Jonah skidded to a halt, nearly losing his balance as his foot caught the uneven crack in the pavement. His breath caught in his throat.
There it was.
A towering figure stood at the end of the sidewalk, bathed in the orange haze of a flickering streetlight. It wasn't just big—it was massive. At least 220 centimeters, maybe more, with broad shoulders that filled the narrow path, wrapped in what looked like a heavy, weathered coat that moved too silently for its size. Its face was obscured by shadow, but Jonah didn't need to see eyes to feel them—locked onto him, cold, invasive. Calculating.
His gut twisted. That weight in the air, the creeping feeling from earlier—it hadn't been his imagination.
"You—" Jonah muttered under his breath, fists tightening. "It was you… You killed them." There wasn't fear in his voice, what was there was rage, silent, but you could feel it from miles away.
The figure didn't speak.
Instead, it took a step forward.
Just one. That was enough.
Jonah's heart surged, fury clashing in his chest. "Why? Why them?!"
The silence was unbearable. It wasn't just quiet—it was deliberate. Like the thing didn't speak because it didn't need to. Because words weren't the kind of message it delivered.
Without thinking, Jonah swung his backpack off his shoulder and hurled it at the figure. It hit square in the face—but the thing didn't even flinch. The bag hit the ground with a dull thud, and then the figure charged.
Jonah barely had time to brace. He dodged left, the figure's shoulder just missing him—but the shockwave of that movement alone shoved him back a full step. He raised his arms just in time to block a wild backhand strike that sent pain pulsing through his forearms like he'd just tried to block a baseball bat.
He staggered back, gasping.
No way this thing's human.
But Jonah wasn't going to roll over.
Fueled by adrenaline and rage, he stepped in close and threw a punch straight into the figure's gut—hoping to knock the wind out of it. The impact was solid—but again, no reaction. At least he saw a slight shift this time, but again, it was like he had barely noticed.
The figure grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
Jonah's hands scrambled to his pockets, and in pure instinct he pulled out his keys—jabbing them upward into whatever part of the figure's neck he could reach. There was a hiss—like steam escaping a cracked pipe—and the grip loosened just enough for Jonah to twist free, hitting the ground on one knee.
He gasped, then launched upward with a desperate elbow to the side of the figure's head.
That time, it stumbled.
It wasn't much—but it was enough to show that it could be hurt.
"You're not walking away from this," Jonah spat, wiping blood from his lip, body trembling. Again, not from fear, but from sheer overload.
The figure finally raised its head—and through the shadow, he caught a glimpse of its eyes.
Not glowing. Not mechanical.
Just human.
Cold, hollow, and smiling.
The figure finally spoke, its voice deep and distorted, like gravel dragged across steel.
"Strong… but not worthy!"
It lunged, fist cocked back like a piston—and drove it forward with bone-breaking force.
Jonah barely twisted out of the way in time.
The punch slammed into the ground beside him, a crack exploding outward as concrete split like paper beneath the impact. Shards of broken pavement flew into the air. Dust and smoke kicked up in a wave.
Jesus, Jonah thought, stumbling back, eyes stinging. If that hit landed, I'd be paste.
But amidst the chaos, he saw it—clear as day. The thing was powerful, no doubt, but there was something clunky about the way it moved. Deliberate, telegraphed, like a machine that hadn't been tuned right. Too big. Too slow.
He could use that.
Jonah ducked low, springing forward toward its side. The figure tried to turn, but too late—Jonah was already inside its reach. He swept low, kicking hard at the side of the figure's knee. It gave slightly, enough to stagger it.
The beast turned, swinging a heavy arm in a wild arc—but Jonah was gone before it completed the motion, ducking behind its back, slamming his elbow into its kidney with all his weight.
The figure roared—not in pain, but frustration.
"Come on!" Jonah shouted, breath ragged. "You want to call me unworthy? Fight me, then!"
It turned sharply, faster this time, throwing a roundhouse that Jonah narrowly rolled under. He slid across the gritty pavement, J's tearing up dirt, then sprang back up and aimed a punch straight for the figure's side again—but this time, the figure caught his wrist mid-strike.
"Gotcha," it growled.
"Nope," Jonah hissed—and kicked off the ground with both feet, using his own trapped arm to pivot upward and drive both knees into the thing's chest.
The force sent them both crashing to the ground—Jonah rolled off fast, hitting his shoulder and tumbling, while the figure landed hard, cracking the pavement again beneath it.
For a split second, the monster didn't move.
Jonah stood, panting, his clothes scuffed and bloodied, heart pounding. The taste of iron was thick in his mouth.
He wasn't just surviving now—he was winning.
But the figure rose. Slowly. Deliberately. Breathing heavy.
And laughing.
"Good," it rumbled, voice darker now. "Very good… Now I know you're one of them."
"One of what?" Jonah shouted.
But the figure didn't answer.
Instead, it reached behind its back and pulled out a curved blade, a thin katana with a jeweled-encrusted cross-guard and scabbard.
Jonah's fists clenched.
The blade pulsed in the figure's hand, humming low like it was resonating with something ancient. Its surface shimmered between metal and something far stranger—but he could say what it was. Something about it told Jonah to escape as soon as he could.
But he didn't.
Instead, he stood his ground.
The figure lunged with surprising speed this time, no longer relying on brute force alone. It swung the blade downward in a deadly arc, aiming to cleave him in half.
