Izak stopped by a kebab stand before returning to his apartment. As always, he ordered his favorite: lamb, spicy sauce, and perfectly crispy bread. It was the best kebab in the whole city. He left the shop satisfied, but before he could even savor the aroma, a drunken man suddenly stumbled into him.
In an instant, the kebab fell to the ground.
“No!” Izak exclaimed in despair, staring at the remains of his dinner. “What a waste! That kebab was a masterpiece!”
Meanwhile, the drunkard, who had tripped over the boy, was lying on the ground muttering something incomprehensible. He lifted his head and tried to slur:
“Hey, watch where you’re... going...”
But the words caught in his throat. The man looked up and met Izak’s gaze. Piłsudski glared at him like a predator sizing up its prey – his expression cold, almost murderous. The drunk swallowed hard, realizing this teenager didn’t look like the average high schooler. Tall and well-built, with messy raspberry-colored hair that gave him a rebellious air, Izak’s appearance was striking. Thick eyebrows and two vertical moles under his right eye made his face unforgettable.
The drunkard sobered up almost instantly.
“I’m sorry! I’ll buy you another kebab!” he blurted out, scrambling to his feet unsteadily.
Minutes later, Izak held a new kebab in his hand, watching as the man quickly disappeared into the distance.
“Damn... I didn’t think decent drunks existed anymore,” he muttered, slightly amused.
Once back at his apartment, Izak tossed his bag into a corner and sat down at his computer. As usual, he was eager to unwind with his favorite game – Legends of Legendary Heroes. A medieval-themed RPG with powerful bosses, epic battles, and hundreds of hours of gameplay, the game was his escape from reality. He had been playing for three years and reached a master level. As a member of the top guild on the European server, "NoHealing," Izak was part of an elite four-player team. The guild's name stemmed from their unique approach – they lacked a healer, which was typically considered suicide in this game. Yet they climbed to the top through sheer skill.
Sitting at his desk, Izak noticed several unread messages in the guild chat.
(Hero112): Are we doing the new boss today?
(Hunter11): If we don’t take him down fast enough, we’ll lose our ranking.
(8Supplier8): Don’t worry about it. If you’re all too busy, I can solo it myself. 😀
(Hunter11): Don’t be so cocky. We all know you can’t do it alone.
(8Supplier8): HAHA! Wanna bet?
(Hunter11): 😒…
(Hero112): But I also wanna fight the boss. Can I go with you, #8Supplier8 🥺👉👈?
(Hunter11): Why am I surrounded by idiots… He’s not going anywhere alone. #Hero112, we’re waiting for #AlfaSigma69, and we’re going together.
Today marked the release of a new area in the game, complete with a new boss to conquer. Izak smirked at the familiar banter as he quickly typed a reply:
(AlfaSigma69): Hey, I’m here. Sorry I’m late. Totally forgot it was today.
(Hunter11): Nice of you to show up, Your Highness. They were getting out of hand without you…
(8Supplier8): Out of hand? What nonsense. Everything’s under control. 😉
(Hero112): Yay! Are we going now?
(AlfaSigma69): Yeah, let’s crush that guy. No way he’s taking over our turf!!!
(Hero112): LET’S GOOO!!
The four players had wildly different personalities, but together they formed a cohesive team. Despite three years of playing together, they knew nothing about each other beyond their usernames – an unspoken rule of the guild discouraged prying into personal lives.
In the game, Izak, known as AlfaSigma69, played a shield-bearer – the only female character in the team. His choice combined defense with the ability to deal solid damage. AlfaSigma69 was always on the front lines, protecting teammates and drawing enemy attacks. Hunter11, the team’s strategist, played an archer. He analyzed every situation and kept the group in check with pinpoint accuracy. 8Supplier8, the cocky and sarcastic berserker, often annoyed others but delivered devastating blows. Finally, Hero112, the naïve and childlike assassin, excelled at striking from the shadows.
