Chapter 8: Final Words
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~~~ [START]
In a dark office, seated around a large rectangular desk, four figures exchanged glances of worry, ones that hinted at lurking fear.
"Who's he fighting next?" one figure asked, his hands holding up his head, supporting his body, which was leaning.
"Marcus," another figure who sat on the side answered in haste. "Maybe we…"
"We can't fucking do anything!" a woman shot. "Two hundred and thirty days, 230 matches, and he still kept fighting," she continued. "No serious injury. No broken bones. This kid keeps… going."
Anger and frustration filled the room.
"And Meg… that bitch," she said, rage lurking when she spoke. "How did she even fucking get that monster?" she continued. "Sixteen million." Her words sent shivers down the spines of those seated beside her. "Sixteen fucking million. Do you even freaking understand what that number fucking means? Have you ever even fucking seen sixteen million in your whole goddamn fucking life? Fuck!" She stood and stormed out of the office, anger leaking with every step.
Silence followed after her leave, bonding with those who remained like a leech.
Glances were exchanged among the three men who were seated there. Eyes turned to the man who sat in the largest seat.
"I don't know what you do," the man said. "But whatever it is… ensure Marcus wins."
They nodded, and the silence returned, humming through the room like a meter.
And in their minds, one name stood out from the rest. A name that spoke in whispers.
Odin.
________
{Location: elsewhere} {3 days later}
In an enclosed arena, on a field surrounded by a large stadium of witnesses, a man wearing a suit stood with a mic in his hand. Wearing a mask colored pink and standing in a strangely immaculate posture.
Around him, shouts from drinkers and prostitutes rang loud, causing the entire atmosphere to mimic a painting of utmost chaos.
"People of the underworld," he said, voice ringing through the speakers. "The day has finally come," he continued. "A day where the most powerful of our elites face off to the death for the biggest betting run in underworld history!"
SWOO!
He disappeared, instantly reappearing above them, body suspended in the air by nothing.
"First," he lifted his free hand in exaggeration, "he who is known for weaponry," he said, voice clearly audible, and his figure as though glitched, flickering to the eyes of those who watched. "He whose unknown abilities shine above the rest."
The noise from the crowd didn't seem to halt.
"He who has slain dragons with nothing but a single strike!" he said, raising his free hand to the skies. "I give YOUUUUU! I give YOUUUUU MARCUSSSSS!"
The crowd went crazy.
Completely unbothered by the demon that Marcus was soon to face.
He had a rather large, bulky body, standing almost six feet two, shirtless. And in his hands, a large spiky bat that seemed so heavy he had to drag it along with him as he walked.
His eyes drifted above the arena, sight moving around the crowd, observing, listening. And he frowned.
Not in joy, or because of the unexpected, but because the noise from the crowd had completely halted, replaced by a chant.
"ODINNNN!" they said, voices shouting in unison. "ODINNNN!" Words slipped through their tongues as though they had grown too used to it. "ODINNNN!" The frenzy didn't seem to halt. "ODINNNN!" Even the commentator, floating in the sky, did not disturb their prayer. "ODINNNN!"
And through the same door Marcus had used to enter.
"ODINNNN!"
A child walked in.
"ODINNNN!"
Wearing nothing but pitch-black clothing.
"ODINNNN!"
He had a mask attached to his face.
"ODINNNN!"
The same mask he had worn from the very beginning.
"ODINNN!"
Yet only this time, its mouth was colored with the blood of all those he had murdered.
"ODINNN!"
Blood that outlined a smile.
"ODINNN!"
A smile so deep.
"ODINNN!"
A smile so Joker.
"ODINNN!"
You would swear it belonged to the devil himself.
"ODINNN!"
"I GIVE YOUUUUU!" The commentator wasted no time. He didn't announce a slogan; he didn't introduce the competitor, for his name was enough. "I… GIVE… YOUUUU… ODINNNNN!"
The crowd went nuts, shouts and chants overflowing from their lips.
It was deafening. But they didn't seem to care. They truly didn't give a shit.
Because the fight between survivors had already begun.
Ken walked forward.
His white curly hair shifted eastward with the wind.
'Psh, they want me to be cautious of a child,' Marcus thought, far deceived by his low IQ.
How could he still ignore the danger, even after knowing what the lad had achieved?
Who was he to question the authority of those who supported him from the shadows?
He was truly misled. Misleading himself.
The moment time seemed to pause, the moment where the silence could be sworn to have been felt, Ken dashed forward.
Marcus reacted, jumping to his feet and fixing his posture.
He placed both hands on his weapon, lifting it effortlessly.
He swung it, and it ripped through the air like a blade.
DOO!
It hit.
