Chapter 9: The training ends

So, it's August already, huh? Jalyn mused as he stepped inside the elevator. And I expected this summer to be as long and tedious as the previous ones. Time sure flies by faster when you enjoy it, he rubbed his left forearm; the mangled flesh, or whatever was left of it anyway, felt coarse and dry. A glimpse of sadness shined in his eyes, memories of a man from his nightmares flashed before him once more. "Never again," he muttered under his breath, putting his hands in his pockets. He shook his head, shooing unpleasant thoughts away, focusing on what's happening right now. Wonder what we're gonna do today. It's about time I learned something new.

"Hey, Max," he said lazily upon exiting the elevator.

"Think fast!" the older man yelled out and pointed a handgun at him.

"Wait, wha-"

Before the boy could even react, Max pulled the trigger.

He then felt something hitting him right in the chest and, upon looking down, discovered a red stain spreading on his shirt. A fear struck him, panic followed shortly after, the thought of Max, the only person outside of his family he could trust, betraying him filled his stomach with dread he never felt before. He slowly raised his shaky hand and poke the stain with his fingers.

Just a paint, he sighed with relief and then looked at Max, raising his eyebrow, "What the actual fuck is that?"

"You're dead, kid, that's what," he said with a sly grin on his face. "And the dead don't speak."

"You've scared the ever-living shit out of me, Max," he said with a slight frustration in his voice.

"Hey, I told ya to think fast," the older man shrugged.

"Oh, sorry, I was a bit freaked out by you pulling a gun on me," the boy sarcastically responded.

"Didja really think I'd shoot you, kiddo?" Max placed a hand on his chest and pretended to be deeply insulted by such a bold accusation. "How could you think so poorly of me?"

The boy stared at him for a couple of seconds, then rolled his eyes while exasperatedly shaking his head, and sighed, "Forget it, what have you planned for today?"

"Well, if you hadn't figured it out yet, learning how to dodge bullets is what I'm going to teach you 'till the month ends," he twirled the gun on his finger. "Don't like the idea of some punks who just got their hands on firearms turning you into a Swiss cheese, y'know."

The boy pondered for a while.

"To think of it, that's actually a good idea," he rubbed his chin, "If I keep Ebony Armor on all the time, I'll just exhaust myself to death before I even get into a fight, and I don't know if I'll have enough time to form it in the first place should I get ambushed, so learning a skill such as this now will greatly pay off later on."

"Glad we're on the same page," Max smiled softly at him. "Now, all you gotta do to win is to make me drop that little fella," he said as he pointed the gun at the kid again. "So, how about we'll get started?"

"Yep, let's do this," the boy crouched, covering his feet with Blackfire, eyes glowing green with excitement.

The projectile left the muzzle, flying right at him, but Jalyn easily avoided it by jumping up toward the ceiling. He stretched his arms out, ready to attach himself to it and continue his maneuver, but right before his fingers reached the ceiling, another paintball struck him straight in the forehead, causing him to lose focus and drop back on the ground.

"Lesson number one, buddy: You get predictable - you get fucked," Max helped the boy up, "moving in a straight line is the most degenerative thing one can come up with while being shot at. So unless you want to meet your forefathers sooner than intended, you'd better either use your tentacles to redirect yourself or just jump from side to side to confuse your opponent."

"Should've guessed as much," he wiped the paint off his face and shook his hand, splattering it on the floor. "Is it necessary to use paintball guns, though? Why won't we start with the airsoft ones instead?"

"It's a matter of progression. BBs are comparatively faster than paintballs, so I've decided to leave the former 'till you're good enough at dodging the latter, then we'll figure out where to go from there" he explained, before adding. "And don't even bother to ask, I am not going to shoot you with a real gun again, not without that fancy armor of yours."

"Way to ruin the fun," the boy smirked and then hopped from one foot to the other. "Let's try again."

"'Kay," Max immediately shot at him.

