The Duel of Magic and Holiness
A land far from the rule of humans; magic ran deep through the soil as its source of life. The particular city that the young boy found himself in was occupied by tall, thin towers of cerulean steel.
It was too large; the atmosphere of the city was suffocating for the curly-haired boy.
People were constantly moving, most of which looked at him as if he was an entirely different species from them.
The denizens of the city had straight, shiny hair either of silver or gold, while he was looked at strangely for his spiral hair that clumped up, holding a dark shade.
"…Hhhh…"
An exhale left his bloodied and cut lips as a whistle. He laid against the ground, beaten to and left to bleed onto the street as people passed him without anybody even checking if he was okay—a mere child.
"It's that child…"
"Don't look at him too much. I heard it's bad luck."
"Unfortunate to be born a silver devil."