The battle was intense. AlfaSigma69 and 8Supplier8 competed to deal the most damage, breaking through the boss’s defenses. Hunter11 supported them from a distance, targeting weak points with deadly precision, while Hero112 circled the field, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Their strategy paid off – the guild not only defeated the boss but set a new server record.
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The most anticipated moment followed: the announcement of the MVP.
Seconds later, a message flashed on the screen: MVP goes to: Hunter11.
(AlfaSigma69): How is that possible!? I used my best combo on him…
(8Supplier8): Hehe… Well, well, quiet waters run deep.
(Hero112): Congrats!! No one saw that coming. How did you do it?
(Hunter11): While you guys were fooling around, I was landing critical hits from a distance. Thanks for breaking his shield, noobs. 😝
(AlfaSigma69): Oh, you got us good. Grats, man.
(8Supplier8): I got tired of always taking MVP, so I decided to let someone else have it. Lucky you, Hunter! 😘
(Hunter11): Yeah, sure… Next time, focus on the game, or I’ll take it again.
Their conversation was interrupted by a new message in the chat.
(8Supplier8): Have you seen the news?
(AlfaSigma69): No, what’s up?
(Hunter11): Is it about the terrorist attack?
(Hero112): What!? Where?
(AlfaSigma69): Eh, whatever. Probably far away.
(8Supplier8): Haha… Far away, you say? Depends on where you live. Terrorists hit Galleria Rzeszow. Rumor has it some of them are Awakened.
Izak froze. One thought filled his mind: Marcin and Nadzieja… They went there! This is my fault! I have to do something!
He bolted out of his apartment, racing toward the gallery. The city was in chaos. Sirens wailed, fire trucks with flashing lights sped toward the mall, and crowds fled in terror.
“What am I doing?” he muttered, pushing through the panicked crowd. “There are terrorists there. What can I even do? My dad always told me to avoid trouble...”
But despite his doubts, he kept running. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and his heart pounded like a drum. In his mind, he saw only the faces of his friends – Marcin and Nadzieja – the ones he had dragged into this mess.
When he arrived at the scene, he saw the gallery building consumed by flames. It was a modern shopping complex with glass walls that now cracked under the intense heat. The windows were coated in soot and smoke, making it impossible to see what was happening inside. Metal structural elements melted, resembling grotesque sculptures. The towering flames illuminated the night sky, casting a warm glow on the barricades and emergency vehicles spread around. The city guard and firefighters battled the inferno while special forces negotiated through megaphones. Chaos reigned in the streets—people huddled in small groups, some praying, others weeping.
The high schooler looked at the burning gallery, clenched his fists, and took a deep breath. “I hope this curse is just my father’s fabrication,” he thought, a sense of unease gripping his heart. There were still hostages inside. He knew the situation was hopeless, but he couldn’t back down. Marcin and Nadzieja were there, and it was his fault they were in this mess.
Quietly, he slipped inside through the fire escape. The air was thick with smoke, and the choking stench of burning filled his lungs. Collapsing sections of the ceiling and destroyed furnishings blocked the pathways, forcing him to leap over obstacles and weave through debris. Every step felt like a race against time.
Moments later, he reached the heart of the crisis. In the spacious atrium of the gallery, filled with shattered shopfronts and toppled escalators, a crowd of terrified people—around a hundred—had been gathered. Masked and armed terrorists surrounded them. At the forefront stood a man clad in a snow-white robe, reciting something in a foreign tongue. His booming voice echoed off the ruined walls.
Izak scanned the scene from the upper floor, searching for familiar faces. Finally, he spotted them at the edge of the crowd. Marcin knelt, holding Nadzieja close, trying to comfort her. The girl trembled, her eyes brimming with tears.
Suddenly, the man in the white robe paused his chant. His powerful voice rang out:
"Let there be fire!"
What followed was like a scene from a nightmare. The masked terrorist extended his arms, and flames erupted from his body, consuming those nearest to him. The other guards opened fire. Horrified screams reverberated as the crowd scattered in panic.