Jalyn avoided the projectile with a swift jump to the left and shot a tendril from his back in mid-air to pull himself upward, noticing a blue stain at the spot where he would've landed. Upon attaching himself to the ceiling, he immediately dashed forward, dodging two more balls, jumped down, landing behind Max, and lunged at him in an attempt to disarm him with a front flip kick. The older man's response was to simply grab the boy by his ankle, shoot him in the back thrice, and kick him away. The boy spun in mid-air and gracefully landed on his feet, slightly sliding backward.

"Now that's what I'm talking about, Flamie!" he joyfully exclaimed, "but you should've waited for me to run out of ammo before trying to take the gun away. Getting closer to an armed man isn't that bright of an idea."

"Yeah, I know," Jalyn scratched the back of his head. "Guess I've got carried away, huh?"

"Hey, no one is perfect," Max ruffled his student's hair, "Mistakes are the best teachers, after all. As long as they don't kill ya, of course. Another round?" he asked as he reloaded the gun.

"Sure, let's do this," the boy took a stance, feeling pretty hyped up about the next few hours.

By the time they finished, the sun had already set. The duo was now resting in the kitchen, with Max waiting for food to heat up while Jalyn sat at the table.

"You look tired, pal," Max said worryingly as he pulled the spaghetti out of the microwave. "We can ease the training a bit if you want to."

"Nah, it's nothing," the boy yawned, "I think it's just the side effect of using Blackfire all night long. Its prolonged usage even in moderate amounts still takes some toll on my body."

"You've learned to subconsciously keep it on for over a week now, so how about going back to sleep normally from now on?" he placed a plate with food in front of the kid.

"You know," Jalyn dived into spaghetti, "I think I will. I kept sleeping like that for so long just to make sure it works as intended. Point's proven, I guess."

"So," Max rested his head on his palm, "you're ready for your next school year?" a question, backed up with lighthearted mockery, left his lips.

"Ugh, don't remind me about that damn circus, please," the boy answered irritably.

"Why not?" he asked with a slightly amused expression. "I, for one, am dying to know how my favorite brat is planning to spend the next year surrounded by a buncha annoying little shits and pretentious dickwads who, for some reason, are called teachers."

"Don't have much love for my school's personnel, now do you, huh?" Jalyn leaned forward. "May I ask why?"

"'Cuz they're cunts." Max responded matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

The boy chuckled at such an elegant answer, before sarcastically adding, "The way you have with the art of speechcraft never ceases to amaze me."

"Hey, I'm a man of many talents, buddy," he gave a light-hearted grin.

They sat in silence, the only sound in the room was made by a fork's scratching on a plate.

"So..." Max scratched the back of his head, "when you're planning to start your little 'Crusade'?"

"When I turn eleven, I think," he lazily shoved a fork in his mouth.

"That's... one hell of an after-school activity, don'tcha think? " Max chuckled dryly. "You sure you're ready for it?"

Jalyn looked him in the eyes and put a fork aside, "Don't tell me you want to talk me out of it."

Max rubbed his chin for a while, and then shook his head lightly, "Nah, as much as I'd love to give it a shot at dissuading you from getting into the cesspool that is our city's criminal underworld, you're just too damn stubborn to listen anyway," he said with a smile. "That shit runs in your family. Whenever you folks set your minds on something, you just won't listen to anyone until you're done."

Jalyn chuckled, "You know us far too well," and continued eating.

The older man scratched the back of his head, "One more question, though: why so soon?"

"I... don't know. Just feel like it, I guess" the boy said with uncertainty. "It's just... it's getting crazier and crazier out there, at least that's what I've heard..." he eyed his plate for a couple of seconds. "I heard that criminals are getting bolder and bolder as days pass. I want to do something about it, you know. I want to help people that are suffering from it. I have to. The sooner I start, the better, and all that."

"Hmph," Max looked aside. "Yeah. I kinda can get behind it," he paused. "Kinda."

Yet another minute of silence. A rather uncomfortable one at that.

