Blake

—Bam!

A young man, approximately 18 or 19 years old, forcefully collided with the cold metal gate of a dilapidated warehouse. The impact reverberated through the air, setting an ominous tone for the events to come.

—Ptui!

A wiry, spiky red-haired man in his 30s spat disdainfully on the grimy ground. His narrow eyes glinted with malice as he delivered a vicious kick to the black-haired boy's stomach.

"Ack!" The boy gasped out in pain, hunching over and clutching his abdomen. His face, though malnourished, retained a certain handsomeness that was now distorted by unbearable agony.

"I've been patient with you for a while, and this is how you repay me? Huh?" The man sneered, directing another kick at the teen's gut. The force of the blow intensified the boy's suffering, prompting a pained cry.

Kane, the red-haired man, and the few goons accompanying him were 'recovery agents' working for a ruthless local money lender. The current situation was undoubtedly about money, with the boy, Blake, finding himself trapped as the debtor.

Blake was an orphan eking out a meager existence in the underbelly of Old Manhattan. The area was dubbed "old" due to its resemblance to a decrepit slum infested with the dregs of society – criminals and forsaken orphans alike.

"Keuk— I told you, just give me one more month—Argh!" Before Blake could finish his desperate plea, another brutal kick landed on his shoulders, cutting him off.

"Look at this fool! You don't even realize the situation you're in, do you?" Kane taunted, his voice laced with derision. Snatching a steel baseball bat from one of his cronies, he swung it with all his might onto Blake's already battered back.

Blake's body, bruised and swollen from the relentless assault, sustained even more damage. The sickening crunch of the bat connecting with his flesh echoed through the warehouse, leaving Blake's bones aching and his spirit on the verge of breaking.

"Boss was already generous enough to lend money to a worthless piece of shit like you. And now you're asking for another month? Huh?" Kane's face twisted into a cruel, maniacal grin, clearly reveling in the suffering he inflicted on the helpless boy.

"K-Kane, I think we should stop here for today. The boss didn't tell you to go this far—" One of Kane's cronies, unsettled by the brutal display, attempted to rein in the sadistic thug, fearing that his unrestrained violence might land them all in hot water once again.

"What? Since when did you start giving me orders?" Kane snapped back, his tone dripping with menace.

"N-no, I mean—"

"Keep your mouth shut if you don't want to end up like him." Kane threatened, pointing the bat at the whimpering, broken form of Blake, curled up like a wounded animal.

The crony who tried to intervene swallowed his protest, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow. He had no desire to provoke the wrath of the deranged Kane.

"P-please, Kane, just one last chance. Ugh, I-I promise I'll pay the boss back," Blake implored through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse and strained from the unbearable pain.

"Heh! You think I'll let you do that? Y'know what? I have a better idea. How about I kill you and sell off your organs? That'll more than make up for your debt."

Some of Kane's new cronies exchanged uneasy glances. They couldn't believe what they were hearing. Some clung to the hope that Kane was simply trying to intimidate the boy, unwilling to accept the notion that he could actually follow through on such a heinous plan. While the remaining just laughed, being the criminals that they were.

Little did they know how terribly mistaken they were.

Kane's frenzy continued unabated as he mercilessly assaulted Blake with the steel bat, each impact accompanied by a sickening crunch and a cry of agony from the battered boy. Blood oozed from countless wounds, pooling on the ground around him.

Some of Kane's cronies could only watch in abject terror, unable to comprehend the brutal display unfolding before their eyes. Others, more twisted in their own right, snickered at the spectacle, reveling in the boy's suffering.

They had initially agreed to the job, thinking it was a straightforward task of scaring some sense into a kid. None of them had anticipated Kane's brutality and the lengths to which he would go.

Gasping for breath, Kane surveyed the horrific scene, his eyes lingering on Blake's ravaged body, barely clinging to life. The boy's once handsome face was now an unrecognizable mass of bruises and blood.

"P-ple…se… l-let me …l-live…." Blake's voice was barely audible, a desperate plea as he teetered on the brink of death. His breathing was labored, and pain coursed through every fiber of his being, sapping what little strength he had left.

"Pfft! Look at this pussy! He's still got the balls to yap!" Kane sneered, his ego bruised by the fact that Blake was still conscious, despite the beating. His rage flared anew.

"Take this, you motherfucker!"

With a final, savage swing, Kane brought the steel bat down on Blake's head.

A gaping wound erupted, blood gushing forth like a crimson torrent.

'…I'm…going to….die.'

As Blake's life ebbed away, his eyes grew heavy, and the world around him began to blur. Blood and saliva trailed from his mouth to the ground, while his ragged breaths kicked up a storm of dust on his battered face.

As his life hung in the balance, Blake's entire existence flashed before his eyes. He had always been an orphan, struggling to survive in a merciless and unyielding society, forever changed by events that had transpired two centuries prior.

His memories were a painful procession of hardship, beginning with his early childhood. At only eight years old, he had been starving, driven to seek even the smallest scrap of sustenance. His innocent pleas for help were met with scorn and revulsion, leaving him no choice but to resort to thievery.

Lacking skill and experience, young Blake was caught in one of his first endeavors, subjected to a savage beating that no child should ever have to endure. Yet, through sheer perseverance and determination, he honed his abilities, managing to stay alive by relying on his wits and cunning.

By the age of twelve, he narrowly avoided being sold to individuals with sinister intentions. His life was spared by a fortunate twist of fate when a nearby dungeon break drew attention away from his plight.

At fifteen, Blake was already taking on any work available to someone from the slums, scraping by and somehow pushing forward. Now eighteen and a half, his drive to escape the squalor that surrounded him was stronger than ever.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans in store for him.

Blake's labored breathing came to a halt, the darkness enveloping him as his consciousness faded into oblivion.

