Exactly! No one will bother us there.”
Izak looked at Nowak quizzically but found no words. After a moment, he simply turned and headed toward his dorm. The walk was long and quiet, but chaos reigned in his mind. Everything that had happened played out in his head like a film. Gradually, however, he came to the conclusion that he had made the right decision.
“Marcin and Nadzieja wouldn’t want me to wallow in grief,” he thought as he crossed the threshold of the dorm.
He felt a new light of hope, ignited by Filip, slowly dispelling the darkness that surrounded him. That thought gave him the courage to open the team chat, though he hadn’t had the strength for any conversations until now.
He saw dozens of messages – ranging from simple questions to jokes. He felt something inside him soften.
“They miss me,” he said to himself with a slight smile.
He scrolled through the chat until he found familiar usernames. The messages were still there, as if waiting for his reply.
“I can’t let them down,” he thought and began to type.
(AlfaSigma69): Hey, sorry for disappearing so suddenly, but I got a cool summer job offer and won’t be able to play as often.
(Hero112): What?! A job… We won’t be able to play together?! 😭
(8Supplier8): Interesting. Are you sure it’s about work? Or maybe you were just sitting in a corner crying?
Izak froze, feeling a strange twinge of unease. How does he know? – the thought raced through his mind. Only a few people know the truth… Could Filip be 8Supplier8?!
Before he could react, 8Supplier8 continued:
(8Supplier8): …Because you couldn’t get over Hunter snatching the MVP in the last raid, hehe.
The boy sighed with relief and quickly replied:
(AlfaSigma69): Haha, yeah, that was exactly it! I just couldn’t handle it! 😜
(Hero112): I knew it! So it was emotional trauma, not work!
(Hunter11): Anyway, good to have you back. Good luck with the job.
(8Supplier8): But remember, when you come back, Hero might have a better DPS than you. What will you do then?
(AlfaSigma69): Then I’ll stop logging into chat so you can’t remind me about it!
(Hero112): Haha, don’t worry, Alfa, I won’t surpass you… probably. 😉
(8Supplier8): I can already see Hero outscoring you. I think we’d all have to break our fingers for that to happen xD
(Hero112): AHA!? Not nice 😢
(AlfaSigma69): Thanks for the support, 8Supplier8. 😒
(8Supplier8): Always at your service. Come back soon; the work is piling up, and the raids won’t organize themselves.
(AlfaSigma69): Thanks, see you soon! 🙂
Closing the chat, Izak felt something in his heart relax. His gaming friends were still there, waiting for him, even if they didn’t know the truth. Maybe not everything was lost.
That night, however, his thoughts turned elsewhere. He thought about training, about what the Director had said, about what he needed to do to stand a chance in this new reality. Then, he remembered something else – the old times when he and Marcin used to sneak out of the city. Those memories gave him an idea of how to bypass the wall’s security.
“Fifty percent chance it’ll work...” he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself it was enough.
The next day, he woke up early. He got dressed, ate a quick breakfast, and headed toward the laser wall.
He knew the place well – a specific spot where the wire casing was damaged, allowing for a short circuit to disable the system. If he acted quickly, he could shut down a section of the laser for a few seconds.
When he reached the spot, he looked around carefully.
“No one’s here...” he whispered to himself, but his confidence didn’t last long.
Suddenly, he heard voices. Someone was approaching. Guards.
The student quickly hid in nearby bushes. His heart pounded so loudly it nearly drowned out the sound of footsteps. Why now? – he thought in panic.
The guards stopped nearby and began checking something. Time seemed to stretch endlessly before they finally left.
“Damn, couldn’t you guys waste more time here?” he muttered quietly under his breath, trying to calm himself.
Once the area was clear, he quickly got to work. Pulling out a thin wire, he began tinkering with the circuits. The short circuit worked – for a brief moment, the two bottom lasers shut off.
Wasting no time, Pilsudski squeezed through the gap, feeling the heat of the laser almost burning his leg as the system reactivated.
“Damn, that was close!” he said, still catching his breath.
With relief, he left the wall’s perimeter and made his way to the junkyard, where the training was supposed to take place.
When he arrived, he saw Filip standing atop a pile of garbage. He looked like the king of chaos. The sight was so absurd that Izak burst into laughter.
Nowak looked down at him with a grin before disappearing without a trace.