Marcin reacted instantly. He grabbed Nadzieja’s hand and bolted, knocking over one of the guards. The man fell, trampled by fleeing people who paid no attention to his cries. The pair raced toward a staircase leading to the upper floor. Watching them, the boy immediately followed.
He caught up with them on the gallery’s top floor. Just as he was about to call out, Marcin turned and shouted:
“Where’s Nadzieja? She was right behind me!” Panic laced his voice.
Izak turned and saw something that froze his blood. Nadzieja stood in the shadows—but she wasn’t alone. The man in the white robe had her by the neck, holding her like a trophy.
“Well, well…” the man said, licking his lips. “Look at the little mice trying to hide.”
Marcin froze, staring at Nadzieja’s terrified face and her pleading eyes.
“Let her go!” he shouted, struggling to steady his trembling voice.
The man laughed mockingly.
“Let her go? But she’s with me of her own free will. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” He glanced at the girl, who hesitantly nodded in agreement.
Izak felt the ground disappear beneath him. His mind went blank, and his body froze. Marcin, noticing his inaction, punched him hard in the stomach.
“Snap out of it, man! You came here to help, didn’t you?! We have to do something, or… or we’ll lose her forever!”
Those words snapped Izak back to reality. He knew the situation was dire. He had sworn never to use the awakening power, but now he had no choice. He looked at Marcin, who nodded. “Just like old times,” he thought.
They lunged at the terrorist, but the man had anticipated their move. He extended his hand toward the high schooler, and crimson flames shot toward him. Izak dodged at the last second, narrowly avoiding the attack. In that moment, the terrorist shoved Nadzieja toward the running Marcin. Both of them fell to the ground.
“DIE!” the terrorist roared.
A fiery blast shot from his hands, striking the pair on the ground. Izak watched in horror as the flames engulfed their bodies. The screams of his friends pierced his soul. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and tried desperately to save them, but the flames were unquenchable.
“You think my fire can be extinguished?” the terrorist sneered.
The boy felt his world crumble. He knelt on the ground, covering his ears and screaming, banging his head against the floor to drown out the sounds. Finally, there was silence. He looked at the charred remains of his friends, his heart filling with rage.
“I’ll kill you…” he whispered, his eyes dark with fury.
The strange man chuckled, his laughter echoing through the desolate hallway.
“Did you hit your head too hard, little bug?” he mocked, smirking derisively.
Those words were the spark that lit the powder keg. The student launched himself at the terrorist, unleashing a flurry of chaotic blows. Anger and despair fueled his movements, but they lacked precision and strength. The criminal effortlessly dodged each strike, moving with mocking ease.
“Did you really think you stood a chance?” he asked, his face twisting into an arrogant grin. “This is getting boring.”
With a single, devastating punch, the man sent Izak flying across the hallway. He slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, his scream of pain nearly drowned out by the impact. He crumpled to the floor, dark spots dancing before his eyes.
Blood dripped from his busted lips, nose, and temple, leaving scarlet trails on the floor. Every breath brought searing pain to his chest. “This is the end,” he thought, closing his eyes as time seemed to slow.
His father’s words echoed in his mind:
“Son, you lead a life of chaos and violence. It’s not just risk—it’s a curse that has haunted our family for generations. If you love too deeply, you will lose them. Everyone you care for will pay the ultimate price. And if you seek power, it will consume you, turning you into the executioner of those closest to you.”
He had always thought his father was exaggerating, trying to steer him away from a reckless life. But now, “lying in the blood of his friends,” he understood. Marcin and Nadzieja had died because of him—not because of the terrorists, but because of the curse tied to his name like a tragic fate.
“This is why my father wanted me to lead a quiet life. This damned curse has taken everything from me,” Izak thought, his sorrow giving way to self-directed anger. Rage coursed through his veins, slowly eclipsing the pain.
“DIE, insect!” the terrorist roared, raising his hand for a final blow.
But for a moment, nothing happened. Izak, surprised by the silence, opened his eyes. What he saw defied all his expectations.