'I hate the world.'
Damien sat on a weathered park bench, his black hair messy from the gentle breeze. He tilted his head back, soaking in the rare warmth of the sun. It was unusual for him to have time to do nothing but indulge in his thoughts. Today, however, was an exception. The higher-ups at Deviant Academy had granted him and the rest of his class two weeks off before graduation.
This was a gift for most students—an unheard-of break from relentless training.
However, for Damien, it was nothing but wasted time.
He raised a hand to shield his pale gray eyes from the sun, his gaze drifting toward a family having a picnic. A father playfully tossed his giggling daughter into the air, her laughter carrying across the park. The mother laid out sandwiches, smiling as she watched them.
A familiar bitterness settled in his chest.
Would that be my life if I weren't born a freak? He wondered. No, probably not. Fate isn't that kind to me. I'd probably be a deadbeat or homeless instead.
The thought made him chuckle. Not because homelessness was funny but because, in his mind, that future might've been better than the one he was destined for.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. It's not like I have a home to return to now, so I guess I really am homeless.
Since Damien was ten, his life had been a cycle of training, fighting, and surviving. No parents. No siblings. Just the academy, where he and his so-called classmates were prepared for a grim future—one where most of them wouldn't live past twenty.
His grin widened.
'Man, what a shitty life so far.'
Still, one thing kept him going: in precisely three weeks, he would turn seventeen. That was when Deviants awakened their abilities. And if his power was strong enough… maybe he could finally change his fate.
But an unsettling sensation ran down his spine before he could fall too deep into thought. A chill despite the warm sun.
Instinctively, Damien turned his head sharply to the left. He wasn't sure why, but he felt certain—someone was watching him.
His eyes locked onto a luxurious apartment building across the park. Something about it seemed familiar, though he couldn't place why. But more importantly, someone was standing near the top, their curtains wide open.
A blonde-haired figure stood there, grinning directly at him.
Damien blinked, then let out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing.
'Of course. That idiot.'
Luka Sharp, his long-time friend and all-around pain in the ass.
The next thing Damien knew, he was being forced to stay with Luka and his family for the duration of the break. Apparently, Luka had spotted him earlier and wasted no time explaining Damien's situation to his mother.
"I don't need anyone's pity," Damien grumbled when they arrived at the Sharp family's penthouse.
That thought, however, immediately vanished the moment he flopped onto the king-sized mattress in his guest room.
'Never mind. I welcome all pity.'
He was still reveling in the ridiculous comfort when his door swung open. Luka stood there with a smirk that could only mean trouble.
"Hey, dumbass. Care for a spar?"
Damien groaned. "We're on break."
"And?"
Denying Luka a fight was like trying to stop the sun from rising. There was no point in resisting. Sighing, Damien got to his feet and tied his long black hair back with a loose band.
"Fine. I need to stretch anyway."
Luka practically bounced with excitement as he led the way to a secluded training room in the back of the apartment. The room was large, dimly lit, and lined with blue padded mats.
"Like it?" Luka asked, motioning around. "Mom had it installed earlier this year."
Damien raised a brow. This place must've cost a fortune.
"Not bad."
Luka's smirk widened. "And don't worry—it's completely soundproof. So no one will hear me kicking your ass."
Damien rolled his eyes and settled into a defensive stance. "We'll see about that."
Luka didn't hesitate. The second he saw an opening, he launched a lightning-fast jab toward Damien's face. Damien barely dodged, but Luka was already following up with a spinning left kick. It grazed his abdomen, sending him to one knee and knocking the wind out of him.
Damien winced. 'That maniac. He doesn't know how to hold back.'
Pushing himself up, he met Luka's crazed grin with one of his own.
'Fine. I won't hold back, either.'
He shot forward much faster than Luka had anticipated. He feinted a left punch, and as Luka instinctively went to block it, Damien dropped low, sweeping his legs out from under him.
Luka landed hard on his back. "Damn," he muttered, stunned.
Damien smirked. "What's wrong? I thought no one would hear me get my ass kicked."
Luka let out a short laugh as Damien helped him up. But his smile turned wild again when he was on his feet.
"Again."
The following day, Damien found himself at the Sharp family's wooden dining table, devouring a breakfast of bacon and eggs. Meals like this were a rare luxury for someone who never really had a home outside the academy.
He reached for a muffin, savoring every bite, when Luka's mother suddenly chuckled.
"My, you sure do eat a lot, Damien."
Mid-bite, Damien nearly choked. He wasn't embarrassed about his appetite—all Deviants ate more than normal humans—but being called out by someone as stunning as Mrs. Sharp was enough to make his face burn.
He quickly swallowed and muttered, "Yes, ma'am. Your food is great."
Her warm smile practically lit up the room. "Aw, thank you! I can make more if you want."
Damien shook his head quickly. "No, it's okay. I'm full."
(He wasn't. But he didn't want to seem like a gluttonous pig.)
As Mrs. Sharp gathered the plates, Luka suddenly leaned in and whispered, "Bro, can you not check out my mom?"
Damien's lips quivered. He barely managed to contain his laughter before whispering back, "Careful. I might be your stepdad soon."
Luka stared at him, deadpan. Then, suppressing a laugh, he shook his head.
"You're the worst."