At one point Jalyn glanced at Max, quickly noticing that something was off about him: the man looked troubled with something, his eyes were on the boy, yet it seemed like he was looking right through him, his thoughts were clearly somewhere else.

"Max?" the boy spoke quietly.

"Hmm?" he looked at Jalyn. "Wazzat, kiddo?"

"Is... Is something bothering you?" he asked with apparent concern in his voice.

"Oh, it's nothing, so don't worry," Max waved his hand dismissively. "Guess I'm a bit tired as well," he got off the chair, yawning, "If you don't mind, I'll go to bed now."

"Oooo-kay…?" Jalyn was confused but decided against pushing any further, getting people to talk wasn't exactly his area of expertise. "Good night then, I'll clean everything up."

"Yeah. G'night, buddy," Max answered without looking at him as he was getting up the stairs.

Done with the dinner, and with the dishes dry as dust inside drawers, he was now going upstairs with his hands in his pockets.

Something's definitely wrong, even I can tell that, but what? he wondered. Maybe he has some trouble back in the city? he suddenly stopped, Wait, what if it has something to do with my family? Did something bad happen to them? he quickly dismissed that idea, No, Max wouldn't hide it from me, if that was the case... I hope. I should ask him about what's bothering him, maybe I'll be able to help him somehow.

Deep in his thoughts, he didn't notice how he ended up at the door of his room.

He took his T-shirt and shorts off upon entering the room, tossed them on a chair beside the door, and fell face-first into the bed.

...

...

...

He couldn't sleep.

Despite how tired he felt mere minutes ago, he just couldn't fuckin' sleep. As if all of the tiredness just magically faded away the moment his head hit the pillow.

He was turning in his bed for an hour or so, getting more and more irritated at his sudden insomnia.

"You've gotta be shitting me," he huffed in annoyance. He outstretched his arm and focused on the back of his hand, Oh, well, a light started emitting from it, might as well practice with my quirk for a bit, his hand was now coated in an orange flame, the least hot one, sleeping is overrated anyways. He removed his hand, leaving a hand-shaped fiery imprint in the air, separating it into many different-sized pieces, and morphing them into neat balls.

More than a dozen fireballs of varying colors were floating and spinning above Jalyn as he lay in the bed with hands behind his head, eyes focused on a mesmerizing fiery dance, as he reminisced about the past two months. The time he spent with Max was a change of pace from his dull school life. And an enjoyable one, that's for sure. Although some of the things his mentor taught him, such as firearms training, were questionable, to say the least, the fact that those lessons will be extremely useful in his future, to a degree, was undeniable. Yet there was so much more he needed to learn: his fighting skills, as good as they were for now, still required a lot of improvement, his movement on walls and ceiling was way too clunky for his liking, and, the worst of all, he didn't practice with the other aspects of his quirk except for Blackfire, which, in turn, still required some honing other than lifting and moving things.

Another thought of him forgetting something important came into his mind, but he dismissed it, as he slowly closed his eyes, finally giving into Morpheus' embrace.

Rays of the rising sun shined right into his eyes, waking him up from his slumber. He quietly groaned and tried to pick up the clock from the nightstand, but it was a bit too far for him to reach, so he grabbed it with a tendril instead, and moved it closer to his face.

Barely opening his eyes, he looked at it. "4:07 am," he muttered. He placed his hands behind his head and laid silently for a couple of seconds, looking at the ceiling. Though still a bit sleepy, he decided to get up and start his training sooner, so he lifted himself off the bed with tendrils, and used them to move himself to the bathroom, dressing up in the process. The sensation of being carried on the Blackfire's spider-esque legs still felt slightly off, despite him practicing such a transportation method a couple of dozen times before, but he was getting used to it.

He couldn't help but chuckle when he passed by the mirror and glanced at his reflection: the sight of a limp, half-asleep body being dragged away on crooked spider-legs sticking out from under its shirt looked strangely funny to him, his lacking sense of humor finally decided to rear its ugly head, it seems. Either way, he continued his incredibly important journey toward the bathroom.

