"What is this place...? Or rather, what is that smell?"
"The air is heavy, humid, as if it refuses to enter my lungs. The walls are filthy, cold, reeking of rusty iron and old sweat... the scent of fear. Each step I take creates a dismal echo, as if the cell is breathing between the cracks. Enzo's hand is tightening on my arm with increasing violence, as if he wants to tear it out of its socket."
"Something inside me breaks then... I can't take it anymore. The fear, the anger, the humiliation... it all explodes at once. I turn suddenly, and bite Enzo's hand with all the strength and pent-up rage I possess. A sharp scream pierces the hallway. Enzo recoils in astonishment, then shoves me violently inside."
"André's body slams against the wall, the pain shooting from his spine to his head. He gasps for breath, the dust clinging to his face and clothes."
"Enzo's anger is clear in his eyes. His face is flushed with rage, and his voice comes out like the growl of a wounded animal: "Are you a dog, you little mutt? What the hell is wrong with you?" Then he slams the door shut behind him, and the echo of the shock and threat reverberates in the corners, wrapping around him like invisible ghosts."
"He collapses onto his knees, burying his face in his hands. Every tear that falls mingles with despair, with confusion, with fear: "Why? Why is this happening, Dad?""
"The air around him begins to grow heavier, the smell of rot seeping into his nose. His body trembles with disgust and terror, every muscle in him tense, strained. He turns slowly, his eyes catching the shadows..."
"There, in front of him, is a decomposing corpse, lifeless. But the shock doesn't prevent him from crawling backward, his heart almost stopping."
"Then, from a dark corner, a faint, cold voice echoes: "He's dead.""
"André freezes in place, everything around him becoming silent except for the pounding of his heart. He turns suddenly towards the voice, his eyes widening, trembling, full of dread and confusion."
"The darkness around him is heavy, but it hasn't completely disappeared... the small lamp hanging above flickers, revealing something he wasn't ready to see."
"There, in the shadows, stood a blonde girl. Blue eyes, sharp, cold like windows overlooking a world without mercy. She seemed a little older than him, maybe fifteen years old, and her presence is heavy, pressing on his chest with every breath, suffocating the air around him."
"She took a step... then another. Her voice came out calm, but frozen, like ice: "He died... because he disobeyed the Don's orders. Or so they say.""
"His hands trembled, his heart began to pound violently, and his voice shook as he tried to control himself: "Who are you? And what is this place? And how can a corpse just be left like this?!" "
"A cold smile cracked her face, impossible to describe as a "smile," as if it were planted in the darkness itself. Then she whispered: "You can call me Armanda... and also, welcome to hell, the land of no return." She paused for a moment, then continued in an even colder voice: "This is all to be a lesson to us... or so they think. It's the actions of Mr. Enzo Fieri.""
"André froze, his mind trying to grasp everything. Terror seeped into his veins, and thoughts clashed inside him: Mr. Enzo? Armanda? And what is this hell I've found myself in?"
"Then another person approached from the shadows behind Armanda, a boy close to her age, wearing a patch over his eye, handsome. His steps were calm, balanced, less threatening than the girl's. His voice came out calmly, but carried the weight of authority: "Armanda... don't scare the new kid.""
"He placed his hand on André's shoulder gently, and looked at him with a violet eye that pierced the darkness, emitting a sense of mystery: "This is the Black Beast gang's headquarters... and we're just tools for killing.""
"Tools for killing?!"
"His heart stopped for a moment, then anger erupted inside him, a burning fire that refused to surrender. His voice rose with determination, despite the fear, despite the awe that almost suffocated him: "I won't stay here!""
"Armanda remained standing motionless, her eyes fixed on the corpse lying in the corner. Her voice came out faintly, without any emotion, as if she were narrating a common truth: "Don't try in vain... someone tried before you. But he left life instead of the place.""
"Her words were engraved in his depths like cold needles. His features hardened, and his chest tightened until he felt that the air had become his enemy."
"At that moment, he realized the truth he didn't want to see: his choice was no longer between escaping or staying... but between death, or death."
"The boy with the patch reached out his hand to him, and his voice came out strangely calm, carrying something that resembled reassurance... but it was reassurance that didn't reassure: "You can call me... Logi.""
