Weakness, unbearable and overpowering, enveloped the boy's entire body.
It did not come from the muscles, as it does after long fatigue, but as if it were imposed from without, paralyzing every cell of his being. He could feel nothing but this suffocating infirmity that clouded his mind. He could not open his eyes, nor move a finger, nor make the slightest movement.
He began to feel as if he couldn't even breathe. It was as if his mind had been placed in a dead body.
Suddenly, his chest heaved, and air surged into his mouth, caressing his lips and tongue before flooding his lungs. It was the first sensation to return in the past two hours. With incredible joy, he felt the breath of life fill his lungs and then escape. Gradually, his skin registered the touch of his clothes—shorts, a t-shirt, and slippers. He realized he was lying on something hard and cold.
With each passing second his senses returned to him, until suddenly his hearing finally returned. Instead of the pleasant songs of nature he wanted to hear, he heard only someone's screams.
The most vivid were those of women and children, which were ringing out to him from distant corners of the area. Among them he could also distinguish several men's voices, laughing and shouting like wild beasts.
Allen opened his eyes. Above him stretched a wooden ceiling with a huge hole, through which he could see white clouds in the blue sky, and the sun's rays penetrated inside, caressing his face.
Turning his head in different directions, he examined the room he was in. It belonged to a poor family. Worn furniture, peeling paint on the walls, and the ceiling and floor were made of rough boards.
He stood up and approached the shattered window, seeking a clearer understanding of his surroundings. What met his gaze was a nightmarish scene: bodies strewn across the road, filthy men in tattered clothes, armed with guns and blades, forcing their way into every house.
Allen immediately realized what was going on and who the men were, and quickly ducked down to avoid accidentally catching the eye of some pirate.
His breathing quickened, his heart began to beat faster, and his head became like a highway with dozens of thoughts running through it.
He was well aware of the gravity of the situation he was in. His chances of survival were slim: these pirates were ruthless in killing anyone they didn't like.
"What to… What am I supposed to do? Shit!" a quiet whisper escaped his lips.
Allen knew nothing of the place he found himself in. What kind of village was this? Where is it located? Is it on the Grand Line, in the New World, or some ocean? Who are the pirates, how strong are they? Where are the marines?
Not a single question he could get an answer to.
He crouched low and began to crawl toward the room's exit, careful to stay out of sight from the window. Once he was within arm's reach of the wooden door, he gently touched it and slowly started to open it.
The door was old, especially the fastening, which made it make creaking noises.
Swinging the door open, he cautiously crept into the hallway. The interior resembled the room he had just left, but here the walls were painted a dull gray, and unfamiliar potted plants rested on pedestals.
Moving slowly to avoid making any noise on the creaky floor, he peered into each room. Finally, he found what he was looking for—the kitchen. He walked over to the table and picked up a kitchen knife. Then, he returned to the doorway and sat down, ensuring he would be difficult to see from the window.
"Ho-uh," sighed the kid heavily.
Leaning his hands on his knees, he lowered his head and went back to thinking.
"Satoro Gojo... I can't feel anything. Did he forget to give me his powers? Damn it, how am I supposed to survive?" Allen thought, frustration and fear mixing in his mind.
He raised his hand in front of him and focused his gaze on it. He was in the body of a young boy of about sixteen.
'Hmm, how is it supposed to work? Negative emotions, how am I supposed to turn them into energy? ' Allen began to ponder. He remembered the workings of cursed energy from the manga Jujutsu Kaisen perfectly. But now he began to understand Gojo's words perfectly, it's one thing to know about something in theory, it's another thing to put it into practice.
The boy closed his eyes and began to scroll through the memories that evoked either anger or longing. His grimace changed with each memory.
'Tsk, this doesn't work.'
Suddenly, a door slammed open, the noise reverberating down the hallway. The door banged against the wall, sending a jolt of shock through Allen's entire body. Footsteps and laughter followed. His heart pounded frantically, and his breathing grew erratic.
Gripping the knife tightly, he strained to listen to the approaching footsteps.
"Hey, who's there? Do me a favor, give me all your money quick, and no blood will flow from your throat!" Allen hears a gruff male voice from the hallway.
"Hey, show up with the money quick!"
Allen closed his eyes, trying with all the strength he could find in himself to calm down. Each sound of the pirate's footsteps was like a needle piercing the boy's nerves.
"As you wish. Heh-heh-heh..." the pirate mumbled again, ending his speech with the sound of a broken vase he threw off the nightstand.
The pirate searched every room, collecting valuables in a small black bag. However, there were a few items in the house that caught his interest. His footsteps echoed closer, each step bringing him nearer to the kitchen. Allen hid behind the door, hoping to remain unseen.
As the footsteps grew louder, it seemed the pirate was about to be right in front of him. The tension heightened Allen's senses, making every sound and movement more intense. His heart pounded like a drum, and his breathing became short and erratic.
The pirate took two steps and crossed the threshold into the kitchen. Allen saw the edge of his shoulder and froze. He hesitated for a moment—he had never killed a man before. The feeling was not entirely foreign to him; his parents lived on a farm, and he had helped them slaughter cattle.
With a sudden dash, he lunged at the pirate and swung his knife. Although he wished he could slit the man's throat immediately, the difference in height and size, combined with his inexperience, made him reconsider. Instead, he aimed for the chest, plunging the knife deep and puncturing the man's lung.
"Bastard! I'll kill you, you are fucking dead!" Shouted the pirate.
Allen tried to pull out his knife and inflict another wound, but the man landed a hard blow with his hand right in his face smashing the kid's nose.
The kid staggered backward, still holding the knife sticking out of his chest. For a moment the blow knocked the spirit out of him.
"Son of a fucking whore!" the pirate growled, his voice filled with rage. He reached out and grabbed Allen's wrist, dropping the bag of loot as he began to draw his sword from its sheath.
Allen's eyes locked onto the blade, feeling death's cold breath inches away. The pirate was moments from pulling out his sword and ending Allen's life. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. He wants to live. To live.
A surge of fear and anger welled up inside him. Acting on instinct, he swung his free hand and struck the pirate in the face with all his might. To his surprise, the blow was far stronger than anyone would expect from a 16-year-old. The pirate staggered, his legs giving out as he fell to his knees, momentarily knocked out.
But Allen didn't hesitate. Quickly and roughly pulling the knife from the pirate's chest, he began to strike, one after another. He could no longer count how many, but he was sure of one thing: the man, drenched in his blood, was dead.
Allen stood over the lying corpse, trying to regain consciousness. His blood was bubbling with adrenaline. He had killed a man and saved his own life.