First Blood
The slums of Besilico are perpetually permeated with a strange stench of rust, decay, and the stench of river water. The shacks lining the narrow alleys are crammed together, seemingly on the verge of collapse, yet they stand stubbornly, bearing witness to the struggles of generations of people here. To live here is a battle in itself.
The next day, just as dawn was breaking, Draven woke up, his mind preoccupied with his promise to Alice the night before—to get her something good to eat. He tiptoed out of bed; Darius had already gone out to the docks to find work, and Quiletta was still asleep in the inner room. He nudged Alice, who was curled up in the haystack, and made a shushing gesture.
"Xiao Ai, let's go make some bread." He lowered his voice.
Alice rubbed her red eyes, still half asleep, but the moment she heard "bread," she perked up and nodded vigorously, her white hair disheveled. Draven helped her sit on the makeshift dog cart, and the skinny dog, Ruck, seemed to understand that they were going out, wagging its tail excitedly.
The two men and the dog quietly slipped out of the shack. The slum was relatively quiet in the early morning, with only a few early risers and the faint clamor of the distant docks. Draven was thinking about where to get some food. Stealing and cheating were his daily routine, but with Alice with him, he had to choose a "safe" place.
They walked through several alleys filled with sewage, and Draven, with his sharp eyes, suddenly spotted a familiar figure—Scarface! The guy was carrying a bulging cloth bag, emerging from one of the alleys with a smug look on his face, as if he had just received some benefit.
Draven's mind immediately started racing. He still remembered the time Scarface stole his bread, and how impressive would it be if he could get revenge on Alice this time? He crouched down and said to Alice, "Alice, do you see that bastard with the scar on his face? You wait here, in this corner, don't move! I'll snatch him away for you and get your good stuff back!"
Alice seemed to understand, but upon hearing "steal" and "good stuff," she obediently nodded: "Be careful, Little De."
Draven shoved the cart rope into Alice's hands and patted Lark's head: "Protect Alice." Then, like a nimble mouse, he quietly followed Scarface under the cover of the clutter.
He knew the terrain well and knew there was a perfect ambush spot around the corner ahead. He quickened his pace, took a shortcut, and arrived early, holding his breath as he hid behind a pile of broken wooden barrels. His heart was pounding, not from fear, but from excitement.
The footsteps drew closer. Scarface, humming a tuneless little tune, approached without warning. Just as he passed the barrel, Draven suddenly sprang out, slamming into Scarface's back in the lower back while simultaneously reaching for the cloth bag!
Caught off guard, Scarface stumbled from the impact, dropping the cloth bag from his hand. Draven snatched the bag, didn't even look at it, and turned to run!
"You little bastard! It's you again!" Scarface realized what was happening and chased after him, cursing furiously.
Draven, taking advantage of his short stature, knew the alleyways like the back of his hand, deliberately heading towards the main, crowded streets. He weaved through the crowd like an eel, while the tall, imposing Scarface was blocked from moving an inch, yelling angrily. After several twists and turns, Draven was certain he had shaken off Scarface, then breathed a sigh of relief, triumphantly weighing the cloth bag in his hand, feeling it was quite full.
Draven, carrying his cloth bag, jogged to their usual meeting place—a relatively secluded corner piled with discarded wooden crates—only to find it deserted. Only the faint morning light slanted through the cracks in the shed, casting dappled shadows on the dirty ground.
"That silly girl, she couldn't wait and dragged Lark over to watch the ants move house." Draven scoffed, not paying much attention. He weighed the cloth bag in his hand; it felt hard and didn't seem to be all food, but he was more concerned with how to exaggerate his "feat" just now.
He looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then his gaze fell on a sturdy, worn-out wooden crate. An idea popped into his head: why not rehearse first?
He grinned and nimbly leaped onto the wooden crate. The crate creaked in protest, but it withstood his weight. At that moment, the broken crate was his stage, and the absent Alice was the entire audience he imagined.
He cleared his throat, puffed out his thin chest, put one hand on his hip, and waved the cloth bag in the other as if it were the spoils of some legendary pirate. He began his solo performance, deliberately lowering his voice and imitating the tone of an imagined hero, but the smugness in his tone was impossible to hide:
"Ahem! Listen, Alice! It's such a shame you didn't see it!" He began his narration to the empty corner of the wall, as if Alice were sitting there, tilting her little face up and listening attentively.
“That idiot Scarface, carrying a bag, swaggering around like he owns Besilico!” He imitated Scarface’s walk, swaying awkwardly for a couple of steps before resuming his “heroic” posture.
“Me? Draven! I was lying in ambush behind that pile of barrels, like a shadow, and he didn’t even smell a fart!” He lowered his body, making a stealthy movement, and his eyes scanned the “stage” warily.
“Then, hey!” He suddenly lunged forward, leaping off the wooden crate and then quickly jumping back, his movements exaggerated. “Just like that! As fast as lightning! Before he even knew what was happening, the treasure was in his hands!” He proudly held up the cloth bag.