'If only...'

He couldn't even complete his final thought as he departed from this world.

"K-Kane! Have you lost your damn mind?" The crony who had interrupted Kane earlier could no longer hold back. He couldn't believe Kane would go this far.

"What? You seem to have grown a spine, huh? You good-for-nothing piece of crap, what's with your tone?" Kane barked back at the crony.

While some of them just watched the scene unfold, enjoying the chaos, the others who were against Kane were too afraid to speak up. They had just seen firsthand how insane Kane was and what could happen to them if they didn't follow his orders.

"What the hell are you all doing? There are so many of us. Why are you letting him go wild like this? Do you really think you can avoid a criminal record if you stick with him? Huh?" The crony—Jack—yelled at the other henchmen. He was fed up with this maniac.

Most of the cronies laughed at the absurd statement like they were ever scared of getting a criminal record.

"H-hey, someone go and check on him."

Finally, one of the cronies mustered the courage to speak up, and Jack didn't hesitate. He rushed to Blake's side to check his pulse.

"Damn it! Damn it all! He's dead! What are we going to do now? You killed him, you freaking murderer!" Jack shouted at Kane, and some of the rookie henchmen nearly soiled themselves upon hearing the chilling truth.

"Quit your whining. He wasn't related to any of you. Harvest what can be sold from his dead body, and let's clear out of here before the cops show up," Kane said dismissively, not even sparing a glance at the lifeless body he had created.

He sauntered over to one of the discarded steel drums scattered about the warehouse and perched himself atop it. He pulled out a cigarette and ignited it.

—Puff!

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, observing his cronies as they hesitantly approached the dead body.

This marked his second murder; his first victim had been his own mother, who had tried in vain to pull him from the squalor of the underworld.

—Bam! Bam! Smash!

In an instant, Blake sprang to life with a feral intensity that caught everyone off guard. The cronies who had approached his body to check on him never stood a chance. With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged at the nearest henchman, his eyes burning with a newfound ferocity.

In one fluid motion, Blake drove his left hand into the man's chest, piercing through flesh and bone with inhuman strength. The crony's eyes widened in disbelief, and before he could even let out a cry of pain, his heart was ripped out of his chest, his body slumping lifelessly to the ground.

The other cronies nearby barely had time to react as Blake moved on to his next victim. A swift kick sent one of them flying into the wall, the impact snapping his spine and ending his life.

Blake danced through the small group like a whirlwind of death, his movements unnervingly precise and lethal. One by one, the cronies who had gathered around him met their end; their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

The remaining henchmen could only stare in horror at the carnage unfolding before them. With each life he took, Blake's movements seemed to grow more fluid, his eyes colder and more focused.

In mere moments, all the cronies who had dared approach him lay dead on the cold warehouse floor, their hearts mercilessly pierced by the once-presumed-dead young man. The speed and brutality of the massacre left everyone present in a state of shock and terror, unable to fully grasp what had just occurred.

Kane had barely closed his eyes for a moment when the sounds of violent chaos erupted around him. Startled, he opened his eyes, only to be left dumbfounded by the sight before him.

The man he had assumed dead was now standing, his shattered right arm hanging limply by his side like a pendulum that had lost its momentum. All the cronies who had approached the body now lay dead on the ground, their hearts ruthlessly impaled.

Not a single scream or plea escaped their lips as they met their gruesome end.

—Haah!

The orchestrator of the brutal slaughter took a deep, ragged breath, warm blood dripping from his left hand.

"Y-you insane bastard!" Kane shouted, discarding his cigarette and hastily grabbing the steel bat that had been the instrument of his earlier cruelty.

Kane's heart raced wildly, overwhelmed by an all-consuming fear. His mind was flooded with questions, the most pressing one being, 'how on earth is he still alive?'

It was inconceivable that anyone could survive such injuries, particularly those without an insignia.

Kane desperately wanted to flee, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead, he opted for the second-best course of action and charged at the blood-soaked Blake, swinging the steel bat toward his adversary's head.

"To hell with you!"

Kane spat as he lunged forward.

Blake effortlessly dodged the bat's swing, dipping low and driving his hand straight into Kane's abdomen. He pierced through the flesh and seized whatever he could from Kane's gut, pulling out a handful of intestines and blood.

"AARRRGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Kane let out a blood-curdling scream. Unlike his underlings, he wasn't offered the mercy of a swift demise.

Writhing on the ground, he continued to wail in agony, wishing for death to take him. However, death would have been a gift that the vengeful Blake wasn't inclined to bestow. And so, he left Kane to suffer in unbearable pain.

The remaining goons, paralyzed by fear, watched the horrific scene unfold before their eyes.

Among them was Jack, and the others were those who believed Kane had gone too far but had failed to intervene.

—-Pchh! Puch! Pchh!

Before anyone could snap out of their terrified stupor, Blake had already eliminated them all, with the exception of Jack.

"You may keep your life."

A deep, almost unnerving voice emanated from Blake's mouth. Just hearing that simple sentence from Blake—or what used to be a young boy named Blake—nearly caused Jack to lose control of his bladder.

The merciless grim reaper went around and emptied the pockets of his victims, keeping all the money he could find inside his own pockets. Jack, who was watching all this, just fell on his knees, feeling powerless and horrified at the events that just took place in front of his eyes.

'Hah! I had to freaking reincarnate into a dying body.'

Luke—the soul that had entered Blake's body upon his death—thought to himself. He slowly walked out of the warehouse with uneven steps, sifting through the jumbled memories of a young boy who had only ever experienced misfortune throughout his life.

'Don't worry, young lad. I'll be sure to make good use of your body.'

Luke mused internally, feeling the lingering resentment from Blake's memories mingling with the infinite resentment he himself harbored.