"Kill me?" Kim Wentian scoffed, a glint of amusement dancing in his crimson eyes.

"Have you forgotten your younger days, old friend? This isn't a battle of a popular novel won by an impulsive attack from a wounded Hero." He brushed himself off, straightening his designer T-shirt and taking a long drag from a cigarette he'd retrieved from a branded packet in his black trousers.

The smoke curled from his lips, momentarily obscuring the gruesome sight before him. Dark blood streamed from Raj's mouth, his jaw hanging at an unnatural angle. The previous blow had been brutal, shattering his jaw and leaving him in a state of disoriented agony.

Raj, fueled by a cocktail of rage and despair, yearned to strike back, but his body betrayed him. He was a broken marionette, incapable of enacting the vengeance that consumed him.

His eyes darted to the object of Wentian's desire – the ancient locket nestled around his neck. It was unassuming, save for the faint, ancient patterns etched into its corners.

He had discovered it on a dig in a secret valley deep within the American landscape, mistaking it for a mere relic of a bygone civilization. Little did he know that even a powerful person can go crazy for it. It must hold some unseen true power.

A sly smile, as unsettling as it was painful, split his bloodied lips. "The locket, right?" His voice emerged as a broken whisper, each word a struggle against the throbbing pain. "You want it? Take it…"

The pronouncement, laced with a hint of hidden malice, sent a shiver down Wentian's spine. He had anticipated resistance, not this chilling resignation.

Before Wentian could react, Raj lunged for a shard of wood, remnants of the destroyed chair. It was a desperate act, fueled by a fleeting moment of opportunity and a lifetime of repressed grief.

"No!" Wentian roared, launching himself forward in a desperate attempt to disarm the old man.

But it was too late. The sharpened wood found its mark, plunging deep into the side of Wentian's neck with a sickening squelch. A primal scream tore from Wentian's throat, his eyes bulging in shock and pain.

Raj, his face contorted in a macabre mix of triumph and agony, gasped out his final words, a chilling echo in the deathly silence that followed. "Take it... from my dead body!"

Wentian sank to his knees, clutching at the wound, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Panic clawed at his throat as he assessed the situation. Raj's blood pressure plummeted, his heart rate skyrocketing before slowing into a weak, erratic rhythm. The tell-tale signs of impending death manifested rapidly – bluish, graying skin around his lips, fingers, and earlobes.

"Highest grade healing medicine! Now!" Wentian bellowed, his voice raspy with urgency. The weight of a thousand years of searching, of his family's legacy hanging in the balance, crashed down on him.

"Master," the figure he addressed began, a tremor in his voice, "his life force is critically low. The wound is… severe. And his will to live…"

Sshhhh!!!

Before he could finish, a blast of energy silenced him, the beam searing a hole through his head. "Spare me the excuses!" Wentian roared, eyes blazing with a manic desperation. "Do everything in your power to save him! If he dies, none of you will escape this alive!"

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

A collective gulp rippled through the room. With Raj's fate now serving as their own, they scrambled to action, their every move dictated by the survival of this man who moments ago was their enemy. In this twisted turn of events, their lives now intertwined with his, teetering on the edge of a knife.

Raj's body, already weakened by the previous attack, struggled to hold on after the self-inflicted wound. Despite their best efforts, the healers found themselves battling a losing battle.

Thirteen agonizing seconds ticked by before a man hesitantly approached Wentian. "Master," he began, his voice laced with trepidation, "we were unable to save him. His injuries were… extensive, and by the time…"

Wentian's crimson eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering within them. He lunged at the man, his powerful grip constricting the unfortunate soul's throat and lifting him off the ground.

"I told you, he will not die!" Wentian roared, his voice raw with unbridled fury.

With a sickening thud, he slammed the man against the unforgiving wall. The impact echoed through the room, followed by a chilling silence.

"I said, he can't die!" Wentian repeated, his voice rising to a manic pitch. Each subsequent word was punctuated by another brutal slam, the man's body transforming into a mangled mess against the wall, his identity obliterated beyond recognition.

And then Wentian stumbled towards Raj's lifeless form, eyes frantically searching his neck. The locket, the object of his desire, was vanishing into thin air, leaving behind only a faint, ethereal glow.

"Damn you! Damn you, you stubborn goblin!" he screamed, his voice cracking with frustration and despair.

Triggered by Raj's death, the mysterious locket shimmered with renewed energy, disappearing completely before Wentian's horrified gaze.

***

Darkness. That was the first sensation that flooded Raj's consciousness. An endless, suffocating darkness that stretched as far as he could perceive.

"Where am I?" he rasped, his voice a mere whisper in the void. "Didn't I die? I remember… the shard of wood… stabbing myself."

A flicker of light materialized in the distance, drawing his attention. He strained to move, a peculiar sensation replacing the familiar feeling of his limbs. Panic clawed at his throat.

"What's happening?" he choked out, his voice trembling.

He tried desperately to open his eyes, to move his body, but only a constricting feeling and the oppressive darkness responded.

"Strange," he murmured, a strange sense of awareness settling upon him. "I can still feel… alive. Perhaps he used some kind of strange magic or ability."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as the harsh reality sunk in. "It seems even death eludes me," he muttered, a wave of despair washing over him.

Raj's thoughts drifted back to the past, a past filled with regret and a suffocating sense of powerlessness. He saw his deceased family, the faces etched in his memory a constant reminder of his failure to protect them.

"I… I failed you, Mama and Papa," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Little sister… I couldn't avenge you… I wish I could change it all."

The yearning to rewrite his past, to undo the mistakes that had defined his life, echoed through the darkness. And as he uttered those words, the small light in the distance began to pulsate, drawing him in like a hungry vortex.

With a sudden rush, a searing pain ripped through his head, pulling him from the darkness and into the harsh glare of reality.

"Argh!" he screamed, clutching his head as the world spun around him.

"Double battery, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you crying like a baby?" a harsh voice mocked him.

Raj blinked, confusion clouding his mind. He looked up, his gaze landing on the familiar scene of the school corridor window, the empty window replacing the suffocating darkness. His own reflection stared back at him, a younger version himself.

Standing in front of him were three boys, their faces contorted in amusement. He recognized the boy in the middle – Ali, his childhood tormentor.

"Ali?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

"What? You want another beating?" Ali taunted, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Another boy, one of Ali's companions, intervened. "Brother Ali, that's enough. We don't want to make him cry again."

"Yeah, and besides, Sir Richard’s class is next," chimed the third boy. "If we're late, we'll be in for three rounds around the school. Let's go, we can deal with him later."

Ali grunted, discarding the stick, most likely the source of his earlier pain. "Fine, have fun, double battery. We'll settle this later."

With that, the three boys ran off, their laughter echoing down the corridor.

……