As if nothing had happened, Luka leaned back and grinned. "Anyway, you excited for the tournament?"
Damien wasn't surprised by the gleam in his friend's eyes. Luka lived for fighting.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Though I won't be seventeen yet for my first match, so I won't have my ability."
Luka's grin widened. "Lucky. You'll get to savor the fight that way."
Damien squinted at him. "You really are an idiot, you know that?"
Luka just laughed.
Damien sighed.
'What an exhausting break this is going to be.'
...
Two weeks had nearly passed, meaning Damien's stay at the Sharp residence was coming to an end. After countless sparring matches and far too many moments spent ogling Mrs. Sharp, Damien realized he needed a break from his so-called break. That's how he found himself out shopping with Luka and his mother. Mrs. Sharp had graciously offered to pay for whatever Damien wanted.
I don't need this pity.
"Hey, Damien, why don't you try this on?" Mrs. Sharp looked stunning as always, her golden hair flowing as if caught in an invisible breeze, and her outfit leaving little to the imagination.
Noticing he was again staring at her with his mouth slightly open like a fool, he quickly spouted, "Oh, um, I will. Thank you."
Mrs. Sharp had picked out an all-black outfit for him. He took the clothes from her and made his way to the back of the store where the fitting rooms were located.
People already think I'm emo. What is she thinking? Damien thought, half amused, half annoyed at the idea of being labeled based on clothes.
However, as he tried it on, he had to admit—he liked it. The black jacket, in particular, suited him well, complementing his messy black hair and pale eyes in a way he hadn't expected.
'Of course, Mrs. Sharp would pick out a good outfit.'
As Damien continued admiring himself in the mirror, a loud, obnoxious siren suddenly blared through the store.
Damien rushed out of the changing room, his eyes darting across the store. A wave of emotions flooded the faces of the shoppers—confusion, shock, but mostly fear. His gaze quickly landed on Mrs. Sharp, who stood frozen near the shoe section, her usually warm expression now pale and stricken.
"What happened?" he demanded.
She turned to him, still dazed, and muttered, "The store was robbed…"
Damien frowned. That didn't explain why she looked so shaken. Robberies happened all the time, and as far as he could tell, no one seemed injured. But before he could question her further, she whispered, "They were Deviants… and… Luka went after them."
A chill ran down Damien's spine. That was different.
For the first time, he saw Mrs. Sharp in a way he never had before—not as the radiant woman who always seemed to light up the room but as a terrified mother. And in that moment, despite the situation's urgency, he couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of envy.
'I wish someone cared about me like that.'
He shoved the thought aside. Now wasn't the time for self-pity. If Deviants had really robbed the store—and Luka had gone after them—then his idiot friend could be in grave danger.
Taking a deep breath, Damien locked eyes with Mrs. Sharp and smiled reassuringly. "Luka can handle himself. I'll go after him."
She hesitated, her blue eyes searching his for reassurance, and he gave her a firm nod before turning on his heel. He quickly got the general direction of where they had gone, then sprinted off without another word.
Damien sprinted through the streets, moving far faster than any normal human could. To bystanders, he must have been nothing more than a black blur, weaving between cars and startled pedestrians. His heart pounded in his chest from exertion and the nagging fear clawing at his mind.
'Damn it! If I don't find them soon, Luka could actually get hurt.'
Despite his worry, another thought crept in. Maybe it wasn't Luka who was in danger. Perhaps it was the other deviants.
Luka was deadly, after all. And if these deviants were nothing more than common criminals, they couldn't have had proper training from the academy. Against someone like Luka, that was a death sentence.
The strain of running at full speed was starting to take its toll. His breaths grew labored, his legs heavier with each stride.
"Not good."
Then he heard it—the sharp, metallic clash of weapons.
Damien pushed himself harder, moving even faster despite his dwindling stamina. He rounded a corner and turned into a secluded alleyway—only to freeze in his tracks.
A mutilated corpse lay sprawled on the cold pavement, drenched in blood. The body was barely recognizable as human—one arm and leg missing, the head wholly severed.
A wave of nausea hit Damien like a freight train. His stomach churned.
"Luka… had his fun."
He swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down. Blood had always made him queasy and Death even more so. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it—Luka was still fighting.
Damien turned his attention to the duel unfolding before him. Luka stood firm; his golden hair barely ruffled as he blocked a devastating strike with his shield. His opponent, a tall, muscular deviant, launched himself into the air, then kicked off nothing, propelling forward like a bullet.
"What the hell—?"
The man struck, missed, and kicked off the air again, changing direction mid-flight to attack from another angle. His movements were unpredictable and erratic—like a human pinball.
"An interesting ability."
The power to kick off air as if it were solid. It's not quite flight, but something far more versatile. He was fast. Maybe even faster than Luka.
But not better.
Luka wasn't even breaking a sweat. He wasn't dodging—he was blocking on purpose, letting the fight drag on. He wasn't looking for an opening to end the battle. He was savoring it.
'What a maniac.'
Damien watched as Luka parried another air-propelled strike with a casual flick of his sword. The deviant snarled in frustration, launching forward again—only for Luka to step just slightly out of the way, making the attack barely miss.
Then, without warning, Luka struck.
One clean slice.
The man's head hit the ground with a sickening thud.
The fight was over.