Price to Pay

He rushed down the dark streets, his casual footsteps echoing in the cold night air.

The convenience store wasn't far, and he wasn't really late. He just needed some space after talking to Lucy.

She was different from others—she didn't seem to want anything from him, which made him more wary.

For him, the people who were dangerous were the ones who could hide their true intentions, and she was exactly like that.

As he walked, that thought lingered in his mind, making him feel uneasy.

Then, he sensed it: someone was following him.

Footsteps echoed behind him, faint but steady, mirroring his pace.

Asher slowed, hoping they would pass, but the sounds only grew louder.

He turned down an alley, trying to shake them off, but they quickly surrounded all his escape routes.

At first, there were only a few of them, but soon there were at least thirty, all holding bats, some with nails sticking out.

"Looks like you've messed with the wrong people, kid." A tall man with black hair who looked around 35 years old stepped forward, smoking a cigarette .

He wore a white tank top that showed off his tattoos, and he looked well-built.

"You've got the wrong person," Asher replied, his voice steady despite the tension. 

"Kid, if you're going to lie to our faces, then you should at least fix your tone and act afraid," the tall man, who seemed to be the leader, started laughing.

Asher kept silent, scanning the group. This wasn't going to end well.

He figured they were here for revenge after he'd roughed up some of their friends.

"What did I do?" he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea.

"You made things messy, kid. Can't just walk away from that." The tall man raised his bat, nails glinting.

Asher pressed his back against the cold brick wall, the rough surface digging into his skin. The gang formed a semi-circle around him, cutting off any chance of escape.

To his left, two thugs stood shoulder to shoulder, their bats resting casually against their thighs.

On his right, another pair stood closer, their stances wide and threatening, ready to move in unison.

A few more members flanked him, some leaning against the walls, smirking, while others fidgeted with their weapons, eager to beat the shit out him. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. 

The group exchanged glances, some smirking, others gripping their bats tighter.

The leader stepped closer, rolling his shoulders as if getting ready for fun. "You got guts, kid," he sneered.

"Last chance to walk away," Asher said, trying to buy time.

But they just kept on ignoring his warnings.

"Don't blame me if something happens to you all," he warned.

All along, he had always used just enough power to take down his opponents, but in a life-or-death situation like this, his instincts would kick in.

He was afraid of repeating what happened years ago—the reason why he got banned from professional fighting.

But the gangsters took his words as a joke— a bravado from a kid who didn't realize he was just a frog in a well.

"Teach him a lesson!" 

As the leader signaled, the gang rushed forward, raising their bats. They weren't playing around; they wanted him gone.

Asher pressed his back against the wall and focused on controlling his breathing. When he made a real effort, his senses and reaction time were at their peak.

One thug lunged, swinging wildly.

Asher sidestepped, grabbing the thug's wrist and twisting hard until the bat slipped from his fingers.

Without hesitation, he drove his elbow into the thug's chin, blood spraying as the guy stumbled back.

More thugs pressed in, but the narrow alley restricted their movements.

Asher feigned a swing, and when two rushed, he sidestepped again—one crashed into the wall, the other fell flat on his face.

Next, he ducked under another swing and snatched up the fallen bat on the ground.

With a quick move, he swung it into another thug's ribs, sending him gasping to the ground.

The remaining thugs hesitated as he dispatched another one. Now that he had a bat in hand, he was more dangerous.

But their numbers made them feel overconfident, and they still ended up ganging up on him

They were supposed to beat the hell out of him, but reality was far more unpredictable as they found themselves losing.

One by one, they kissed the hard ground, their heads bleeding from the blows.

CRACK!

Asher's weapon broke from the force, but instead of stopping, he used the remaining piece to hit another thug.

He simultaneously stole another bat and started fighting again.

Surprisingly, the tide of the battle actually shifted in his favor, and some of the thugs backed away, afraid that they would be next if they got within his striking range.

But then, a clicking noise broke through his focus.

Asher turned, instinctively to see what it was, but before he could react, he heard a loud bang, and what followed was a warm sensation in his stomach.

He touched it and saw his own crimson blood flowing. Asher staggered but fought to stay upright.

The gang leader squeezed off another round

BANG!

This sent him slamming into the wall, and it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

BANG!

Another shot rang out, this time striking his chest. His body slid down, but he was still able to remain seated on the ground, showing just how much willpower he had.

"Let's get the hell out of here before the police come!"

The gangsters began to flee, even dragging their unconscious members with them to avoid leaving evidence.

'Am I going to die?' Asher wondered to himself.

Strangely, he felt no fear at all, despite all the pain he was in.

Instead, he felt sad as he realized that his life had been nothing more than a relentless struggle for survival, lacking any genuine connection or joy.

Had he ever really lived? 

Well, that was a question he would no never have an answer to.

As his vision started to blur, there was no light, no flashbacks—just the cold darkness settling in as he breathed his last.