And Ken was flung effortlessly thirteen feet from where he was moving.
He did not dodge, nor did he attempt to counter. He took it head-on, his hands crossed, blocking its blow with zero to little effort.
Moving his eyes, they landed on Marcus's weapon. It had spikes all around its base.
He lowered them to his arms, the parts he had used to block the impact. And he smiled.
Right where the spikes had hit, right where the impact had landed.
No blood seeped out, no pain was felt, just minor scratches. Nothing more, nothing to bring any worry.
And Marcus was dazed. Never, if not rarely, had an enemy survived his attack. He wasn't sure what he was looking at. He didn't know if it was real.
Triple Hit. That was the name of his quirk. A quirk so powerful that any attack he produced, any strike his blows carried, would hit the mark not once but three times.
Not that long ago, about a day and a half, he was given his new weapon as a gift. A gift he was mindlessly guaranteed would finish anyone with just a simple blow.
Was he mistaken, the person who had gifted it?
Did he underestimate the durability of the child that stood before him?
"I understand it now." Ken's words snapped Marcus back to reality. Ken walked closer, his arms still positioned as though ready to fight. "I felt it three times," he said without shame.
"AHHH!" Marcus ignored the words of the child that stood before him. Grabbing his bat, he immediately launched an attack, swinging it sideways parallel to the ground.
Yet, Ken dodged effortlessly. Bending his body downward, then did a backflip to evade the attack.
"Each attack from its effects felt heavier than the last," Ken's words continued.
"Shut the fuck up!" Marcus dashed toward him, his bat following from behind, releasing a crying sound as it cut through the wind. "FIGHT ME!" he screamed, body drawing closer.
Ken took a stance, his hands glowing with unseen blue energy. Shifting like water, bending.
Until they completely changed color.
The once-blue waters turned red and violent. Faint visible chuckles of lightning, almost seen by the normal eye.
Marcus launched his attack, bat swinging from behind him, aimed directly at Ken's tiny figure.
DOO!
Ken didn't dodge or try to evade. He reacted with a punch, his own attack.
Thunder spoke as his fist met the spiked weapon.
And it broke when they touched.
NANI?
The shockwave sent Marcus flying backward, rolling five times on the arena floor.
It took time for him to get up, his expression half in disbelief at what had taken place.
His weapon broken?
'Was I sabotaged?' he wondered. 'Did they really give me a bat that didn't work?'
He quickly rose, almost expecting to get an answer.
Yet all that greeted him was a child from the depths of Hades.
Stance fixed in a strange yet familiar posture. His hands raised forward to the middle of his chest. Palms open, facing each other.
Right between their space, right in the middle, resembling the stance of a 'Rasengan,' a large yellow horn appeared from nothing. Floating between his hands as if awaiting activation.
Around it, black markings surrounded its sphere.
Spinning into lines as it began its rotation. The wind from its spin made a whistle as it cut through the air.
"Kaichi," Ken suddenly whispered.
And before Marcus could fully react, before he could process the nature of what had just happened—
It had long since moved. Already launched toward his figure, already reached his standing body, pierced through his bulky skin. It had already left nothing but a large open hole through the base of his stomach and half his chest.
Marcus looked downward, eyes widening as they stared at his long-gone middle half.
He moved his arm to touch the damage. But his hand fazed through, passing the hole Ken had created and being met with droplets of blood.
The sight reminded Ken too much of Toji.
Marcus lifted his head, his eyes turned to the one who was taking his life.
Eyes. Dark, red, and unaffected. Glowing, staring straight at his dying self.
Not mocking, not gloating, but oblivious. Uncaring. Just…
"How…!" He tried to speak, but the blood started drowning him, taking away that trivial privilege.
Did he deserve it?
Was it right?
He didn't know.
But Ken walked past him. Walking through the doors he had used to enter. Doors that Marcus would never get to use for the rest of his remaining seconds of life.
"Please…" he pleaded with the last of his voice. "Kill me…" Death was taking too long. "Please."
Was it mocking him, Death?
Why would it want him to experience this much suffering?
He didn't know.
But Ken stopped in his tracks.
He looked back at the man he had left half-living.
Turned his head upward, then returned to face down.
He sighed, turned around to proceed with his retreat.
"Thank you…" Marcus could only whisper, as a crow internally made of darkness descended from the sky with unnatural speed.
DOO!
His head exploded when it collided with his skull.
Turning a dying man into a headless corpse.
His dying wish. Last sentence. Last words.
Granted by a child with the mask of Joker.
Mask of red.
ODIN.
~~~ [END]
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Join my PT for extra Chapters ~ p*tr-eon name is DUSK_IS_MEE
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