"He realized what was happening, and he roared in anger, chasing me like a wild boar whose food had been stolen!" Draven mimed running and dodging on the wooden crate, weaving left and right. "But who am I, Draven? The fastest rat in Bessilico! I weaved through the crowd, and he, such a big lump, couldn't even catch a fart from me! Haha!" He put his hands on his hips, threw his head back, and laughed heartily, feeling extremely powerful.
He realized that his monologue wasn't enough. A true hero's tale needs the cheers of an audience. He paused, then jumped down from the wooden crate. Now, he would play the audience.
He squatted down where he had imagined Alice would sit, tilted his head back, and instantly put on an innocent yet enthusiastic expression. He then, in a high-pitched voice, mimicking Alice's somewhat mumbled but amazed tone, called out towards the empty wooden crate:
Wow! Djokovic is amazing! He's as fast as the wind!
After shouting that, he immediately jumped back onto the wooden crate, transforming back into "Draven," and waved his hand humbly, but with his chin held high: "So-so, third in Besilico!" He originally wanted to say first, but felt that would be too immodest.
He jumped down again, squatted down, and transformed into "Alice" once more, waving his imaginary little hands even more vigorously, and shouting louder: "Little D is the best! Scarface is a big idiot! He can't beat Little D!"
He jumped back into the box, nodded in satisfaction, and concluded in Draven's tone, "That's right! From now on, following Grandpa Draven will guarantee you a life of luxury! Let's see who dares to bully us then!"
He directed and acted out these scenes himself, jumping up and down between the broken wooden crate and the ground, sometimes a boastful hero, sometimes a fervent fan, keeping himself very busy. He even practiced a few poses he thought were particularly cool in front of his own shadow on the wall—such as wiping his nose or the dashing gesture of tossing his cloth bag over his shoulder.
He finally stopped when he felt his throat getting a little dry, and took a breath while supporting himself on his knees.
"That silly girl, why hasn't she come back yet?" he muttered subconsciously, gradually waking up from the excitement of the performance.
He jumped off the wooden crate and craned his neck to look at both ends of the alley. There was still no sign of the small white figure, nor any sound from Lark. Only the whistling of the wind through the cracks of the dilapidated shacks, and the distant, indistinct clamor of the marketplace.
Something's not right.
He suddenly stood up straight and began to retrace his steps, his eyes darting around as he whispered, "Little Ai? Alice?"
At first, he was puzzled, then anxious. When he reached a relatively quiet shantytown two alleys away from his "old haunt," he suddenly heard faint barking—it was Lark!
Draven's heart leaped into his throat. Following the sound, he stealthily made his way to the entrance of a narrow alley, peeking inside—
A faint smell of blood mixed with the stench of rotting garbage permeated the alley. Two men from the Black Rat Gang stood frozen in place. One of them, with a crew cut, was irritably scratching his greasy hair, his eyes darting around as he scanned the woman on the ground. The woman was curled up in an unnatural position, her face a horrifying bluish-purple, and she was already lifeless.
The other man, with his yellowed teeth, stared intently at the unexpected visitor not far away—a white-haired little girl sitting on a simple wooden cart. The girl's big red eyes were wide open. She first looked curiously at the woman on the ground, then at the two panicked men. Her small face was full of confusion, but that confusion was gradually being replaced by a trace of instinctive fear.
"Hey... what... what do we do now?" The man with the crew cut asked the man with yellow teeth in a low, trembling voice, unconsciously kicking the corpse on the ground as if to confirm whether she was really not moving anymore.
Yellow Teeth spat, his eyes flashing with malice: "Damn it, what bad luck! Who knew this woman was in the house... What do we do now? This little white-haired monster saw us!" He recognized the conspicuous white hair and knew that the girl often appeared in the neighborhood.
The skinny dog, Lak, blocking the cart, seemed to sense the two men's ill intentions. Its fur stood on end, and it bared its teeth, growling softly at them.
Yellow Teeth steeled his heart: "Killing one is the same as burying two!"
His words sent a chill down the spine of the man with the crew cut. The two exchanged a glance and looked at Alice on the cart.
"What...what did you do to her?" Alice asked timidly, her small hands gripping the edge of the cart tightly. She didn't yet understand what "death" meant, but the unease in the air frightened her.
"What's wrong? Send her to keep this old woman company!" Yellow Teeth grinned maliciously, and he and Flathead approached together.
Lark barked wildly and charged forward, biting the thigh of the short-haired guy closest to it!
"Ah!! My leg! This damn dog!" The crew-cut man fell to the ground and screamed in agony.
Seeing this, Yellow Teeth cursed, grabbed a thick wooden stick leaning against the wall, and swung it around, smashing it down on Lark's back!
"Ugh—!" Lak let out a painful groan, his teeth involuntarily loosening as he was knocked to the ground. Yellow Teeth was still not satisfied and followed up with another kick, this time landing heavily on Lak's stomach, sending him tumbling out and crashing into a corner where he lay limp and motionless.