In no time, he was standing in front of a bathroom door. He opened it and entered the room itself, making his way to the sink. He slightly lowered himself so that his face was in front of the mirror, not above it.

"Well, aren't you a gloomy little bastard?" the boy sarcastically asked his reflection, naturally, receiving no answer. He twirled his hair, which over the past three months had grown long enough to reach his shoulders; he was now slightly regretting his refusal of Max's offer to cut them. Jalyn spent some time messing with his hair, trying to make it a bit less uncomfortable, fix it so it won't fall on his face and obstruct his view.

What he ended up with was a rather ugly ponytail being held together by a ring of Blackfire instead of an elastic band, or whatever girls use to keep their hair all stylish.

"Eh, could've been worse," he concluded, as a few more tendrils crawled out from under his shirt and reached for a toothbrush and a toothpaste. He tried to carefully squeeze the paste out, so it won't end up splattered all over the sink, the walls, and his face like the first time he tried it out. He smiled softly, remembering how Max laughed his ass off upon stumbling on him in that state and playfully called him "a lazy asshat" for not even bothering to use his hands in the first place.

This time, however, he succeeded in it. It's still some sorta training, though, he thought, brushing his teeth. Solidified Blackfire can apply some serious pressure, so I gotta learn to control it, or else things will get real messy later on.

He rinsed his mouth with water, which he then spat out with the rest of the toothpaste, and headed to the exit after glancing at his reflection once more.

He decided to check up on Max before going to the basement, so his room was the next stop.

Just as he was about to knock on his door, the loud snoring reached his ears. He quietly stepped away from the door and headed in the elevator's direction. Wasting his time on me must be really tiring, he thought, the least I can do for him is just let him have some sleep.

He immediately headed toward the shooting range upon exiting the elevator.

On his way, he picked up his favored Five-Seven alongside a few ammo boxes and two magazines from the other side of the room with tendrils, loading them in his usual, hands-free manner.

The tendril then threw the gun in his direction and he caught it with a right hand, racking the slide with his left, proceeding to shoot the target on the move, successfully hitting it.

"Okay, still got it," he muttered, reloading. "Now..." a tendril slowly emerged from under his T-shirt's sleeve, "...the most important part."

It crawled all the way down to his palm and wrapped itself around the pistol's grip, lifting it off his hand, which he immediately shoved in his pocket. The gun was now held by the tendril, stable, unmoving, unshaken.

"Now let's see if it'll be able to hang on by itself," he mumbled, as he detached the tendril from his arm.

For a second, he thought it might just work out... right until the moment when the part that was holding the gun plummeted on a table while the freshly detached end kept hovering in the air.

"It seems my tendrils can't hold objects while they're separated from me," he gently rubbed his forearm, "yet it lifted Max without a hitch when I used a 'Subterranean Hoist' on him before," he let out a dry chuckle. "Did I just name my attack?" a small huff left his lips. "Max's clearly rubbing off on me, isn't he? And I called it 'Subterranean Hoist' to boot? That sounds so ridi-" he stopped mid-sentence. "Wait for a second... 'subterranean'... It easily lifted Max while part of it was underground!" he exclaimed, slapping his fist against a palm. "What if- What if being detached is not the case, but lack of proper footing is?" he slowly turned his head to the table, the tendril was still there, with one of its halves lying on a said table, and the other one floating freely.

He focused on a floaty part, transforming it into a pincer of sorts, and then grabbed the table's edge with it.

The gun-holding end rose immediately upon contact, bringing a small smile to Jalyn's face, "Bingo," he muttered.

He intently watched the gun as it pointed its muzzle in the target's general direction, and attentively lined up his shot. As the tendril gently squeezed the trigger, the gunshot rang.

The bullet missed the target by a few millimeters and hit the wall instead, not that it bothered the boy in any way, after all, discovering a new use for his quirk was much more important to him at the moment.

