Chapter 13: A Head Can Be A Weapon Too
The men were statues of horror, their faces drained to a sickly white, their mouths agape as the scene before them burned into their minds.
The boy they’d mocked, the kid they’d expected to see pummeled into the dirt, had instead turned their world into a slaughterhouse.
Right before their eyes, he’d latched onto their comrade, not with a quick kill, but with a slow cruelty, sawing through his neck like a craftsman carving wood, holding the head aloft like it was a trophy.
The brutality was unthinkable, the calm on his face inhuman. They’d seen death before, dealt it themselves, but this was different.
This was a demon cloaked in a teenager’s skin, killing with the indifference of slicing a carrot.
The leader, the driver who’d leered at Charlotte with vile intent, especially felt his heart hammer against his ribs, his throat dry as ash.
He was no stranger to blood, his hands were stained with it, lives snuffed out for profit or pleasure, but never like this. Never with such cold precision, such empty eyes.
Mika’s gaze, devoid of rage or glee, terrified him more than any scream or snarl ever could. It was the look of someone who didn’t see a human before him only a task to be done.
His instincts screamed to flee, to run until his legs gave out, warning that this boy was death itself, a force they couldn’t fight, no matter their numbers.
But the warehouse had one exit, the entrance where Mika stood, a blood, soaked sentinel blocking their escape.
To live, they had to go through him, so gritting his teeth, the leader clutched the machete at his side, its weight a frail comfort.
"Don’t freeze up!" He shouted, his voice cracking but forceful, trying to rally the others. "He’s just a kid! Yeah, he got one of us, but that was a cheap shot, a sneak attack! We go at him together, he’s got no chance!" He brandished the machete, his eyes wild, forcing courage into his words despite the terror clawing at him.