"Lack!" Alice cried out in distress when she saw the dog stop moving.
Yellow Teeth, his face contorted in a ferocious grin, strode forward, and a rough, filthy hand gripped Alice's slender neck! "Crying? Go to hell with your dead dog!"
"Uh..." Alice weakly scratched at the iron-like arms that were gripping her neck, her thin legs kicking desperately inside the cart.
Upon seeing this, Draven felt a buzzing in his head as he rushed out of his hiding place. He drew the dagger he carried with him and, with all his might, stabbed it into the lower back of Yellowtooth, who was facing away from him!
"Ugh—!" Yellow Teeth let out a pig-like scream, abruptly releasing his grip on Alice and arching his back like a shrimp. Alice slumped in the cart, clutching her neck and coughing violently, gasping for breath.
But Yellowtooth's ferocity was also fully unleashed. He endured the excruciating pain and swung his stick back, slamming it heavily onto Draven's shoulder where he was holding the knife!
"Crack!" Draven heard his bones make a teeth-grinding sound, and excruciating pain shot through him. The dagger clattered to the ground. His entire right arm went numb instantly.
"You little bastard! I'll kill you!" Yellow Teeth's eyes were bloodshot as he raised his stick and brought it down on Draven's head! If that hit, Draven would be dead for sure!
"Draven!" Alice, who had just caught her breath, saw Draven in danger and, out of nowhere, mustered up courage. She screamed and jumped out of the cart without hesitation, using her thin back to shield Draven!
"Bang!"
The wooden stick slammed solidly into Alice's vest. She jolted, her frail body collapsing limply like a leaf, the excruciating pain causing her consciousness to blur.
"Alice!!!" Draven's eyes widened in fury.
Seeing that Yellow Teeth was about to strike Draven on the head with his stick again, a nine-year-old child would surely die on the spot if hit on the head by an adult!
Just then, Lak, who had been knocked down earlier, struggled to his feet. Blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth. He roared and leaped up, biting down hard on the right arm of the man with yellow teeth who was holding a stick!
"Ah! Let go!" Yellow-toothed man winced in pain, instinctively reaching with his left hand to pry the dog's mouth open.
Draven seized the precious opportunity, gritted his teeth, rushed forward to pick up the fallen dagger, and charged forward like a madman, stabbing Yellowtooth in the stomach!
However, due to his shoulder injury and panic, the knife didn't penetrate very deeply. Yellow Teeth's survival instinct made him abandon prying the dog's mouth with his left hand and instead grab the blade on its abdomen, refusing to let go even as his palm was cut raw. With his left hand blocking the hilt, the blade could no longer penetrate any further.
"Little...Little De..." Alice, lying on the ground, slightly opened her eyes amidst the excruciating pain and dizziness. With her last bit of strength, she propped herself up and lunged forward, grabbing Yellow Teeth's leg. Then, she opened her mouth and bit down hard!
"Ouch—!" The sharp pain in his calf made Yellow Fangs flinch, and the grip on Draven's wrist loosened instantly.
Now!
Draven thrust the dagger forward with all his might! *Thud!* The knife plunged completely into Yellow Teeth's abdomen. But that wasn't enough! Driven by hatred and fear, he pulled it out and stabbed again! He stabbed four or five times in succession, warm blood splattering all over his face and body.
Yellow Teeth's eyes widened in disbelief, and he made a gurgling sound in his throat. Finally, he clutched his stomach and collapsed to the ground, twitching a few times before falling silent completely.
The short-haired man whose thigh had been bitten by Lak was terrified by the bloody scene. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was paying attention to him, he scrambled out of the alley, dragging his injured leg and howling like a banshee, disappearing without a trace.
The alleyway fell into a deathly silence.
Draven stood there, gripping the blood-dripping dagger, staring blankly at the yellow-teethed corpse at his feet, at the rapidly expanding pool of dark red blood. The pungent stench of blood assaulted his nostrils, making his stomach churn.
The adrenaline rush from his life-or-death struggle subsided, and a profound sense of exhaustion washed over him. He began to tremble uncontrollably, his hands and feet were ice-cold, and his teeth were chattering. He... he killed someone... he really killed someone...
"Ugh..." Alice's vomiting startled him from his numbness. She was lying on the ground, the pain from the stick wound on her back contorting her face, and the dizziness from the contact with the ground made her vomit again.
Draven abruptly dropped the dagger, knelt down, and frantically lifted Alice, letting her lean against his uninjured shoulder. "Alice, how are you?" His voice was trembling and choked with sobs.
Lark limped over and nuzzled Alice with his nose, whimpering softly.
Draven forced himself to calm down. He quickly steadied the cart, trembling as he picked up the vomiting Alice and placed her in it. Then, he called to Lark, grabbed the dagger, and staggered desperately toward "home."
With each step, Draven felt the ground beneath his feet sway. The alley behind him was a black hole that had just swallowed lives, emanating a nauseating stench, and his hands seemed forever unable to wash away the sticky, warm sensation.
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