He felt the urge to test the limits of its newfound aspect, mainly, how much weight can it lift, so he created a little puddle of Blackfire on the floor and slithered it to the barbell. The first few hundred kilos rose without a hitch, so he continued adding more and more discs to it. He wanted to determine if he'd feel any discomfort should The Puddle -a temporary name he chose for, well, the puddle- lift too much.

He kept on adding more and more weight plates to it, carefully observing the tendrils, waiting for any side effects to kick in. Surprisingly, there weren't any. Shortly after, the barbell had no space for more disks, so the puddle started lifting them separately, the thing probably had more than a ton's worth of weights on it, yet it showed no sign of weakening.

Just what is your limit? the boy wandered. Lifting twice that weight with Ebony Armor on knocked me out cold -heh, "cold"- for a day, yet I feel no discomfort with it now, he rubbed his chin. It's going to take some time to figure out. Oh, well, Jalyn shook his head, let's see if there's more stuff It can lift...

He then trained for around four hours or so, just enough time for Max to wake up and join him, yet his mentor wasn't there yet. It was starting to get lonely down there, so Jalyn decided to go upstairs to check on the older man.

One short ride on an elevator later he was on the main floor, and some things had already caught his attention. Namely, an incredible mix of aromas coming from the kitchen that immediately made his stomach rumble, and a sad, yet beautiful song being played on a piano. Both of those things felt familiar to the boy, and indicated the presence of guests in the house as well, since Max, while a decent chef, could never cook something that exudes such a rich scent, and when it comes to his piano skills, well, out of respect for his mentor, Jalyn decided to stop thinking about it.

He headed toward the living room, interested to see who was playing the piano, enjoying the somber, but somehow still hopeful melody on his way.

He froze when he saw the player. She was blissfully playing the instrument, unaware of the sudden audience. Her ink-black, silky, long hair was braided in a neat ponytail, a far cry from the silent terror on the young pyromancer's head. She was wearing a navy blue and yellow summer dress, a beaded bracelet he made for her at school adorned her wrist.

"M-mom?" he softly called out to her, alerting her of his presence.

Victoria's fingers stopped running over the keys upon hearing the voice, she slowly turned around, her green eyes meeting her son's black.

She rose from her chair, a soft smile spread across her beautiful face.

She almost fell over when her son leaped and hugged her.

"Oh, twinkle," she tightly hugged him back, her hand running through his hair, tears were welling in her eyes. "I missed you so much. How you've been? Were you having fun with Max here?"

"I'm fine," he murmured, and pulled away from the hug, "He taught me a lot. I can fight better now, and I've also learned some new things about my quirk. It was fun!" he gleamed with excitement.

"That's wonderful!" she nodded and then giggled a little upon noticing the monstrosity on her son's head. "What is that?"

"Oh..." the boy forgot what an abomination of a ponytail he had, so he chuckled and extinguished the Blackfire ring he was wearing to hold it together, letting his long hair fall down. "An attempt at fashion," he responded jokingly, scratching the back of his head.

Victoria combed the stray locks off his face with a sweet smile, "We should probably take you to the barber once we're back in the city. Although, I think that look suits you."

She sniffed the air, "Breakfast should be ready by now, how about you'll call your dad and Max to eat, hm? They're in the backyard."

He nodded vigorously and ran off, the boy was dying to eat his mom's cooking after these months.

The backyard door was open, so he heard part of the conversation Max was having with his dad.

"... and then he just elbowed me in the jaw, knocking me the fuck out for a good fifteen minutes, can you believe that?" he said, chuckling.

The other man laughed heartily "Seriously?" he took a drag on his cigarette. "Well, congrats, Max, now you have the distinction of getting your ass handed to you by a seven-year-old."

"In his defense, he was holding back a lot," the boy chimed in, spooking both men with his sudden appearance. "Hey, Dad, how are you?"

"Fuck's sake, buddy," Max almost jumped into the pool right off his chair. "Don't sneak up on me like that," he added, clutching his chest.

"Hey, there, champ," the other man hugged Jalyn with one arm, "I see you've been having fun this summer, eh?"

