In one of the dilapidated alleys of the lower city, where the stench of decay filled every corner, there was a ten-year-old boy. But his frail body, which looked like a skeleton covered in skin, made him appear much younger than his actual age. Hunger had gnawed at him to the point of near death.
He dragged his thin legs through the alleys, his eyes drowning in darkness and despair. Only two thoughts occupied his mind anger and hopelessness.
Hopelessness at this terrifying reality that resembled an inevitable death, and anger at his own cowardice—at never having the courage to fight for food or even attempt to steal it.
"If I had tried before… would I be stronger now? Would I still be alive and healthy instead of dying in the streets?"
His feet suddenly stopped when his eyes fell upon the corpse of a mutated cat. It was twice the size of a normal cat, its grotesque face adorned with nine eyes, and its mouth unnaturally wide.
But to Alexander, this sight was not strange. Every creature he had seen in his life was a twisted monster; even humans were not normal in this cruel world. The only thing he recognized at that moment was that before him lay fresh meat that could be eaten.
Before he could move, he noticed another child standing at the end of the alley. He was the same age as Alexander, but his body was twice his size. His right arm was mutated—huge and thick, resembling the trunk of a violet-colored tree.
At any other time, Alexander would have run away. But hunger, despair, and the fear of death worked wonders.
Clenching his teeth with desperate determination, he picked up two rusty pieces of metal and charged forward.
The mutated child remained standing, staring at Alexander in bewilderment, as if he hadn't expected anyone to dare attack him.
As he got closer, Alexander stabbed one of the metal shards into the boy's stomach with all his strength. But the strike was not lethal. It wasn't even enough to cause real harm—just a shallow wound.
The mutated child felt pain but didn't know how to react. It seemed as though he had never experienced anything like this before. He was used to being feared, to no one daring to touch him. He stood there, paralyzed by shock.
But Alexander didn't care. He continued his frenzied attack, heedless of the wounds the metal was inflicting on his own hands. Pain was secondary to the need to survive.
At this point, the mutated child began to panic. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to fend off the attack, but he was no fighter. His mutated arm was nothing more than a terrifying shape without real power.
Even so, a single strike from his unmutated hand was enough to knock Alexander to the ground.
But instead of continuing the fight, the other child began to flee. His mutated arm made his movements sluggish, but it didn't stop him from trying.
Watching the other boy attempt to escape, Alexander didn't stop to claim his prize.
But no.
In a moment of either courage or madness, Alexander lunged after him. He raised the remaining metal shard and struck the boy's head from behind.
No one knew how it happened.
Was it fate? Coincidence? A miracle?
But little Alexander, who could barely stand, had done it. He had taken down a child twice his size with a single blow.
Yet he didn't stop. He sat atop the corpse and began pounding its head mercilessly. Blow after blow. He continued until the head turned into a bloody pulp.
In a filthy alley, in the lowest depths of the world, he sat alone, gazing at the sky.
Then, he laughed.
"Hahahahahahaha."
He laughed even more.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha!"
He laughed madly… and cried.
Lifting his head toward the sky, he screamed at the top of his lungs, as if he wanted the whole world to hear him.
"How wretched it is to be weak!"
"How terrible it is for your life to be in the hands of the strong!"
"How I hate this feeling!"
"I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!"
"I hate it with all my heart!"
And in that moment, he made one decision.
He didn't want to become the strongest being in the world. He wasn't seeking to change humanity's fate.
All he wanted was to be strong enough never to fear anyone again.
But he couldn't achieve that by eating the corpses of dead animals.
He looked down at the body beneath him, and his eyes burned with madness and greed.
Alexander didn't know how long he had been striking. His mind had long since stopped thinking due to the pain, but he hadn't stopped hitting.
Even when he felt that the only thing he was striking was air, he kept going endlessly.
Until finally, he felt himself strike something, and the pain lessened.
The pain didn't disappear entirely—Alexander's entire body still ached—but at least no new wounds were appearing.
And that was enough for Alexander's vision to return to normal. In front of him lay Edward, who had no injuries except for a bloody bruise on his right cheek.
Looking at Alexander's destroyed body after the blind rage faded from my mind, I couldn't help but feel shocked.
His mighty armor had long been shattered, while his body had been burned in an unnatural way, making it difficult to find an unscathed spot. Cuts covered every inch of him—his left ear and right hand had been severed.
Only his left arm remained intact, adorned with a golden gauntlet bristling with spikes. The gauntlet's spikes were coated in my blood.
I was shocked for several reasons. First, I hadn't expected to inflict this much damage on Alexander. I had been so immersed in the battle that I hadn't noticed where I was hitting, fearing that the time limit on my Burning Star Form would run out—which meant my death.
Second, the fact that Alexander was still fighting despite these horrifying injuries.
Now, I was lying on the ground, unable to move, every ounce of my strength spent using the Burning Star Form.
And yet, a strange satisfaction filled my heart. Even though I hadn't won yet, the sheer spectacle I had put on left the audience in stunned silence, unable to do anything but stare in astonishment.
Of course, I still wanted to win. But right now…
All I could do was hope that Alexander would collapse from his injuries.
But, as if the world was laughing at me, Alexander began moving toward me slowly.
Seeing this surreal sight, I could only sigh in resignation.
"Sigh."
"I really underestimated you. It's your win, Alexander. I surrender."
But as if he hadn't heard me, Alexander continued advancing with a crazed look in his eyes.
Yet I didn't feel fear. After all, my surrender had already ended the battle.
And just as I expected, a cascade of golden light appeared, surrounding Alexander, healing him while simultaneously restraining him.
And as if from nowhere, one of the academy's instructors appeared—dressed in black, with skin just as dark, his short yet muscular frame exuding an undeniable presence.