The man with a sword

Amidst the bustling streets of New York, the boy walked with purpose, lost in the rhythm of the city's heartbeat. The concrete jungle loomed above him, towering skyscrapers that seemed to scrape the very heavens. As he strolled, his gaze was drawn to a quaint pastry shop, its display window adorned with a kaleidoscope of cupcakes and cookies, each an edible work of art.

"Hmm, perhaps I should treat myself," he murmured softly to himself, enticed by the mouthwatering sweets that beckoned from behind the glass. With a wistful sigh, he pushed open the door, a bell chiming cheerfully to announce his arrival.

"Morning," he greeted the shop's owner, a warm smile gracing his lips as he took in the aroma of freshly baked pastries that enveloped him.

He stood before the display case, pondering the choice that lay ahead. Would it be the luscious blueberry muffin, adorned with glistening sugar crystals, or the decadent triple chocolate cupcake, its rich ganache calling to his innermost cravings? As he deliberated, his fingertips almost brushed the glass, each sweet creation as tempting as the next.

But just as he was about to make his choice, a deafening crash shattered the peaceful atmosphere. The shop's window exploded into a thousand shards, showering the boy with glittering fragments. He stumbled backward, heart pounding, his vision suddenly filled with a horrifying sight.

A man, his clothing tattered and covered in cuts, lay sprawled on the floor amidst the ruins of glass and pastries. Blood oozed from his wounds, forming a sinister tableau against the pristine tiles. The boy's shock immobilized him for a moment, but a desperate impulse to help surged within.

Kneeling by the injured stranger, he fumbled to pull his phone from his pocket and dial 911, when suddenly, a shadow loomed over him. With lightning reflexes, he reached out and caught the glinting sword that had been hurled toward him, the weapon's blade biting into his palm.

"Oh," he muttered, his voice trembling as he held the sword aloft, "whoever threw this sword must be pretty strong."

The young man, perplexed and disdainful, jumped gracefully through the shattered window frame, landing lightly before the boy who now held his sword. He raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with condescension.

"How dare a mere ant hold my sword," he muttered under his breath. He extended his arm with a dismissive air, saying, "Come back."

The sword seemed to heed his command, exerting a force that tugged it away from the boy's grip. Faced with the inevitability of letting go, he reluctantly released it. The blade obediently returned to the man's grasp.

"Prepare to face your destiny," the man declared with a chilling resolve. He lunged with swiftness that defied the laws of physics. The sword now bore an eerie, violet aura, hinting at its ominous capabilities.

In a desperate flurry, the boy managed to sidestep the deadly arc of the man's blade. His quick instincts prompted him to retaliate with a powerful punch aimed squarely at the man's face. However, to his astonishment, it felt like striking solid steel. The stranger's visage remained unflinching, and a sinister grin played on his lips.

With a savage technique reminiscent of a tiger pouncing on its prey, the man unleashed a series of strikes, aiming to maim. The boy, driven by a surge of adrenaline, narrowly dodged the majority of the attack but still bore the sting of a few cuts that left a fiery impression.

"Quite intriguing," the man muttered, a curious mix of surprise and intrigue in his tone. "But your fortune ends here!"

With unwavering determination, the boy steeled himself for what lay ahead. However, the man appeared to vanish before his very eyes. The ominous phrase, "Thousand Tiger Strike," reverberated in his mind, and his vision was overtaken by a torrent of crimson energy.

Lying in a puddle of his own blood, Ethan's vision grew hazy as he weakly gazed at the young man who had brought him to this dire predicament. The man, his expression an enigmatic blend of respect and curiosity, leaned closer, asking, "For an ant, you're pretty strong. What's your name?"

Summoning the last remnants of his strength, Ethan's voice was barely a whisper as he croaked, "Ethan."

The man let out a deep, hearty laugh and remarked, "Tell King Yama I said hi."

With an unholy swiftness, the man's blade pierced Ethan's heart, extinguishing his life. As Ethan felt the grip of death tighten around him, he screamed in despair, "No!"

But then, everything changed. He wasn't in the bakery anymore. Instead, he found himself in a realm bathed in pristine white. Confusion washed over him as he surveyed his surroundings. An old man, his eyes filled with sorrow, stood nearby.

Ethan, his voice trembling, asked, "Are you okay?"

The old man, his tone filled with regret, replied, "I'm sorry you died because of my mistake."

Perplexed, Ethan questioned, "What do you mean?"

The old man sighed heavily and admitted, "Due to my mistake, your dimension collided with the Murim dimension."

Ethan sighed, an air of resignation in his voice, "Well, there's no need to cry over spilled milk, but what now? Do I go to hell or something?"

The old man offered a solemn nod and, with a snap of his fingers, altered Ethan's fate. In an instant, Ethan felt a strange sensation, and then, with a sudden jolt, he found himself standing in the midst of a dense, mysterious forest.

Ethan looked around at the towering trees and sighed, a wry smile forming on his lips. "Well, fuck me, I guess."