"Yeah, that's one way to put it," he returned his father's hug. "Mom's calling you to for breakfast, by the way," he looked around, looking if his dog was around. "Have you left Dallas at home?"

"We were planning to take him with us, but the poor guy's got sick. Quite a shame, honestly, he's been missing you a lot."

"Aww, what a bummer," the kid sighed sadly.

"Chin up, pal," Max ruffled his hair, giving him a reassuring smile, "you'll have plenty of time to play with him once you're back home."

His mentor got off his chair.

"Now," he clapped his hands, "how 'bout we'll head out to the kitchen, I'm dying for some good food."

"He's right, son," his father added, "You go ahead, Max and I will be joining you soon."

"'Kay," he shot the tendril out of his forearm and pulled himself inside the house, turned around in mid-air, clung to the wall, and jumped out of sight.

The man stood there, astonished by Jalyn's display of his quirk.

"Amazing..." he uttered before addressing Max, "Even when you told me about those tentacles, witnessing them in action with my own eyes... It's just... Wow."

"Heh, you haven't seen the half of it, the shit he pulls is a sight to behold, Pops," he slapped the man on the back. "Let's go now, I'm hungry."

With the breakfast done, the four of them -well, mostly adults- were now chattering about nothing in particular while Jalyn just sat quietly, saddened that his training with Max was soon coming to an end. He loved spending time here, far away from the city and its endless unrest, from its people with their damned glares, from the whispers behind his back at school, from his teachers' sickening condescension. He'd rather stay here, train to his heart's content, and prepare for the day he'd go out on the streets to fight crime. It'd have been much more preferable alternative to the carnival of boredom he had attended to on a daily basis before this summer.

His train of thought came to a stop when Max lightly poked him in the cheek.

The boy jerked in his seat, before glancing at the older man with a flat, but slightly annoyed expression on his face. His mentor leaned on his hand, looking at Jalyn with an amused smile before pointing at the table with his eyes.

Upon following his gaze the boy noticed a cake with eight candles in the middle of the table.

"What's that?" he quizzically tilted his head.

"You tell me, birthday boy," Max answered jokingly.

Jalyn's eyes widened, and he slapped his forehead, realizing he'd completely forgotten what day today was, earning a chuckle from everyone else.

"I don't remember hitting you on the head that hard," the older man straightened up in his chair, still smiling at him.

"How about you'll do the honors and light them up, sweetie?" Victoria said as she was readying the dishes.

The boy obliged and shot a small red fireball from the back of his hand, igniting all the candles in a flash.

"Show-off," Max jovially commented, his expression changed into one of a soft, hearty smile. "Happy birthday, kiddo."

The boy returned the smile and blew out the candles, making no wish in particular. At this very moment, he was happy as is, if the blue fire in his eyes was anything to go by.

After a round of wishes from everybody at the table, his parents and mentor pulled out small rectangular boxes and offered them to the celebrant.

The first one, the one his parents gave him, contained a gold necklace.

"Twinkle," Victoria started, "we know boys your don't usually care about jewelry and such, but-"

"It's wonderful," the boy cut her off, sincere gratitude prevalent in his voice. "Thank you," he flashed both of his parents the warmest smile he's had since... the incident.

The boy quickly put it around his neck, before turning his attention to the second box.

Max's gift, however, came out as a huge surprise. At first, it seemed like a simple box with a button on its side, but, upon pressing it, revealed to be something that mostly doesn't get recognized as an acceptable gift for an eight-year-old. And, of course, not a single person would've expected an old, wise, experienced man to give the boy-

"A knife?!" Victoria yelled out in bewilderment, as a blade shot out of the front of the supposed box. "Max, don't you think that's a bit much?"

After a short pause, followed by a rather laid-back shrug, a nonchalant "Nah," left his mouth.

"For God's sake, Max," Jasylhan cut in, with an equal amount of shock, "he's eight."