"André hesitated for a moment, looking at Logi's outstretched hand, as if it were a thread between two worlds: a world he knew, and another swallowing him. The fingers were steady, not forceful, just waiting. But Logi's eyes... that faint violet gleam carried something unreadable, a mixture of sadness, calmness, and resignation, as if its owner had seen more than a human could bear."
"André reached out his hand at last, cautiously, and for a moment, he felt a strange warmth pass from his skin to his skin, as if that touch wasn't a greeting, but a seal."
"The sound of the lock turned slowly... a metallic click followed by the squeak of the door as it opened. Daniel entered first, calm, balanced in a confusing way. Followed by Enzo, with a tense face and sharp looks like knives. The atmosphere changed, the air itself became heavier. André felt it immediately... the danger wasn't in the weapons, but in their eyes."
"Daniel approached the corpse lying in the corner. He stopped, looking at it for a long moment in silence filled with boredom, then exhaled lightly as if he were seeing something he was used to. "I told you to get this corpse out of here, Enzo." His voice wasn't angry... just cold, as if he were reminding of a law that had been engraved since time immemorial."
"Enzo laughed lightly, a sarcastic smile touching his face then disappearing. "Ugh... I'm not a servant, let those idiots drag it. I don't have to get my hands dirty.""
"Daniel controlled himself, turning towards them slowly. "Armanda... Logi..." Then he stopped. His eyes met André's eyes for only a second, a fleeting look but laden with a mysterious meaning, then he said in a low voice that didn't accept discussion: "And you too... take this corpse and follow me.""
"At that moment, time seemed to freeze. André heard his own breath echoing inside him slowly, suffocating, as if everything around him had lost its voice. He saw Armanda and Logi approaching the corpse, examining its cold features with hesitant hands, while he remained fixed in his place. He couldn't move. His eyes were glued to the body lying on the ground."
"The pale skin, the metallic smell, the dark stain that was slowly seeping towards the gray stone... everything seemed like a nightmare. What is this place...? Why do I feel like I'm stuck between two worlds?"
"He felt a prickling in his chest, something rising inside him, a fear he didn't know the reason for. They're not human... they can't be."
"The thoughts were crowding, disjointed, breaking in his head like waves. This place... isn't a place for humans. They're monsters... real monsters."
"André advanced towards the corpse cautiously. Each step was heavier than the last. His knee trembled slightly, and the sound of his breath echoed in his head as if he were in a narrow tunnel."
"He reached out his hand at last, holding the body with them. The cold that seeped into his fingers wasn't just the cold of the body... but something deeper, as if death itself was creeping from between the cracks to touch him."
"They left the room. Their feet made faint sounds on the floor of the dark corridors, a sound that resembled a sad whisper echoing in the shadows. André raised his head suddenly, his eyes moving with cautious fear between the open rooms on the sides."
"Inside, pale faces. People of different ages lying on the ground, others sitting with hunched backs, their looks broken like glass contaminated with blood. Bruises covered their bodies, and the air was heavy with the smell of iron and rot."
"When his eyes met one of those faces, he felt a prickling in his chest. It wasn't a human look. It was the look of a creature that had been broken then reassembled without a soul."
"He realized it suddenly. The cold truth. I'm in the beast's den."
"No... in the devil's den itself."
"When they came out into the garden, the cold air hit them in their faces. A light sting, but it brings them back to the harsh reality. A withered green patch stretched before them, and in it were rows of small graves... aligned with a disturbing precision, arranged as if someone cared about the beauty of death itself, as if they weren't dug out of grief, but for the sake of order alone... the order of death."
"Daniel stopped, his voice piercing the silence, calm, balanced as if he were reading from a memorized text: "Let him be buried here.""
"They lowered the corpse to the ground. The soil seemed heavy, cold, sticking to their fingers as if it didn't want to separate from the body."
"Each grain of soil that fell made a muffled sound, as if the earth itself was swallowing what remained of the name that this man had."
"The two people with him worked in silence. They didn't exchange a word, only ragged breaths came out of them. André was content with watching, but the calm that surrounded them wasn't natural."
"It was more like a long surrender, as if they had been trained to bury the dead more than once."
"André stood up after they had finished, his body stiff, his eyes on the newly covered grave. Everything around him seemed foggy, distant, meaningless."
