My name is Kyle Damian. I live with my mom, Dorothy Damian. My dad passed away when I was five. Ever since, strange things have been happening around me-unexplainable, supernatural things. I've faced demons, dealt with the mafia, and now, I'm staring down a bus hijacker who has no hesitation in pulling the trigger.
"I have to do something," Kyle thought, his mind racing with fear and determination. His eyes flicked to the mother and child across from him, the woman trembling as she clutched her daughter close. The little girl glanced at Kyle, her innocent eyes wide with fear, and he offered her a reassuring nod. He couldn't let them down-not them, not anyone.
The hijacker, now high on adrenaline and his own madness, continued ranting, his voice a manic blend of growls and laughter. He seemed to revel in the chaos, waving his gun like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of terror. "Yessss... More screams! Cry for me!" he bellowed, but then his grin faltered.
He froze, his wild eyes narrowing as he looked down the aisle.
"What are you doing?" he barked, his tone a mix of confusion and nervousness.
Kyle rose from his seat, his calm, deliberate footsteps echoing ominously in the tense silence. His eyes glowed a deep, unearthly red, casting faint shadows across his face. A dark, brooding aura seemed to seep from his body, chilling the air around him.
His lips stretched into a grin-not a reassuring smile, but the deranged, unhinged grin of a madman. It wasn't just chilling; it was a testament to the rush coursing through his veins, the chaos within him fueled by Raknar's dark influence. His expression carried no hint of restraint, only a raw, primal exhilaration that sent shivers down the spines of anyone who dared to look his way.
The hijacker's hand trembled as he raised his weapon. "Stay back!" he shouted, but his voice cracked under the weight of Kyle's unwavering stare.
The first shot rang out, then another. The hijacker sprayed bullets down the aisle, each gunshot a deafening roar. The passengers screamed, clutching their seats and closing their eyes tightly, bracing for the worst.
Kyle didn't stop.
He moved forward, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Bullets tore through the air, striking him. His arms rose instinctively to shield his chest and abdomen, taking the brunt of the gunfire. Blood spattered, soaking his shirt, and a few bullets slipped past his defenses, tearing into his body. But his expression never wavered. His glowing red eyes remained locked on the gunman, his grin a chilling reminder that he wasn't backing down.
Outside, police cars trailed the bus, their sirens wailing in pursuit. The vehicle swerved erratically, its tires screeching as it veered dangerously close to the edge of the bridge. Below, the deep canal stretched out like a dark, silent abyss, waiting to swallow them whole.
Inside, the hijacker's confidence was unraveling. His hands shook violently as he continued to fire, his mad grin replaced by a look of pure disbelief. "Why won't you stop?!" he screamed, his voice breaking.
And then, the clicks began.
He was out of ammo.
The gunman's panic was palpable as he fumbled with his weapon, his gaze darting between the empty gun and Kyle, who was now only a few steps away. Blood dripped from Kyle's arms and sides, pooling on the floor beneath him, but he didn't falter.
Kyle lowered his arms, his aura seeming to darken further, like a storm cloud about to burst. His grin widened, revealing teeth clenched with raw fury. He was ready to end this.
The hijacker stumbled back, his confidence shattered. "Stay back!" he shrieked, his voice trembling. But Kyle was done holding back.
With a sudden burst of speed, Kyle lunged forward, his movements fluid and precise, like a lion pouncing on its prey. In an instant, he closed the distance, his hand clamping around the hijacker's throat like a vice. The man gasped, his legs kicking uselessly in the air as Kyle hoisted him up with ease.
"You disgust me," Kyle spat, his voice laced with utter disdain.
Without hesitation, he hurled the hijacker out of the moving bus. The man's body tumbled violently across the asphalt before disappearing out of sight.
Kyle barely had a moment to process what he had done before turning his attention to the real crisis—the bus was still out of control. He lunged for the brakes, slamming his foot down with force. Nothing. The pedal sank uselessly beneath his foot. His eyes flicked to the dashboard, where flickering warning lights hinted at a deeper problem. A wire must have been severed during the chaotic ride.
"Raknar! Can we stop this thing?!" Kyle shouted, his voice edged with desperation. The bridge loomed ahead, and beyond it, the deep canal stretched like a gaping maw, ready to swallow them whole.
"Nothing we can't do, kid," Raknar's raspy voice echoed in his mind, a smirk evident in his tone.
Kyle didn't hesitate. He rushed to the door and leapt out, gripping onto the metal frame as the bus's speed yanked him backward. The wind roared in his ears, his feet scraping against the asphalt. For a moment, it was like being dragged by an unstoppable force. Then, with a deep breath, he forced his legs to move. The pavement blurred beneath him as he matched the bus's speed, his body pushed to its limits, running as if caught on a massive treadmill.
With a final push, he overtook the bus, skidding ahead of it. The roar of the engine and the terrified screams of the passengers filled the air as Kyle planted his feet and braced himself. Muscles burning, he slammed his hands against the front of the vehicle, pushing with everything he had.
The force nearly knocked him off balance, but he dug his heels in. Sparks erupted beneath his feet as the tires screeched in protest. The sheer friction sent waves of heat through his body, the soles of his shoes melting against the asphalt. His skin blistered, his arms trembled, but he didn't let go.
The bus groaned, its wheels screeching as rubber burned against the road. The metal frame shook violently under the immense pressure, the engine sputtering as if it, too, was giving up the fight.
Then—finally—it stopped.
The moment the bus jerked to a halt, the doors burst open, and passengers flooded out, their faces a mix of shock, terror, and overwhelming relief.
He could hear their voices—some crying, some laughing, some chanting his name—but the sounds grew distant, like echoes in a tunnel. His vision blurred, the world spinning as the adrenaline drained from his body. The burns on his feet seared with unbearable pain, blood dripped steadily from his wounds, and the weight of everything crashed down on him all at once.
Then, darkness took him.
Kyle collapsed, unconscious before he even hit the ground.