An old man stumbled and fell hard to the dusty ground. His face hit the dirt as he begged, Please, don't take my granddaughter.
Blood trickled from his split lip as one of the vultures delivered a harsh kick right to his face. He groaned in pain, struggling to stay conscious.
The granddaughter's eyes were wide with terror as she cried out, Stop, don't hurt him!
But her voice was drowned by the vultures' cruel laughter.
One of the men roughly grabbed her by the hair and yanked her away.
Tears streamed down her face as she screamed, clinging desperately to her grandfather's trembling hand.
More vultures appeared, their necks and chests marked with the unmistakable black vulture tattoo.
Their faces were cruel, hardened from years of ruthless raids.
A villager whispered nervously, Who are these men?
"They're the Vultures," came the reply.
"They roam from village to village, kidnapping women to sell as slaves. No one is safe."
The vultures showed no mercy.
They slashed their blades through anyone who tried to resist.
Men fell to the ground, some writhing in pain, others already lifeless.
Children screamed and scrambled for safety, but many were dragged away.
They forced the captured women into rattling cages on rickety wagons.
The heavy iron bars clanged as the captives were tied up tightly, fear shining in their eyes.
Amid the chaos, the vultures spotted an old man crouched behind a crumbling wall, hiding something close to his chest.
They stormed over, and with a cruel grin, one delivered a brutal kick to his face.
"What do you have there, old man?" a tall vulture demanded, towering over him.
The man managed a weak, trembling smile but said nothing.
Without warning, the vultures grabbed the man's granddaughter, pulling her roughly by the hair.
She sobbed and screamed, pleading, Please don't hurt me!
In a moment of desperate courage, the girl's hand darted to a dagger strapped to one of the men's backs.
With all her strength, she plunged the blade into his side.
The man screamed in pain and rage, eyes wild.
"Kill that bitch!" he roared.
The vultures raised their swords, blades glinting in the sunlight, aiming for her neck.
She shut her eyes tight, bracing for the worst
A boy dropped from the sky like thunder, crashing into the Vulture mid-swing and smashing him into the dirt. Dust blasted out in a circle. The girl flinched, eyes still closed. Slowly, she opened them.
The man who had almost killed her was unconscious, buried halfway into the earth.
The other Vultures froze, staring. One of them pointed. "Who the hell are you?"
The boy stood straight, cracking his knuckles. "Oh, I'm the one who's going to be kicking all your asses."
"GET HIM!" one shouted.
They charged.
The first swung his blade wide, aiming for the neck. The boy tilted his head slightly, the blade slicing through nothing but air.
A sharp uppercut crashed into the attacker's chin, folding him before he even realized he missed.
Another came from the left. The boy spun fast, slamming a backfist into his temple. The man dropped instantly.
A third lunged forward. The boy stepped in close, driving his elbow into the man's jaw, then launched a front kick that sent him flying back.
A fourth attacker swung wildly. The boy caught the motion, parried with his hand, stomped low on the man's thigh, then delivered a tight left hook to the nose. Blood flew.
Someone tried to blindside him from behind. The boy felt it, sidestepped clean, pivoted, then slammed a side kick into his ribs. The man gasped and dropped to the side.
Another tried to blitz him in a rush. The boy ducked low and sprang up, launching an explosive rising knee into his chin. Before the man even hit the ground, a straight right shot followed, flattening him.
Another reached to grab his arm. The boy caught the wrist, yanked him forward, cracked his shoulder under the chin, then spun out, sweeping the man's legs from under him.
One more tried a wild horizontal swing. The boy ducked under, drove three sharp body shots into the ribs, then ended it with a spinning roundhouse to the head. The man crumpled like a sack.
Two came at once from both sides. The boy stepped right between them. A left elbow dropped one. Without looking, he raised his leg and heel-kicked the other square in the face.
Another tried to fake an attack. The boy didn't flinch. He jabbed clean to the face, swept the leg from under him, then stomped the ground beside the man's head without blinking.
The last one hesitated. His hands shook.
The boy walked toward him slowly, neck tilting. He faked a jab. The man flinched.
The boy jumped and double-kicked him dead in the chest. The man flew back, crashed into a tree, and didn't get back up.
The boy landed soft, relaxed his stance. Not a scratch on him.
All the Vultures were down. Unconscious. Defeated.
The girl sat frozen, her hands still trembling.
The boy turned to her and said calmly, "You okay?"
She nodded slowly, eyes wide.
The townspeople surrounded the boy, their voices full of gratitude.
"Thank you for saving our lives!"
"Yeah, you're a hero!"
"Please, what's your name?"
The boy blushed slightly.
"It's… it's nothing. I only did what any kind person would do."
One of the villagers stepped forward and asked, "What's your name?"
He looked up with a calm smile.
"My name is Soren."
An old man stepped out from the group, voice heavy with concern.
"Please, young man. You need to leave this place at once. The leader of the Vultures… his name is Drayz. The Slave Trader."
The villagers fell silent.
"I heard he never misses a bullet," someone said quietly.
Another added, "He's a Concept User."
A small boy tugged at the old man's sleeve. "What's a Concept User?"
The old man crouched beside him and spoke carefully.
"I don't know too much but a Concept User is someone who turns their belief into power. Not magic. It's willpower. If they believe in something strong enough, that belief becomes real. Some believe in chaos, others in order, strength, or fear. And when that belief is strong enough, they can change the world with it."
The boy looked back at Soren, worried.
The villagers tried to speak again, their voices rising with urgency.
"You need to go before he finds you!"
"You helped us enough!"
Soren stood tall, steady.
"Don't worry. I'm not planning on walking away."
Then a group of rough looking men arrived at the edge of the village. One of them stepped forward, looking around at the aftermath.
"We were wondering why they took so long. So they got their asses handed to them… You see this, boss?"
Behind them stood a tall man, sharp eyes hidden behind a long coat. A vulture tattoo marked his neck. His presence alone made the villagers freeze.
Drayz.
He stepped forward, voice deep and cold.
"Who dares go against me?"
No one moved. Silence thickened.
"Whoever did this," he said, looking around, "step up. I'll make your death a quick one."
Soren walked out from the crowd, hands in his pockets, calm as ever.
"Oh, them? Yeah, that was my doing. They kinda bothered me… so I kicked their asses."
Drayz narrowed his eyes.
"Do you know who I am?"
Soren tilted his head, unfazed.
"Uhh… don't care."
The crowd gasped.
Drayz's face twitched.
"You'll die, boy."
Soren smiled slightly.
"We'll see."