"As if the world was collapsing slowly in complete silence."
"Then Daniel raised his head, saying in a calm, decisive voice: "And now... we'll go to the arena.""
"They moved behind him. The road to the arena was long, or maybe that's how André felt. Each step made a faint echo that reverberated in the place devoid of light."
"Until they reached a wide arena, surrounded by harsh-featured men, their faces without expression, and their eyes watching in disturbing silence."
"In the middle, wooden weapons scattered: long sticks, and heavy training swords, as if the earth itself was preparing for blood."
"Daniel preceded them with steady steps, and stood near a man waiting in solemn silence... Don Dante Damian."
"Daniel's voice rose, grave, as if each word announced the beginning of something irreversible: "I am Daniel Vitali, next to my Don Dante Damian... I will be the observer of this training.""
"Daniel looked at André again, but his look this time wasn't cold or reserved as it always was, but it carried something strange... a faint sorrow, as if he saw in the boy a reflection of something he didn't want to happen."
"Before André could understand that look, Enzo's voice rose, tinged with cruel pleasure: A wicked smile spread across his face, extending his hand and pointing towards him as if he were choosing a victim from the crowd. "Today... your first training will begin." André froze. His eyes darted between the faces... then to the ground, where the wooden weapons were scattered, waiting for the first blood to fall on them."
"Enzo approached with slow steps, as if each step of his was closing the path of escape more. He held a thick wooden stick with both hands, his malicious smile widening gradually, a smile that overflows with poison, as if it were feeding on the fear seeping from André's veins. That fear was no longer just a feeling... but a weight that was squeezing his heart. Every part of his body was trembling, before the real experience began."
"Enzo lunged suddenly. The force of a single blow threw him to the ground. His neck collided with the ground, and his whole body vibrated. The pain in his leg... the old wound... flared up again, as if the bullet that hit him had never been removed. He was overcome by a feeling of helplessness, short... but enough to feel humiliated."
"Enzo placed his foot on his chest, with weight and contempt. His voice came out with arrogant coldness: "Get up... and choose your weapon. Let's see if you have anything besides talk, little punk.""
"André breathed with difficulty. Every cell in his body was screaming with pain, but in his eyes... something changed. The trembling disappeared. It was replaced by a sharp gleam, as if it had ignited from the ashes of helplessness itself. A small voice inside him, broken but clear, said: I promised Dad... that I would become strong. And that's what I'll do."
"He reached out his hand, slowly, pushing Enzo's foot off his chest. He stood up, leaning on himself, his breaths heavy... but steady. His eyes were following his opponent, not with fear this time, but with silent disdain."
"André turned slowly, his steps tired, heavy, but he didn't stop. The world around him seemed distant, as if everything was watching him with cruel silence. On the ground, the weapons were scattered as if they were the remains of an old battle. He reached out his hand towards one of them, a wooden sword with rough edges. He gripped it with all the strength he had left."
"He looked at it for a long moment, then raised it a little, testing its weight. He felt its roughness on his small palms. This is my path now... no return. Even if the darkness swallows me, I won't run away. Dad said that strength doesn't mean winning... but not crying while you fight."
"He raised his head. "Come on... I'll show you, Enzo Fieri." "
"Enzo laughed loudly, a sharp laugh tearing the silence and filling the arena like a stab. "Hahahaha! Look at this scum! He thinks he's a fighter?! Oh God... how long will you last before your bones are shattered?" He tightened his grip on his wooden stick, lunging with quick steps, his eyes blazing with savagery. The scream of the air was the first thing he heard. The stick launched towards him with immense speed, slapping the wind before slapping him."
"André raised his wooden sword in haste. Thwack! The sword vibrated in his small hand, almost falling out of it. The pain seeped from his palm to his arm, but he held on to it. His teeth clenched so hard he heard a faint clicking in his jaw. He... he blocked it! Yes, I did it!"
"A small spark appeared in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished when Enzo lunged again without mercy. The stick touched his shoulder... a sharp pain, as if burning iron was digging into his flesh. He fell to one knee, his breaths coming out broken, hot, as if the air itself refused to enter his chest."
"His hands were trembling... but he raised the sword again. He raised it with the stubbornness of a child who knows he will be defeated, but refuses to give his opponent the pleasure of seeing him surrender."