"Okay," the older man raised his hands in mock surrender, "hear me out: Imagine if some psychotic asshat decides to shank him somewhere in the open, where he can't use his actual quirk, and the whole "rapidly increasing his body temperature" won't be quite efficient, a simple knife would be enough to fight them off, or -knowing that most of those pricks are nothing but a buncha gutless pussies- scare them away. 'Sides, he knows enough in the way of the blade, so there won't be any casualties."

"But-" the boy's mother tried to object, but Max quickly his finger pointed at Jalyn, who was now rather gracefully twirling the knife in between his fingers and tossing it from one hand to the other, showing his obvious aptitude with the tool, much to his parent's surprise.

The boy attached the blade to his wrist with the Blackfire, and turned his head to his mentor. "It's great, Max," he smiled. "Thank you."

"You haven't heard the best thing about it yet," the man leaned forward. "That'll surely elevate it from 'great' to a 'goddamn masterpiece'."

"Oh?" the boy raised his brow, "Enlighten me then, oh wise one," he added sarcastically.

"Wolfram steel, boyo," the man smirked. "Heat resistant enough not to melt from your hottest, tough enough to tank a 9mm bullet."

To test such a bold claim, the boy held the blade between his index finger and thumb, covering them in blue flames. To his surprise, the blade indeed ended up undamaged, if a bit cleaner.

"Impressive," he added thoughtfully.

"Toldja," Max grinned at him. "Now," he clapped his hands, looking at the cake, "how 'bout we finish that bad boy and take some rest? And, since today's a special occasion, I think you should take a day off."

"Fine by me," the boy agreed.

The boy was now lying on a sofa in the living room, his parents and Max were by his side, chatting about some recent events back in the city. He involuntarily ignored their words as his eyelids grew heavier with each passing second.

Before he could even notice it, he fell asleep.

A smell, nauseating and putrid that he wished he'd forgotten, but never could, invaded his nostrils.

Burnt flesh.

He opened his eyes and found himself in that thrice-damned, accursed alleyway again.

"No," he croaked. "Please, not this. Anything but this."

He could hear a squelching sound, the one that feet with melting skin would produce, approaching him from behind.

"Happy birthday to you..." a guttural, growling, hate-filled voice sang mockingly. "Happy birthday to you..." the boy felt his knees shaking, too afraid to turn around, yet forcing himself to do so. "Happy birthday, little bastard..." a horrifically mangled... thing, that vaguely resembled a human being was now towering above the boy, empty eye sockets glaring into his very soul, "Happy birthday to yoooou."

The boy looked at it, terrified, yet still ahold of himself.

"Had your share of fun this summer, didn't you?" it asked, surprisingly calm. For now. "Enjoying your time away from the city, where everyone hates you? Running away from hardships is such a heroic thing to do, am I right?" Yuri added, his nonexistent lips forming into a wide, toothless grin.

"S-stop," the boy breathed out.

"Whoa, would you look at that, it talks! What a fucking miracle," it laughed, coughing out pieces of burnt meat from his throat in the process. "And here I thought you'd be pissing yourself like the last time we met. GUESS YOU'VE FINALLY GREW OUT SOME BALLS, HUH?!" it roared, causing the boy to quiver in terror. "Wrong guess, got it."

It paced back and forth, undoubtedly coming up with some more insults to hurl at his murderer, thinking of poking at where it hurts the most.

"Here's a quick quiz for you, shit-for-brains: Do you really think Max actually likes having you around?" it took sadistic glee upon noticing the pain on the boy's face. "We both know he does it not for you, but for your grandfather," it leaned closer to Jalyn, whispering cruel, cruel lies into his ear. "To him, you're nothing more than a boarding pet, a temporary amusement to happily toss aside at the first opportunity."

It straightened itself up, "Musta felt real nice, training in that sweet house, while The Disembowler was shanking the fuck out of yet another toy of his. Doesn't it make you wonder if you could've stopped him, had you stayed back in the city, instead of running here with your tail between your legs?"

The child looked at his tormentor, a quizzical look in his terrified eyes, "W-who?"