Jonah sidestepped, barely, feeling the wind of the swing slice past him—too close. He ducked the follow-up swipe and leapt back, stumbling over the uneven pavement. The thing was adapting, faster now. No more predictable, clumsy swipes. It was learning. Moving so natural… Moving like he was the blade.
He wouldn't last long at this pace.
Another swing. Jonah dodged left—but the figure feinted and brought the blade up from below. It grazed his side, a shallow cut—but the pain burned like nothing he'd felt before, like ice and fire had fused and crawled under his skin.
He screamed—but turned it into a war cry.
And then—he saw it.
For just a split-second, the figure overextended. A misstep in its aggression. The blade arm wide, off-balance.
Now.
Jonah surged forward. Every muscle in his body screamed. He ducked under the next swing and grabbed the blade.
His hands closed around the handle—searing pain shot through his palms. His vision went white. The weapon felt like it was rejecting him, clawing into his nerves, trying to burn through his skin and into his bones.
But Jonah held on.
For a moment Jonah saw something that surprised him, the figure snarled in confusion, but.. fear too? Not from Jonah, not from losing his weirdly sinister blade. He looked not only scared of what he was doing but also against it.
The blade screamed—or maybe that was Jonah. Either way, Jonah was determined to fight, and to win! Not for him but for Bell—
… Nothing… Then, everything, or at least everything that Jonah could see or remember was happening, thought it wasn't his life…
Jonah's POV:
I was in what looked like a church, familiar from previous years in high school when he some served community service, either way, it now abandoned "Take this, it served a dear friend of mine once, and it will serve you today" Said a man around 180 centimeters, black skin and white hair, a father? At least looked like it from his clothes and weird 360 view perspective.
"Sure thing man, can we at least know why we're doing this?" Said a skinny guy clearly shorter than the last man mentioned, as he grabbed, me? What am I?
Am I... the sword? Okay, weird.
"Because I'm paying a pretty penny for you to kill that family and anyone close to them, they endanger my plans for a better future" Replied the father that by now had crossed the whole room and was placed for a very convenient flash of sunlight first glowed in his face, allowing me to recognize his factions, and then the light caught my 'eyes', if I had any and then…
…
---Lyon, Saint-Joseph and Saint-Luke Hospital
The world returned to Jonah in pieces.
First, the sterile scent of disinfectant.
Then the rhythmic beep… beep… beep of a heart monitor.
His body felt heavy—like he'd been dipped in cement and left to dry. His eyes fluttered open, the harsh white lights above making him squint. The ceiling was unfamiliar. Clean. Smooth. Too bright.
Hospital.
Everything came rushing back like a wave crashing over his skull—the fight, the blade, the blood, the figure, the pain—
"Jonah?"
His eyes slowly turned toward the voice. Bella sat at his bedside, her normally vibrant pink hair pulled back in a messy bun, eyes swollen from crying, but shining the moment she saw him stir.
"Bella…" His voice was hoarse, like his throat had been scraped raw. "You're… okay?"
She nodded, blinking back more tears as her lips trembled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay now. God, you idiot—you scared the hell out of us."
"Us?" Jonah rasped, and that's when he saw Martin, standing a few feet back, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his oversized hoodie. He looked like he hadn't slept—eyes dark, hair messy—but his relief was plain.
"Took you long enough," Martin muttered with a shaky grin. "We were about to start taking bets on whether you were gonna pull a dramatic coma monologue."
"Still might," Jonah croaked, managing a smirk before wincing. His entire body protested every small movement. "What… happened?"
Bella leaned in closer. "You were found in some street of the neighborhood… After I called you about mom and dad the police arrived, asked for other people who were also in the house, other possible victims too, said it could be money or revenge related, we told them about you and one of the patrols found you on the floor with… that other guy, he's behind bars now,"
"Piece of trash couldn't even admit what he had done." Martin added loud enough for Jonah to hear.
Jonah let his head sink back into the pillow, exhaling slowly. "Felt like I fought a freight train…"
"You did," Bella said softly. "And you lived."
He turned his head toward her, seeing the worry etched into her face and something else underneath—guilt.
"Your parents…" he whispered.
She swallowed hard, but nodded. "They're gone. Same guy that did this to you."
Jonah reached out weakly, placing a hand over hers. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stop it. I—"
"You did more than anyone could have," she interrupted, squeezing his hand. "You're the reason he's not free anymore. That thing… it could've come back for someone else, Martin or… me."
Martin pulled a chair over, flopping down beside the bed. "I'm still trying to figure out how the hell you survived going full anime protagonist on a titan-looking psycho. Like… It MUST have been SO COOL!"
"I don't know," Jonah admitted, staring at the ceiling again. "It felt more like… I got my ass whooped." He joked.
After a while of talking, Bella's expression turned serious. "We need answers, Jonah. Because whatever this was—it wasn't just to kill my parents. It was after all of us."
"And I think it's not the only one," Martin added, voice lower now. "You don't get attacked by supernatural jacked murder-giants for no reason. Something's going on."
"I got some… weird, leads from where to begin."
Jonah closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly. "Then I guess we will find out."
Bella nodded. "Together."
Martin raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well… can you tell us about those 'leads' you mentioned? We may need them."
Jonah nodded agreeing with Martin's statement.
But before they started talking, they sat there in quiet for a moment, as they recognized not only the noise of the hospital fading into the background, But that despite everything, they were still here.
Alive.
But they all knew it.
This wasn't over.
It had just begun.
---END OF CHAPTER