King 1

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, the streets began to empty out, leaving behind only the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional murmur of passersby. The city was alive in its own way, with a pulse that beat beneath the surface, hidden behind the glass walls of convenience stores and under the shadow of towering buildings.

A young man walked past one of these stores, his reflection staring back at him from the glass. He was tall and undeniably Korean, with sharp features that gave him a perpetually serious look. His slicked-back hair glistened under the dim streetlights, giving him the appearance of someone who took care in his image, but the rest of him screamed delinquent. Every inch of his body, from his broad shoulders to the way he carried himself, radiated a sense of rebellion. His clothes were disheveled yet purposeful, like he belonged to the chaotic world of high school gangs.

He had no clear destination. His feet moved on their own, leading him through narrow alleyways and across vacant lots. As he crossed a darkened alleyway, he stepped onto a main road where the night took on a different shade of danger.

For a moment, everything seemed calm. He looked to his left, then to his right, taking in his surroundings. That's when his eyes widened.

On one side of the street stood a guy with flaming red hair, nonchalantly sucking on a lollipop while laying waste to a group of unfortunate souls. He stood atop a mountain of unconscious bodies, each one more brutalized than the last. The way he swung his fists, sharp and precise, it was clear he was enjoying every second of the carnage. His expression was devoid of mercy.

On the opposite side, there was a tall man with long, flowing black hair, his jacket swaying in the wind like a cape. In his hands, he wielded a sharp pickaxe, using it to ruthlessly beat down anyone who dared approach him. His movements were fluid, practiced—every strike calculated to deliver maximum damage.

Then, there was a Japanese boy, standing a little further away. His eyes were unsettling—completely black with only a white dot in the center. It was as if his very soul had been consumed by darkness. He watched the chaos with an eerie calm, a predator waiting for his moment to strike.

And finally, there was a blond guy. His laughter echoed through the street, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the young man's spine. The blond held a sword, swinging it with reckless abandon, yet there was a precision to his madness. It was rumored that anything this guy touched could become a deadly weapon. His name was Good Kim, and the blade he wielded danced through the air as if it had a mind of its own.

"Fuck," the young man muttered under his breath. The name "King" flashed through his mind, but in this moment, he felt anything but. As if on cue, the chaos around him paused. All eyes turned toward him, and in that instant, he knew he was in deep trouble.

A heavy sheet of metal flew through the air, careening toward him. Without thinking, he moved, barely avoiding it by a hair's breadth. The metal clanged against the ground, the sound reverberating in his ears. To anyone watching, it must have seemed like he had caught it mid-air and deflected it effortlessly. But in reality, he was just lucky. Desperately lucky.

His heart pounded in his chest as the atmosphere shifted. The violent thugs, who had been tearing each other apart, suddenly viewed him as a greater threat. It didn't help that he hadn't flinched, not even once. His face remained cold, unbothered. This, of course, wasn't intentional. Inside, he was screaming. But on the outside, he appeared like a force of nature, a silent storm.

The closest to him was Goo Kim, the sword-wielding lunatic. Kim's eyes narrowed, his laughter fading as he took in the sight of the newcomer. Despite all the chaos surrounding them, there was something about this guy—King—that sent a chill down his spine. Out of everyone in this brawl, the only one Kim felt genuine fear from was King, who was staring at him with what seemed like pure disdain.

To Kim, it felt as if King saw him as nothing more than an insect, a nuisance not worth his time. That made Kim's blood boil. No one, especially not some random kid, would look at him like that and live to tell the tale.

With a snarl, Kim charged forward, his sword aimed directly at King's neck. He swung with deadly precision, intent on decapitating his new target. But King, miraculously, dodged each strike. He moved like the wind, effortlessly weaving between Kim's attacks. In reality, King was panicking. His body moved on instinct, desperately trying to avoid the sword that whistled past his head by mere inches. Somehow, through sheer luck, he managed to avoid every lethal blow.

Then, as if the universe decided to throw him a bone, King tripped.

He stumbled forward, his arms flailing as he tried to regain his balance. In his desperate attempt to stay upright, his hand shot out and grabbed onto Kim's face. There was a loud crack as Kim's head slammed into the nearby brick wall, creating a massive crater where his skull had impacted.

Time seemed to stop. For a split second, the world went silent.

"Oh my god," King thought, his eyes wide in shock. "Did I just kill him?"

He stared at Kim's crumpled form, the man's body limp against the wall. King's heart pounded in his ears, panic rising in his chest. But before he could fully process what had happened, Kim moved. The blond spun on his heel, his body twisting as he delivered a brutal kick to King's side. The force of the blow sent King skidding backward, but he didn't fall.

He didn't move.

To anyone watching, King seemed unfazed. His face remained eerily calm, though in reality, he was reeling from the pain. His ribs screamed in agony, and it felt like his whole body was on fire. But beneath his skin, his wounds were already starting to heal, thanks to his superhuman regeneration. What should have been a fatal injury was merely an inconvenience.

The bystanders—those who had survived the earlier beatdowns—watched in stunned silence. King's expression, cold and emotionless, made him appear pissed off, as if Kim's attack had only served to annoy him. The tension in the air thickened, and in that moment, every fighter present made the same decision. King was the real threat here.

Kim's face twisted with frustration. He had fought monsters before, but this guy… this guy wasn't even trying, and yet he was still standing. It was infuriating. The others must have felt the same, because they all turned toward King, their gazes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.

King, on the other hand, was internally screaming. "What the hell is happening?!" he thought, his mind racing. He didn't know why they were all looking at him like that, but he knew one thing for sure—he was in way over his head.

Then, just as his panic reached its peak, something shifted inside him. His vision blurred, and for a brief moment, the world went dark. When his eyes snapped open again, something had changed. His once normal gaze was now filled with darkness, the whites of his eyes consumed by black, leaving only a single blood-red dot in the center.

A collective gasp echoed through the street. The aura around King had shifted. It was no longer the aura of a scared kid stumbling through a fight. No, this was something far more dangerous.

The ordinary goons who had been circling him faltered, their courage wavering in the face of this new presence. The fear that gripped them wasn't just from the power radiating off King—it was something deeper, more primal. They could sense it. This wasn't the same person who had been desperately dodging Kim's attacks just moments before.

The King standing before them now wasn't conscious. His body had taken over, and it had one single objective: survival.