"Ever heard of newspapers? Shit's been all over them for weeks now, I thought Max would've, told by now" it turned its back to the boy, a smirk crawling on his face, as he spoke in a malicious voice. "Oh, well, it's not like I've expected him to be any good as a mentor, anyway. Come to think, it's retarded to even think anything good would ever come out of that old fa-" it immediately stopped talking, noticing that the usually cold, dark alleyway now was way hotter and... bluer.

The long-dead monstrosity slowly turned around, its eye sockets widening upon the sight before him.

"Talk all the shit you want about me," the words that left Jalyn's mouth were said not in a terrified stutter, but in an even, threatening tone. Gone was the look of fear in his eyes, which was now replaced with cold, calculating anger. Red fire burned brightly in his right eye, and the only part of him that was shaking was his blue-flame coated arm, "but don't you ever dare insult him."

Yuri chuckled.

Yet another sign of mockery from an undead pedophile.

But something felt off about this one, unlike before, there was no gloating in it, no condescension, no rage.

It was... nervous.

Scared.

A shame Jalyn didn't seem to notice the change.

"a-AND WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT, HUH?!" it screamed, futilely trying to scare the kid into submission again, but it was one taunt too late for that. "C'MON, THEN," it spread its arms in a welcoming gesture, "DO IT! WE BOTH KNOW YOU WANT TO! IT WON'T CHANGE SHIT, I'M NOT EVEN REAL, YOU DUMB FUCK!"

The fire faded away, but the glare still remained, fixed on the abomination in front of him.

"Never again," he spat. "Even if it's you," he put way more contempt in the last word than he expected.

A familiar tugging sensation engulfed him, indicating his imminent awakening from this ridiculous nightmare.

Although, having the final word against that degenerate felt immensely satisfying.

Not waking up in tears afterward felt even better.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

If the lack of sunlight behind the window was any indication, he guessed it was somewhere around midnight right now.

It was noon when I fell asleep, and I'd been there for a couple of minutes at most. How did time pass so quickly?

A voice on his right disrupted him from his musings.

"Slept well?"

"Hm?" he saw Max sitting on an armchair. "Oh. Yeah," he paused, "still kinda tired, though."

"Your folks are sleeping upstairs, in case you're wondering," the older man said, his mood strangely sour for some reason.

"Everything alright?" he decided against beating around the bush and asked him directly.

"School year's starting soon," Max started. "Your parents will take you home tomorrow so that you can start preparing for it. Buying the supplies, a new uniform, books, and all that."

"What?" the boy asked, saddened by the news. "But there's still three weeks left, can't I at least stay for one more?"

"Took the words right from my mouth," he sighed. "But they insisted, so there's ain't much I could do," he sat right next to the boy. "But hey, there's always next summer, right?"

"And you can always drop by and teach me at our place," Jalyn leaned his head against Max's shoulder and yawned, slowly closing his eyes. "Right?"

"Wouldn't trade that for anything in the world," he hummed, as he affectionately patted his pupil's head.

They sat in silence for a couple more minutes before Max realized that the boy fell asleep.

He leaned his head back, a small smile formed on his face.

The boy's progress over the past three months had been nothing but astonishing. Max would've been better off without the bruises, sore muscles, and the embarrassment of getting knocked out by a seven-year-old on thirty-seven separate occasions, but if it meant that his youngest friend yet would be ready for the dangers he will face, it was all worth it.

Spending some more time with him, seeing his smile, laughter, and excitement, as well as giving him a chance to finally relax after all the shit he's been through was nothing more than a pleasant bonus.

Best summer yet, he thought to himself, as he slowly drifted off.

Author's Notes:

And thus, the arc I've decided to dub as a "Short Introduction" finally (4 years, holy shit) came to an end.

Now that I've finally got my inspiration back, I'll do my best to release the next chapter sooner.

Up next: Jalyn starts his long-awaited crime-fighting crusade. What kind of people he'll meet? What kind of troubles he'll come across? What challenges he'll face? Will I get to finish this story? Hell if I know!